He was at the ball.

Emma knew it was him; it didn't matter he had somehow traded the leathers for a long brown coat and had wrangled up a mask to go with the theme of the evening. It was Killian Jones, she was sure.

He had the same swagger, the same confidence he possessed in her bedroom. Riffling through her jewelry, insulting her taste in art—it wasn't her taste and given the chance she would have flung a can of paint over the ridiculous thing to liven it up, but she was required to have everything approved by her father and the king was no connoisseur of the arts—like he had mistaken her room for the deck of his ship and she was the intruder.

She first caught his eye during the fifth dance of the evening: a quick glimpse of blue and he was gone, lost in the crowd. She heard her own gasp sneak past her lips and craned her neck for any sign of him—but there was none.

Could she have imagined it?

Was she finally losing her mind?

Seeing eyes in a crowded room, where everyone was wearing masks, no less. Why would his blue eyes be identifiable? He was a pirate, no one of particular importance.

Shoving blue eyes and dancing pirates masquerading in brown coats out of her mind, she tried to return to where she was. The prince from the east—his name was impossibly hard to pronounce, so Emma had given up trying—had hogged up the two dances he was allowed, and then she had been passed from partner to partner, complimented and forced to make small talk in between the spins and handholding.

Her dress was heavy and extraordinarily tight. The room felt too stuffy, all the windows were shut, though they never opened, and so Emma wondered what the point of them was. The walls were decorated with the royal sigil, red and gold, as if the guests wouldn't remember which kingdom they had entered.

Two dances later she spotted him again, though this time he didn't disappear. She counted: he was four couples away. If she were his partner she would have been entirely put out.

His attention was fixed not on his dance partner, but solely upon her—but it shouldn't have surprised her. Not because she thought herself as stunning as to monopolize his undivided attention, but everything about their brief entanglement had been inappropriate, so their second meeting should not have been anything less.

She couldn't focus on what her partner was saying, something about the lovely music and this being his favorite dance style of the them all, though it always made him dizzy.

Emma was dizzy.

That had to be why she couldn't stop staring.

Had his eyes always been that blue? What was blue, really? This wasn't blue like the sky or blue like the paint, this was something else entirely.

Her mind was turning into a puddle.

There was no contesting this notion.

A small smile played across his face, making her wonder if he already had intentions of showing up at the ball uninvited when he had bid goodbye to her only just that morning.

I trust we'll meet again, Emma Swan.

Did he truly trust? Or did he have a plan?

Then she knew: the compass.

It crashed into her like an out of control carriage, flattening her into the ground. She knew now: he hadn't slinked back into the castle to see her.

Something deflated at this realization, something that shouldn't have even been inflated in the first place. But the compass was hers—it was the only piece of the life she lived in her head, the life that sustained her—, he would have to go through her if he wanted it.

She tore her eyes away, determined to evade him. When the song ended she curtsied and moved down the line, seeing the pirate in her periphery doing the same. He was trying to get closer. She had never been in want of a partner before, there were always plenty of suitors. For a horrifying second it seemed they had all disappeared, until a gentleman appeared in front of her, offering his hand and introducing himself as Mr. Knightley.

She nodded, noting that the pirate was now six couples away.

Mr. Knightley told her about his estate, Dunkirk Abbey, where the gardens were open for visitors because they were so miraculous. He said that people came from all over the world for a chance to see them, namely the kadupul flower that only bloomed under nightfall and died before the rising sun. Emma nodded appreciatively.

It was hard to see him from where she was, but she did not doubt he would be plotting his next move.

Mr. Knightley's hand was sweaty—so sweaty it was beginning to bleed through into her gloves. She smiled kindly, but on the inside felt like a storm was building. Her stomach twisted, her legs were slack and the dance raged on.

David. Her gaze landed on him, dressed in his guard's uniform and standing by the entrance to the ballroom. David would know what to do, he had always kept her secrets, taught her everything he could when it was imprudent to do so. He always looked like he was about to cry on her birthday, which was strange but she figured it was because the gossip among the guards was that his own daughter was killed shortly after she was born. She didn't know who his lover was, since he was always alone and must have cared for her very much if was still loyal to her memory and the death of their child still haunted him.

The song ended and Mr. Knightley bowed, about to ask her for the pleasure of a second dance, when a hand landed on her shoulder.

Damn him.

He was fast.

She turned around, unsurprised to find Killian Jones standing there. His face was still blooming with stubble, though shaving may have helped with disguising his identity. He still had an earring dangling from his lobe, making her wonder how much of an effort he had even put into this ruse.

He smirked at Mr. Knightley over her shoulder.

It was criminal to reject a request, so Emma squared her shoulders and curtsied.

He bowed, still smirking, probably exceedingly proud of himself.

The music began, a long violin followed by a lively piano jig.

"Who did you rob?" She asked him, her eyes trailing his freshly clothed figure. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close, but she pushed back.

Was he trying to get them noticed?

She held out her hand, and he smiled to himself before reaching out his own, so that their palms met in the air. She took a step forward, and he followed, the two of them going around in a circle, surrounded by other dancing couples.

"I take offense, princess," he huffed, "I told you, I may be the richest man you've ever met."

"The prince from the north is quite wealthy. He has a fleet of ships that nears ten thousand. My father is also very rich, he has promised me anything I want. And then there's King Midas, who can turn anything into gold. He sent me a ring in a gold box only three days ago in a gold carriage pulled by golden horses," she returned, though she suspected it was just to elicit a rise out of him.

Killian snorted, but something passed between his eyes and his jaw clenched.

The dance continued and he kept staring at her, making her stomach turn, but she couldn't look away. She had barely eaten anything during dinner, but it felt like too much, like ridiculous butterflies were pushing it all back up. She didn't know what to say, how to break the ice. The music was like an oppressive puppet master, pulling their strings the way they were supposed to go.

It wasn't like they had anything to talk about: common interests—although there was art, weapons, and the sea—, shared personal history, or even friendly get to know you questions.

Because she wasn't supposed to get to know him.

The unspoken compass hung in the air between them.

"My, my," he started, after a few notes of silence had passed between them, "I don't know which I like better. That nightgown or—"

"Stop it," she cut him off, "Why are you here?"

"Now, Swan," he said grandly, "why can't we just enjoy this moment?"

"This is not a moment," she hissed, stealing a glance around them. No one had begun questioning whom she was dancing with—which was good—

No, it was bad. It was very bad. She was not supposed to be hoping to prolong this moment, to dance away with him into infinity.

She was supposed to be waiting for David to realize the pirate was a pirate and not a frilly prince.

Honestly, were those ruffles at his wrist?

"Isn't it?" He smiled, this thumb caressing hers as they danced. "I never took you for an in and out type of affair. I thought you'd want it slow and drawn out," he came closer, "to savor every moment... every touch."

"There's a time and place for both," she answered, adding, "captain."

He looked like he was about to implode.

Had she just beaten him at his own game?

He coughed once.

Scratched behind his ear.

"Why are you here?" Emma pressed, "All I have to do is yell 'pirate' and the guards will be on you in seconds."

"I'd much rather prefer it if you were all over me, princess."

She glared, "Watch it."

He smirked, his eyes flicking down before returning to her face, "I couldn't resist."

She rolled her eyes, which would have given her myriad etiquette instructors seizures. In between the saucy innuendos and thumb caressing, she wondered if this was all an elaborate ruse. Was his crew sneaking into her room at this exact moment with a super secret Compass Detector?

Her jaw clenched just as Killian said, "This is once fancy shindig."

She shrugged, "If you're used to drunk escapades on the deck of a boat. Then yes, I guess it is fancy."

Killian shook his head, his lips in a tight line before he said, "Always belittling me, princess. You'll see."

"See what? You'd have to tie me up yourself and drag me onto your ship to get me anywhere near that thing."

She saw something flash across his expression and then his face was suddenly much closer to hers as they turned slowly, and he said, "I have no qualms about tying you up, lass. It will be something, I can guarantee you, we will both enjoy. But my ship is a marvel and I cannot allow such blatant disregard for her."

It was Emma's turn to snort.

The music came to a close and Killian bowed low, those his eyes remained fixed on hers. "May I have the honor of a second dance, your holiness?"

She glared.

"To sate me," he added, "on my long voyage to come."

She should have said no. It was only proper to say no, given that he was a pirate and she was a princess. He was probably robbing her as they spoke.

But her lack of answer seemed to be a yes, because Killian wrapped her hand in his and glowered ferociously at an approaching lord, pulling her into the dance before the music even started.

Which got David's attention, the guard snapping into defense mode, looking at her for any sign of apprehension.

Emma offered a smile, wondering why she was keeping the pirate's secret and when she had become a slave to blue eyes and dirty innuendos. David seemed to relax, nodding at her once and then going off to staring at his designated point—which seemed to be the queen's throne.

"The burdens of being a sailor are harsh," Killian was saying, his voice wistful, "but the navy is my love."

Her eyes slid towards him and she offered a sardonic smile.

He went on.

"I will carry your image with me, think only of you—nay, dream only of you. Your smile shall sustain me, until the day I return home to you. And I will return, lass, I go to find a future for us, because you deserve all of the world's splendors."

"Does that work?" Emma demanded, trying her best to look unaffected. It was obvious he was laying it on thick, but a part of her suspected, when he really was trying, all he had to do was bat his eyes and he could get anyone to believe what he wanted them to.

"On occasion," he grinned. "Now, back to the matter at hand: the compass. I seek it." He looked her in the eye and said plainly, "You have it."

She was literally wearing a black mask across her eyes, but adopted a look of confusion, her new (and improved) mask. "I'm very sure I don't know what you're talking about, my dear pirate."

"The pet names will not work, lass." He assured her, though she did note the grin he was trying to suppress. "I need that compass."

"I wish I could be of service. I'm sure I could be very… helpful."

He stared at her lips for a long moment.

Emma tried to ignore the wobble in her legs.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Swan, don't make this harder than it has to be."

She clamped her lips together before she let something slip. The final turn of the dance came and something resembling panic flitted across his face. He wouldn't be able to hang onto her for another dance. He might not even get close to her again—unless she did what she always did and cut out early. If she was being pragmatic she should have stayed at the ball all night, that way the pirate would be powerless.

"Where can we meet?" He whispered.

She should have said nowhere.

She should have said anywhere.

She didn't know what to say.

Every answer felt wrong.

"Swan," Killian pulled her closer as the song came to a close.

She bowed once, her eyes on his feet, and when she rose his jaw was clenched, but he did not follow her as she turned away.

She fanned herself, pretending she was exhausted from the dancing, and the crowd cheered, like she had just fought a great battle and was returning home victorious. She nodded at her father, who gave her a stiff smile in return. Immediately a goblet of wine appeared from a servant and she accepted it, taking a seat in between her parents.

Her mask stayed in place as she drank, hoping the alcohol would settle her nerves. She felt his hand on hers, searing through their gloves.

Did she regret not saying anything?

She didn't know.

She must have, because her eyes sought him out. Searching the crowd, she didn't realize her entire body had tensed, a pain shooting up her side as she stopped breathing. He couldn't have disappeared so quickly.

But he had.


Yes, there's more to come. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm to this story! It wasn't even supposed to turn into a multi chapter fic. How awesome was tonight's episode? Please leave me a review, whether it's fangirling about 3x20 (because omg two "Come back to me" and Emma's desperate KILLIAN have just killed me) or anything you want to say about this bad boy! Also I fangirl on tumblr over the same name if you want to follow me there.

Cheers, shipmates!