After Emma's awkward pat on his shoulder, James gave an equally awkward smile and turned away, his hands slipping into his pockets. He heard her pause getting into her car and the realization hit him hard, and he felt his gut tighten. There were feelings there. They had only met less than what seemed appropriate for these sorts of stirrings to settle inside of him, but James knew that fondness when it overtook him, his heart beating and his stomach fluttering desperately. He smiled to himself and spun around, calling out her name. "Swan!" he shouted, and his feet took him faster than her words could come out.
James' hand was on her cold cheek and he pressed his lips against hers as she turned to him, and she gave a small gasp of surprise into his mouth before letting her arms fall limp at her sides. He coiled his fingers between her blond curls and pulled her in closer, breathing the air that she breathed. She was finally responding when there was a flash of bright light against James' closed eyelids, followed by images of ships, water, and a man with scaly skin. He was on a ship, and the crocodile skinned man was holding an object, red and bright and beating in his long fingers. James saw a woman with no face, but the black waves of her hair had a familiarity to it that he couldn't shake.
James pulled away, gasping for air. It was as if it had all left his lungs, sucked out into the sky. His head was spinning and his ears were ringing, and he looked up at Emma wide-eyed. She said his name, but it was only the muffled echo he heard. "Did you see that?" he coughed through heaving breaths, but he knew the answer to that question before he asked.
"See what?" Emma snapped, and James heard the unsteadiness in her voice.
What did he see? It had all happened so fast, and he attempted to recall everything that was there – he needed to remember. "There was a ship…" he began, running through the images in his head again. "Water… a man dressed in crocodile skins."
The panic that washed over Emma's face made his stomach turn. She took several steps away from him as he staggered towards her, his brows knotting together in concern. "No, not again…" she uttered, and he strained his ears to hear her.
"Not again what?" He tried to keep his voice calm and steady, but his entire body shook in fear. Fear of what this might mean, and what it was Emma was mumbling about. If she would merely tell him, he could perhaps help her, and maybe it would provide him with the answers to his concerns as well. "The bloody hell is going on, Swan?"
Her fingers were on her car door now, and she swung it open, creating a barrier of sorts between them. James stood rooted to the ground, his eyes coming in and out of focus as the images tried to resurface again. They were so vivid and clear that they felt more like memories, but there was no realism about them; not enough that it could have been rational in this world or lifetime. He was a coffee shop owner, not a pirate captaining a ship. Every blink brought the sea back to him, like it was fastened to the insides of his lids for him to see when he closed his eyes.
"You have to stay away," Emma ordered, holding up a hand at James, trying to tell him to stop moving. It didn't reassure him at all, and he stared with bewilderment as Emma climbed into her car. He spotted the glistening tears building up in her eyes before they disappeared behind the golden locks that dangled in front of her face. The curls that he grew to admire so much; they were hiding the hurt that he had caused. He wanted to tell her I'm sorry, but the words wouldn't come.
"Emma, what–" he managed before she shut the door. She took off without another word, and the light screech of her tires as she slammed her foot on the gas echoed, and she took off into the darkness. He watched her yellow bug disappear, until all he could see were her lights, like little fireflies, before they vanished behind the corner. All he did was stand still in that very spot, his arms paralyzed at his sides and his feet carrying him nowhere, his body hoping and waiting for her to reappear again. So that he could take her in his arms and tell her everything he had wanted to that night but could never find the right amount of courage to do so.
When he was sure that she wouldn't return, he turned and meandered away slowly, his hands slipping back into his pockets to shield them from the chill of the night. He bit down on his bottom lip as he passed the shrubs and bushes that lined the block to his home, a quaint and small house at the edge of town, in a quiet residential area that not many people bothered to venture to. The walk home felt much lonelier tonight, more than it had ever been – that much hadn't changed for as long as James could remember, though he didn't remember much. Since meeting Emma, he had tried to recall when he had opened his shop, when he lost his hand, or when he had voted Regina in for mayor – he must have had a few shots of rum that night. The memories that swirled about in his head were hazy at best, and it only made his headache grow when he thought of them.
Now, there was something far more confusing to occupy his wandering mind.
His keys jingled as he shoved them into the lock of his door and he turned it with a click, cracking it open. He flicked on a light to combat the darkness that awaited him inside, and it was bright and burning against his eyes. James threw the door shut behind him and leaned his back against it, his legs finally craving to give in to the immense weight above them. His shoulders and arms felt heavy, and his temple throbbed in an unwarranted pain. He wanted to scream into his hands, to shake off the images of the sea and the ships from his vision, but they appeared every second he closed his eyes. It was just a kiss, he thought to himself angrily, and there was a twinge of regret in his chest.
Instead of shouting, he raised his arm and with a good swing, threw his keys across the room. The metal hit a mirror hanging above a table on the opposite wall, cracking it. James approached it, stifling the groans that wanted to come out, and he stared into it, his reflection a broken image of himself glaring back at him with glazed eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled down the broken mirror after studying himself for a while. Pieces fell to the floor at his feet and he stepped over them, crossing the living area to the couch. He allowed himself to fall and he slumped onto the leather sofa.
"The bloody hell is happening to me?" James muttered under his breath, and he buried his face in his hand. He wiped the sweat that dripped at his brow and moaned in frustration as he saw the ship again, the picture burnt into his mind, and he couldn't get it out. One kiss, and suddenly things begin changing within him and around him. Everything about his home that was once comfortable was no longer – he had to shift on the sofa several times before finding a position that was relatively bearable – and the dim light from the lamps made his eyes ache.
James sat against the back of the chair and rested his head. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a while; if he let the images sink in, they would finally disappear. All he saw was black for a moment before it appeared in front of him again – this time, it was the crocodile skin-clad man with his long and wavy hair, and he had a sword in his hand. And then clang! James could see the entire scene unfold below him, and he was watching from above, his presence unknown to the two dueling men on the ground. They were fighting furiously, their swords crashing together. Both were clearly skilled swordsmen, but the crocodile seemed to have the upper hand. He gazed closely at the other man, trying to get a decent view of his face, but he wasn't able to. No matter which way they spun, his face always remained hidden. All James could see was that his hair was as black as the long leather coat he wore over a red vest. His ringed fingers were coiled around the sword and he swung with such desperation, his cries and groans echoing off of the walls in the courtyard.
The crocodile gave the pirate a good punch in the face and he fell to the floor, landing hard on his hands and knees, and James awoke again with a jolt, and there were dribbles of sweat on his cheeks again. Confused, he climbed to his feet and inhaled a deep sigh, and the air felt more musky than usual. Perhaps it was time for bed, but he condemned the thought of having to go through that again – to see the memories of a man he didn't know. This wasn't him, and he couldn't grow to believe it. Sleeping it off may help, and it might be about time to pay Dr. Hopper a visit in the morning. He would find no benefit from working under these sorts of conditions anyway.
Just go to sleep James. That is what he would do.
It took him a while to get undressed; his arms felt far too heavy to lift high above his head, but he still somehow managed to slip out of his shirt anyway. The cold air of his bedroom hit his chest in one wave, the wind through the window a welcome relief of the heat that had taken residence in him all evening. James breathed out, releasing all of the air in his lungs before falling back onto his bed, his bare back hitting the cool covers with a thump, and he immediately felt himself sinking in and drifting away. He wanted to sleep, but his eyes were afraid to close, fearful of what was awaiting him in the darkness of his dreams.
James allowed the tiredness to wash over him, every muscle in his body unwinding into the sheets and pillows. "Goodnight, world…" he whispered, and at last, the universe faded to black.
"Killian, what do you think?" She spun around, her hair falling over her shoulders as she held out the red vest in front of her chest. She was beaming from ear to ear as she swayed back and forth.
The man at the table laughed with her. "I think it suits you well enough, love," he assured her, leaning back in his chair. "I told you that it would, and you agree, wouldn't you say?" He was wearing the same red vest and black coat that fell lazily to the floor, but his face was a mere shadow in the light flickering from the lantern, and any time he was close to emerging from the darkness, he would fall back in. There was a silver hook on his left hand, and it glistened when he turned it on the table. "Try on that coat, Milah."
Milah. She lay the red vest down carefully on the bed and plucked the long black coat from it, similar to the one this Killian wore and threw it over her shoulders. It whooshed behind her and then fell. The coat extended down to her ankles in the back, with large silver buttons sewn on it, and they shone in the yellow light. "I love it," she said breathlessly, examining herself in front of the mirror. Milah twirled several times, her arms extended out on both sides of her, and there was a new found freedom written all throughout her face.
Suddenly, the room froze and the mirrors bled, and black blood seeped from their cracks. In the middle of the scene, the crocodile man stood with a red beating heart in his hands, and it was glowing with fervor. Fear inhabited the room and a chill fell over James, as he, once again from above, watched – paralyzed and unable to shout down to them. Milah was gasping for air now as the crocodile crushed what could only be her heart, while the pirate sat still. Bloody do something, you halfwit, he raged to himself inside, waiting for the man to jump up to the woman's aid.
There was an eerie laugh that reverberated throughout the room, and suddenly, Milah fell to the ground, her body lifeless. When James glanced back at the crocodile, the heart that was once beating in his fingers had turned to sand, and it was blowing in the absent wind, covering the floor of the cabin. Then, like a movie, it all faded away and the last thing James saw before he awoke to the sun peering through his curtains was endless darkness.
He rolled over onto his side, the sheets sticking to his moist back and he squinted at the time blinking on the clock next to his bed. 7:32 AM. It was still much too early for a visit to Archie's – the man wouldn't even be on his way yet. James hoisted himself upright and pushed back the hair from his eyes. His forehead was clammy from the sweat as well. A cold shower would fix that problem.
After showering and shaving, he got dressed, pulling a plain sweater over an even plainer white t-shirt – the clouds looked like they were rolling in again. It was the season for storms in Maine, and they needed to be prepared for rain or shine. He left the house after several moments of deliberation, uncertain if talking to Archie was his best plan of action. If perhaps there was someone better to discuss matters with rather than the shrink who would likely tell him that they were only dreams, and perhaps even hallucinations. Other than Dr. Hopper, there was only one other person in this town who might have the imagination to grasp the images better than anyone. These dreams were so vivid that they felt more like memories, but James had to continuously remind himself of how farfetched it all sounded. Nevertheless, he made the decision and had a quick change of plan.
Instead of turning and making his way to Archie's office, he instead turned for the school. He was bound to find him wandering outside – the kid hadn't many friends, James noted, and he felt that pang in his chest. He cranked up the volume notch of his car and listened to the weather report. "We're looking at more rain over the next few days as the clouds start to roll in. They'll be hanging around for a while so get those umbrellas of yours and maybe even your best pair of rain boo-" He had heard enough of that, and switched it off with a sigh, but the news of more storms didn't leave him surprised.
There were only a handful of kids in the school yard when he pulled up across the street. He watched around for the boy, but couldn't spot him anywhere. He did, however, find someone he wasn't expecting to see so early – Henry's teacher and Emma's roommate, Miss Blanchard. James swung his car door open and crossed the deserted road. "Miss Blanchard!" he shouted, and he successfully caught her attention. She turned, startled, a pile of books held securely in her arms. It wasn't until he stopped in front of her that he realized the trepidation of their meeting – the likelihood that Emma had told her everything hadn't come up, and his cringe was immediate. He managed to keep most of his composure as she approached him.
"Oh, hi James," she said, clearly confounded by his sudden appearance. "What are you doing here so early?"
James motioned to her books and beckoned them towards him with his finger, and she hesitated for a moment before throwing them into his arms with a breathy 'thank you'. His knees buckled beneath the weight – they were heavier than he had expected. "I'm looking for someone," he finally admitted as they began their mindless walk to the building. "The mayor's boy." He gave her a nervous smile, praying to himself that she didn't think it was odd for him to be searching for Henry at the school.
"Henry?" Miss Blanchard asked, her face perking up. She didn't seem suspicious, much to James' relief, and he nodded, rebalancing the books under his chin.
"Aye, that lad," he grumbled, trying to catch the book that fell from the top of the pile before it slammed against the ground. Blanchard caught it with surprising skill and swung it under her arm. "Have you seen him?"
Blanchard nodded and pointed past James' shoulder. He caught a glimpse over his shoulder of a brown-haired boy sitting alone, stooped over his storybook that sat snugly on his lap. He was reading it; his face wrinkled with concentration like any young child's would be with a book that size. James could see him mouthing the words while his dark eyes scanned the page. "He always comes really early."
"I'll bring these books up to your class in a moment, Miss Blanchard," he assured her after quickly rearranging his thoughts. He must have broken the daze she had fallen into, because she jumped at the sound of his voice.
"Please, just call me Mary Margaret."
He exchanged a smile with her, James' mouth twitching upwards around the books as she stalked off, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. As she disappeared behind the large glass doors, he could finally let out a sigh of relief. Emma hadn't told Mary Margaret yet – that or she was very good at pretending there was nothing wrong with the situation in front of her. He had hoped that it wasn't the latter, and that Emma was perhaps uncomfortable with discussing the events the prior night, or she hadn't found the chance to tell her. Either way, James was solaced by the fact that the teacher didn't make their meeting as awkward as it could have been.
James dropped the books down onto the bench beside Henry, who looked up from his book, startled. "Oh, hi James!" he said, more surprised to see him with his teacher's supplies than much else. "What are you doing here?"
He took a seat on the other side of the boy and turned to him, not wanting to waste any time they had before the bell rang. "I need you to tell me everything you know about this curse and that storybook of yours," he said calmly, and he watched Henry's face light up, the smile that had already appeared on his face growing wider. The excitement that someone might believe was as clear as the glint in his eyes.
"Why the sudden interest?" he asked. Henry closed the book carefully and gave the hardcover a good pat before crossing his hands over it, almost as if he was protecting the contents inside from prying and unwanted glimpses. "No one ever believes me."
Perhaps now someone will. "I had a dream last night," James began; trying to word his sentences carefully and in a way that would make all of this seem less crazy. "After I kissed Emma, there were–"
Henry's jaw dropped and he interrupted James, sputtering. "You kissed my mom, too?" he spat, somehow affronted by the idea of his mother's lips touching James'.
"Too?" James shot the boy a look of disbelief. He hadn't known someone else had kissed her, and he wondered who it might have been. Likely the sheriff, but he was not in a place to jump to such conclusions, and so quickly. "Why, who else was kiss – you know what, that doesn't matter." He paused to watch the shifting on Henry's face. "I wanted to figure out what those dreams mean, and why I'm having them, and I need your help, lad."
Henry gave his book a few good taps, knocking on the cover loudly with his knuckles. "You're not in here." James opened his mouth to retort, but before he could form the words, Henry continued. "There are a few things that I can tell you from what I figured out, though; from other stories."
That was slightly relieving, James thought to himself. He was worried that he had ventured here for nothing and would have to make an awkward exit. As if running into Mary Margaret wasn't enough, he didn't need more situations that made him feel uncomfortable about asking such unusual questions. "Anything about ships, or perhaps a hook?" He knew the answer to his question before he had even asked, but it was the best place to start – open with the simpler matters. He was Captain Hook, after all. There would surely be some information pertaining to the visions of the sea he dreamt of.
"Do you want to know everything?" Henry asked, and he pursed his lips together in uncertainty, and James shifted uneasily in his seat.
Everything. He said it in such a serious manner that James almost regretted asking. What did that even imply? The word held such a heavy meaning – was he even ready for the knowledge the young boy had? He stared at Henry with a frown, carefully contemplating his answer, and whether he really did want the details, good and bad. From what he heard through Emma during their last meeting, there were some things that he preferred to leave the box closed on. "Yes," James answered slowly. "Everything there is to know."
Henry turned on the bench so that he was facing James. "What did you dream about?"
Counselled by a ten year old – as if James' life could get much more interesting. "There was a woman, and she was aboard a ship with a man – who had a hook for a hand – and everything was going fair until…" He had to stop to take in a breath, pushing the nervousness away. The eerie dream that haunted him last night felt more than a dream. Everything about it was vivid and real, and that's what scared him the most. "There was a man with a heart in his hands, and he crushed it."
Henry's brows laced together ever so subtly, but James could see him thinking about this. "What did the man look like?" he asked. He threw the book open and feverishly flipped through the pages, searching for something.
"He looked… much like a crocodile." James watched him turn the pages in frenzy. It seemed that Henry knew what he was looking for, it was only a matter of finding it first. When he stopped, the illustration displayed on the page made James' stomach turn over several times. "That's him!" James jabbed a finger at the book and his jaw loosened, but he was unable to form much more than that. That was the man in his dreams, the one who crushed the woman's heart – Milah's heart – in all of the visions he had so far. There was no mistaking the scaly skin or the elaborate leather apparel.
"Rumplestiltskin," Henry told him nonchalantly, not giving much acknowledgement to the panic on James' face. "His wife died."
Upon closer inspection of the pictures, the familiarity in the face was much stronger now. In his dream, the man's face was mostly a blur, and he could barely make out his features; he reminded James of someone, and putting his finger on who was troubling. "Did he venture to Storybrooke as well with the curse?"
There were a few moments of quiet between them, the only noise coming from the birds singing their usual morning melodies. Henry hummed faintly to himself, consumed in deep thought, and he looked up at James with doubt. He understood the boy's concerns; if these dreams meant anything, it might put Henry, James, and this Rumplestiltskin character at risk, as strange as it was to say. James shuffled closer to Henry and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. "It's alright, lad," he said with a smile. "You don't have to trust me; I understand why you may find this information worrisome, but no harm will come to anyone. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Henry said sternly before grinning wider. It seemed to get through to him because immediately, he went on to explain the story of Captain Hook and Rumplestiltskin, most of it being what he had already heard from Emma. Henry was much more knowledgeable of the subject, telling this carefully woven tale with a certain vigour and enthusiasm that James hadn't seen in the sheriff.
"I think Rumplestiltskin is Mr. Gold…" Henry pondered, and James nodded – it was just like Emma had said. "He was the one who took your hand a long time ago."
Because the pawnbroker with a limp is capable of such heinous crimes, James mused to himself. "So this is why I am lacking a left hand?" he restated, trying his best to grasp what the lad was telling him, and Henry responded with a nod.
"And where is this fabled hook of mine?" James had several ideas of where it could be, based on the information he'd gathered. "How did the curse happen?" After all of this, he still hadn't gotten the answers to those questions. After all of the discussions, he hadn't the slightest clue of how they had landed in Storybrooke. The lack of memories and the I don't remembers were beginning to make sense to him, as implausible as the entire situation was. He could conjure no other explanation other than sheer fabrication of memories, like magic.
It was then when Henry nudged the book into James' hands, and he felt the weight of it on his arms. The hardcover was heavy, and the many thick pages only added to its density. "What are you giving me this for, lad? This is your book…" James fumbled, confused.
"Everything you need to know about the curse and Emma are in there," he pointed out, but then his tone suddenly shifted, and he was cautious. "Just whatever you do, don't let my mom find it."
If by his mother, Henry meant Regina, there would be no worries about her discovering the book. The mayor paid no mind to the barista and his quiet coffee shop at the edge of town; he minded his business and she kept to hers. There was only the one time she had paid him a visit that he could only barely recall, and that was when he had first opened his shop. He couldn't remember even voting her in for mayor, or if he even bothered – he wasn't fond of the woman. What year was that? "You have nothing to fear," James reassured him again. "Your mother never stops by my shop, she is not about to begin. She hasn't a reason to."
"Just promise that you won't let her get it," Henry begged. "If she does, bad things will happen."
James nodded stiffly, not letting his mid run away with that. He glanced up at the library clock looming over the town. "It's about time you got to class," he mentioned to Henry, and he ruffled his fingers in his brown hair. "I've got to take these up to Miss Blanchard before I go." He got to his feet, shortly followed by Henry, who took half of the pile into his arms.
"I'll help you."
James followed Henry up the stairs and through the main doors into the school. The halls were almost deserted, save for the few children who had arrived early, and the teachers mingling amongst themselves with hushed voices. Many of them stopped to give James a wave and a giggle, to which he responded mostly with quick and awkward nods.
Henry shot several snickers over his shoulder at him, and when James had managed a long 'Whaaat?' that Henry burst into giggles. "It's like all the girls in this town know who you are," he teased, and James glowered. "They all wave and giggle like the girls in my class do."
Don't make this anymore awkward than it already is… "Is this your room?" They had come to a stop in front of a door lined with what looked to be paper flowers, and the desks inside were aligned perfectly. He spotted the dark-haired teacher at the front, her head bowed low over the files on her desk. She looked to be hastily marking homework, and James knocked softly on the door. She finished scribbling what she had started before glancing through her lashes, and jumped to her feet, promptly crossing the room to them.
"Here Henry, I'll take those from you," she said, and Miss Blancha – Mary Margaret took the books into her own arms with some minor readjustments. "Why don't you go return those library books that are long overdue?" She scurried him out the door, and James noticed her eyes flitting down to the large brown storybook tucked under his elbow.
James propped the books on the nearest desk and held out the titled Once Upon A Time across his hands. "Where did the boy get this? It's beautifully bound and the illustrations are…" He paused as his breath hitched in his throat, recalling the one page with the man he recognized all too well. James blinked at Mary Margaret as she reached out and ran her fingers delicately over its cover.
"I was the one who gave it to him," she said, but she seemed almost sad, much to James' dismay and… well, he didn't do well with upset women. That much was proven the previous night. "I felt like he needed something – a reminder – that everyone can find their happy ending." She smiled to herself, and it was almost as if she was elsewhere, her eyes glazed over and she paid James no heed. "Some paths are just much harder than others."
It was his voice that brought her back to him, because she shook her head, surprised, when he spoke up again. "There's a lot about this curse he's been on about in here," he mentioned, and the concern managed to slip its way through the cracks in his voice. It was silent between them for a few quick seconds before Mary Margaret nodded, fiddling with the ring on her finger. "Who does he think you are?"
Mary Margaret laughed, breathy and nervously. She clearly sensed the seriousness of his question because he spotted her shifting uncomfortably on the balls of her feet, pressing her palms together as she inhaled deep. "Oh, it's silly," she protested, waving him off.
"Whoever it is he believes you to be," he began to console her. "It's certainly not a swashbuckler who's resided in Neverland with a revenge festering inside of him for hundreds of years." That managed to extract another, calmer laugh from her.
"Snow White," Mary Margaret answered without much hesitation. She rocked back and forth, her skirt swaying at her knees.
James gave the book a good tap with his knuckles and winked at her. "I'm about to discover some interesting facts about you as well then, love." He bid her a farewell with a lingering smile and turned to the door, but he was stopped by her call to him.
"If you're going to see Emma," she began slowly, and her brows knit together with worry. She was fidgeting with the ring again. "Please take care of her."
So Emma did tell Mary Margaret – or else how did she know that they had even met with each other again? If Mary Margaret did know of the kiss that had taken place the previous night, then she did a mighty fine job of hiding it from him, and he was uncertain if he was feeling grateful or angry with her. Nevertheless, he smiled at her and made for the door again, leaving the teacher standing alone in her classroom with the books in her arms.
xxxxx
James took a bench on the dock where the air was cooler than usual. He felt calmed by the water – it was the sound of the waves and the mist that occasionally hit his face, and he preferred it out here. It was quieter and most of the townsfolk never bothered to venture to the harbour on days like these. He sat with the book laid across his lap, but hesitated – scared of what he might find inside. Henry had told him that there was very little information pertaining to Captain Hook, but the beginnings of the curse were written in the pages of this very book. If James were to find out what all of this meant, he would need to follow along with the facts of the curse itself.
Not that it was real, of course; just humouring his curiosity.
He flipped open to the first page to the illustration of a castle, high above the rocks and water. The second and third and the rest after told the story of the prince and princess of that kingdom, loved by many, and about the evil queen who had wanted to destroy their happy ending – he hadn't the slightest idea why. They all looked awfully familiar to him, but it could have been a simple coincidence. As he continued to read, his eyes scanning the pages thoroughly as if searching for a particular answer – signs of the pirate captain – and he landed on the final pages. Their child who had been sent through a portal, to come and rescue them and break the curse twenty-eight years later. When he stared closer at the blanket wrapped securely around the baby, sew into it in purple thread was her name – Emma. She brought it with her through the enchanted wardrobe, and where she ended up, only the ends of that tale knew.
It could have only been an accident that it had ended up like this. A fluke that her name was Emma, and that she arrived on her twenty-eighth birthday, and things in the town had begun to spin out of control. Somehow, Graham had died and a stranger rolled in on his motorbike, only to suddenly disappear as well. A coincidence that the moment he had kissed Emma, he felt as if his only life had taken a sudden turn. Every moment that his eyes were closed, he could see scenes unfolding before him that he had never seen before, all because he kissed her. There was something about the sheriff that drew him to her – maybe it was her dazzling personality, or the way her blond curls fell over her shoulders, or how brightly she smiled when he agreed to be a part of Operation Cobra, all for Henry's sake. He couldn't help but want more.
He pushed those thoughts out of his head and proceeded to close the book. It was clear that Emma hadn't wanted to see him after last night. He needed to respect her wishes, despite how much he wanted to see her – to tell her that he was sorry, and hold her until all of her tears had run dry, but he couldn't. All he could do was return to his coffee shop, and wait until she was ready, if she would ever be. It would be Emma who would pay him the first visit, and James would be there waiting for her. He had been sitting for longer than he anticipated, and when he got to his feet and allowed himself a decent stretch, extending his arms behind his back before plucking the book from the bench and turning back to his car.
It was then when he felt a body collide against his, and the book fell open on the ground. "I am so terribly sorry," James sputtered, fumbling to snatch up the storybook. When he safely tucked it beneath his arm, he looked up to find the mayor standing over him, her lips pursed together sternly. "Regina…" was all he managed.
"It's Madam mayor," she reminded him stiffly, and James narrowed his eyes back at her. "What are you doing all the way out here? Don't you have a coffee shop to run?" The smile on her red lips made James' stomach churn uncomfortably. There was something else behind it that reminded him of why he never liked her.
"I was just heading their now," he said, straightening his back. He held the book together, remembering Henry's only conditions – the one woman who was not supposed to find out was standing in front of him, obstructing the path to his car. "If you'll excuse me, Madam Mayor." He made to push past her, but she stopped him with a leather-gloved hand on his chest, and he saw her eyes dart to the book he was attempting to conceal.
Regina jabbed a finger in the direction of the book, and she bent across him to stare over his shoulder, the displeasure distinct on her face. "Where did you get that?"
Where I obtained this is none of your concern, he had wanted to snap back. James stood his ground against her, not once dismantling his strong composure. They stared one another down for a long time sternly, neither of them yielding beneath the heaviness of the air. "Your lad asked me to hold onto it for him for the time being," he answered sharply. James immediately backed away from her as she reached to snatch it from his arms, and Regina recoiled. He sensed the anger that emanated from her now, and it only made him step away further.
"Need I remind you that Henry is my son, and that is his book, so I can take that out of your hands."
He had finally managed to sidle past her to his car, and he unlocked the door before saying another word to the mayor, throwing the book into the back seat. "You needn't remind me of such things, Madam Mayor," James mocked. "I've been in the mood for a good read for quite some time. Perhaps this will provide me with inspiration." James rolled his eyes at her and opened he driver's door, pausing to hear her retort.
"I hope you haven't forgotten who runs this town, Mr. Peters."
Are you supposed to be implying something with that statement? James puckered his lips together, stifling those words from falling off of his tongue. "I am very well aware of who has the upper-hand."
"Well…" she uttered softly with a self-satisfied grin, seemingly unaffected by his sudden attitude. "Then I do hope you find what you're looking for." Regina spun on her heel and stalked away briskly, her heels clacking noisily against the cement.
He climbed into his car and watched Regina leave the docks. It seemed that she had no business wandering there, only to ask him about how he had procured the storybook from her son. It was odd that he'd run into her, to say the least. When she had disappeared from his sight, he drove off, but not in the direction of his café. There was somewhere else James had wanted to be before returning, and his curiosity was not going to give in until he found what he was looking for, if he could even be sure what it was he was searching for anymore.
Answers. He wanted answers. He was searching for something that would explain the dream, or why it played over so clear in his head, or who Milah was. The only other place in this town that James imagined he might find a solution or hint was Gold's shop. As much as he dreaded seeing the man in passing on the streets, venturing into his shop was not in his usual daily routine, but James had to make an exception if he was going to pry these images from his head and put them away to rest forever.
The town was fairly small in size, so it didn't take him long to come to a halt in front of the pawnbroker's shop. It was dark and dreary, James could see through the windows, but he spotted the hint of a light flickering behind the blinds. Gold almost never left his shop unattended, and if he did, the door would most certainly be locked tight. Slowly, James crossed the street and reached his hand out for the door, giving it a careful turn. Unlocked. The door creaked as he opened it slowly, poking his head inside and looking for a sign of Gold, but the man was nowhere to be found. James shut the door as quietly as he could behind him and stepped into the dim shop, glancing around at the trinkets that littered the shelves.
There were many things that he could immediately spot that looked like they could have belonged in one of the fairy tales he had learned. There were lamps that a genie could have resided in, sculptures that might have been made centuries ago, mobiles dangling from the ceiling – anything he could have dreamed of and more. He moved on to the glass cases near the back of the store, and that was where he found what he was looking for. An entire section dedicated to ships, anchors, and knotted ropes. Sitting on top of the shelf was a scale model of a pirate ship, painted brown and blue and yellow.
James crouched and stared past his reflection through the glass, getting a better look at what sat behind it. He spotted pieces of a ship – old and tattered pieces of fabric, rope, and then something silver caught his eye. A metal hook was perched atop a fabric scarf of sorts, and it glistened in the light. James' eyes darted between his left hand and the hook, and for a moment – just a moment – he wondered if that's where it had truly belonged; if, in some other life, he really did have a hook for a hand.
"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Peters?"
James jumped at the sound of the cold, drawling voice that came from the other side of the counter. When he got to his feet, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he came face to face with Mr. Gold, who seemed just as displeased to see James. "Oh, I was just taking a look around," he sputtered, awkwardly scratching the itch at the back of his neck.
Gold nodded, and the smile on his face reminded James very much of the one Regina had on during their encounter. "I see you've taken a keen interest in my collection of ships," Gold pointed out, and he gave the case a tap with his cane.
"A curious interest, more like," James corrected him, and he forced a grin that Gold was not falling for.
The shop owner was stepping out around the counter now, teetering on his limp as the cane thumped against the wooden floors. He stopped just short of James and leaned on the counter next to the ship, and he admired it before waggling a finger at him. "This ship is rumoured to contain magic," he began, as if James cared much for what the man had to say. "Legend says that the Jolly Roger is made of enchanted wood."
James cocked an eyebrow at Gold. "Legend says…" he emphasized, trying to make a point. He couldn't explain why, but being in the presence of this man kept him on edge. He didn't trust Gold, and every movement he made closer to James was an excuse to inch closer to the door. There was something very commanding about Gold, but James could easily challenge it. "What makes you say this?"
Gold shrugged, his mouth turning down into an apathetic frown. "None of the items in this case are for sale."
James blinked up at him, but Gold didn't budge under his icy glower. "I'm not interested in purchasing from our shop." He watched their reflections move in the silver hook behind the glass, and James shifted onto his other foot. "I've never been in here and I thought I might take a look around before I headed back." He knocked his knuckles against the countertop and awkwardly made to leave. He paused to examine one of the mobiles that hung from the ceiling, spinning it delicately with his fingers. The glass chimed together gently as it spun, catching the light from the lanterns. The mobile felt familiar, too… like something else he had seen in the book. He would have to take a closer look again when he arrived home later that night.
When James reached the door, there was a shake of hesitation as his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, ready to turn it. Gold's voice called out to him and he stopped in his tracks, hearing the coldness return in the man's voice.
"Mr. Peters," he said calmly, and James listened over his shoulder. "Don't ever come back into my shop again."
Ouch. "I hadn't planned to," James admitted with a sarcastic smile. "You enjoy your week, Mr. Gold." The door opened with a click again and the little bell jingled as he stepped outside. What was it with the sudden tension in the townsfolk this morning? Both Regina and Gold were agitated and high-strung… as if that was different from any other time he had had the misfortune of encountering either of them.
It wasn't even nine o'clock and already, his day had taken more unexpected turns than he would have liked. How many more before I can get back to my shop?
Earlier, he had considered making a stop at Granny's Diner just down the street for some breakfast – his stomach could use it after all of these odd meetings this morning, but he'd begun to wonder if it was truly the best idea. That was no way to live – living in the shadows of anxiety that he might run into someone else who may only ruin his morning. The solution to that problem was clear: go anyway. Her diner was within walking distance, down the block and around the corner. James slid his hands into his pockets and resolved to head there for a quick bite of breakfast. A simple bagel with cream cheese might do, or a few bites of Granny's pancakes would surely cheer him up.
He had arrived no more than five minutes later, and he entered the bustling diner, many of the residents picking up their morning coffee and breakfasts before their days began. Some turned and greeted him, but it was Ruby's eye he caught when he approached the countertop, and she shuffled over to him, pushing past Granny. "Morning, Ruby," he said drearily, but her smile was the brightest thing he had seen all morning.
"Will it be the usual for you?" she asked in her familiar perky voice. James shook his head and her jaw dropped ever so slightly in surprise. "Or are we changing things up this morning?"
James sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I think it's about time we do something different," he laughed. "I can go for some pancakes and a cup of coffee this morning."
Immediately, Ruby had started to prepare his drink and took his order to the back. The diner always smelled its best in the morning: a healthy mix of hashed browns, bacon, pancake batter, and the heavy aroma of coffee – one that he was all too accustomed to. "You seem kind of beat this morning," she said sadly, leaning over the counter with his steaming cup of coffee. "What's got you down, captain?"
His stomach wrenched at the word. Captain… if she had only understood the irony. It held a heavier meaning than it used to and he was sure he didn't like it. Regardless, he was not about to spill the curse beans to Ruby. "Just had a rough morning is all," he answered, and took a sip of his coffee. The warmth washed down his cold throat and he could feel the heat spreading to his cheeks.
Ruby smiled wide at him. "Well, you came to the right place." She went quiet for a moment, contemplating on how to word her next sentence, and James had a suspicion that he knew what was coming. "So I heard you had a date with the sheriff last night."
Nailed it. "Where did you hear that from?" Either Swan was going about the town explaining it to everyone, or he was not aware they were being spied on last night. How much more did the townsfolk know?
"Word travels around here quickly, you know," Ruby said in a sing-song voice; as if he was supposed to know these things. "A lot of ladies have their eyes on and hearts set out for you; you just choose not to see it."
"I'm not interested," he snapped through his coffee. "And it wasn't a date."
Ruby laughed between her breaths. "You're starting to sound just like her, you know." When James shot her a look of confusion, she explained. "Emma, I mean. You're starting to sound like Emma." She had made her own cup of coffee and brought it to the counter, and she was stirring it absentmindedly, her elbows propped on the counter. Granny was uttering words under her breath to Ruby about the customers in line, but the girl ignored them.
"No I'm not," James said adamantly, but it only made Ruby snicker more.
"The more you say no, the more you remind me of her."
He couldn't bite back the squelch his own chuckle – as much as he didn't want to admit it, what Ruby said was true. When he thought about it, she was always talking like that in their conversations. Always denying everything, always so sharp and ever the tight-lipped; even when he kissed her… James licked his lips thoughtfully ad took another gulp from his cup. "Can I ask you something?"
"One sec." Ruby held up a finger and departed, but returned only seconds later with his pancakes.
James inhaled deeply before continuing, wondering how he was going to word this. He'd always liked Ruby – she was easy to talk to and didn't enjoy discussing the latest gossip. He could trust her to tell him if there were townsfolk spreading falsities about him throughout the town, and that she wouldn't talk about what he'd said when he was gone. For the majority of his time he remembered being in Storybrooke, Ruby was his only good friend, and he was thankful to her for that. He picked up his utensils and shoved a large bite of pancake into his mouth. "If I kissed Emma–"
"You kissed Emma!?" she interrupted, her voice quiet beneath the buzzing of the diner. Her jaw dropped.
James glowered at her, his brows telling her don't interrupt me, and she calmed herself. Was it so surprising that he did? "If I kissed Emma – hypothetically – and she told me not to come near her, and drove off in tears, should I approach her about it?"
Ruby cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you really that bad of a kisser?" she snorted.
"Ruby, please."
"Sorry." She gave his hand a pat and rested her head on her hand, arching over the counter to get closer to him, preventing their conversation from being overheard. "I don't know… this is Emma we're talking about."
She had a point. Emma was as unpredictable as an oncoming storm over the sea – you never know how bad it's going to get until you find yourself in the middle of it. Or at least, that was the impression James had always taken.
"Except you really did kiss her, didn't you? This isn't a hypothetical question."
"Damn your bloody intuition." James chewed on another chunk of fluffy pancake before continuing. "So do you suppose I should leave her be until she's ready to talk to me?"
Ruby shrugged, going back to stirring her coffee, but never drinking it. "Well, if there was something that upset her about it, then maybe you should find out what it is so that you can fix it?" She chewed on her stirring stick contemplatively for a while, waiting for James to respond.
"She was really hurt, Ruby," he said, and James heard his own voice breaking. He bit down on his lips and looked up at the waitress, whose face brimmed with concern. "I broke the kiss."
"Why?" Ruby was genuinely confused now.
"I saw some things when I kissed her – images," James began, sounding crazy in his head. "They all just flashed before me and I didn't know what else I could do. There was a ship, and water. Lots of water."
"Don't you think that maybe you should tell her that?" Ruby put out thoughtfully, jabbing a finger at him. "I mean, if I were in that position, I would appreciate knowing what it was that happened, and maybe she'll feel like she can tell you what's wrong. When she's ready."
Just as James nodded and stuffed more food into his mouth, the bell to the diner jingled and his gaze shot up to find blond curls and the familiar red leather jacket. Ruby nudged him hard in the arm the moment she saw Emma, who had immediately taken notice of his presence inside the diner. She had frozen at the door, her eyes wide with confusion. As if she was afraid that he'd seen her – which he most certainly had – she spun around and left as quickly as she'd entered.
"James," Ruby said, motioning her head in Emma's direction, and right away, he jumped from his seat. "Don't worry about the food, it's on me."
James thanked her quickly and ran out the door behind the sheriff, and he saw her crossing the street, her feet carrying her at an astounding pace. "Swan!" he shouted, jogging and dodging cars to catch up to her. "Swan!" She continued to neglect his calls, breaking into a light jog. You are so ridiculous sometimes. He felt the anger bubble up inside him, and then – "EMMA!"
That seemed to catch her attention, because she stopped and turned, aggravated. "What!?"
"The bloody hell is wrong with you?" He couldn't stop his voice from rising, and he could see the anger flaring up in her green eyes as well. "I call you and you just keep walking?"
Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively. "I don't want to talk about any of it," she spat as if he had brought it up at all. "I just – I'm leaving. I have work I need to do."
James pointed a finger at the diner. "You didn't have work you needed to do when you walked in. What changed?" He tried to simmer the pain in his voice, but he could feel himself cracking under the pressure building up inside his chest. "You saw me, and you bloody left, that's what. Now, can we please be adults and discuss what happened, and why you decided the best course of action was to leave me on the side of the road with nothing to go off of?" Their voices had grown so loud that passers-by were watching them, but James was past the point of caring. All of the advice that Ruby had given him had flown out the window the moment Emma made the decision to ignore him. He was not going to drop it – the dreams he had the previous night, the things that Henry said, what he found in Gold's shop – it was all making sense now, and he needed Emma to know.
"I don't want to talk about it," she enunciated through grinding teeth.
"Then I won't force you to," James surrendered, throwing his hands into the air. "But I want you to at least listen to what I have to say before you decide you don't want to have this discussion, because not talking about something won't take away from the fact that it has happened." He saw her face soften – it was subtle, but noticeable. "It still happened, Emma." Those last words fell off of his tongue quietly, and he wanted to cry out to her. She was bloody exhausting.
"Then talk," Emma snapped, stepping closer to him so that they could lower their voices. "If you have so much you want to say, then just say it."
I've been trying, he wanted to tell her. I've been trying but you choose not to listen. "Last night," he started breathlessly. "Last night when I kissed you, I saw things."
She sighed and spun on her heel away from him, but she didn't walk away. "Don't you dare," she uttered into the air. "Don't you dare." She turned again to face him, and she was pointing a stern finger, and he backed away from it.
"This is what I mean, Emma." James pushed her finger aside, away from his face. "When I try to talk to you about something, you deny me that opportunity. You did the very same thing last night." Don't I dare what, Emma? Is there something you wish to say? He had never felt such fury with a woman in his life. There was something that she wanted to tell him, but she was restraining herself, perhaps out of the fear that he may judge her. There was nothing Emma needed to be afraid of, and yet, James could see it written in the wrinkles on her face.
"I don't want to know anything about what you saw," Emma said, walking away, but she paused, like she was waiting for him to follow, and so he did. "I don't care what you saw, that's your business. I don't want to talk about the curse."
"Then tell me what it is you're so fearful of hearing," James begged, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around her shoulder, and she froze beneath his grasp. "I'm here to listen, Emma, and why you won't talk to me is bloody murder. I want to help."
She broke her eyes from his and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear – a nervous habit, he'd noticed. "I – I just…" You just what? "The last time this happened, nothing about how it ended was good, or even normal."
It must have been Graham she was reminiscing about. He knew that she had developed feelings for the sheriff and he had passed, unfortunately. For what reasons, people still didn't know, but as far as James knew, he was the only other man she'd kissed in her time visiting Storybrooke. If James was a good judge of character as he liked to believe, a similar incident occurred with him.
"I don't want anyone else to get hurt," Emma went on, defeated. "I don't want to get hurt."
If this was what Mary Margaret meant when she insisted that James take care of her, he was more than prepared to do so. He had no intention of ever allowing harm to come to Emma or her family, and he was not going to let the mere idea of a curse stir these feelings inside of her. They hadn't known each other for long, but there was something there. It was no longer about the curse or his dreams, but about Emma – about her fears and what she loved and didn't, and he wanted to give her the entire world, if she would simply let him. He wanted to be let in, but she wasn't ready.
"No one is going to get hurt, love. I promise." James' grip softened on her shoulder, but she didn't withdraw from under his hand. "I don't know what went on between you and Graham, and quite frankly, it's none of my business, but you need to try something new, darling. It's called trust." It was a lot to ask for, but out of many of the things she could have given him, this was what he longed for. "I wish to talk to you about what I did see last night; what it could possibly mean."
"What else is there to talk about?" There was the headstrong anger again, and she stiffened. "There's nothing else. I don't want to talk about the curse; I don't know what you saw or what it means, and I don't want to know."
James' frown magnified as he watched her expression grow fiercer, but he chose not to provoke it.
"I don't need more people telling me that I can't see anything because I don't want to believe." There were tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but she was blinking them back. Just let them fall, love. "I am not responsible for anything other than my own happiness, and my son's, and you are not responsible for taking care of me."
That hit him with a blow to the stomach. He didn't want to be responsible, but someone needed to at the very least take initiative to try to make her happy; someone needed to be there for her like no one else would ever be, and James wanted to be that someone. "I'm not responsible, sure lass, but has the idea ever crossed your mind that perhaps people want to be?" James, to the best of his ability, tried to keep his voice down, but the frustration was stronger than his restraint, and it was rising again.
She stared at him, unable to conjure the proper words, and he watched her biting back the tears that wanted to fall. "What the hell," she finally said, and immediately wiped her eyes. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Who the hell do I think I am?" He had had just about enough. "I think I'm a man who genuinely wants to see you happy, but it's bloody maddening that you refuse to allow anyone other than yourself to try and achieve such things."
"You barely know me!" Emma was yelling again, but they had turned into an alley behind the shops where no one passed. "You have met me, what, twice?"
Before she could say any more, he interrupted. "Yes, twice, Emma." James didn't need her to point it out to him – he knew.
"So why are you so adamant on me believing? Why do you want me to be happy?"
"Because perhaps it's about time you believed in something." A million thoughts were coursing through his head now. All of this time, her son had tried to convince her to believe in the curse, to help the town. Now, when they were finally once again closer to discovering something, she had shut the idea out. "Maybe you need to just let go for once, and stop living your bloody life shutting out the entire world to protect yourself." His words were echoing off of the tall walls surrounding them. "You aren't protecting yourself from anything other than your own happiness, Emma."
"I'm protecting myself from getting hurt," she flared. "I didn't ask for any of this, James. I didn't ask for people to die, or to be responsible for anyone's happiness, or for anyone to be responsible for mine. I stayed for Henry, nothing else." Her voice was breaking again, just like it had the other night, and it brought a wave of pain through James' chest. He didn't want to see her like this, but maybe this was something that she needed to do. All of those feelings had been bottled in, and if she wanted to scream at him and hit him, he would let her. "I just wanted to be a part of my son's life, and you just so happened to get caught in the crossfires. I'm sorry."
She was sobbing softly now, trying to regain the control she had lost over her shaking hands. James gripped her arm and pulled her in, and she crashed against him. "Stop," he said quietly between his quick breaths. James felt her relax against him, and she buried his face in his chest, stifling her sobs in his sweater. "You need to stop this, love." Before you get hurt. His fingers ran through her curls while his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. If Emma could give him anything, it would be this – right now. It didn't matter that they were standing in an isolated alley, or that his dreams of ships dancing on the water still haunted him when he closed his eyes against the smell of her.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Emma repeated quietly.
"No one is going to get hurt, lass," James said again. He would tell her that as many times as she needed to hear it. So long as James was around, no one was going to be harmed, and that was a vow he would keep. "You have my word."
"Don't make promises you can't keep." Emma ordered, and all James could do was pull her in tighter, and that was enough for him.