When the darkness receded a little, it left him lying on the ground. Killian reached out with his good hand and found that he was lying on what felt like moss-covered stone. It was still mostly dark, a gloomy sort of dusk that reminded him of rainy, clammy days on board the Jolly Roger.
He got his elbows under him and pushed off the ground, twisting his head to look around. Davy Jones, he noted with some relief, was nowhere to be seen. Mostly, he just saw rocks: boulders strewn about covered in strange grey-blue moss, a cliff to his left, cracks and fissures in the rock on the ground. Darkness hung over the bleak landscape like an odd sort of fog. It felt like he had something in his eyes, but when he rubbed at them and blinked, the feeling remained.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected. There hadn't been much time to think about it, but he'd had a vague sort of thought that he was going to die.
Perhaps he had.
He got to his feet, looking down at himself as he dusted off his jeans. He was still dressed in the same clothes he'd worn since getting changed at the loft, the red and white on David's shirt oddly bright in these drab surroundings. It was still damp, too, as were his jeans, and his boots, and his hair.
"Bloody water," he muttered. He'd loved the sea for most of his life. Lately, it seemed to have turned against him.
So much for loyalty.
It was as though his voice had broken through something, because he became aware that he was not alone. It was nothing more than a feeling, instincts honed by a long life where knowing when someone was behind you was a valuable skill. Looking around, he saw nothing, and he heard nothing either. His own breath was loud in his ears, and it sounded wrong, out of place.
But he could feel them, shadowy things all around him, just barely out of sight. He turned this way and that, but still, he could see nothing. The only sound was his own breath, his own heart, and the scuffle of his own feet on the ground. Had it not been for the tingling at the back of his neck and the fact that he'd spent a lifetime honing these instincts, he might have convinced himself that he was alone. As it was, he felt like he was standing in the middle of a huge room, all eyes on him.
He couldn't help wishing that he had his sword, but he did still have his hook, and no one had attacked him yet. He squared his shoulders and pushed his discomfort aside. He was Captain Hook. He was used to being the centre of attention.
And it was time to figure out just where he was, and more importantly, how to leave. He didn't much fancy staying here, amidst rocks and shadowy things at the edge of his vision. If this was the underworld, surely there was more to it than this.
He climbed over and around a few boulders and noted with some concern that a few of the cracks in the rock glowed with a foreboding red light. Peering down into one, he saw a bright orange-red mass roiling below and felt heat on his face and through his boots – lava.
"At least it'll be warm," he told himself, mostly just to say something, but the way his voice broke the silence only made it worse.
He crossed the fissure carefully and kept looking until he found what looked like a path of sorts, winding forward past rocks and boulders and disappearing into the gloomy murk beyond.
For a moment, he stood there and looked at it, then back over his shoulder at the place where he'd arrived. But there was nothing there. If there was a way out, it wasn't the way he'd used to get in.
Something else occurred to him, and he dug in his pockets. The first thing he found was Emma's telephone, tucked into his jacket pocket after he'd found it on the walkway. He ran a careful finger over the screen, but it stayed dark. He tapped it, then shook it, then tried pressing the one button he found, but to no avail. It looked completely dead.
Sliding it back into his pocket, he resumed his hunt for something to write with. It was a long-ingrained habit to carry such things with him, and one he was glad of now as he retrieved a short pencil and a receipt from Granny's. The habit of writing himself notes as insurance against forgetting was a newer one, but after escaping two memory-loss curses, he wasn't about to start trying his luck. Better safe than sorry. Hunkering down, a he scrawled a quick note to himself and tucked it safely into his jeans pocket.
He felt better for it. It felt like an anchor to the real world.
Running his fingers over his hook and putting a little extra swagger into his step, Killian strode forward into the gloom.
When Emma woke up, it was with some surprise that she even had to. The last thing she remembered was fighting the kraken until it had relented, something drawing its attention away... and then the dark shape she'd been fighting off had come slamming back.
There was a hollow feeling in her chest. Something was wrong.
Her eyes snapped open. She was lying in the bed downstairs in the loft, covered with a blanket that smelled faintly like her mother's perfume. Shoving it away, she sat up and had to blink away the dark spots that tried to encroach on her vision again.
The others were in the dining area: Ariel and Eric side by side at the table, Snow in her favourite chair with baby Luke in her arms, David leaning against the kitchen island.
The hollowness in her chest expanded and sent a little pang of dread into Emma's stomach. "Where's Hook?"
Everyone's heads turned toward her. "Hey," David said, his voice gentle as he pushed away from the counter. "How're you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Emma said, knowing that it was a lie. "Just tell me. What happened?"
"You were knocked out," David said. "The kraken—"
"Dad!" Emma snapped. "Where's Killian?"
He faltered mid-stride, but he joined her on the bed anyway. And he told her.
Killian was gone.
For a moment, Emma just stared at her father, eyes open but not really seeing. It explained why the kraken had suddenly relented, the analytical part of her brain told her. And it explained why she felt so hollow, like she'd lost something important.
Killian had taken Davy Jones to Hades. The underworld.
Where people went when they died.
No. She felt her fists clench. Not him. Not now.
"After that, you blacked out, so we brought you back here," David went on. "Regina said you had a concussion and gave you something to heal it. She said you'd be asleep for a while, but that you'd be fine when you woke."
That last was almost a question, but Emma didn't care about concussions right now. "How long?"
"We got back here at around five, I think," David said. "It's almost ten now. In the evening," he added, as if that wasn't obvious from the drawn curtains.
Five hours, Emma thought dully. He'd been gone for five hours.
Anger, grief, pain, other feelings she couldn't even name, all tumbled around inside her. The anger floated to the top and found its way out in a single word. "Why?"
The sound of her own voice seemed to open something, because more words followed. "Why did he do that? Why would you let him? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"It was the only way—" David started, but Emma was already shaking her head.
"We were going to get the heart. That was the plan! Get the heart and stab it, remember?"
"It was too late for that! We were no match for that thing even before it knocked you out."
"It didn't knock me out," Emma insisted, feeling tears sting at her eyes. No, no, no. "I was working on it, damn it, Dad—"
He was there now, his arms coming around her, and she beat her fist against his chest as she all but fell against him. The tears stung their way past her eyelids and seeped into David's shirt. Her father's hand cradled her head, pulling her closer, and she didn't have it in her to pull away again.
"I'm so sorry," David said. "I wish I could have gone instead. I'm sorry."
That was her father, right enough, regretting that he hadn't been the one to sacrifice himself. It only made her cry harder, because it shouldn't have happened at all. If she'd been faster, stronger, in better control of her magic...
Just like Graham, her memory whispered. Just like Neal. Only this time, she hadn't even been there.
Movement whispered at her other side as Snow came over to join them, taking Emma's hand and leaning against her shoulder. For once, she didn't say anything, and Emma was grateful, because any encouraging words about hope and faith and she was going to punch something.
She clenched her teeth. She'd only just found him, really found him. They'd been through so much together already, and she'd begun to believe that he'd really stick around. But no, he just had to play hero and sacrifice himself—
"Do you think he's really gone?" Snow asked.
"What?"
"Snow—" David began, but Snow seemed to be determined to say her piece.
"It's just that, we thought Neal was gone after he fell through that portal," she went on. "And then it turned out that he wasn't."
Emma's first reaction was a new surge of anger. Maybe she really was going to punch something. "Neal didn't go to Hades," she said, surprised that she sounded almost calm. "You heard Regina. You can't bring someone back from there."
"Not from the dead," Snow said. "But Hook didn't die, did he?"
Emma stilled. That thought hadn't occurred to her.
Her first reflex was to lash out, deny it, even yell at her mother for encouraging false hopes yet again. Hope led to disappointment and pain and heartbreak.
But she suppressed the impulse when something else occurred to her: she had nothing left to lose. She'd already lost him. Her heart was already broken, and though it didn't hurt that much yet, she knew that it would once the hollowness inside her receded a little. It couldn't get any worse.
And if there was even the slightest chance that Killian had survived...
I've yet to see you fail.
She pushed away from her parents and swiped at her eyes. "No. You're right. He didn't. And I'm going to find him."
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Ariel, who sat quietly with baby Luke in her arms. Beside her, Eric was leaning over the boy with a smile, although they both looked rather sombre and worried.
But Emma remembered seeing them look very different, and it gave her an idea. She stood, leaving her parents to sit on the bed. "I'm going to find him right now."
They exchanged startled glances. "Wait, whoah," David said. "Find him how?"
Emma was already standing in front of the mirror, the big one she'd used to check on Ariel and Eric before. "This showed me the Enchanted Forest before," she said. "There's got to be a way of making it show other realms."
"Should we call Regina?" Snow asked.
"Let me just try it." Emma narrowed her eyes, thinking back to the last time she'd done this. She'd focused on wanting to see Ariel and Eric, not any specific location, and directed her magic according to that want, that feeling. She'd struggled at first; they were both strangers, which made them much harder to pinpoint.
By rights, then, this ought to be easier. Emma pressed her lips together, let her eyes fall closed, and focused on Killian Jones.
She heard Snow's intake of breath behind her as she squinted one eye open again, and then both her eyes widened at the sight before here.
It was blurry, as though veiled with a dark, swirling fog, but she could make out a familiar figure. He was hunched down on the ground, bent over something she couldn't make out, but it was definitely Killian. She caught the glint of his hook as he straightened up again, and she took an involuntary step towards the mirror when he began to walk away. He walked slowly and seemed to be picking his way with care; she couldn't make out anything specific, but from his movements, the ground was uneven.
She tried to focus more, but the relief and other warring emotions crashing through her was too distracting. But it was enough. She released her hold on the mirror, and let out a shaky breath.
"He made it!" David came up beside her, hugging her to his side, a smile splitting his face. "He actually made it."
"He's alive?" Ariel asked from behind them, and Emma turned to see her smiling, too. "Really?"
"Looks like." Emma strove for a casual tone, but she couldn't help grinning right back at them both. "Now we just have to figure out a way in."
