A/N: I have no real excuse for the time taken to write this chapter... Writers block played a part, along with a reluctant muse and a deep seated fear of messing this up as Crimson Flag is my favourite story that I have written and I want to love this too...

That said, here is it, the action is beginning to heat up and I have lots of twists and turns planned for you all!

It was at times like these that Killian Jones would allow himself to think of his brother. Resourcefulness, fortitude and patience were the virtues with which he would describe him, if anyone asked. Liam had taught him that no situation is unsalvageable and no man should hang his head in woe at the prospect of dire straits. Indeed, he'd spent many a night in worse brigs than his current prison. Add to that the confidence that his position would soon be confirmed via diplomatic channels and he was in quite the positive mood. So, Captain Jones did as he was in the habit of, and retrieved his flask of rum.

Laying back against the damp wall, he closed his eyes and let the darkness consume him. The meager candle had spent itself some time earlier, leaving the suffocating blackness of a night where the stars were hidden by clouds. A night as oppressive as a sailor could imagine. It was impossible to navigate on such an evening and wallowing in the bottle of rum was a fine way to pass the time.

But, it seemed now that the sweet taste and drunken sensation no longer sated him as it once did. Quite the opposite. In fact, now he found his drunken dreams were always of her. Memories of her, glimpses of what the future may hold- fears that she may come to her senses and toss him aside. These were the most potent ones.

"Psst."

The stone that came hurtling into the next cell narrowly missed his face, striking against the wall with a dull clang.

"Psst."

Killian looked up. "Smee," he muttered under his breath as he saw the rotund face of his faithful first mate peeking through the now opened cell hatch. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, shoving his flask roughly back in his pocket.

"I'm here to rescue you, captain." The sailor's ruddy cheeks were rounded like plums as he gave his master a beaming smile, "Just like the old days."

Groaning, Killian stood and brushed some of the caked dirt from his trousers. This was not part of the plan. "Get out of here! What the blazes do you think you are up to?"

Killian tried to keep his voice as low as possible, not knowing how Smee had incapacitated the guardsmen.

"We got word of your predicament, me and the men, so I nicked a horse and got here as fast as I could."

Biting back the urge to berate his first mate, Killian took a deep breath. "Smee, I told you I could handle this. I have diplomatic papers! Once they are checked in the morning I will be freed and my debt to this kingdom paid."

The crewman's jaw dropped open a little and his brows pinched together. "You meant to get captured?" he asked.

Slowly the captain rubbed his overgrown stubble with his good hand, "I'd hoped to avoid it but had anticipated it all the same. And now you seek to undo the whole thing!"

"Shit, sorry Captain," Smee winced, "I hadn't thought of that. I was thinkin' of the good old days, how many brigs I've sprung you from-"

"Yes, yes," Killian hissed, "And for that I will be ever grateful, but tonight I need you to leave me in situ and get the hell out of here before you, and I, are discovered."

"Of course," his subordinate nodded, "I'll just put this back and refasten the-"

Impatient for Mr. Smee to leave and not further derail his plan, Killian snapped, "Just go!"

He made to move, but at the same instant a loud groaning sound rang out though the cell, quickly followed by the sound of scraping. Smee's face disappeared for a moment behind the hatch, quickly reappearing with a panicked look upon it.

"Sir, they're waking up!"

Killian brushed his hand through his hair. He knew that, alone, Smee had little chance of escape. He was very adept at breaking into prisons, though not so good at escaping them. Telling Smee to flee would surely result in his capture and the need for his eventual rescue. He only had a split second to think, before sighing, "Toss me the rope."

"Aye," Smee nodded, a second later tossing down a thick coil of hemp rope. Before he had time to regret his decision, Killian curled it around his waist.

"Hold tight," he ordered. With light steps, he began to climb up the steep walls, his good hand pulling his body, his hook winding up the slack as he went. A few times his feet slipped on the moss-clad walls and he cursed under his breath, tightening his grip as he reminded himself to be far more explicit in his instructions to his crew in future.

Finally, he crawled onto the stone floor, assisted by Smee, who swiftly unwound the rope and tossed it back into the cell.

With practiced ease, Killian motioned for Smee to be silent, looking around to see the bodies of two guards on the floor, one breathing deeply and looking like he was trying to sit. Gracefully, he swooped down and collected the sword of his still prone colleague, pulling Smee back into the darkest part of the room when the waking guard turned at the noise.

Gesturing with his hands, he indicated to Smee to follow him. Carefully, the two crept along the dark edge of the room. Killian had memorized its layout before his imprisonment. He counted the steps until they reached the doorway which he knew led to an ante-chamber and then onto the castle wall.

The guard was almost sitting now. He had pulled away the helmet that had offered little protection against the club that Smee wielded, and was rubbing his head. Killian nodded towards the door and Smee quickly opened it and the two slipped through into the small room beyond before finally reaching the almost freedom that the night air promised.

Sighing with relief, Killian fastened the sword to his belt. It would have made the situation infinitely worse had he had to fight them out of the castle. The two took a moment to catch their breath.

"Smee," Killian sighed, placing his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, "Your assistance was very kind, but please ensure it is desired on the next occasion - should there be one."

"Aye Captain," Smee nodded, nervous sweat beading his forehead. "Duly noted."

"Come on," Killian continued, gesturing for them to continue, "They'll not long be after me, I suppose."

They ran for the wall. Killian mental crossed this kingdom off the list of debts he had tallied. He had not anticipated returning his spoils would be so hard. It wasn't a huge list - generally he had avoided royal ships and tended to plunder merchant vessels whose trade was barely more legal than his own. Yet, even with the seal of King David at his disposal, very few were willing to consider the possibility of a reformed pirate.

And as the two made their final escape over the crenellations, and from there back towards the Jolly, Killian couldn't help but wonder if he could ever be redeemed. For it seemed, even when he tried, he was doomed to failure of some kind.

/

"We have waited long enough David, we must do something!"

Snow's panicked voice rang out through the library. Emma paused at the door, just about to enter, gesturing for her ever present guardsman to stand back.

"I know. I know. But the question is what?"

"It's been a month since we know he last breached our castle's defenses. There was only one lost life on that occasion, but what of the next time? We have to protect our people, our servants, our daughter."

Clearing her throat, Emma chose this moment to enter the room. Her parents started and turned in her direction as she swung the heavy oak door closed behind her.

"Emma…" he father began, offering a smile that evaded his eyes. "Did you…?"

She nodded and her parents exchanged a glance. "Mother, Father… It has been weeks and we have done nothing. I've confined myself to this wing of the house, two guards escort me everywhere I go-" she sighed and shook her head. "This is no way to live. Waiting, endlessly for something that may or may not come."

"You're right," her mother agreed as she approached her, tears sparkling at the corner of her eyes as she held out her hands. "We can't expect to continue this way indefinitely."

Emma tightened her fingers around her mother's, feeling the sharp stone of her wedding ring digging into her palm.

"There is only one solution," Snow announced, locking eyes with her daughter. "We must track Blackbeard down. And when we find him-" she pursed her mouth and dropped her eyes to the floor, "-he must be killed."

"Snow, we discussed this, remember, we decided it was too risky-"

Snow spun around and faced her husband. "No David, you did. And as king, we are bound to follow you. But as your wife…" her voice trailed off, the word wife seeming to stick in her throat. Emma looked furtively from man to woman. So long and still no resolution, the pair living apart but together. It hadn't helped matters that the threat to the castle had kept Anya away even longer after her father recovered. Emma was beginning to fear the matter may never be resolved.

Snow shook her head, her long tumbling hair billowing down her back as she did. Since returning, she had traded leather breeches for courtly dress, but her hair remained wild and untamed, perhaps as testament to her past life. "I mean, as king, your word stands. But perhaps some counsel would be advisable."

Releasing her daughter's hands, Snow walked over to the fireplace, passing the small table where David and Emma's current game of chess was lain out, ready for the next moves.

"You know I have always valued your opinion, Snow."

She was staring at the mirror now. Emma watched her tuck a stray stand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was pale, even more so than usual, and the lines of worry on her forehead seemed to deepen by the day. "Then listen to my petition. I suggest we send a boat - the fastest that can be chartered. With your best, most loyal, men aboard. They will track down this pirate."

"What about Killian-" Emma suggested, but her father silenced her with a glance.

"The Captain ought to be kept out of this, sweetheart," her mother insisted as she turned around, "If Blackbeard hasn't changed, he will have eyes and ears everywhere. We need to be exceptionally discreet."

As if on cue, the scar on Emma's arm smarted. She winced, wrinkling her nose as she agreed. Yes, eyes and ears everywhere.

The almost-queen then slipped her hands into the pockets of her skirt. "And I have one more request. I must coordinate the search. It is my fault, and mine alone, that we are in this situation. And as such, I am responsible for resolving it. If only I hadn't-"

Snow's body began to shake with gentle sobs, the guilt of her involvement in the events that had led to Blackbeard's vendetta clearly overwhelming her. Emma sighed and bit her lip, the constant ache that had held captive her heart, multiplying at the sight of her mother's sorrow.

If only she knew…

But Emma was aware that revealing Blackbeard's true desires was a futile and dangerous endeavor. She alone held the key to resolving this matter.

"Then I must go too," Emma insisted, "For if you are guilty of any misdeeds, I am equally so."

"No!" screamed her mother, her sad eyes coming alive with fury, "Absolutely not. I lost you once, I will not lose you again-"

"But I'm more than capable-" Emma protested.

"You will stay here where you are safe, both of you, there will be no discussion on this matter," her father commanded. Emma winced, still becoming reaccustomed to acquiescing to the patriarchal ways of court life after months of freedom. She wanted to snap back - remind her father that she was capable of taking care of herself, that she was more than a weak female- But she held back. She knew her father's words were meant in a loving way and that he still saw her as the innocent princess she perhaps never was.

She longed to show him how much she had changed and grown. To share her stories and experiences. But the timing had never seemed right. She knew this was a battle to fight another day.

Slowly, she nodded, "Of course Father. I understand."

"I need to think over this matter. Would you please ask for my dinner to be served here, I anticipate much thought will be required. I thank both of you for your frankness with me. But, you understand, the decision lies with me alone, as king."

"Of course," Snow nodded, "Take as long as you need. But remember, the clock is ticking. The longer we wait, the more difficult it may be to find him.

/

Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes like hours. The ticking of the mantle clock was as tortuously slow as could be expected when one is waiting for something.

In this case, Emma was waiting for what the servants were want to call 'the witching hour.' For at midnight, the bells of the chapel would signal that the castle was at rest and then she could carry out her hastily made plans.

Well, perhaps not quite so hasty. She had been filling a purse with coins for some time now. The purse was secreted in the chest at the foot of her bed, wrapped in the riding breeches that were not needed with her current confinement and the heavy guard's cloak that she had swiped from the officers' mess, after a lively game of dice (that she had of course won).

And there was the matter of the root of valerian that she secreted from the medicinal gardens. That with which she had distilled into a potent sleeping draught with the help of a dusty text from the library and some misappropriated utensils from the kitchen's small brewery.

She felt a small jolt of guilt at having tricked her night guardsmen into consuming the potion within tankards of warm cider, but the sensation was short lived. Needs must, she told herself.

Finally, the dull sound of the cast iron bell echoed across the castle grounds. Sliding from her bed, she passed into the corridor between the two rooms of her chambers and to the door where her guards stood sentry. Peeking outside, she was relieved to see the two men slumped together on the floor, snoring softly. The dosage of valerian had been an educated guess, not knowing the final strength of the potion she had formulated.

The first part of her plan a success, she dashed back to her room and quickly pulled on the clothes she had prepared before pulling her now shoulder-length locks back from her face and securing it with a length of black ribbon.

As peculiar sense of deja-vu overcame her as she stared back at her reflection. It wasn't Emma looking at her. It was Jack. Her alter ego was once again needed. She pulled at the frilled neck of her shirt. It was so very strange and for a moment she doubted herself. Never, when she had returned to the Enchanted Forest, had she anticipated needing to leave again under such circumstances.

Shaking away he fear, she turned back from the mirror. She collected the few items she needed for her journey- the purse was tied to her belt, the dagger Killian had insisted she keep was secured in her riding boot. Slipping the cloak around her shoulders, she fastened the heavy, metal clasp. Cocooned in the course wool, she felt a renewed vigor.

Killian needed her. Her family needed her. Blackbeard's threats rung in her ears.

It was time for action. She could do this, for if she failed…

Slipping out her room, Emma closed her eyes and swallowed deeply.

Have courage, she told herself. Their safety is in your hands.

A/N: I love my cliffhangers. I have the next chapter in my head, I will get it to you asap (certainly much quicker than this one!). Your feedback, comments and reviews are always massively appreciated and do fuel me on, so if you have the time to tell me what you think, I would really appreciate it. J x