A/N - And so our ladies meet. Regina would just really like to know WHAT IS GOING ON. I'm posting this now, and probably the next chapter as well.

1. Collision

There was something wrong.

Regina could tell the moment she stepped out onto the deck, the first morning of her new life. Or rather, the transitional phase. The chrysalis. She could tell because despite whatever else it might have left her with, growing up with her mother had given her an instinct she could usually trust. There was a feeling in the air, a heaviness settling over the world like dust. As if the world was holding its breath. Something was about the happen. She gripped the wooden railing until her knuckles turned white, watching the endless ocean shift around her.

Of course, then Captain Hook strode over to the man with the red hat - Smee, she'd learned - nearby her on the deck, clenching his jaw too much and grimacing to announce, "We have a problem."

That was the second sign, really.

They were on the foredeck of the Bluebird – a trading galley Hook's crew had captured recently. Regina didn't know why. Nobody wanted to answer her questions. All she knew was that once they'd scrambled to the boats was that Hook told her to stay on the Bluebird. After she caught a glimpse of the crew on the Jolly Roger, she wasn't complaining – which was mostly abandoned. Smee had been left to steer (that wasn't the right word. Regina didn't know anything about... boat talk) and that was it.

Regina could see some kind of commotion going on aboard the Jolly Roger, men shouting and running around, shadowed figures on the rigging like monkeys, silhouetted against the cloud-spat blue sky. The sails, bellied full of air, seemed too big to be real. Not that any of this seemed real.

The unsettled feeling in her stomach doubled as Hook and Smee's voices grew. The overwhelming tingle of freedom in her dancing blood, her golden lungs hadn't faded – it had just made room for discomfort. Regina swallowed, squinting through the handfuls of dark hair the wind to tossed across her face. It was cold out here. The frigid air made her shiver and stiffen as it washed over her skin, tore at her clothes and hair. She'd been wearing the same dress for the last few days. She was surrounded by pirates of all people, unwashed, uneducated criminals who could quite easily rape her and kill her and steal all her gold. And now, apparently, there was something else wrong.

"What is going on?" Regina demanded, glancing sharply between Hook and Smee. She frowned, glance darting between them in the wind as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"Pirates." Hook told her, without looking. The breeze brushed through his short black hair and his leather coat; his eyes were hard beneath his furrowed brow as he spoke to his second mate, ocean reflected in his stare.

"I'm confused." Regina frowned. "Aren't you pirates?"

Hook shook his head dismissively. "Different pirates."

"Different pirates." Regina repeated, in disbelief. To herself, of course. It wasn't like anybody was listening to her. Of course. Just what I need. More pirates. She hadn't even wanted the first pirates. It wasn't her fault she hadn't known before she ran out after them at the docks, terrified of not getting another change, tangled up in adrenaline. And when she saw the flag, emblazoned with the crossed bones of piracy, already on deck, surrounded, she could hardly escape anywhere. Nobody took her seriously when she demanded they take her back to the shore. God. This whole situation was so ridiculous, she almost laughed.

"It's not the Jolly Roger Swan's after." Hook stated grimly. "There's something on here they want, some old map. I don't know. Just don't be an idiot, Smee?"

Smee nodded. Regina's jaw tightened, glancing between the two men. Her heart crashed around in her chest like a caged bird. "What about me?"

Hook stared. He looked at her scathingly, like he'd just noticed she was still there. Or like the idea he'd thought of her part in all of this was ridiculous. Regina glared at him. "I don't know, love. Somehow I don't think Swan's penchant for pretty girls is going to help you here. Just make yourself scarce."

-0-

"Alaric!" The wind tossed Emma's shout high into the grey air and snatched it away. Across the chaos, she caught her first mate's eye. "Take the starboard with Matteo and the rest!" A breathless smile played over her lips. "Gut the bitch."

Emma whirled just in time to raise her cutlass, glinting steel blocking some deckhand's clumsy uppercut with a deafening clangour. She flashed a grin when his panicked eyes darted up to meet hers, before dancing back to summon all her strength and slash across his chest. The boy yelped, raising his sword to block at the last minute – too late. It flew from his grasp, clattering against the rough deck. His wide stare met Emma's again.

All around her the deck of the Bluebird, shifting gently on the surface of an endless ocean, rang to the violent symphony of battle. Her grapples, their grapples glinted together in the sunlight. Men were shouting, coarse voices breaking, grunts and gasps swelling in the cold sea air. The metallic screech of steel clashing with steel grew ever louder, and Emma could hear her own ragged breathing in her roaring ears. Her heart was beating wildly, like some deranged animal in its bone cage, her blood was searing in her veins, wind abrasive an cruel against her skin. Her tangled blonde hair stuck to her neck with sweat, whipped to a frenzy by the wind. The cutlass hilt in her hand was worn and rough.

And Emma loved it.

She never felt so alive as she did in fights like these. With the salt wind in her lungs, and the adrenaline of battle coursing through her bloodstream, she could almost glimpse happiness again. That sounded dumb. Screwed up, like her. But what could she do? The heart wants what the heart wants. I am a pirate after all.

Before she could do something stupid, Emma raised her free fist and channelled all her frenetic, zinging energy into slamming it into the boy's face. She spun around before he crumpled, long coat and the ragged ends of her hair lifting in the breeze, jogging through the madness. Her narrow leather boots thudded against the deck. All around men were locked in combat, swords ringing, blood spilling.

Emma skidded to a stop near the mast, pulse hammering as she searched. She felt her brow furrow, breath caught in her throat. Her stare scanned the fighting, desperate for something, something. There had to be something, she hadn't gone to all this trouble, caused all this pain for – "Swan."

Ugh.

She whipped around, every cell on edge. Why now? Captain Hook, half smirking in front of her, leather coat stirring in the wind. Sighing, she felt her frown deepen. Emma could have rolled her eyes, or screamed in frustration. She did not need this whiny fool in her way now. Clenching her jaw, she reached again for her cutlass, drawing it out with a metallic scrape. It caught the sunlight, flashing gold. "Jones."

"Charming, as usual," Hook cocked an eyebrow.

Emma breathed in the frigid salty air, taking a moment before gathering her willpower and lunging at the moron. He hurried forward to parry, and their blades crossed in the cold pale sunlight. She grunted in exertion, moving fast to meet his every slash. Her muscles were on fire, but in the best away, alive and racing. She darted sideways suddenly, leaving his blade to cut through thin air, before spinning on him and letting her muscles do the rest, hacking hard and fast. Satisfaction bubbled through her chest as she watched the arrogance drop from his eyes with every blow.

As the slant of the deck gave a sudden lurch beneath their feet, Hook stumbled backwards. Triumph welled in her chest. She hammered further, slashing and spinning until he fell back against the deck with a thump. She could see the breath was smacked from his lungs as he lay there, wincing. She hurried to kick his cutlass out of reach. Emma let a faint smile cross her lips. The ocean was on her side.

She stepped forwards, laying the point of her blade over his beating heart. Unevenly sucking air back into her lungs, strands of her floating around her face, Emma pushed under the felt the metal pierce his shirt, prick into his skin. She stayed like that for a moment, waiting for her heart to calm down and her breath to come back, relishing victory and listening to the circling gulls cry overhead. She leaned forwards, looking down at his stubbled face, contorted in pain.

Crackling frenetic energy zinged back and forth in Emma's body, sparking off her bones. "Yield," She managed. Her voice was breathless and rough in her ears. "Yield the Bluebird to me and I'll let you live."

She wasn't lying. Emma might have been a pirate but she wasn't one of his scum ilk. She existed to fight injustice, a violent strike against capitalism and injustice. She killed the brainwashed lackeys that served the good for nothing monarchy. She robbed from them and those who worked for them. She killed when she had to. She killed for her family, her home. Other pirates... Even rivals she despised as much as this worm – she wouldn't kill them unless she had to. She didn't need to. Not a soul knew her reasons but she was still called the most notorious pirate on the high seas.

"Wha –" Hook gasped, twisting under Emma's sword. "What do you want on here so bad – anyway – what's worth –"

"It's no business of yours!" Emma's voice rose against the wind, point of her sword pressing further into his skin. A small red flower was beginning to bloom across his shirt. "Yield to me!"

His eyes found hers with a look of absolute loathing. "Fine," He spat. "I yield."

A slow smile crawled over Emma's lips, warmth spilling through her chest. Another victory. Another hard earned spoil. And maybe – she dared to hope – just maybe she was one small step closer to everything she needed.

-0-

In the dust-choked dark, Regina could hear her breathing in her ears.

Amongst other things. Crouched against one of the rotting barrels, she had never been so acutely aware of her own heartbeat before. Well. That wasn't exactly true. She didn't know where she was. Some storeroom stowed deep below deck, she assumed. It was entirely still; not even the air dared tremble. Regina didn't like it.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Though there were no lights, sunlight seeped through the wood, thin fingers of muddy light prying between the planks and falling softly against the softly shifting floor. Where they touched lit up the swirling dust motes. Dust was everywhere – settling, filmy, on ever surface. It gave the world a quiet, muffled quality. Erased the hard edges. It made Regina antsy: her whole life had been hard edges. She didn't know what to do without them. The still air was stagnant and warm, thick, stifling. The deafening stillness wrapped thickly around everything. It was like the room was sealed off, a perfect bubble. Petals preserved between the pages of time. There were dozens of the barrels down here, neatly stood in rows. She'd tried counting them for something to do, but then there had been a shout above deck like someone dying, and she'd lost count.

She could hear everything. Faintly – the sounds were murky and distorted, like she was listening from underwater, or a dream. To be honest, if this was a dream she wouldn't be surprised. The noises trickled through the splintering wooden boards of the ship, dripping through the cracks, filling up her still silent hideaway. Men shouting in harsh, panicked voices. The metallic clang of steel on steel. Heavy footsteps above Regina's head. Occasionally there was a thump, and a spill of dust fell from above.

Regina could feel her heartbeat in her temples. Her breath seemed far too loud. She tried to hold it, staying perfectly still with her fingertips brushing over the rough wood of the barrels. How much time passed like that she didn't know, hiding in the charcoal shadows and faded light and dust, listening to the fighting above. What the hell am I doing here? Just a few days ago she was lying in her warm, comfortable bed in her family manor on her family estate, waiting for the maids to bring in her bath. Could that be right?

She'd thought her life would go a lot of ways, but crouching in the shadows of a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean waiting for a battle to finish was not one of them.

What the hell was she doing? She'd counted on a simple journey to a new land where nobody knew her. She had not banked on pirate attacks and mutiny getting in the way. Her mind was racing with her bloodstream. And what the hell was she going to do if Hook lost? She hadn't even considered – suddenly her heart was speeding up against her ribs, blood icing over in her flaming veins. Then Regina realized something, and almost jumped out of her skin.

Footsteps. The footsteps were getting louder.

"Damn it," She swore softly, gaze darting frantically from the low boarded ceiling to the storeroom door. No way out. Even if there was, she was in the middle of the damn ocean. Regina scrambled to her feet, stupid dress tangling around her ankles. She was cornered. Like a rabbit in a trap, like –

The door opened.

Regina flinched as the heavy wood clattered open on whining hinges. Heavy footsteps thundering through. The steps down from the door creaking. Breathing. A stream of rough conversation suddenly coming to a stop. She breathed in sharply, stare glued to the shifting floor. Icy heat flooded her neck as she swallowed around the lump of fear lodged in her throat. She could feel eyes on her, standing there like a caught deer in her ragged old dress. She breathed in again, summoning all the courage she could and stepped from the shadows into the dusty light. Willing herself to be brave, Regina's gaze flickered up to the new arrivals.

Her breath caught in her throat.

This was definitely not Hook, and definitely not Hook's crew. Regina frowned. She could feel the furrow between her brows, stare roving over the new entry. There were a few men, dressed in mismatched clothes and stolen jewellery, but they were not gathered around a man.

Beneath a weathered hat, a spill of tangled blonde curls caught the dim light as they fell over the lapels of a long red coat, caught in the ties of a blood-speckled linen shirt. No, this pirate, this captain was, quite clearly, a woman. There couldn't have been much difference in age between them. Regina stared. The captain was staring back at her with hard eyes the colour of the ocean, tracking Regina from head to toe, features curved into a frown.

Could this be... Swan?

They stayed like that, startled, staring at one another amidst the dusty light and rotting barrels for a long time as the rusty gears clicked into place in Regina's mind. Her insides lurched and roiled like the sea around them, the creaking floor beneath them. Swan, Hook had said. Swan. And suddenly she was remembering stories, tales, angry knights at boring balls. Regina's breath caught in her throat as she realised exactly where the hell she was. Cornered, in a tiny dark storeroom in the middle of the sea, and staring at none other than the infamous pirate captain, Emma Swan.

Well, Regina thought, unhelpfully, my day just keeps getting better and better.