She comes to as he approaches the dock, but Regina's potion hasn't worn off completely. She's still weak – he can tell it's a struggle for her to open her eyes, but she fights him anyway, struggles in his grip.

"Keep thrashing about like that, and you're likely to be dropped on your pretty head," he growls in her ear. He's tied her wrists, a fact which the long sleeves of her coat covers nicely.

This realm isn't really so different from others. Getting her here hasn't been any trouble – folk see what they wish to see. He carries a woman in his arms, periodically murmurs something sweet close to her ear, and passersby see a man with his sweetheart in the place of a pirate kidnapping a savior.

"You're a bastard." There's fire behind the words, slurred as they are. "You'll pay for this."

"Mouthy for a lass who's let herself be kidnapped." He sighs, setting her onto her wobbly feet. "You've got a fire, love, but you'll do better if you listen to me carefully. No one is coming to save you. You'll be getting on my ship, and we are going for a bit of a sail. Don't try to run. It won't serve you."

Chin up, fierce green eyes flash back at him in the approaching lightning. Even with her long blonde hair loose and dampened by the drizzle, there's an intelligence and determination in those eyes Killian is loathe to see fade. She stares at him in silence, her body rigid with her hands bound before her. He'll cut the rope, once they're out to sea, but it's a necessary precaution at this moment.

"I am not going anywhere, least of all with you."

Killian chuckles. "Like hell," he mutters, looping an arm around her waist that tightens like a steel band. "Walk."

"No. I said, I'm not going anywhere."

"Difficult wench." She kicks violently as he simply lifts her into the air, flings her over one shoulder, and starts down the dock toward the Jolly Roger.

She's stopped struggling by the time he deposits her on a bench in his quarters, the ship already beginning to move. To no surprise of his own, Killian discovered the crew ready to set sail no sooner than his boot hit the deck.

Nary a word is spoken about the flailing lass over his shoulder neither. It pleases him, his crew obedient in spite of their grumblings at doing business with the evil queen.

Emma only glares at him, her words having ceased once he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. A part of him appreciates that, her silent refusal to beg or plead. This is no fair maiden spun of glass, no. Liquid steel sits upon his bench, a woman who will not be tamed for anything. Though her hands are still bound, her chin is up and her spine straight. Killian can't help but admire her.

She doesn't even flinch when he approaches, pulling a knife from his boot. In fact, the expression on her face remained unchanged as he advances on her, grabs the rope with his hook and cuts the ropes from her wrists before replacing the knife.

It's only as he's rising from the task that she strikes, fast as a snake. It's no feminine slap she delivers to his jaw, but a curled fist intent on breaking bone. Sadly for her, Killian has been in many a pub brawl. Jaw stinging, he manages to subdue her in less time than her punch took, both her wrists grasped tightly in his hand.

"I do believe a thank you would have been more polite," is all he says as he meets her defiant expression. Beneath his feet, the familiar pitch and roll of the ship sends a rush of relief through him. They've cleared the harbor - they're on his terms now.

"I am not going to hurt you. You've made yourself a powerful enemy that wishes you take an extended holiday. I shall be your guide." He sketches her a bow, unable to resist a smirk as he does so. "You'll be needing dry clothes. Then I am going to see about a meal."

"You can't keep me here."

"Ah, but I can, lass, but I can. Can you not feel it? We're on the ocean now. Behind me, that window there, all it contains is the wide-open sea. You're free to roam this ship, and you're free to entertain yourself how you see fit, but make no mistakes, your wings are clipped."

Her glare darkens, but Killian releases his grip on her anyway. Rising to his full height, he strips off his coat, annoyed to find his vest and shirt are still damp. Only the Swan girl's stare at his back prevents him from stripping it all off where he stands, though a part of him thrills at the idea, just to see if perhaps he could draw that familiar flicker of feminine interest from her eyes.

Forcing himself to leave the room before he does something he shouldn't, Killian levels one last look at his unfortunate captive. He's surprised to find something in her eyes has changed, something far less cold simmering away in their dark depths as her eyes flicker over him. Meeting her gaze, his lips twist up into an overly cheerful grin. "Hit me again, and I'll have no choice but to replace your bonds."

The lock has yet to click into place before Emma picks up the nearest object and hurls it at the door. Whatever it is, it splinters into a thousand pieces, offering a moment's satisfaction. It's followed by a string of curses and a stomp of her foot, barefoot as it is.

The bastard didn't even put shoes on her feet, though she does notice she's wearing her heavy wool coat over her dress.

How strange – a kidnapper worried about her catching a chill.

Anger turns into curiosity as a small crate slides across the floor and she has to reach for the back of a chair to keep her balance. She's on a boat. On the ocean. With a man with a hook for a hand who appears to either be under the mistaken impression Halloween has come early or is possibly an escaped mental patient.

"All right, Emma, think. You've been in bad situations before." She takes stock of the room, oddly neat. There are rolled maps carefully organized on a shelf, a scarred table and several chests by the walls. There's plenty of light, though its source appears to be entirely made up of hanging lanterns.

He's not lying about being on the water – Emma has been on the sea a handful of times and recognizes the pitch and shift of the floor beneath her…not to mention the faintly queasy sensation in her stomach.

Plus, he did haul her aboard what appears to be a rather old ship, not entirely unlike the ones in Boston Harbor the tourists visit in droves. But what is he doing with one under his apparent command, sailing off into choppy waters with her along as unwilling cargo?

"Obviously, kidnapping. He told you as much." Emma squeezes her eyes closed, hugging the damp coat around herself in a futile effort to get warm. "Happy fucking birthday to me."

The door opens, once again admitting her captor. He's got a stack of neatly folded, somewhat familiar fabric in his hand, which he sets down on the table before leaning back against the door, regarding her through sinfully long eyelashes.

It's shame he's such an attractive man, his dark good looks the sort that would make for an evening of fun in other circumstances. She'll admit, he does look a little bit foolish in the getup he's wearing, though it's at least of high quality. Does it make him more or less crazy to be running around in something other than a Party City knock off costume?

Maybe he's in a play and he's having a nervous breakdown, run off in costume, fancied himself a pirate. She's heard of stranger things.

"Are you off your meds? Is that it?" she demands, refusing to be cowed by his behavior.

"Meds?"

"Medication. For your obvious mental problems."

He lifts an eyebrow at her, and much to her irritation, looks amused. "Now that you mention it, it has been a bit long since I've had a nip." She stares in disbelief as he pulls a battered flask from an inner pocket, popping the cork and taking a long pull from it before holding it out to her.

She eyes the bottle, more than a little tempted to take him up on the offer. It's been a long day, and a bit of liquor could go a long way, but she has to keep sharp if she has a prayer of getting out of this.

"You are unbelievable."

"Aye, I am that and so much more," he agrees easily. Turning his back to her, he crosses the room with three easy strides. Emma stays where she is, irritation rising fresh as he easily sways with the rocking of the ship.

She's trying very hard not to throw up in front of him.

"Lass, you keep on standing there dripping all over my quarters, and I'll be taking that as an invitation to help you dress." Killian offers her a leer over his shoulder before flinging open one of the trunks lining the walls.

With waning regard for the woman behind him, he strips off first the vest, then the shirt, carefully hanging both from a peg in the wall to dry. There's just something fun about pushing her buttons. His back is to her, but he can hear the sharp intake of breath from her, a tiny gasp that makes him wish – badly – he had procured the noise from her by other, more pleasurable means.

Killian turns to face his prisoner, a wicked smirk curling his lips. He's fully aware he cuts an attractive figure stripped to the waist, tanned by his days in the sun. The leather pants have earned him plenty of attention from the lasses before – it's a good bet Emma Swan won't be any different.

Eventually.

"If you're going to go the rest of the way, don't let me stop you. Nothing I haven't seen before," she tells him, a smirk of her own following. It's the last thing he expects from her, but there's a hint of pink in her cheeks, and she's still got her chin up. It reminds him of another woman, a woman whose spirit captured him like nothing else ever has.

A dangerous memory.

"Terribly ungentlemanly to strip before a lady."

"Oh, now I'm a lady?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes and folding her arms over her chest defensively. "Seriously, you've had your fun. What do you want with me?"

"For my part, a tumble between the sheets would be quite enough." She can't tell if he's serious, the way he's leering at her with his bright blue eyes alight with mischief. "Listen, love, it's nothing personal. You seem lovely. But I've been sorely missing a certain appendage for several hundred years and I'd like to get it back, exact my revenge on the nasty crocodile who took it. You're the price."

Emma stares at him, and much to his shock, bursts out laughing. She laughs with her entire body, even her shapely legs quivering as she struggles to get control of herself. "I get it now! Captain Hook, right? The age, and the hook, and the crocodile, and the ship. Amazing. I don't know who put you up to this, but really, enough is enough."

"So you've heard of me?" His arrogance outweighs his bafflement that her response to being kidnapped is to laugh in his face, especially since she seems to have heard of his reputation.

"Yeah, yeah. Is Peter Pan around here somewhere, too?" She makes a big show of wandering the cabin, lifting lids to trunks and peeking under the table. "No? Just you?"

"You shouldn't wish that vile beast's presence. You're much better off in the hands of a pirate."

"Yeah, because some kid who doesn't want to grow up is so terrifying."

"Neverland is a dark place, lass, and Peter Pan the darkest of all. Pan is the most treacherous villain I've ever met."

"You're unbelievable."

"So you've said."

"Whatever. Get out. I'm going to sleep. When I wake up, I expect you'll have gotten tired of this joke."

"You think to banish me from my own quarters?" Killian shakes his head at her like she's a foolish child. "I think not. I'll give you a moment's privacy to change out of your wet things, but I'll not be removed so easily."

Emma simply holds his stare, not moving toward the clothes he's brought. This dress isn't exactly comfortable, and the damp wool is itchy, but she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Stubborn and beautiful. Lovely." Killian crosses the room again, picking up the clothes he's deposited on the table. "Here. You need to get dry. Mr. Smee will be along shortly with something hot to eat. They'll be no bath in this storm, but once you've got some sleep we can see to it. Weather like this, we'll be lucky if it clears before the night is out."

She doesn't take the clothes instantly, nor does she bother to meet his gaze. Instead, her attention goes to the window across from them, rainwater pouring down the leaded glass. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, and she can't suppress the shiver that follows.

"It was barely raining."

"Aye, on shore. The seas are a bit of a trickier business."

She finally takes the clothes from him, held out like a peace offering. The fabrics are surprisingly soft under her hands, and it would be nice to get warm.

"Don't bother trying to bar the door," he tells her as he stands beside it, ready to exit. "I'll be just outside."

"Just go away. Go far, far away," she demands, the fierceness returning to her voice.

"A man spends a long time at sea without female companionship. My crew has been known to lack...well, to lack. No matter. I will stand guard for you, my lady." With a wink, he disappears to the other side of the door. It slides closed quietly, the whisper of the latch a gentle sound barely discernible over the creak of the ship.

Emma stares at the door for a long moment, her emotions over taxed and beginning to spin. "Keep it together," she tells herself sternly, sparing another moment to close her eyes and force her breath to steady.

Her hands are shaking.

She's shocked to find the bundle of clothes are a mixture of items from her own closet and things which are plainly his, thick wool socks and a soft, flowing shirt. It's like she's stepped into another world, with corsets and pirates.

The man wears more jewelry than she ever has.

With a sigh, she shakes out the pants he's left her, thankfully a pair of her own jeans. How – and why – he chose to take them is a puzzle for another time. She ignores the corset – ha! – and pulls the shirt over her head without undoing the buttons. It's big on her, but the looseness is a relief after being poured into that red dress.

She ignores that it smells faintly of him.

Her relief is short lived, Killian opening the door with barely a knock of warning. The man she presumes to be Mr. Smee is with him, a tray precariously balanced upon his meaty hands. In spite of her anger and the pitching of the boat, and her desire to go to sleep and wake up to find out who thought this joke was a good idea, Emma can feel her mouth water at the smell.

She hasn't eaten all day. She didn't even get to enjoy her damn cupcake.

"You sure you won't be needing anything else, cap'n?" Mr. Smee stands by the door, waiting. Emma can feel his eyes on her, roaming, but she's surprised by the sharp command to be gone that leaves Killian's mouth and sends the man scurrying.

"So it's all right for you to stare at me, but not anyone else."

He takes a seat at the table, gesturing to the empty sea across from him. "Pirate I may be, but I've a gentlemen's honor. Mr. Smee thinks a bit muchly of himself at times, forgets his place."

"That was not my question."

"Aye, but that was my answer." Killian's laughter rings out across the room at her shocked expression. Turning to the meal, he tears a hunk of bread from the loaf and dunks it into the thick fish stew. Smee isn't much in the way of manners or smarts, but the man makes a decent enough stew, and the waters of this realm have proved bountiful.

"And do you have more answers, Hook?"

Killian says nothing, but his thoughts burn in his eyes. He wants to shut that pretty little mouth of hers up, and he wants to do it badly. He could think of many more enjoyable employments for the full lips and delicate hands, but he doesn't dare touch her. Too much is at stake to get caught up in the charms of a pretty lass.

Even if her fire makes her all the more attractive.

But no, no that won't do. He's many things, Killian Jones, but he's never forced a woman and he never will. It's one thing to goad her, to tease her, but he won't lay a hand on her.

Until she asks him to.


Totally blown away by the response to this. It's sort of terrifying to try something outside of my usual comfort zone, so it's so nice to see the positive reception. Thanks for reading!