It sent an inordinate thrill through her, to look down and see legs. Emma ignored the odd texture of sensitive skin in sand as she sat up, hands running over the newfound skin. It was soft and smooth and utterly strange under her touch, yet no matter how unbelievable they were real. She had legs, legs, human legs. She had the freedom to leave the embrace of the ocean. The world that had been closed off to her spread open like a flower blooming in the sun. She lifted a leg with her hands, feeling the strange sensation of muscles working in ways she had never felt before. She rolled her ankle and twisted her knee and marveled at how it all felt.
She had always felt so wrong in her skin. Such an ill fit to her sisters. Now she knew why, now she understood. She did not belong with the mermaids; her place had never been among them. Somehow, she was a human, despite the fact everything she had ever known was the embrace of the ocean and a life under the weight of the sea. Chance and opportunity flooded at her feet, things she'd never imagined for herself. Her world had changed in an instant and she was so delighted she had not the sense to fear it.
Her lips burned in the oddest way — was it from the scruff of his beard when his mouth had pressed to hers? — her spare fingers pressed there, for a moment, before she turned to her uncertain savior. A part of her had been more than aware how foolish it was to trust a pirate with such a delicate task. How easily he could have harmed her. Still, he could have easily done the same any of the dozen times they'd met and talked. She trusted he wouldn't harm her. And he hadn't, he'd taken great strides to avoid it. Emma wasn't bothered by the ache of her throat or the strain to her fingers. She was free, finally free from a weight she'd always known, presented with a chance at something better. How could she be angry at a mark on skin when he'd granted her so much?
Her instinct was sudden, based wholly on what she'd learned she enjoyed. She liked it when his arms were around her, when he guided her back into the water. She liked it when her body pressed against his chest, the way her heart thundered when his breath burned at her skin, the way the hair on her arms rose when his eyes caught hers. It didn't always happen, of course, especially if he met her out in the water instead of her dragging her way onto sand. Still she found she enjoyed it when he carried her weight in stead arms. She'd never instigated such a touch without reason before, yet in the moment it seemed right. She viced her arms around his shoulders and held on as tightly as she could. It was an embrace proper, their first without excuses and a tail in the way. He was stiff for a moment underneath her, before his arms moved around her too. A hand at the small of her back and the cold press of metal just below shoulder blade. His fingers pressed into her skin, hard – it reminded her of a grip in sand, trying to hold on to something that would always sift away, no matter how hard one tried to keep it close.
"Thank you," she murmured into his shoulder, smile in her voice as evident as the one on her face. Truly, she was not sure she had ever felt more joy than she felt now. There were so many unanswered questions, a part of her was aware of that. At the moment the gift she'd been given was so strong she could not consider the shortcomings. Apparently, Killian did not share that problem.
Like he remembered himself, he pulled back suddenly. Awkwardly, too, as Emma did not show much inclination to let him go yet. It was only when he craned far enough back and his arms slacked around her that she begrudgingly granted him a few inches, and those inches were forced a bit wider when he twisted out of the reach of her arms. "Emma," she hated how he could say her name like a chastisement. He had so many ways of saying it, and Emma was certainly she could only say his the one way. "You could have died. You were free, and now—"
"I wasn't free," she rebuked harshly, pulling back despite the roar of her heart, the whispers of want to be close again. "I was confined to the water, trapped in a place I did not belong, with sisters that did not want me."
"And what are you now? Confined to an island, with boys that'll kill you if you're lucky and men that'll—" He grimaced, pale eyes turning to the water as his jaw knit painfully tight. She'd noticed that he did that often, his jaw could lock like a vice. She had been tempted to touch his face, once, to know what that kind of tightness felt like. So far she had not found the courage to try. She still could not. "Emma, I've told you of this place, of its dangers. Before you could escape it, and now you are just as trapped as the rest of us."
Truly, she hadn't considered that part in her blind glee. She'd thought of the freedom of her legs, to be on land – he was right, though, he'd told her he'd been in Neverland for hundreds of years for lack of a way to escape. She'd been a mermaid, capable of traversing the complicated snarls that connected the worlds. She could not swim that far or so long now. She could not leave the beautiful and dangerous island of Neverland, and all the things he'd told her about were things she now would have to face firsthand. In a matter of speaking, even hearing about them was not enough to really understand what she would need to face. All the same, she could not say she wore much regret.
"You don't know what it's like, to feel so wrong. To… to not be wanted." Her voice quavered with emotion that she had never shown him before, yet it crept up on her unbidden. Oh, she had cried to herself about the clawing feeling in her heart before, yet somehow she'd never put words to it. "It might be dangerous here, but I'm not sorry to be free of that fate. You helped me more than you know." She turned away from him, wondering how to get to her feet. What was it like to even walk? She wanted to know. "I'll find my way."
He looked at her incredulously, before shaking his dark head. She thought if his jaw was any tighter he might grind his teeth clear away. "Find your way naked as your nameday into poison and traps and death, will you? Well, I'm so relieved." She frowned at him. She always hated it when he spoke to her as if she was foolish. It was her first time on land but not her first time facing a world she did not know. She would be careful, she was not so wholly foolish as he seemed to believe. She did not get a chance to reply before his tone softened again. "You've never lived life on land and I trap you on an island of demons."
He was worried for her, she realized numbly. He would feel responsible if she met a cruel end, despite the fact she had asked him to release her and neither had known the consequences. "This is what I wanted. It still is." He could call it what he liked, she felt as trapped under the water as he had on the island. It had been a different kind of cage yet it had kept her contained and kept her unhappy. Whether he liked it or not, she had more freedom now than she had before the necklace had shattered around her shoulders. The wires and stones of it twinkled in the sand like tiny stars in the rising daylight.
"You don't know what you're doomed to well enough to know you want it," he corrected her darkly, scrubbing at his face with his palm. Emma found herself angry, that he would consider her so weak. Not knowing of the surface did not mean she knew nothing. Or that she could not learn. He did not get to decide for her that she did not want legs, when she had wanted them for so very long. "I can't just leave you here. I'll…" He trailed off, as if the plan was coming to him still as he spoke. "The fairy. I'll take you to her. She'll know what to do."
"There's a fairy here?" Emma said, slightly awed. Indeed, she did know what faeries were. She'd spoken to some in a few worlds. They were kind, if unhelpful. All had told her she could not walk the way her sisters did, on the day of Ursula's blessing. They'd vaguely told her she was different. Well now she supposed she knew why, though she wished they could have just told her straight.
"Former fairy. She's just a woman now." Emma wondered how one could go from being a fairy to not. For that matter she wondered how a fairy would know what to do, when in her experience their method of help was lacking at most. Still, it was something. Emma could not say she had a better idea at the moment. Whether she liked it or not, he knew more about Neverland and its intricacies than she did. "You'll be better off with her."
Her spine stiffened and her annoyance cracked like thunder. "I'm not an item to be handed away." He could not just decide for her that she was off to see a former fairy. She refused. She'd rather stay on the beach.
"Have you ever heard of learning to float before you swim?" He laughed, though it was not a very warm one. "I suppose you've not, would you? Emma, you need to learn the way of this place before you strike off on your own. Hate me for it all you like, I'll not throw you to the wolves."
"But you'll throw me to a fairy." She wanted to hit him. She'd only just had a taste of freedom, and he'd already gotten it in his head to take it away. He looked at her hopelessly, shaking his head. His thoughts seemed very far away, though Emma supposed that they always did.
"What would you have me do? Leave you here in the sand?" Emma thought darkly to herself that he'd had no problem leaving her here in the sand all the other nights, yet that was likely not the answer he was looking for. What would she have him do? It was an odd question. She would not have him do anything; really, she had been more concerned with herself. If he was so concerned with her well being that he could not leave her alone, then why must he hand her off to a stranger?
"Yes, preferably," she agreed peevishly, though unsurprisingly he gave her a dry look that sufficed that he was not keen on that particular plan. "If you want to help me, then do it yourself. You do me no favor by taking me to a stranger or deciding things for me. It's my life and not yours."
He looked very keen to argue, she could see it in the twitch of his mouth. He wanted to be angry and he could tell it so clearly, yet … his mouth quirked upward, almost despite himself, it seemed.
"You sound too much like a pirate for your own good, at times." She could not tell if that was a compliment or not – considering Killian was a pirate himself, she supposed it must be one.
"Then I will fit in well on your ship," she said with a shrug, and that even earned a huff of a laugh.
"No, love, you'll not that, not in the slightest." She wasn't sure what he meant by that, yet there was that distant look in his eyes again. Whatever he was thinking about, it was not helping her case.
"Then leave me here." She did not have as much fear about finding her own way as Killian seemed to. He grimaced and was silent for a long time. Long enough that she began to wonder if he'd conceded. Finally, he got to his feet, and she imagined it was to leave her, just as she'd told him to. She found a hollow bite of disappointment niggling at her chest, she told herself it was for the best. He stood over her and she stared back at him, stubbornly. He would not hand her off to a fairy, she refused.
Finally, he began shrugging out of his jacket, and she found her eyes widening a little in her surprise. She'd seen him take it off before, of course, it was simply that it didn't make sense. After that came his shirt, and that was certainly a first. She stared, her mouth falling open a little as she watched, eyed the taut shape of muscle in his chest and arms and shoulders as he moved, the dark dusting of hair that swept over his chest and lower and lower still – her eyes caught there, the dusting of hair that seemed to be a line downward. How far did it go?
She did not get a chance to ask. And she very well might have. Instead he tossed the fabric over her gaping head, and it took her a moment to pick it up.
"I don't want your shirt," she told him, not unkindly, but certainly with a bit of confusion. It was not often she saw men remove their clothes, it was a very strange gesture.
"I'm not taking you to a ship full of men that have not had a woman in decades stark naked, Emma." Naked, there that was again. She fumbled with the fabric, having never put a shirt on before. She'd seen him in it enough to know how it went, her arms through the narrower parts and her head went by the collar. It hung off her body and it waved open past her breasts. She did not know what the point was, yet when she looked back at him there was a familiar color of something strange in his eyes. Something that tingled in her gut, and now it caused an odd sensation between her legs. What an utterly bizarre reaction to a simple look, she thought. "You'll need to do up the buttons," Hook informed her, tone calculated, like he was hiding something.
"Why?" Emma wondered, looking back toward the shirt. She was wearing it exactly as he did, she'd not loosened any buttons to slip it over her head, she hadn't needed to. Why was such a lazy question, he'd told her he wouldn't answer any more of them. It seemed now was no exception, so she lifted her hands to fumble with the foreign devices. She did not know how buttons worked, yet it seemed a simple enough process. Her fingers were clumsy, but not incapable. Even with all the buttons closed, the fabric draped loosely off her body, tempting to tumble off one shoulder; her breasts, though, were securely covered by black fabric. She found the shirt had a warm and familiar smell, even if she could not say she expressly enjoyed the feeling of a fabric cage.
When she was done and looked up again, Killian held out a palm in her direction. Her heart flipped with anticipation of what it meant. Her first time standing. Finally she would know what it was like to be on her feet, to walk as she had always meant to.
It was easier said than done.
She took his hand and he pulled, and he was strong enough that he could have dragged her all the way. Still, she did not know how to push her feet into the sand properly, and he ended up just tugging her over. It was an effort to say the least to get her to her feat, ultimately with his arm notched around him – thankfully her head was not on how close he was, with so much skin bare – and when she did make it to her feet, it was not the joy she'd been anticipating.
It hurt, it hurt so badly it made her gasp, and the longer she stood the worse it felt. "It hurts," she gasped to Killian quietly, weighing towards him hopelessly. She was not certain she would keep her feet if he let her go. She looked at him hopefully, like he might have an answer for the pain.
"Perhaps that's the price of the magic." That was not an answer wanted to hear, and a pitiful noise clawed from her throat. She'd wanted legs so badly, yet imagining this sort of pain every time she walked was an intimidating prospect. "Might do that they're weak from never being used. They'll get stronger with time." That was slightly more promising, and Emma nodded, tears stinging at her eyes. She perched on his arm, hands knotted into his skin, as he ducked to collect his coat, awkwardly helping her into the heavy leather as well.
"I don't like this," she told him miserably. How could he wear that horrid thing all the time? It felt like having the weight of an anchor around her shoulders.
"Sorry to hear it, I must say it looks well on you." Emma's tongue pressed to the top of her mouth and she found she had nothing to say in return. She was pleased at the idea, even though she had never cared much for the vanity of her sisters before. "Come on. Try to walk. One foot in front of the other."
He made it sound so easy. One foot in front of the other, instead of one wavering and wobbling step, and the needles and pangs of pain. Without his solid weight next to her, she'd never have made it a step. One foot in front of the other. She kept thinking it, and thinking it, until she was saying it, too. "One foot," she gasped, looking back to see their footsteps spread behind them, running along the beach.
"Good girl," Hook told her, and that should not have done much of anything to her desire to keep moving. Yet somehow there was a note of pride, and the step she thought might be her last she kept pushing forward.