Chapter 1: Renaissance
Emma blew an errant blonde hair out of her eye and lifted the bottom of her threadbare grey t-shirt to wipe the dust off of her face.
"Smee, could you hand me a paintbrush? I want to get this done before I leave for the day." She had been sanding what amounted to four square feet of wood for hours and looked forward to a nice tall glass of beer and some dinner at Granny's after she finished. With a glance across the deck of the Jolly Roger towards the Storybrooke Marina workshop, Emma wondered how Killian was managing with the fixes to his wheel.
His stout, red-hat-bedecked first mate ambled over to Emma with a paintbrush. "Here."
"Thanks, Smee." She said grasping the handle, and suddenly looked up. "Oh. Hey! I was thinking about maybe helping to clean the Captain's quarters tomorrow. What do you think?"
"Mm-hmm," he mumbled and returned to his work.
Emma shrugged her shoulders, and dipped the brush into the varnish, trying not to dwell on the first mate's sulky demeanor. She ignored the not-so-subtle voice in her head that kept saying he resented her as being the reason the ship had been bartered away in the first place.
Well, the best I can do now is help to put the ship right again, she thought, as she painted a clear coat onto the timber.
As the boat gently swayed, the soft creaking of the hull and sound of sandpaper on wood were a constant backdrop to her labors. It had only been a matter of weeks since the ship had arrived back in Storybrooke, but the captain had put his men to work immediately – above and below decks – and they were well on their way to wrapping up repairs. The Jolly Roger had been worse for the wear, but given that no one had ever thought they'd see her again, there were no complaints.
After a time Emma stood up, rubbing the sore muscles in her neck, and admired her handiwork. Satisfied, she flipped the brush over and tapped the lid down onto the can. Dropping the brush into the bucket of paint thinner, she leaned back against a wall.
She had now spent a fair bit of time with these men who were working around her and, despite her misgivings about Smee, she had come to a sort of understanding where they were concerned. They were coarse and irascible, independent and often ruthless, pirates. They wore clothes of linen and leather, some tattered and some freshly purloined, with heads shaved bald or hair long enough to plait. They were men who showed no outward signs of unity, either in demeanor or attire. Yet, it was clear to her that they all belonged here, together.
Belonging – something that had only ever happened to other people. Not Emma. There were those glimmering moments that she pushed way back into the recesses of her mind. Tiptoeing across a hallway on Christmas morning, lights twinkling on the tree and gifts wrapped in green and gold, finding her name, "Emma," right there in script on the packages and believing that if Santa found her there, she must belong. Walking into the front door of a party, nervous that she would be alone, but instead being grasped by the arm and pulled into a circle of laughing teens. Tumbling through the front door of an apartment with Neal, laughing and kissing their way down the hall.
And then came the blow. Without fail. Everything fell apart and there was nothing but a nauseating hurt, deep in the pit of her stomach. The feeling of once again being utterly and painfully alone. New Year's Day, being sent back to the group home, presents and all, because she was suddenly an inconvenience. Finding out that the popular girl only paid attention to her at the party because she was the new flavor of the week, quickly cast aside for some other nobody. Being set-up to take the fall by Neal, and left to serve time in prison, pregnant and alone.
But that was the past. She had found her home in Storybrooke. She was a part of something bigger than just herself. She belonged somewhere. And, she understood what drove this seemingly disparate group of men to work together to bring this ship back to life. It was their home.
"I'm heading to Granny's, if anyone wants to join me," Emma said in offer to the work-weary sailors who remained on board. Looking towards the darkness spreading from the horizon, the men grunted and nodded their approval at this idea. Each quickly put their tools in order, with an efficiency that came from a few hundred years under Killian's command.
The men grew garrulous as they disembarked, each one regaling Emma with sordid tales of their many years aboard the Jolly Roger.
"Did you hear about the time Starkey got away from the King's men by climbing into a barrel of smoked fish?" said a dark-skinned man she thought was called "Blue."
She opened her mouth to reply, when another man with a red scarf sidled up next to her, saying, "Aye, now there's a story."
"'Ee smelled like fish for weeks!" came a reply to his left.
"Eh! When doesn't he smell like that?!" another voice cried out.
Starkey made to backhand the man who spoke the offending words, but he was too fast and darted away – the blow instead landing on the back of Blue's head. A spirited volley of insults ensued between Starkey and Blue, ending in the promise of an arm-wrestling match later.
"She don't wanna hear 'bout no fish barrel, mates! Tell 'er about our run-in with the sirens!" said the man at her arm. "Jackson tells it best! Oy! Jackson, over 'ere!"
The walk to Granny's was fast, and she was so wrapped up in the conversation that she only remembered just as she passed through the door that she had forgotten to stop by the marina to invite Killian to dinner.
Emma turned to Smee, "Why don't you grab those tables back there? I am going to get Ki-, uh, Captain Jones-, Hook." Real smooth, Swan. She had tried to maintain some semblance of formality when talking about Killian to his crew, even though they all knew full-well that it was only for their own sense of propriety rather than Emma's.
She opened the door and headed back up the sidewalk, away from Granny's. There was a breeze bringing cool, salty air off of the water, and a crescent moon hung in the orange-violet sky. Flowers bloomed in window-boxes everywhere and Emma took a deep breath, allowing herself to fully appreciate the familiar scents as she passed through the quaint Maine town that was now her home.
When Emma turned the corner to head down to the marina, however, her instincts kicked in and she froze for a moment on high alert. A hum of adrenaline rushed through her veins and something – call it magic or intuition – made her feel absolutely certain that she was not alone. She scanned the road ahead of her, in the shadows stretching out from the buildings, and just knew in her gut that someone was there in the darkness. Her hand dropped down to where she usually kept her side-piece, but she quickly realized there was nothing there and instead she reached down for a scrap piece of lumber near her feet.
Approaching the area with silent footsteps, and scanning from left to right, she stopped abruptly when a low voice came out of the darkness that sent a thrill down her spine and made the hair on her arms rise to attention.
"Ah yes, Swan. It must strike fear into the hearts of all the reprobate in Storybrooke to know that our fearless Sheriff is on the beat – armed with her trusty stick."
Emma tossed the wood aside. "It was the first thing I could find. I should have hit you with it. It would serve you right, lurking out here in the dark. Miscreant."
"Aye. But, an extraordinarily striking miscreant, don't you think?"
"If by striking, you mean-"
Killian stepped into a pool of light, his lips curled into a mischievous grin.
"Uh." Oh shit. What in holy hell was he wearing? As usual, his dark hair was perfectly untidy, his earring glinted in the light, and he had a couple days growth in his beard. But that was where the similarity ended. He had changed into a crisp white dress shirt and dark tailored vest, jeans and a wide leather belt. Glancing down, she saw the toes of a pair of black leather boots. Emma closed her mouth which had been opened in shock, and tried to fix her face into something resembling an expression of normalcy.
But then she looked him over once more and it was hard to hang onto rational thought as she adjusted to this new reality – this new incarnation of Killian. The cotton of his shirt was stretched tight across his shoulders and open wide at the neck, and the jeans were snug in all the right places. It was either the skulls on his chain or the metal of his belt buckle – or possibly something more esoteric than that – but more than a little of the pirate remained. There was no ignoring the fact that he looked equally as dangerous in these clothes as he did in his leathers.
A look of self-satisfaction spread across his face. Cocking an eyebrow, he started towards her – unhurried, but utterly focused. He had always had the ability to ease into her personal space in a way that was both calming and disarming at the same time – with a subtle shift of his hips, a shrug of his shoulders, and a tilt of his head, and always with softly-spoken, but pointed, inquiries. Once upon a time, this had made it terribly hard for Emma to keep the distance she had so sorely needed in order to prevent herself from opening up to him. But now that her walls were down, the thing that proved most disarming was how profoundly she wanted this man.
"You were saying, Swan? Cat got your tongue?" He touched his own tongue to his upper teeth.
Her eyes were on his, evaluating. The night air that lay between them was charged with the possibility of imminent iniquity, but she wasn't yet ready to give into her baser urges; so she said simply, "Nice outfit."
"Thought I'd try something new for a change."
"When- Where did you get all of this?" She motioned up and down with her hand.
Killian looked down – embarrassed? – and brushed off the question. "I don't know. One of my men. It's of no consequence."
"He says to the walking lie detector. Alright - what's the story?"
He rolled his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. "Charming. The man is insufferably stubborn. I had ventured into the establishment of a local merchant of men's apparel only yesterday. Just to gather ideas for some future purchase. No sooner had I entered, than I encountered your father. Brooking no arguments, he took up the cause and, now, I'm well and fully stocked with more clothes of your world than I know what to do with." He glanced down to look at the clothes in question, and plucked at his vest.
The thought of Prince Charming helping Captain Hook pick out clothes was incredibly amusing to Emma, and she tried her level best not to laugh, but failed.
In answer to her sniggers, he shook his head and grimaced. "Glad to know my ordeal amuses."
"Sorry. It's just – the two of you – on paper, it's pretty funny. I think you had to grow up here to understand."
"I suppose so," he said, eyebrow raised. Then he shifted his shoulders within the shirt, straightened up, and said, "These things take some getting used to, though."
"Honestly, it really does suit you. And if you're feeling a little uncomfortable, a-hem, 'it's a cross I'm willing to bear.'"
"Touché. I'm glad it meets with your approval, then."
"Yes it does," she admitted.
Without forethought or reservation she reached out to touch his chest. Lightly drawing her fingertips across the coarse hairs there, she took a hold of his chain and lightly tugged on it, urging his head towards her. The scent of leather lingered on his skin as he came nearer, tenderly kissing her lips. She thought briefly about how he must have just changed into this outfit moments ago…and then she thought only of how miraculous his mouth felt on hers.
The stillness of the night wrapped around them like a shield from the world, and she welcomed it as an invitation. Needing to feel him – just him – she wrapped her arms around his back, pulled his shirt out and ran her hands up and under it, caressing the solid stretch of muscles under his smooth skin. In response, Killian gathered her body to his, pivoted and pinned her against the nearest wall, bending to kiss her more thoroughly.
He sucked lightly on her lower lip, grazing teeth over it and moved to kiss her further, but instead, Emma took his face in both her hands and pulled back to look into his eyes. Eyes that were the deep clear blue of the ocean he so loved, now darkened in the evening's shadows and with his desire. These were eyes that had seen centuries of battles, distant lands, mythical creatures and the makings of tales that had yet to be told to her. But despite knowing only a handful of these stories that had shaped his life, she knew this man. Sometimes she felt like she had always known him. Killian Jones. A pirate turned hero. A man who had sacrificed his home so she could find hers. A man who both celebrated her gifts and was undaunted by her shortcomings. And a man, she was coming to learn, on whose shoulders rested much of her happiness.
As though reading her thoughts, he smiled softly and nodded, bringing his hand up to cup her face as well. Then he bent to kiss her cheek, her earlobe, and down her neck to a spot that made her arch back in pleasure.
Suddenly, they both stopped.
A sound up the road from them had drawn their attention. Footsteps. Regina was visible between the buildings, striding up Main Street. She must have been out for a walk to her vault, which she seemed to do more frequently these days – something that had not escaped Emma's notice.
With an unspoken missive, Killian and Emma quickly adjusted their shirts and looked to each other for some tell-tale sign of what they had been up to. He smoothed her hair down and said, "It appears she didn't see us."
"I guess not," she breathed out. With a quiet sigh of resignation in having to put the night's proceedings on hold, she squeezed his hand and then dropped it, starting up the street towards Granny's.
"Emma. As much as I love consorting in dark alleys, I think it's time to bring this out into the open, don't you? Regina likely already knows of our...dalliance."
"I know. I just feel like we need to be careful about flaunting it in front of her. It would be nice to not have our conversation go south because she has another reason to hate me. Aside from Marian. Like say, public escapades with a remarkably dashing older gentleman."
"A-ha! You admit I'm remarkably dashing!" he exclaimed.
"Three hundred years of women throwing themselves at you and you still need me to say it out loud?"
Killian laughed, saying, "You clearly overestimate the availability of the fairer sex in Neverland."
She gave him a sideways smile. "Perhaps. Getting back to the point, though, I do agree with you. Let me just poke around a bit. If I can't get anything more out of Regina, there's no sense in continuing this way. We can go public with this. Us. Not in a ceremony at Granny's, but…no more dark alleys."
At this last statement, he flashed her a look of mock disappointment, and she added with a smile, "Okay. We'll keep the dark alleys."
As they walked, Emma couldn't help but feel uneasy about talking with Regina. Things had grown icy between them after Marian came back to town. And that was aside from the quite literal cold that had befallen the town. But, with another crisis to handle – fixing the mayhem that Elsa had caused - Regina had spoken to Emma only insofar as she needed to in order to thaw the town. It had been easy enough to avoid confrontation for a time, but it was inevitable they would have to put this behind them in one way or another, because it had grown entirely too awkward planning Henry's shared parenting with Regina.
The two quickly made their way to Granny's, with no run-ins. They opened the door to the sound of hearty laughter and a room full of pirates, now joined by the Merry Men, who had all been plied with drink and food. No Robin though, which Emma thought probably meant he was with his family.
A man who went by the name of Sir Galwin (whose knightly credentials Emma greatly questioned) gestured to his neighbor, Charlie, "and this one, says 'ee, 'I'll take the red one and the blonde, but you can keep the others.'" The room was in hysterics. "And we're all wondr'n, we is. Does 'ee realize 'ee's not barterin' for two wenches, 'ee's only just bought 'imself two bleedin' chickens?!"
"Aye, mate." Killian snagged a mug of beer and slipped into the conversation as though he were always there. "But, that night, I made him sleep with the scurvy fowl. We slept on deck, under the stars, listening to the bedlam below, laughing as he shouted at those damn birds all night long."
Everyone was smacking the table and full of mirth, adding colorful comments here and there.
The captain glanced at Charlie, "Made you swab the mess they left behind the next day, as I recall."
"Aye," Charlie said with a hint of chagrin. "Bloody feathers stick to everything."
"I've never seen a man so enjoy his chicken dinner, the way Charlie did the next day," Killian said. The crowd exploded with laughter. "And, mate, you never did try to make a deal with a gypsy again."
Emma sat down next to Charlie and he said, rather seriously, in what felt like her general direction, "Pirate or no, if you're on his crew, you better learn right quick that Cap'n Hook never does stand by 'is men getting their women by barters, trickery or force." The handful of men nearby nodded mutely and Emma wondered if Charlie hadn't gotten a light punishment when compared with some of his other "mates."
She gazed down the table in the direction of the man in question – currently taking a fair bit of ribbing over his new attire. He was full of contradictions, her pirate. And, though she rarely admitted it to herself, she was attracted to both his gallantry and his darkness.
Feeling the weight of someone's stare, she turned to find Ruby leaning against the counter, a knowing look in her eyes, shaking her head at Emma.
There was no denying it to Ruby. She had probably smelled Killian on her when she handed her the beer. So, Emma shrugged her shoulders and grinned, and Ruby raised a glass in her direction. Emma raised one as well and smiled into her cup as she took a long swig of ale.
As the hour hand drew closer to twelve, Emma excused herself from the table and tossed a couple of twenties down. "I'm off to bed. See you all tomorrow." She stood up, glancing at Killian, who stayed put – lest they endure all manner of ribald jokes – and quietly inclined his head toward her.
She left Granny's and walked back to her new apartment by the water. It was a calm clear night, which was helpful since she had decided to take the long way home, using a route that took her past the mayor's house. The light in the bedroom window let her know that Regina was still awake. Emma said a silent apology for causing the Marian mess, as she so often did, and kept walking. In fact, it was probably her mind playing tricks on her, but more than once, Emma swore she saw someone that looked like Marian out of the corner of her eye. But upon closer inspection, it always seemed to be someone else. She made her mind up to reflect on the past few weeks as she walked, rather than let her imagination get the better of her.
After the dust settled from the Elsa debacle, Emma had gone back to work as Deputy Sheriff alongside her father, and Killian had found work running the Storybrooke Marina. He had expressed happiness in this, but when Emma came to meet him after work, she couldn't help but notice how frequently he snuck wistful glances towards the sea. And she knew. Somehow, she had to help get him the Jolly Roger back.
The unfortunate fact of the matter was that no one knew where the boat was. Emma had exhausted all the resources they had in Storybrooke to try and find that ship. And then one day Ariel swam into town and mentioned that she had seen the Jolly Roger nearly a year before. A group of rag-tag pirates had sailed her fast and hard to an island called Drythea and disembarked for a long stretch of drunken debauchery on land.
When Emma told Killian what she had found out, his initial reaction was apprehension. He had told her not to get her hopes up – that he was happy enough without the ship. Have we not been through enough mortal peril, Swan?
But when Rumpelstiltskin – in an unusual show of cooperation – had produced the magic wand that had carried them forward in time to Storybrooke, the idea of getting the Jolly Roger back no longer seemed impossibly dangerous, and he acquiesced.
The plan was rather simple: since the magic had been used before, Emma was able to use the wand again to transport herself, Killian, and some of his crew into the past, right onto the deck of the Roger. In fact, she had focused so hard on landing the crew at that point in time that she nearly broke a leg slamming into the deck of the ship, as the portal opened on the other end. The ship – albeit in very poor condition – was completely vacant, as Ariel had said it would be. With no obstacles to the return trip, Emma quickly opened a portal in the water off the bow of the ship, and everyone held tight to the ropes as Killian steered the ship and crew right back into the Storybrooke Harbor of the future.
Now, as she neared her new home by the sea, she could just make out the Jolly Roger's masts and it made her heart swell. She paused for a moment to fix the image in her mind and stepped onto a rocky path lined with wild roses.
Emma had reached the old Victorian home where she was now in residence on the second floor. Her unit was up a set of stairs in the back, so she grabbed her mail from the box out front and rounded the corner. She drew up short when she found Killian occupying the bottom stairs.
"What are you doing here? If you left right after me, everyone is going to know-"
"Everyone does know," he interrupted. "But, it's of no consequence. I left a quarter hour after you. We had some unfinished business that I wanted to attend to, love. But, when I went to knock on your door, I saw your mother on the couch sleeping and didn't want to wake her. I presumed she would have been gone if you were home."
Emma walked over and sat next to him. "I just wanted to make sure Regina was okay."
"Yes. I understand." He said, scratching his jaw, eyes serious. Both knew that what she really meant was: to make sure she is not up to something.
They each looked out into the dark harbor at the lights twinkling on far-off buoys, listening to the faint sound of riggings clattering on nearby boats. The moon hung low in the sky.
"So I take it the lad is up there as well?"
Emma nodded. "Honestly, I should probably go. She said that she wants a night away from the baby to get some rest, and I'm sure Dad is more than willing to oblige her, but I want to give her the choice of going home to him anyway. Something tells me a few hours away from Neal is all that she can handle."
"I don't know. A few hours with Charming and I would welcome a night away, but that's just me."
She smacked him on the shoulder, good-naturedly. "You don't fool me, Hook. Deep down inside, you know you love him."
His head glanced back as though Emma had hit him, and he spoke an octave higher than usual, "Let's not make fallacious accusations, Swan. I've made men walk the plank for less."
She laughed. "I'll take my chances."
"Well, well, well. So sure of yourself, princess. This time, we will attribute my lenience to my judgment being clouded by your surpassing beauty."
"Mm-hmm. Well, flattery will get you nowhere my friend. I am going up to bed. Alone."
"Aye. Well. You have been warned." He took his hook and pushed her hair over her shoulder, running it down her arm. His good hand was on her leg, thumb slowly moving back and forth high in her inner thigh. She shivered and he smiled with a glint in his eyes.
"Goodnight, Killian." She stood up to leave, before she let him take her right there on the bottom stair, on-lookers be damned.
He took her arm, pulling her to him, so he could kiss her heartily. Then he let go. In a voice laced with innuendo, he spoke to her as she climbed the stairs. "I'll be aboard my ship, Swan. Thinking about how tomorrow I will thoroughly tend to all that ails her. Knowing that the only way I will be satisfied with the job is by running my hands over every inch of her. I will not forget to attend to the hidden places that only I know. And I will lay deep inside of her, listening to her softly groan, as she always does when the sea moves against her. Only then, will I take my slumber."
He stood up and sauntered away, leaving Emma with an ache that would only subside later, when she was alone in her bed, touching herself, but thinking only of him.