Author's note: So I feel like I pulled this one out of my ass... When I read it over it feels jumbled and inconsistent, but maybe that's because it's past three in the morning.
It turned out shorter than I intended, and covered a lot less. Hopefully I'll manage to get the story going in the next chapter.
I want to thank anyone who read, and especially reviewed, because it's always nice to hear from you :) Makes me sit my ass down and write something, otherwise I'm not very persistent. Usually when I hit a bump I move on to the next thing. So, read, enjoy, leave me your thoughts if you find the time! :)
…
By the time light filters through the curtains, his eyes are red and burning. Both dreams have been replaying in his mind over and over and over again until they mixed and blended and he can't lay there any longer. Emma, her arms still wrapped around him, pressed against his back, is dozing. Not quite asleep, not quite awake.
He breathes, and it hurts. His body too. Shame seeps through his veins, the guilt at hurting her.
The cabin smells of rum and vomit, wind seeping in through the wooden boards and she's warm against him, a living breathing sea. Powerful and there. Like the sea's always been. He wants to lose himself in her, wants a reprieve from his thoughts. From himself.
He finally finds the strength to pull himself up, and he does so slowly, trying not to jostle her too much. Exhaustion makes him sway on his feet, if for a moment, and then he's just standing there, not quite sure what he ever did to deserve this. The dreams, the pain, he thinks with a bitter smile, he knows he had those coming. But the messy blonde hair, the soft, parted lips, the bright brown eyes he knows are hidden beneath those eyelids. In his bed. He thinks of Baelfire and wishes he didn't. He doesn't know what he did to deserve her.
Pulling up a blanket isn't much of a task. With only one hand and three working fingers, Hook has to bite back a groan of frustration. Pulling up a blanket shouldn't be much of a task.
Emma curls up in it and the irritation gives way to something else. Hook quickly puts out the tiny spark in his chest, not yet ready to give up on his misery.
He knows that he'll have to pull himself together, grit his teeth and keep going, for bother their sakes. But she's finally asleep and he has a little time left.
There's a bottle in his hand when he leaves the cabin as quietly as he can manage.
…
Out on the deck, it's cold. The sky is grey, dark clouds flowing overhead and beneath his feet, reflected in the restless water. Balancing his weight on the bowsprit, a bottle of rum in hand, awkwardly held by just three fingers, he wants the Jolly Roger back.
More than sees, he feels her come to stand behind him.
"It's him." Her eyebrows go one floor up, but she waits for him to continue.
"Rumplestinskin." And his voice is a low growl of a wolf and a hunter.
"How do you-"
"I know!" He barks, she steps back. His shoulders sag. "The crocodile doesn't give up, lass."
She takes the bottle, takes a swig. Coughs.
"This is vile."
He turns around, laughs at the expression on her face. "My brand of poison."
Like a poison that I swallow, but I want the world to die.
…
"Was it her?" Voice low, careful, Emma hates the feeling of taking to a frightened child. She knows he's not one, but the image and feel of him shivering against her, masks and all pretense gone, is still too fresh in her mind.
She thinks, there's a reason people don't live forever.
She thinks, they aren't built for it.
She thinks, three hundred years of pain is a ton of brick on your chest.
Missing the tension that creeps up his spine, she watches the clouds glide over his head.
"No…" The bowsprit creeks under him, and the sound is strange. It's not the Jolly's bowsprit, it's not his bowsprit. It's not home.
"No, Liam. This time, he killed my brother." And old anger rises steadily in his chest, drowning out the hurt and sadness. It's a relief, almost, a feeling he's grown used to. Anger's what had driven him for so long.
Despite broken fingers and an unsteady shoulder, his movements are fluid as he gets off of the bowsprit and jumps back on the deck. A pirate to the core, Emma muses, then shakes her head, a smile managing to sneak past her. She knows better, now. Nevertheless, she seeks out his eyes and finds Captain Hook looking back at her.
For all the times she wished he'd drop the act, now it was a relief. It's easier to cope with a pirate captain out for blood than a-
and it feels wrong to connect the word to the man before her
-a broken human being. With sharp edges on both sides, cutting both in and out, and she pulls the sweater tighter around her, hiding the blood stain on her chest. But that's not the kind of hurt she's scared of.
And Emma swallows down the shame at her own selfishness. She makes a promise, if only to herself, that she won't let it go on forever. She's just being practical.
The practical Sheriff Swan says, "Alright, let's go visit Regina." And at the confused look he gives her, "If this is a curse of some sort, she's our best chance."
A/N: And I forgot to mention, the line "Like a poison that I swallow, but I want the world to die." comes from Metallica's song That was just your life. I usually don't like including lyrics in my stories, but this one was just too tempting.