She slowly stretches out a hand, fingers meeting the cool metal of his hooked hand. Her fingers tremble slightly, always so cautious around him; he's more volatile than she ever realized, though strangely gentle with her - even when she can see the storm raging beneath his gaze. He can't feel her touch, but he quickly withdraws his hand when he sees her arm outstretched. Ariel snatches her hand back hastily, cheeks flushing and she wrings them together in her lap looking down. Cautiously, after a second passes, she peers at him with a questioning look in her eyes. They ask him 'how?' or perhaps 'why?' - Killian isn't sure which exactly. All he understands is her curiosity; she's always curious about him, yet never able to ask. He could pretend that he doesn't understand, ignore her inquiry entirely. It's a topic he never speaks of to his crew and his crew knows never to ask; they have all heard or seen the story, but it is an unspoken subject aboard his ship. Something inside Killian longs to tell her, to speak of the day very long ago, when he lost both his hand and the woman he loved. There's something comforting to him in the idea that she'll never be able to repeat this to anyone; it makes vulnerability a safe option for once in his life, when the sea had hardened him over time.
Killian shifts from his stance at the deck, turning from the water back to the deck and casting his gaze out over the masts and sails. Finally, he looks back to her - so like a child, yet something so mature in the way she looks at him: really seeing him. Not the man his crew sees, but who he really is. She's always cautious but knows when to push boundaries. She dares to do things his crew wouldn't with him, yet she's hardly known him a fortnight since he found her stranded on that rocky beach.
"It happened a long time ago, in a duel... of sorts." There was a hard, bitter edge to his voice as he spoke of Rumpelstiltskin. Hardly a duel at all: a coward even until the end. Although Killian had claimed some small victory in tricking him out of that magic bean, it wouldn't bring back Mila. He would be glad to part with his hand forever if it meant her return. Killian had resigned himself to the hook he now wore; it reminded him of the revenge he sought and would one day achieve. It was a scar of his past and it was a lesson that Killian had learned from. He hadn't allowed himself to be bested again. "I lost it to a man by the name of Rumpelstiltskin," Killian continued, lifting the hook and eyeing it contemplatively before he glanced back at Ariel again. She watched him with rapt attention, eyebrows raised in a gesture for him to continue. There was no judgment and, curiously, no pity either; he had expected it. Just understanding: something else Killian hadn't known for quite a long time. "He believed I had stolen his wife and he wanted revenge. He killed her, to make me suffer, and then he took my hand."
Ariel nodded, but felt another question that couldn't be asked bubbling at her lips. She parted them out of habit, but of course no sound came out. With frustration, she pursed them, huffing in exasperation.
"And you want to know if I did, don't you?" Killian questioned as he watched her, so adept at sensing what it is she meant to say. "Did I steal his wife? I suppose... that's one way of describing it." There was no arrogance in Killian's voice. It was the truth. He had spirited her away, but Milah had longed for the adventures he told of the sea and of the foreign lands he'd seen. She had a spirit in her that Killian was drawn to and he'd unhesitatingly allowed her to set sail with him. He hadn't given a second thought to her husband, even after he came to grovel for his wife's return. Killian was quite capable of being selfish, and he knew it.
It didn't hurt as badly to talk about Milah now and to speak of her to Ariel. If he was talking to his first mate or his crew, Killian knew he would feel differently: he would feel obligated to act differently. He wasn't sure what it was about Ariel that affected him; maybe it was the fact that she couldn't speak. Her voice enchanted him when he first heard her sing, carrying through the wind over the sea. He'd only caught a glimpse in the moonlight: that vivid red hair, that shimmering white skin, before she'd disappeared into the ocean depths again, just a flash of scales in the black waves. She was just as radiant now, bathed in the moonlight on the deck of his ship, but that enthralling voice of hers was lost. That only inspired Killian to want to know her all the more - because he couldn't. He enjoyed the mystery of her.
His crew had been equally fascinated with her and the prospect of a woman on board. Killian had felt instinctively protective, ordering his crew not to dare touch her and knowing they wouldn't risk disobeying his commands. He was still as ruthless a pirate as ever, doing what it took to ensure the survival and welfare of himself and his crew. They murdered and they stole, and Ariel was well aware of it. Yet she still seemed curious about him, wanted to know him, asking him questions that Killian hadn't heard uttered in a long time - like the tale behind the colorful moniker he'd adopted.
They fell into silence, which wasn't so unusual for their exchanges. If not silence, it was Killian's voice, filling the void for the both of them. Ariel would gesture to a question, which Killian would expertly guess or interpret. He would try to answer her, only to find more spilling from her, each requiring a more lengthy answer than the one before. Suddenly he was recounting tales of his past adventures to a captive audience again, but also tales of his past rarely spoken of: mentions of childhood, of family, of life before being a pirate - things he didn't think he'd ever mentioned to anyone, even Milah. It was the childlike insatiability and curiosity of hers that prompted him to keep speaking, but the depth of her understanding is what allowed Killian to give in again and again to recounting his stories when she would ask him each night. They often found each other on the deck, when the crew was all down below fast asleep. He thought it was because she liked the moon, or perhaps the sea at night, and that's why he found her here. Killian had never been able to ask - though he much wanted to. He'd often wanted to return the favor, to learn everything it is she had to tell him, but he would never be able to.
Killian let his gaze slowly rake over her, and she appeared entirely oblivious. For now, he had satisfied her curiosity. She stood gazing out at the black ocean depths, waves breaking in the distance and crashing against the hull of the ship. As a rough one broke against the ship, she stretched out her arm, fingertips catching the ocean spray. He couldn't be certain, but Killian thought she often seemed inconsolable in longing for the sea.
"Do you miss it?" he found himself asking. Only a moment later did he realize that she couldn't answer and it was foolish for him to ask. No matter how hard he tried, it was difficult for him to get used to the fact that she couldn't speak to him.
Surprise flickered over her features, because Killian rarely ever addressed her with questions. The last notable experience she could remember was the day he'd found her, demanding to know what happened as she helplessly tried to convey to him that she couldn't speak. She nodded her head slowly, feeling, as he had, comfortable with being vulnerable. The crew was fascinating to her yet often frightening - but never Killian.
She wished she knew how to tell him. Ariel nodded at the ocean before them, then lifted a hand to gently place it over her heart. "My family," she mouthed, looking at him significantly and hoping he could understand. His eyebrows knitted together momentarily before comprehension dawned upon his features and he nodded.
"So was it worth it?" he persisted. Now that he'd started, he found the other questions that he'd held back brimming on the tip of his tongue.
For just a moment, Killian thought he saw a frown crease her lips, but she quickly washed it away. Again, she simply nodded. He could see the ache in her features, the melancholy and longing for what she'd left behind. But Killian had also seen how she flourished on his ship, basking in the sun, dancing across the deck, absolutely free.
"The sea could never hold you, could it?" It was a question, but not one Killian needed an answer to. "It would never be enough."
He paused.
"But am I, I wonder? This ship, this life?"
Again, it wasn't a question Killian intended a response to. Somehow, he knew he would discover the answer in time. Perhaps Ariel herself wasn't even ready to give it. She looked back at him with shock, having taken her off guard again. Yet, slowly, that shock shifted into the tiniest hint of a smile as the corners of her mouth gently tugged upward. Her lips moved almost indiscernibly, and he thought he could read his name on the tip of them. But he would never know, just like everything else about her.
Involuntarily, a shiver racked her body as a particularly strong sea breeze whipped around them. She tried to disguise it, but Killian would've been blind not to see. He hesitated a second before he stretched out his good hand and gently placed it upon her arm, feeling the gooseflesh beneath his fingertips as he tried to warm her. "Best get you below deck, shouldn t we?" He smirked devilishly. It was somehow an expression Ariel had grown to trust; she knew it well. She moved from the ship's railing to the stairs that led below and began to descend, legs still a bit shaky as she adjusted to their use. She placed her foot upon the third step when she looked behind her and saw Killian wasn't following. Her eyebrows furrowed and she opened her mouth out of habit to form the question that wouldn't come.
"Oh, don't tell me you've started worrying about me." He smirked again, and Ariel understood that previous vulnerability they'd shared was gone; he was the captain and she was his unexpected passenger. Reluctantly, she nodded and let him go.