Eric took his time preparing and heating the tar, opting to give his mate some private time with the Swan woman before he had to return up to the main deck and climb aloft for the repair work. It was a two person job, tarring down the rotted sections of rope; Jones knew it as well as he did. That Jones had suggested it as he had dismissed him from duty at the helm told Eric everything he needed to know about the pirate's intent for some privacy with Emma. All too happy to oblige, he'd given his own wordless encouragement to his old mate and set off, leaving the couple to their own devices for a while.
Mulling over Jones's apparent willingness to bond with Emma again, Eric hoped it was a sign of good things to come. Living with Killian during Emma's absence had been almost unbearable. The pirate had been moody and sullen, apt to snap at him over the most trivial matter. It hadn't taken long for even Eric's patience to wear thin. Patience which, under normal circumstances, he liked to pride himself of having an abundance. But his own troubles with Ariel had eroded much of it, and Emma Swan had borne the brunt of it during a very public fight at The Rabbit Hole.
A fight which, ironically, had spurred her to somehow reconcile with Jones. Eric wasn't certain how that had come about, exactly, but he'd gathered that Emma had spent the night on the Jolly Roger in some capacity, if the disgusting tea Jones had concocted this morning to ease her hangover was any indication. That Jones had made the tea at all spoke volumes for his feelings for Emma. Vile as the tea was, it was a mercy in comparison to the rude way in which Jones always dealt with Eric's hangovers.
Snorting to himself, Eric checked the tar's consistency. He certainly hadn't been allowed to stay abed as long as he liked. No, he'd woken the same way he always did: by a cursing, irritated Jones yanking him out of bed and plunging his head into a bucket of cold seawater over and over until Eric shouted a string of even viler curse words back. Then it was a long lecture about overindulgence when one was on duty and the responsibilities of a sailor, all while Eric fumbled to dress and ground his teeth together in an effort to keep his temper in check (Knocking the smug bastard's jaw off, clear into the ocean, probably wasn't the smartest way to begin a day, after all, hangover or not).
Yes, Captain Killian "Hook" Jones had a distinct soft spot for Emma Swan. That the pirate looked as if he might finally do something about it forced Eric to consider his own situation with Ariel. It was true, he'd tried to talk to her half a dozen times at least. But perhaps that wasn't the way to handle things. Certainly, she hadn't responded in a positive way to any of it. Nor had she even so much as made prolonged eye contact with him when they crossed paths in public. A fact which both frustrated and embarrassed Eric. He couldn't help feeling, somehow, that this was all his fault. If he had only waited a bit longer for her, or if he hadn't decided to stay in Neverland, nursing a broken heart, perhaps Ariel wouldn't have ever met with her accident.
"And maybe she wouldn't hate me," he mumbled, stirring the tar. For it was apparent that whatever feelings she had left for him, they were not positive. He'd learned very quickly that approaching her in public only led to her quick escape, or steadfastly ignoring him as if he didn't even exist. Eric's next tactic had been to capture her attention through more subtle means, with a smile or a look, but a man could only be rebuffed so many times before he broke, and after a time Eric just started to avoid her in public altogether. It was cowardly to slink away from her presence-he knew it as well as the residents of Storybrooke did. But Eric couldn't stand the guilt of what he'd done to her by omission every time he looked at her and saw the way she reacted to his presence.
Eric didn't give a single fuck in the world if her legs no longer functioned, no matter what all the rest of Storybrooke might think. He loved and wanted his Ariel more than ever, but she didn't want to have any contact with him. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? If she wouldn't even talk to him in private, as she had indicated over and over, where did that leave him? Perhaps it was time to admit to himself that Ariel well and truly wanted to be left alone, and honor her wishes.
"Damn fuck it all," he whispered, using a long hook to remove the bucket of boiling tar from the fire.
"Burn yourself?" a feminine voice asked.
Eric's head jerked up. Emma Swan stood in the doorway of the galley, watching him with concern. "No, I'm fine," he managed, not quite able to keep the growl out of his tone.
"You don't sound fine," she argued, entering the room. "Come to think of it, you don't look it, either."
He snorted, eyeing her up and down with a raised eyebrow. "Says the woman who hasn't had a look at herself in a mirror yet," he grinned.
"Nice," she rolled her eyes. "Maybe I won't tell you we've reached port and give you your message after all."
"Port?" He looked around blankly. Had they docked in Storybrooke? He hadn't felt it. Hadn't heard Jones bark for him to return to the main deck for his assistance. "Are we back already? Why didn't Jones call me up to the deck?"
A flush crept into Emma's cheeks. "Oh," she swallowed, "he, uh, thought I should get some experience helping with all the docking preparations. You know, as second mate," she finished.
"Uh-huh." Eric eyed her with a smile, not fooled for a minute. "Things going well, I take it?"
"Hit and miss," she admitted. "But better than they've been for a while now."
"Glad to hear it. He's a mess without you." Eric set the cooling bucket of tar down and hung the hook back up. "So what's this about a message?" he inquired. "Jones using you to pass along threats to my life? Tell him to calm his arse down. The tar is almost ready to handle."
"Uh, well," Emma began awkwardly, "perhaps 'visitor' is more accurate than message."
Eric froze, his heart beating irrhythmically. "Visitor?" he echoed, unable to keep the note of hope from creeping into his voice.
"Yeah, tall guy, grey hair, really skinny. Kinda stiff and proper."
"Ah," Eric answered, looking away, his hopes dashed. "Tell him I'll be up in a moment." Emma shot him a sympathetic look, as if she knew whom he'd hoped his visitor would be. And really, why wouldn't she? It wasn't a secret, by any means, how he felt about Ariel. "And Emma?" The blonde woman paused at the doorway, shooting him a questioning look. "Thanks."
"No problem."
She disappeared, and Eric sat down hard on one of the wooden benches nearby. "Damn it," he muttered. He'd been a fool to think it might have been her, even for a moment. Ariel wasn't going to come visit him. Why would she? She didn't look at him, much less speak with him. It was time to step back for a while, reconsider everything. Eric wasn't willing to give up entirely, not quite yet. But things weren't progressing between him and Ariel, and he needed to figure out if he decided to pursue her, whether it would really be in her own best interests, or whether he would simply be a disruption to the life she'd fashioned now. A life she appeared happier living without him. If he was only going to cause her distress...
He stood up, unable to finish the thought. It was too definitive for him to process at the moment. Using a folded over piece of cloth to lift the bucket of tar, Eric made his way through the ship and up to the main deck. Sure enough, a familiar figure stood on the docks in the distance, the tail of his bound grey hair blowing in the wind. With a sigh, Eric approached his mate.
"Captain," he said, setting the bucket of tar down on the deck. "The tar is prepared. Ready to repair the rigging at your orders. But first I'd like to request permission to disembark and speak with someone."
Jones glanced over his shoulder toward Eric's visitor. "Permission granted. Make it short. I don't want to reheat the sodding tar because you were busy gossiping too long."
"Aye, Captain," he replied, turning toward the gangplank. He passed Emma, who stood to one side, her hands clasped together behind her back, watching with curiosity. Eric shot her a questioning look. She grinned, looking away in embarrassment, but made no move to leave the ship for the evening.
So that was the way of it, then.
Grinning to himself, Eric whistled a little as he climbed down the gangplank and crossed the dock in several long strides. "Grimsby," he called jovially, holding out his hand toward the other man, "it's been a while." He shook his manservant's hand with vigor. "I wondered when you were going to show up."
"Yes, well...I'd have been here sooner, but there were many preparations to be made. Carlotta and I have readied a room for you in my own home; it's small, not what you're used, to-"
"Grimsby, what I'm used to is a tiny room and a narrow bed on a ship. Sometimes not even a bed," he finished, thinking of the hammocks he'd been forced to make use of at times. "Whatever you have prepared will be fine." He hesitated. "But I have no need of it at the moment. I'll be living on the Jolly Roger for the time being." Until Jones was a bit more stable and had no further need of him.
"So the rumors are true?" Grimsby shot a distasteful look toward the Jolly Roger and its captain.
"What rumors?"
"That you might have turned pirate yourself."
Eric narrowed his eyes. "I'm a sailor as much as I ever was. But tell me, Grimsby: Have you ever met this particular pirate?"
"No, but his reputation does...precede him."
"Including him giving his own life to save Rumplestiltskin's son, and killing Pan, thus securing the safety of Emma Swan's own son?"
"They seemed too wild to be true," the butler murmured. "A man cannot return from the dead. And such acts are quite out of character for the pirate, given what is known about him."
"Are they?" he challenged. His eyes swept over to the Jolly Roger. "I've known him a long time, Grimsby. They seem quite in character with what I know about him..."
The Neverland Seas, 29 years ago
The Lagerkron bobbed to the surface, shooting out of the water like a cork that had been released, both spraying water and being drenched with it at the same time. Eric removed the crook of his arm from his face and peered into the darkness, squinting amidst the rain that was pounding down around them. "Hornby!" he barked to his first mate as the ship rocked violently, as if something had struck it from the port side. "Where the hell are we? What just happened?"
"No idea, Your Highness-"
"It's Captain, so long as we're on this vessel," he insisted, moving across the deck to peer over the port side of his ship. He shielded his eyes, leaning over slightly to peer into the water. He spied movement just beneath the teeming surface of the ocean, and wondered what manner of creature was attacking their ship.
"Yes, Captain," Hornby amended, "I'm sure I don't know what's going on, but-"
"Prepare the cannons," Eric ordered, staring into the darkened depths of the ocean. "Something's moving down there-" The ship rocked again, this time tipping it with more force, and Eric gripped the railing just to keep from losing his own balance.
"Aye, sir!" Hornby said, moving about the main deck. He barked Eric's orders to the rest of the crew, who scrambled to prepare the ship's weapons.
"I don't like this," he murmured to himself, shivering in the cool rain that fell upon him and his crew in sheets. "What the hell is going on?"
As if in answer, the unknown creature hit the ship again, this time from the starboard. The Lagerkron tipped dangerously, her port side nearly hitting the water, and Eric lost the grip he'd had on the railing. He hit the water with a splash, dazed. Sinking beneath the waves, Eric tried to find his bearings, but it was nigh impossible in the night-darkened depths of the sea. There was no way to know if his enemy was nearby, preparing to attack, and the thought made him uneasy.
He kicked toward the surface, head piercing the water, lungs inflating with a gasp. "Hornby!" he tried to shout. "Fletcher!" he called to the second mate. But the howling winds devoured his words before they could reach any of his crew. He would have to try to re-board the ship himself. Eric kicked toward the Lagerkron with purpose.
Something yanked at his feet, and Eric was pulled beneath the water again. Anger burned in his throat and heated his veins. He kicked at his unknown assailant with his other foot, despite how useless or foolhardy it might be. He was hardly equipped to fight back otherwise, and he'd be damned if he went to his death limp and accepting, like a coward.
His foot made contact, but with what part of the creature he never knew. Seconds later, something thumped him on the back of the head, and Eric went as limp as he'd feared, darkness enveloping him.
When he awoke again, it was daylight. Sun shone on the wet deck of the ship, refracting from the tiny drops that littered it. Eric sat up, clutching his head with a moan. "Hornby?" he murmured. "Fletcher?"
"Not quite," an unfamiliar voice intoned. Eric looked up, squinting. A dark figure loomed over him, features shadowed as he stood with the sun at his back."The name's Hook. Captain Hook. And you're aboard the Jolly Roger, mate."
"The Jolly...what?" Eric struggled to his feet, swaying a little as he did so. A bearded man in a red knit cap made a move to help steady him, but Eric waved him away. "Where's my ship? My crew? What have you done with them?"
"Sorry, mate," the figure called Hook apologized, thought it was clear from his tone that he wasn't the least bit affected of Eric's situation either way, "there isn't a ship to be seen for miles. I'm afraid the mermaids probably destroyed it and your crew."
"Mermaids?" he echoed. "I don't understand. Where am I? Where did you find me?"
"You're in Neverland, mate. And lucky to be alive after that gods-damned school of mermaids captured you. No telling how long they had you before Mr. Smee spotted them toying with you."
"I have to get back to my crew," Eric muttered, unable to move past that single thought. "I have to find them."
"And then what?" came the sarcastic reply. "Even if they survived, there's no telling what condition they or your ship is in. Or whether or not they've been captured and forced onto the island." He shook his head, stepping back. "You're out of your depth, mate. Best join my crew if you want to be certain you survive."
"Or what?" he snorted, the pounding ache in his head making him reckless.
"Or I execute you in the morning," came the emotionless reply. "Of course, I could hand you over to Pan instead," he mused. "Your choice; either option I offer is a mercy compared to what he might do to you."
"Who the hell is Pan?"
"The demon-king of these isles." He looked over at Mr. Smee. "Throw him in the brig. He'll have plenty of time to think it over, there." Hook moved closer, shifting position, and Eric saw the face of his rescuer-and-captor for the first time. Eyes the color of the ocean were framed by dark hair and a somewhat scruffy beard. A scar was etched onto his right cheek, below his eye. He reached forward with his left arm, and instead of the hand that should have been there, a gleaming silver hook was in its stead. A shiver rolled down Eric's spine as Hook cuffed him under the chin with the curve of his metal appendage. "Think long and hard, mate. I'm not a patient man."
Mr. Smee seized and another crewman seized him, pulling him below deck toward the brig. Eric looked over his shoulder at the ship, committing the memory as many details of the Jolly Roger as he could, for his escape. It was then that he noticed the black flag that billowed in the wind. Pirates. He'd been captured by fucking pirates.
The door to brig slammed shut several minutes later, and Eric fell into the dirty hay with a huff. Rats squeaked nearby, unseen, and Eric sat up, wishing that he'd never left port from his homeland. At least then his crew would be alive, his ship intact. Maybe he'd even have Ariel at his side. But no, he'd forced her to choose between her own life and sailing with him. So bloody stupid.
Hours passed, and Eric's thoughts became darker and more grim. He was in a land he was wholly unfamiliar with, without ship, without crew. He didn't even understand how he'd bloody gotten here. And his choices lay either in execution, become a member of pirate's crew, or possibly be handed over to this Pan, whom even the pirate captain seemed to hold in contempt. None of them were acceptable choices, so far as Eric was concerned.
Eventually, he fell asleep, his decision unmade, only to be awoken some time later to the sound of squealing hinges. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Captain Hook stood outside the cell, Mr. Smee at his side, holding the cell's door open. "Well?" the captain said. "What have you decided?"
"I've decided I don't like any of the options you've given me," he retorted. "Find my ship and my crew. Return me to them." Loathing himself for what he was about to do, he continued, "I'll see to it that you're rewarded handsomely." Eric hated to draw upon the advantage of his birth, but saw no other choice in the matter.
Something glinted in the pirate captain's eyes. Respect? Interest? Eric couldn't hope to interpret the enigmatic man properly. "And who are you that I should either obey or be so 'handsomely rewarded,' as you put it?"
"Prince Eric," he forced himself to answer, "of the North-Sea kingdom in the Enchanted Forest. Get me back to my crew, and I'll find a way to repay you in such a way that would please even a pirate."
Captain Hook issued him a long, searching gaze. His expression offered no hint of what he was thinking. "Mr. Smee," he finally spoke. "There's been a slight change of plans. His Highness here is our prisoner until further notice. We'll begin our search for his ship and crew immediately."
"Aye, Captain!"
"In the meantime..." He leveled another gaze at Eric. "Your presence is required on deck, Your Highness. My crew could do with a bit of entertainment, and I could use the practice."
"Practice?" he found himself asking.
"Sparring," he replied, as Mr. Smee pulled him out of the cell, pushing him roughly toward the ladder that would take them up to the main deck of the ship. "I trust you know how to handle a sword?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. If you wish to see your crew again, Your Highness, you will earn your right to do so by besting me in a match each day."
"Or what?"
"Or I execute you as I planned, Highness. There are greater rewards than ransom to be had, and I don't even need a live prince to get them."
So it went, each day for weeks. Let out of the cell just long enough to spar with the Captain for the crew's entertainment, winning by the skin of his teeth each time, the pirate captain's smirk following him back to the brig, with Hook's promises to win the next match and execute him in the morning echoing in his ears. Sometimes Eric wished Hook would simply go back on his word, execute him, and be done with it. It would be easier. Eric's winning streak couldn't possibly keep up forever.
And indeed, one morning, exhausted from a lack of sleep, thanks to the nightmares that now plagued him, Eric found himself on one knee with Hook's sword at his throat. "Do it," he managed, gasping for breath. "Just get it over with."
Something gleamed in the captain's eyes. He pulled away, sheathing his sword. Eric stared at him in confusion. "But where would be the fun in that, Your Highness?" A slight smirk graced his face. "Return him to the brig, Mr. Smee. Let him have one last night among the rats before we settle this for good at dawn."
Feeling sick to his stomach, Eric didn't eat a bite or take a single drink for the rest of the day. Nor did he sleep a single wink that night. Instead, he reviewed his memories, lingering the longest on those of his parents, his crew, and his Ariel. If only he could have held her one more time, spoken the words of love and devotion that weighed so heavily on his heart now...
Dawn came all too quickly, and, as usual, Hook and Smee were there to greet him with the squeal of rusty hinges as his cell opened. Standing up with a weary sigh, Eric walked out and made his way toward the deck of the ship in silence, Hook and Smee following close behind. Hard to believe his dreams had all come to this.
"Captain!" a familiar voice called as Eric climbed onto the main deck.
His head snapped up. Hornby stood on the deck of the Jolly Roger, hand on the hilt of his cutlass, his stance wary and cautious among the pirates that surrounded him. Eric glanced around in disbelief. The Lagerkron was docked to the Jolly Roger's port side, a long plank of wood connecting them. "Hornby?" he said in disbelief, wondering if he'd gone mad, or if he'd somehow fallen asleep after all.
"It appears you are in luck, Highness," came the now-familiar voice of Hook from behind his shoulder. "Mr. Smee found your crew." He smirked. "Pity. I was looking forward to the execution."
He stared at the pirate captain. Hook shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Win some, lose some. Eric's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That so?" he shot back. "Then why not go through with it?"
"We're low on rum," Hook winked. "And I understand from your first mate that you've a handsome supply."
He snorted, not buying it for a minute. "And you'd rather have rum than execute your prisoner, the one you beat fair and square in a duel?"
"A pirate would always rather have the rum," Hook said, turning away. "Mr. Smee will follow you back onto your ship to complete the transaction. After that, I make no promises as to your fate if you cross us again, Your Highness."
And it was then, as Eric watched him retreat, that he knew the pirate, for reasons known only to him, had let him win each and every duel.
"He's done terrible things, it's true," Eric admitted as the memory faded. "But he's a changed man." He glanced at his manservant. "So am I."
Grimbsy nodded in silent acknowledgment, and said, "I rather think you should consider returning home, sir. The staff misses you. Max misses you."
Eric felt himself smile, softening toward the idea of returning home at the mention of his dog. "He's all right? Doing well?"
"Of course. Carlotta has taken excellent care of him in your absence."
He considered Grimsby's words. He did owe it to his old staff to visit, to check in on how they were all doing. And though Eric had no intention of moving back into a house until Jones was either doing better, or signaled his intent for Eric to leave, he knew he couldn't stay forever. He needed to move on and start putting a life back together, with or without Ariel.
"All right," he said, "I'll come by in the morning."
"Sir?" came the startled reply from his butler. "Shall I have breakfast prepared, then?"
"Yes," he nodded. "And a means of transport. One of those...what are they called? Cars?"
Grimsby bobbed his head in reply. "Of course. But whatever for, if I might take the liberty of asking?"
"We're going to look at properties, Grimsby. Someplace large enough for me and all the staff."
"Of course, sir," his manservant said, with a spark of hope in his eyes. "I'll make the preparations right away."
"Good. Meet me on the docks tomorrow morning." He glanced back toward the Jolly Roger. "I think I can convince Jones to let me have a day of shore leave." Especially if it meant that Jones got more time alone with Emma. "Oh, and Grimsby?" he called as the older man made to leave. His manservant turned to look at him. Eric steeled himself; he hated throwing his authority around, especially now that he was so unused to thinking of himself as a prince, but, as he always had, he used it when he deemed it necessary.
"Whatever property I purchase," he began, "Captain Jones is welcome to visit it at any time, whether I'm present or not. Any member of the staff who disagrees or disobeys this order will be fired immediately. Do I make myself clear?"
A nod.
"Good. I'll see you in the morning." Eric turned away, toward the Jolly Roger, wondering whether the transition back to his old life was even possible, even if he wanted it. He supposed he would soon find out. Either way, it was a needed distraction from his situation with Ariel. Perhaps if he threw himself into the preparations for a return to a real home, his old life, it might deafen the need for his red-haired love, just a fraction-just enough to not to die a little inside with every heart beat that he was apart from her.
