Title: the rescue
Rating: T
Summary: These sailors are just like her. They understand that the sea is in her blood, and they allow her to embrace it fully. Never before has she ever felt so strong and capable in her life. It's thrilling and addictive and she doesn't want it to end.
Princess Emma loathes getting caught off guard.
For years upon years, she has been sneaking out of the palace in a peasant's dress and cloak and heading into town for drinks or just to walk around. Never once has she gotten into any serious trouble, though.
Not until that night.
She had been trekking through the woods, half drunk, attempting to make it back to palace grounds before sunrise when she stumbled upon Queen Regina, looking quite pleased with herself. The next thing she knew, she was in a cage and on a bumpy ride to the Evil Queen's palace.
It's been about a week, or so she believes. She has been keeping track of the sunrises on the wall of her cell, and seven scrawny marks are on her wall. She wonders why the Evil Queen hasn't ripped her heart out yet, but chooses not to dwell on it. Not like she minds the delay.
She picks idly at the chains on her now raw wrists, wishing she hadn't bothered to try and slip out of them. Now she is just in pain, and despite her endless searching, there is no way out of the cell that she could find.
When her door opens and a cloaked figure brushes in before shutting the door, Emma sits up quickly. She may not have her sword and knives with her, but she damn well can kick. The figure takes off his hood, revealing a handsome face, only a few years her senior she suspects.
"Who the hell are you?" she demands. He stops what he's doing and glances up at her in surprise.
"Am I in the right cell?" he asks, although the sparkle in his eyes tells Emma that he knows exactly where he is.
"How would I know, you're the one with the keys, buddy!" she fires back. He snickers, and Emma's eyes catch a glimpse of something shining in his left hand.
"Oh no lass, it's not that," he replies, ridding himself of his cloak. Emma's eyes settle quickly on his gleaming hook, which is set right where his left hand should be.
"Then what is it?" she asks, not knowing whether she's talking about his hook or whatever the hell he's talking about.
"Well, I was told I would be rescuing a princess." This gets her attention. She stares up at him defiantly as he kneels down and begins unlocking her chains.
"What makes you think I'm not one?" she asks as her left hand comes free.
"Well for one, your language."
"Well that's too damn bad," Emma drawls sarcastically. "Doesn't change who I am," she adds as the other cuff slides off her wrist. The stranger glances down at her raw wrists and back up at her, concern briefly flitting through his blue eyes.
"Did you try to escape already?" he asks.
"No, I just sat here and waited patiently for my death," Emma deadpans, "Because that's the smart thing to do." He chuckles.
"Oh, you're a feisty little thing, aren't you?" he asks, helping her stand. "Can you walk on your own?"
"I'm a princess, not an invalid," Emma mutters as he shrugs out of his cloak (is he wearing all leather?!) and tosses it to her. "Why are you giving me this?"
"The guards may be dull, but they would recognize you in an instant," he replies, "This gives us a slight advantage until they figure out that you're missing."
"Because a man dressed in leather and a woman in a hooded cloak isn't suspicious at all," Emma says dryly, but seeing his point, she slips the cloak on and puts the hood over her head.
"Still beautiful," the man says with a wink. Emma rolls her eyes, trying to hide a smile. God, this man is so refreshing after a week of isolation. Not that she'll let him know.
"Save the flirting for when we're out of the palace, um, what's your name?"
"Hook. Captain Hook," he replies with a bow.
Emma arches an eyebrow. "However did you come up with a name like that?" He winks.
"I'm creative."
He takes her hand then, murmuring in her ear that if they run into trouble, she has to give him his sword, taking off his belt and slipping it under the cloak. She nods, and the two set off through the halls of Regina's castle.
He seems to know the halls well, deftly guiding her through mostly empty corridors and never once letting go of her hand. When they hear shouting from down the hallway, they break into a run.
When they finally make it to the docks, it's nearly nightfall. Emma and Hook haven't exchanged words, choosing instead to silently trek through the forest instead of risking being spotted in town. And with search parties undoubtedly pursuing them, talking seemed to be too much of a risk.
"Which one is yours?" Emma whispers. Hook grins at her and points to one of the larger ships at the end of the docks, colored brightly, sails billowing in the twilight breeze. "Impressive," she allows, following him up the ramp to his ship. A stocky, short man in a bright red hat greets her, ridding her of her clothes.
Hook turns to her. "Smee will get you a change of clothes," he says, eyes traveling down her body. "I doubt you'll want to stay in those rags."
"Eyes up, Sailor," Emma snaps. He grins widely. "Why did you rescue me?"
"Change first," Hook says dismissively, "And find me at the helm when you're done. We'll talk then."
"Count on it," Emma says as Hook turns away from her and begins barking orders to his crew. Smee gestures for her to follow him and leads her below deck.
"You'll be sleepin' in the Cap'n's cabin," he says, pointing out a door at the end of a tight corridor. "We set up a cot on 'is orders too, so you can sleep good." Emma smiles.
"Thank you, Mister Smee," she says, opening the door to the cabin and walking in.
The first thing she notices is that the cabin is shockingly clean. She chuckles at that, peering at his wardrobe and wondering if he has anything not made from leather.
On the cot lie several dark red and black dresses, corsets, skirts, and scarves, and Emma finds herself wondering how many other women have been given this treatment. But upon closer inspection, she realizes that the clothes all appear to be brand new.
The first dress she tries on, a lacy burgundy one, is extremely comfortable . . . except for the fact that it is probably the most low-cut thing she's ever worn in her life. Slipping out of that, she slips into a black dress with no sleeves, and sighs when she realizes that it too is low-cut. Sighing, she walks over to his wardrobe and grabs one of his black shirts, slipping into it and then grabbing one of the red corsets and lacing it up. She then takes the only skirt available, a white one that is almost all lace, and tucks the black shirt in with a huff. Braiding her hair out of her face, she then exits the cabin and finds her way back above deck.
Hook is where he said he would be, at the helm, steering the ship and humming a song she doesn't know. He smiles when he spots her coming up to him, and she internally curses him for being so freaking attractive.
"Is that my shirt?" he asks when she finally reaches his side.
"Considering the fact that everything you had for me showed a bit more than I'd care to let you see," she mutters, granting him a nod. He chuckles.
"Well lass, the pirate look suits you." This makes her want to smile, but she doesn't.
"Why did you rescue me?" she asks bluntly, "Who sent you?"
"You're quite tactful," he comments, snickering. She pokes him hard in the arm at that, and he laughs. "I was charged with rescuing you by your dear parents." She arches a doubtful eyebrow.
"My parents sent a pirate to rescue me?" she asks skeptically.
"I wasn't their first choice, lass," Hook says with a wry smirk, "They've sent several knights in this past week. None came back." Emma feels a chill go through her veins at the thought of these brave and noble men having their hearts ripped out because she wanted to have fun. "Your parents got desperate, they sought me out." He grins at her. "And here we are."
"Here we are," she echoes softly. "How long until we get back?"
"I took a shortcut to get you," Hook tells her, "But since they will now be actively trying to find you, we are taking a more . . . hidden route."
"How long?" Emma repeats, hands on her hips.
"Three weeks." Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"Are you serious? How long did your shortcut take?"
"Three days."
"Fucking-"
"Gladly, Princess, but you must understand that if we try going down that path, we will be caught," he interjects, and she blushes unwillingly. Choosing to ignore the blatant innuendo, she sighs.
"Alright. Fine," she mutters. "But at our first stop we're getting me new dresses."
His eyes roam over her figure without shame, and he frowns. "I wouldn't count on it."
He returns to the ship after their first stop with three new dresses. One is a light sea foam green and covers her chest well, but cuts off at her knees. A second is a stone gray dress with off the shoulder sleeves that shows cleavage, but not as much as her other dresses. The last is a deep red dress with black lace that Emma refuses to admit she absolutely adores.
"I thought you didn't want me in other dresses," Emma quips as he tosses the dresses over to her. She sees his eyes widen at her wardrobe choice- the insanely low-cut burgundy dress he claims to have picked out himself.
"I'm starting to regret this gesture," he tosses back. She smirks, striding up to him.
"Thank you," she says sincerely.
"For the dresses or for saving your life?" he asks. She shrugs.
"Whichever you prefer." He chuckles at that and barks at Smee to take her dresses to his cabin. She hands them off to the stout little man, who then scurries below deck. She follows Hook up to the helm, standing beside him in silence until finally she grows bored.
"I hate to be that person . . . but how much longer?"
"Already tired of my presence, love?" Hook asks, eyes glittering with mischief. She merely looks at him until he finally replies, "Two more weeks, Emma. And then you'll be back to your balls and fine gowns." His eyes coast down to her chest and then back up again. "A shame. These fit you so well." She rolls her eyes.
"Don't get used to it," Emma snorts, "I'll be in those new dresses starting tomorrow."
"It is said that the best things in life are fleeting," Hook says, though this time his eyes remain fixed on hers. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Emma narrows her eyes at him, but the small smile on her face removes any malice he might have interpreted.
One night, Emma sits idly on her cot in the Captain's quarters, sipping on a bottle of rum she found stashed in his wardrobe, when Hook barges in, his eyes dark with anger. Emma sits up immediately and holds out the rum, allowing him a likely unhealthy swig. He offers her the bottle and she just shakes her head.
"What's with you?" she asks. She had heard his voice from above deck and he had sounded angry, but she had figured it was nothing worse than usual. He yelled at his crew often, because most of them were idiots. He plops down on his bed, taking another long drink from the bottle.
"I sometimes forget that not all pirates follow the same code as I," Hook answers, eyes downcast. Emma frowns, sitting farther up and leaning towards him. Her fingers skim the soft fabric of her gray dress.
"What happened?" she asks, eyes not leaving him.
It's strange, as infuriatingly annoying as he can be, she's found a kindred spirit in him. He's the only one on the entire damn ship with whom she can hold decent conversation, and despite his constant innuendos and roving glances, he has never tried to touch her, despite the fact that they have shared a cabin for the past two weeks.
She's also learned so much with him.
Just yesterday, he showed her the inner workings of his ship, the roles each member of his crew play in making the Roger set sail. She has been to three little port towns, and been able to really interact with her people in a way she never has before. The foods, the drinks, the sights and sounds of bustling ports . . . it's a dream come true for a restless wanderer.
"The cook," Hook says finally, his tone gruff, as if he had been yelling. Emma frowns and tilts her head slightly. The cook was fairly new to his crew, picked up at their second landing.
"What about him?" Emma presses, "What did he do?"
"Nothing. It's what he said," Hook says, "And I shouldn't have gotten so angry, but he was out of line, and I-"
"What did he say?" Emma asks quietly, moving from her cot and kneeling in front of him. Her hand finds its way to his hook and begins stroking it absentmindedly.
Hook's eyes grow dark again. "He wanted to know . . . how much gold he would have to give me to bed you." Emma's blood runs cold at that, and she finds herself speechless. "I told him you were not for sale, and he . . ."
"Hook . . ."
"He asked me what made you any different from the other worthless whores I've bedded." Emma flinches at that, her fingers curling into fists.
"I'll punch him tomorrow," she mutters.
Hook looks up at her sort of sheepishly. "You won't have to . . . he's down in the brig now and, ah . . . not in the best shape." Emma smiles at him, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.
"My hero," she murmurs wryly before leaning back and taking a seat on his bed next to him. He looks over at her with an odd glint in his eye, but says nothing else. They sit in a companionable silence until she dozes off with her head against his shoulder.
Emma knows that they're nearing her home by the rolling mountains she spots over the horizon. She begins telling crew members stories of her life, from her drunken escapades to her first ball as a teenage girl. She feels bad for thinking them all idiots before- they might not be bright, but she can see that underneath the brutish exteriors and rough mannerisms are good hearted sailors.
She finds a new favorite spot in the crow's nest, relieving the watchman of his duty, though she suspects Hook sends him elsewhere to keep watch all the same. She spends hours in silence, up there, eyes roaming the vast valleys and mountains on one side, and the endless, rolling waves on the other.
She also finds herself sneaking glances at the ship's captain often.
Sometimes he'll catch her and send her a dirty smirk, and sometimes he'll not notice and she'll watch him, the utter focus that takes on his entire being as he becomes essentially one with the ship.
She almost doesn't want her little adventure to end. She loves the smell of the sea, the brisk wind in her hair, and going into town and buying beautiful things from street vendors. She loves wearing these comfortable, casual dresses, and more than that, she loves feeling completely sexy whenever she catches Hook's appreciative gaze.
Most of all, she loves feeling like a part of a community.
Of course she loves her family at home- her parents are so very incredible and all of the people who helped raise her. But growing up, she always felt a sense of isolation. What friends she did have were other royal children, and would come and go with their parents for business. She enjoyed the princes sometimes, but most of them would refuse to allow some silly girl to join in on their "quests" and games, and she would be forced to sit through tea parties with the other princesses, who didn't understand her burning desire to travel and fight and see everything imaginable.
These sailors are just like her. They understand that the sea is in her blood, and they allow her to embrace it fully. Never before has she ever felt so strong and capable in her life. It's thrilling and addictive and . . .
She doesn't want it to end.
When Hook climbs into the crow's nest and leans beside her, waiting for her to acknowledge him, she keeps her eyes out at sea.
"What will you do?" she asks, "When all of this is done?"
He frowns. "I have things yet to be accomplished. I will continue working closer toward my goal." She turns to face him.
"Your goal?"
"Revenge," he says simply. Emma studies him curiously.
"How exactly did my parents pay you, Hook?" She looks down. "I mean, you have enough gold-"
"A man can never have too much gold, darling."
"-and you haven't been charged with anything by the courts. So what gives? What was your price for rescuing me?" Hook stares her down for a long while, eyes intense and stormy. She holds his gaze defiantly.
"Information," he replies simply. Emma's eyebrow arches and she leans in. "On an escaped prisoner of theirs."
"Which prisoner?" Emma asks.
"Rumpelstiltskin," he answers with venom in his voice. "I have been searching for him for years to exact my revenge."
"He took your hand," Emma guesses. He nods.
"Smart lass." She gives him a tight smile.
"But he took more than that, didn't he? The hatred in your eyes, that's how I looked when-" she cuts off, biting her lip. Too much. She's saying too much. He gestures for her to continue, eyes beseeching. ". . . when I found out that Regina killed the Huntsman."
"Who?"
"I met him many times when I would sneak out of the castle," Emma explains, "But it turns out that was no accident. He was being controlled by Regina- she had his heart. And when he tried to fight it . . ."
"She crushed it," Hook finishes bleakly. Emma nods, shutting her eyes. Hook stays silent for several minutes, and it's just them and the breeze. Finally, he shifts, prompting her to open her eyes and look over at him, and he lifts up his sleeve, revealing a crude and simple tattoo with a name on it: Milah.
"Rumpelstiltskin took more than your hand from you," Emma murmurs, "Didn't he?"
"Aye," Hook whispers, pulling the sleeve back down. "She was married to him, and then ran away with me. He found us, and ripped her heart out right in front of me before taking my hand." He turns away. "I went to Neverland and for years . . . I have been plotting my revenge. Nothing else has mattered to me, and now my vengeance is so close I can taste it and-"
"You realize that it's useless." He whirls around, eyes aflame. "It won't bring Milah back, Hook. All it will do is hurt more people, and if you do something stupid others will have to pay for it, and others will die . . ." His eyes soften as he notices the tears in her eyes and he reaches for her hand.
"Emma . . ."
"Those men, sent before you," Emma whispers softly, "They were good men. Noble men. And they all died because I wanted to drink away my stupid fucking pain, and now their families will loathe me-" She cuts off, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Hook."
"As am I, lass," he murmurs, squeezing her hand. "But I am glad I got the chance to rescue you. You are bloody brilliant. Amazing." She smiles.
"You aren't so bad yourself. For a pirate," she adds cheekily. "But I stand by what I said. Don't let his death take away your life. You are more than this quest, Hook."
"What else have I to live for?" he questions.
"The Roger would sink without you," Emma says, his self-deprecation stinging her a bit. "Moreover, I would miss you. Who would steal me away from my palace and take me on adventures?" He scoffs at her.
"Your parents would sooner die."
"Then they don't have to know."
He rolls his eyes, and she wonders how the hell he can still look so devastatingly handsome while doing so.
When her castle comes into view, a little dot on the horizon, she climbs down from the crow's nest and finds Hook at the helm. He glances over at her, eyes wistful.
She decides to be completely stupid.
"How long until we reach port?" she asks. He thinks for a short moment.
"A few hours," he replies. A few more hours left of her adventure with pirates. A few more hours with this dangerously handsome swashbuckler who torments himself every day with memories yet still takes care of her. The pirate who defended her honor, but still managed to make her feel like the sexiest woman alive. The pirate who makes her heart beat faster for the first time since the Huntsman. The only man who could have as many scars as she does. She takes a deep breath and then her hand finds his good one.
"Then let's make them count," she whispers. He turns to face her, eyes wide with surprise and something else entirely. Wordlessly, he nods and follows her back to his cabin.
