Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT, nor Emma's hair or Killian's hotness
Chapter Nine: Pirate's Log
Guards of the princess of Fairmont who were carrying goods and supplies walked over the deck of the Jolly with unsure feet. They eyed the crew with scornful stares, as if they were afraid that at any second, Hook might order his sailors to slice their throats or spill their guts on the deck.
Hook grinned; it was very unlikely to happen, he had only just now gotten the deck cleaned after his carpenter had finished fixing the mast – once again, thanks to the wood and different tools given by her highness. They had maneuvered the ship into the royal harbor – something Hook was not comfortable with but Emma had convinced him that it was the best way to get it done so they could go back to their journey as soon as the Jolly Roger was back on the planks.
"Captain." Lancelot approached him, his eyes wandering around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping on their conversation.
Hook pointed to his cabin; it was night after all and the wind from the north, coming from Winterfield was as cold as a land covered by snow could be. He took place at his desk, not without wincing when the position reminded him of his bruised ribs. His hook was still missing, apparently the guards had not only beat him for no reason but a bastard with no name had believed it valuable enough to try to sell in a tavern.
So for now, he was using a filled glove to give the impression of a hand. So much for his moniker, even if no man on this ship had dared making a remark;, he hoped that he would find himself another one soon enough. The metal appendage had become too familiar and he felt almost vulnerable without it.
The emphasis being on the almost vulnerable. Even without the famous hook he was still the same pirate, the same Captain and the same man.
Lancelot decided to remain standing rather than to sit down with him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I did as you required, I kept an eye on proceedings and I can't say my research was successful; I got very little information."
"Little information is what I needed to sharpen my intuition; tell me what you learned."
"Apparently the men went at the tavern together."
Hook laughed, holding his belt as he did so, remembering too late about his ribs and reaching for the rum, his handless arm holding his chest as he did so. "That is not new, men go to taverns for alcohol and women."
"I know." Lancelot acknowledged, before resting his two hands on the desk, "However I find it quite suspicious to see some men coming back from the port with more coins in their pockets than before they left. There are stares that don't lie, Captain."
Coins? Hook reacted to that; there were no men on his ship who would come back with even fuller pockets than before a trip to the closest tavern, which meant only one thing; an exchange had been made, a man had been paid. "Who?"
"Carter and McLaghan have my full attention so far."
"Carter is a kid." Hook noted, his brows knotted together; his gut was telling him that this was no good. He got up and walked around the cabin, stopping by the little shelf of books he had, eyes quickly scanning over the titles.
"All the more impressionable; it is easier to pay a kid than an older man. Their allegiance is easier to break."
Indeed it was easier, Hook mused, rubbing his mouth with an angry hand because such fuss was dangerous; stuck on the ship, men could get worked up, like a spark in a barrel of explosive powder. Hook needed to find out who was stirring trouble on the Jolly Roger before his position was put in jeopardy. He drank a long sip of the rum, appreciating the burn in his throat, familiar and better than the fire of a home – or a castle.
They had a spy, possibly several aboard the ship.
"Keep an eye open." Hook spoke in a quiet voice that tried not to give away his worry over this case. "And Lancelot-" He called after his second mate who was making his way out of his cabin. Good as he was, Lancelot spun around, "I'm glad that your allegiance is not so easily bought."
"It would take a lot more than a few coins to buy me, my Captain."
Hook arched a brow at his comment, he knew that, of course; there were few men on this ship that he trusted more than he did Lancelot, whose background as an ex-soldier of the army made him that much more trustworthy. In a way, there was a lot in Lancelot that Hook could remember being once upon a time.
The memory was old and not desired, so he shook his head to chase it away, sitting on his bed. "Everyone has a price Lancelot, if-" He groaned as he tried to breathe through the pain, it seemed that no position was suitable for his ribs. "If there is one thing I learned from all those bumpy adventures on these stormy seas, it's that everyone has a price."
"Is this your way to ask for mine?"
Smiling was the only thing he could do right now, laughter being out of reach, but he tried to put on his best face as he spoke, using his commanding voice. "It isn't, for I am not sure I want to know how much your loyalty cost."
"I think you can rest reassured, Captain, my cost is a cost none of us can afford to pay."
Lancelot paused yet again and plunged a hand in the satchel he carried on his hip, "Emma gave me this for you."
The Swan girl was still on land, waiting for the funeral of her friend to be over, a ceremony Hook had not wanted to be a part of. He had given his goodbyes to his old friend and a part of him doubted the princess wanted him around.
Lancelot dropped the metallic appendage on the desk.
"She thought you'd be pleased to have it back. Apparently she challenged the Queen to give it back. Something about her Majesty wanting to keep it for herself like a trophy."
Hook groaned. Bloody royals. The bunch of them, bloody royals who thought so high of themselves. His fingers traced the curve of his hook, the metal cool and familiar in his hand. Like an old friend.
He gritted his teeth and put it back on.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Her jaw was set tight as they ate in a perfect silence, the weight of his lies and her tiredness surrounding them in an impossibly daft wordless conversation, heavy to the point that neither of them dared to say something to break it. They had just gone for the big sea and Emma was already missing the feeling of dry and stable land under her feet.
At the menu today, Smee had tried to do his best, Emma could note that in the presentation of the fish – of course fish - with a portion of rice set in a way that was apparently supposed to look like a flower. Earlier that day Smee had been something of a child, happy to be able to offer them tomatoes with lunch, a rare vegetable aboard the Jolly Roger, a smile full of excitement on his face as he set the plates on the table.
Emma on the other hand, felt quite out of her depth, no matter how touching was Smee's excitation, she was lost at sea and confused to the point where North and South were mingled together in her mind.
"You lied to Aurora." Emma finally brought the matter up, setting her fork on the table, eyeing Hook from the side.
"Who's Aurora?" A very drunk Victor asked, completely relaxed in his seat, a leg thrown over the arm of his chair.
"Go back to your cabin, Victor, you're dismissed." Hook ordered in a commanding voice, not looking at the physician.
Victor glared at him over his glass of wine, a grimace twisting the expression on his face but he did not move.
"Do you need me to repeat myself, Doctor?"
Raising his hands and glass up, Victor's eyes widened in a comical effect, the man got up and even winked at Emma. If Hook noticed, which Emma found unlikely, seeing how drink and obvious the physician was being, he did not make any comment. Once finally alone, the same silence, even more awkward now that the only sound they could hear was coming from the drunk sailors on the deck, cheering when they saw their fellow doctor joining them.
"Where's Lancelot?" Emma asked out of the blue, the need to fill the air with conversation before getting back to the hot topic making her speak up more than an actual curiosity. While the ex-ally of her parents could be taken as a friendly figure aboard, there was something about him and his admiration for her mother that unsettled Emma.
A topic she was not eager to find more about.
Hook poured himself another glass of wine and moved to do the same with her own but Emma declined, placing her hand over her glass. "He's taking care of something for me."
"And what's that?"
"My crew, my ship, my second mate, my business." He smiled wickedly at her.
"Alright then, now tell me why you lied to Aurora."
Setting his glass back onto the table, the tip of his hook digging into the table regardless of the damages it was causing. To her surprise, his fingers wrapped around the brace and if at first she saw in that gesture a sign of discomfort, Hook actually took it off, unscrewing it off the brace. The process was fascinating, and she knew for the few words he had spoken on the subject, that it meant he was in pain.
It was obvious no matter how hard he tried to put on a full mask.
Now that the hook was before her, Emma did not back down, not letting his little play disturb her.
"Why did you lie?"
"An omission, that's all; we don't need a widow in our way." The tone he used to simply state her situation was devoid of any human compassion, and because of those simple words, it hit Emma hard how low he thought of Aurora, and how he despised her.
"She just lost the love of her life."
"She's brooding over her misfortune." He set an elbow on the table, learning in to take a few grapes and making them roll between his thumb and index finger. "She stays in her ivory tower, ruling a dying kingdom she can't even look at. She makes decisions for a country she doesn't know."
Emma could not believe her ears. "She is mourning."
He popped a grape in his mouth, not even casting a look at her, "So is your father."
The blow was low. "That's not-", Emma started but found herself unable to defend her own father.
He had been mourning for more than twenty years now, and he let his kingdom die for just as long.
It hurt to let Hook be right about that one, hurt to see how wrong her father was and how wronged she had been. Hook was right about royals.
Selfish.
Cunning.
Self-centered.
All of them, putting their needs first-
Anger ran in her blood, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds and tried to swallow the lump that tightened her throat – now that it was there, anger cramped her system, adding to the bitterness she carried every day; it would never stop.
Then she looked back at Hook and although she only had two drinks or maybe four since the beginning of the dinner, what she saw was crystal clear in her mind. She adopted the same stance he had taken, sharpening her voice.
"You believe to be so much better than anyone else." She started, paused and once sure of her effect, the words making him shift slightly, Emma got up and in her haste, grabbed the closest thing that came under her hand - a bottle of wine they had been drinking - and smashed it against the wall. "You're just - you're just so full of yourself!"
To his credit, Hook did not even bat a lash, merely expressing boredom.
Not at all disturbed by her anger, he pointed to the door with an amused smirk on his face, "They are going to believe you and I are engaged in passiona-"
"Oh shut the hell up." Emma rolled her eyes, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "You're just a liar in power, you're just lying to everyone around and hoping for what, the best?" Her hands were shaking, anger taking over, and thank God there was no other bottle on the table that might fall under her hand. "You go around lecturing people acting like you know best but-" Her voice broke as the air seemed to refuse to enter her lungs, so she stopped, forcing a deep breath in while his eyes and hers locked, challenging each other.
Hook's piercing stare did not waver, not once, and then he moved quite swiftly, hooking two fingers in his vest and starting to unbutton it with an expert hand. Puzzled, Emma was not sure if that was her cue to leave but seeing how this seemed to be yet another of his challenges, Emma did not back down.
Each button coming loose had her heart beat a bit faster - not in the way a romantic heroine would in one of those books Joanna praised so much and Emma despised, but in the way of an intruder would feel when intruding on one's intimacy.
He was not the first man she saw shirtless but the state of their relationship made it all more intimate. She was no imbecile; denying the tension that stood between them would not make any sense and would prove to be rather pointless - a loss of time. Since day one there had been an attraction and part of her discomfort was linked to the pull she felt toward him.
A glimmer in his eyes spoke louder than his face did – so neutral when his gaze made a point to be this intense to unsettle her, waiting for her reaction, scanning each frown on her face. His whole act was not meant to have him bare himself to her, or to be vulnerable for that matter.
Hook revealed a shoulder made prisoner of a complicated leather contraption that kept his arm in different braces that cut him – hence the ointment he carried with him. The scars if they could be considered as such looked more like burns, something Emma was capable to make out only once he took a step forward in her direction. His hand rested in the crook of his elbow before he let his arms hang at his side, allowing her to take an eyeful on his body.
"As you can see, Swan, I'm not a man of wisdom; if I were, my hand would be attached to my arm, which is not the case anymore." He held his stump up, still covered by a metal bracelet to hide the ugliest scar of them all. Emma's attention was still on his whole shoulder - quite taken by the impressive contraption.
The demonstration stunk with his usual arrogance, trying to get her to back off and run away from the atmosphere he had installed in his cabins.
Her eyes scanned his chest, taking in every detail she could make out; the tattoos on his breast, under the heart, three crosses and also an inscription on the right, under the collarbone, something she did not understand and did not have time to get to before he continued.
"Are my dashing looks that impressive that you are under my spell incapable to form words?"
Emma then gave him her back, going for the closet where she knew he kept the alcohol - a bottle with a label almost impossible to read. Seeing how old and dusty it was, the lack of information was welcome. Behind her, a low chuckle could be heard, along with the sound of clothes being folded or unfolded. Apparently his little act was done and Emma could pour herself a glass of the discovered beverage in peace.
As she went back the dining table, Hook was buttoning up his vest as fast as he had undone it.
"I know you have a poor opinion of my person, my rank and my title but all that bravado, all those words, the smooth-talker that you are… in the end I still see you for who you are; just a man who lost too much." She bit each word sharply as the alcohol settled in her stomach with a warm burn that was rather comforting.
He deflected her words with a slight tilt of the head, his thumb grazing the line of his bottom lip, deliberately of course; the man was too obvious for her taste.
"And what a man indeed." He laughed.
"Is everything a joke to you?"
"Not necessarily."
Hook reached over the table for the bottle, using a glass on the desk without caring who might have used it. "But you have to recognize that from this angle, life is much more enjoyable, Swan."
"You mean looking at it when you're heartless?"
He looked down, holding the glass in his palm as if he was trying the rum like he would appreciate a bottle of fine grand wine. Still not looking at her, he spoke in a low and rough voice. "I'm not your mother."
"Don't talk to me about her."
Finally he looked her in the eyes, his stare shaded by an emotion – could that be regret? Emma did not know if she wanted to know or if, for that matter, she cared to know. The topic of her nonexistent mother was a painful one she barely wanted to address in general and even less with someone like Hook.
"Somehow you expect me to treat you like everyone else did your whole life." He sank deeper in his chair, the tip of his tongue pressed against the arc of his bottom lip. His index finger trailing the edge of his glass, he continued. "You expect me to treat you in a certain way while asking me to recognize you for who are you."
"And who would that be?" Emma tried to keep on smiling.
"You tell me, love. As I explained, I can't be considered a man of wisdom."
"And yet, wouldn't you like to brag about how you know me and can see right through me?"
Surprisingly enough, Emma was relaxing, the banter going back to something lighter and easier to deal with. Or maybe it was just the rum sinking that fast and passing through her blood.
"Actually-" Hook straightened so he could place his elbows on his knees. "I think you're just all about bravado as I am. But more than myself telling you who you are, I'm intrigued to know who you think you are, Emma."
Emma thought about her answer, quite taken aback by his words, the process not made any easier by her current dizzy state.
"Take off your shirt."
At least, her remark made him choke on his wine, before he quickly recovered with a hasty laugh. "Already asking for more?"
"I'm not asking, I'm ordering you." Emma grinned, looking through her satchel, pretty sure that she still had the ointment Aurora had offered her before they left. "Do not expect me to beg you."
"They all say that." She didn't even need to turn around to know he was smiling. "But there's a before and an after my bed."
"I'm not interested." The delicate box now on the table, Emma pointed to his shirt with her chin. "Shirt off, Hook. Now."
And so he executed the order, not even saying a word, just getting rid of his shirt in a matter of seconds.
The idea of asking him to take off the whole contraption did cross her mind; Emma contemplated the thought but did not dare. She was almost sure of his answer. "Sit back." She instructed him before realizing it would not work that way. "Get up actually."
To her relief, Hook remained silent the whole time and simply did as she asked. Scanning him over, Emma tried to decide where to start. Several bruises covered his body and Victor the physician had already cleaned him up and took care of the major wounds.
"You are not holding your part of the bargain."
Oh right. The bargain.
"You promised me honesty, Hook." Emma stressed his moniker between her teeth, infusing as much disdain as she could, rotating to reach for a piece of cloth. She moistened it with a pinch of water and carefully applied the cloth to his shoulder, covered with bruises gracefully made by Aurora's guards.
"I don't remember lying to you."
"How could I know what's a lie and what's the truth. You told me one thing in the cell and then you said another."
"I know a few things and I don't think Aurora needs to know about that."
He stopped her hand, gentle fingers closing around her wrist that Hook lifted to his eyes, palm open. "Your hands are in a better shape but you should take care of them if you don't want to have a scar."
Emma smiled. "Since when scars are a problem to you?" Her attention was drawn to a scar, sharp and thin, situated on his left breast. Probably made by a sword in one of the many fights that took place on the Jolly Roger.
"Talking like a real pirate."
"Don't get ideas."
They shared the joke together in silence, Emma taking the box in her hand and untwisting the cap, the smell of herbs harsh to the nose. "Can you take it off?" She gestured to his shoulder because there was no way she could take care of his wounds if he kept wearing the leather contraption.
Emma was aware of what she was asking; too much.
While he had stripped for her in order to impress her, now she was asking for the same thing, except it was about vulnerability this time, not showing off.
But after all, she was asking for a fair fight since he kept scaling her walls and making her feel vulnerable under his piercing and too understanding stare; he had seen her crying, he had seen at her lowest. It was quite the challenge she gave him; one she thought would need another request but Hook nodded with an almost imperceptible movement of his head.
Breathing through his nose, he finally spoke. "There's a buckle on my chest. Start with it and the rest should follow."
Not trusting her voice, Emma did as she was told, avoiding most of eyes contact with him but unable to avoid touching his skin. The leather was imprisoning his arm in a tight vice, and took on the exact shape of his body. Once she got his whole arm freed of the straps, the leather set on the table, Emma took in the damages made from such a rough but necessary treatment; the skin of his arm was covered with rashes, almost reaching the point of drawing blood, and although the difference between his arms was slight, his handless one was still a bit smaller than the other.
Under her gaze, Hook shifted.
"Get on with it, Emma."
It was not lost to her that he had given up his usual bravado for a more honest conversation, and she appreciated it. With two fingers, she took a bit of the cream and applied it generously to his skin, her mind currently debating on what she should say next.
He had made a move, now it was her turn.
"My father lied to me."
Hook looked up to her and she knew she had his whole attention.
"Him, the council, they all lied to me on purpose, they backed me into a corner when Phillip was in danger."
Hook arched a curious brow. "An old beau of yours?"
Emma sighted, keeping herself busy with her task, continuing to apply the balm to his wound, adding more cream where the skin was the most damaged. She did it carefully, not sure of the pressure and how it might hurt him when her fingers touched the rashes. "Not really; he's a childhood friend of mine. Though I believe him to have developed a few feelings for me over time."
"Feelings not returned."
It was not a question and something in his tone gave her the impression that he was not just talking about Phillip.
"I'm not heartless."
"It would take a foolish man to believe you are."
Her eyes met his, her fingertips brushed and burned when they trailed over his forearm. A smile, tentative at first, grew wider. "Is this going to be another one of your lectures?"
"You are quite the open book love, but that doesn't mean you are not a fascinating person."
His words made her pause, her hand resting on his shoulder where most of the damage could be found. "Are you flirting with me?"
The thought alone was amusing enough to keep the grin on her face.
"The day I start courting you, Emma", he made sure to roll her name in a suave accent, his eyes darkening, his expression set tight and meant to create a deep reaction under her skin.
She shivered. He leaned in slightly.
"When I court you, Swan, you will know."
"Will you send me notice?" Emma answered in the same tone, tilting her head to the side. She was too aware of the alcohol buzzing in her head and making her bolder, lighter - a welcome sensation.
He smiled, his breath fanning her face as he nodded. "Believe me, you'll know."
The tension getting a bit too much for her, Emma laughed. "You are so full of yourself and so sure of your charms."
His hand covered hers, his palm warm, his fingers calloused with the hard work on the ship and hours of holding the helm. Curiously enough, Emma started wondering how old he might be; was he her age? Probably older, the many scars on his body told the story of a man who had been through a lot, and she did not even want to think of the ones not so visible.
Yet, could you count the pain one had endured in their lives on the scars on their body? And even if she could, what would she do with them? Map them out like a chart on Hook's desk? Compare them to hers and see who was right and who was wrong?
Or maybe alcohol was talking.
"Your hand is trembling love. I would say my charms are working just fine."
Instinctively, Emma pulled away and Hook breathed out; something was broken, the balance somehow disturbed because what had just transpired, and her hand felt burned in a rather similar way to the one she experienced while taking a bath. Whatever happened between them was hard to describe and neither of them was eager to define their... alliance, she guessed.
"I am sorry for what happened and what was done by your kingdom behind your back." He pulled away enough to get out of her personal space and walked around the cabin, putting an end to that session of nursing, stopping in front of his closet and looking for a shirt.
Of course the choice came to a black shirt and another black shirt.
"We might not share the same views of the world, or in that case, royals, but that doesn't mean I enjoy your current distress."
Emma swallowed thickly. "Not going to give me the I told you so?" A heartbeat missed, she added. "I'm not a damsel in distress."
"I have never been one to enjoy bragging over an I told you so." He started dressing up, "And by the way, Swan, your current stare or distress doesn't make you weak; your capacity to react and survive the event defines your strength."
"You consider yourself to be strong?" She hated the way her voice sounded, too weak and uncertain. Alcohol was definitely not doing her any good today and she couldn't remember the last time she had been this unsettled by a beverage.
"I would not be a captain on this ship, a ship full of pirates ready to take my place and cut my throat if I did not believe in my strength." He sat down on his bed, not bothering with the buttons of his shirt. "Strength doesn't mean arrogance. Just like you should not mistake arrogance for confidence. The first comes from idiots and the last is known by a well-aware men."
"A strong man then."
"The way you are, just as strong as you are despite your current distress."
Emma cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at him. "Would you go as far as implying that you are capable of getting lost at sea or being an actual damsel in distress?"
Hook chuckled, the sound low and slightly muffled by his hand as he rubbed his scruff. He went for another drink, pouring himself a generous quantity of alcohol. There was definitely something impressive about his capacity to drink without being a tiny bit tipsy.
"Even if I were, which is by no means a confession, I would be a careless man to reveal such weaknesses to you."
Emma had now regained her seat, and seeing the turn of the conversation, she felt like she could relax. If they were going philosophical today, she did not fancy standing up. Her mind was agitated but there was a kind of comfort in talking to him, quite the change of events from the beginning of the night. An understanding with someone who could be considered a kindred spirit.
Or again, alcohol could be blamed.
Whatever.
A rictus curled her lips upward at the use of such a qualifier for Hook. Kind was not the right word to describe him, though it would be an insult at the same time to think of him as a heartless man. There was in him a capacity to express an inch of kindness.
That untied her tongue and she continued to confide in him.
"My father lied to me though and you could very much give me a bit of "I told you so." She gripped the bottle, drinking the alcohol straight from it. "You won this argument, you were right, royals are rotten to the core. They think of themselves first. Graham-" She breathed in, closing her eyes shut, "Graham died for my father's personal quest. You have every right and reason to refuse to share your information with Aurora."
With his tongue pressed against his cheek, Hook considered her. "I find no joy in your distress; it doesn't matter if I was right, and while I never doubted it, I'm sorry you had to realize it this way."
"Yet, you wouldn't like to be wrong."
"I have my beliefs and reasons to loathe royals and the way our monarchs govern."
"That's why you lied to Aurora." She paused, making sure their stares were locked together. "And me."
"I did hide information from the Princess. I do not trust royals with such important secrets." Hook rose from his spot and Emma thought he was going for the bottle but he reached for the ointment on the table and gestured at her hands.
"I did not lie to you, Emma." Hook leaned against the table, taking her hand and starting to apply the cream to her scarred palm, much like she had done before. Emma let out a breath of relief, the cream more than welcome on her too-dry skin. It occurred to her that not once Hook had asked her about the origins of her burns, and she was glad he had not; the last thing she wanted was people to look at her like she was a mad person.
"You were not honest."
"I did not lie; I was and I have always been honest with you." He paused for a moment, scanning her face seeking something in her expression. Emma did not shift under his stare, holding his eyes. He dropped his gaze first, sighing and rolling his shoulders back. "What I know of the Book of the Seven Seas." The name as ceremonial as it sounded actually passed for a joke when he spoke it. "Is what Cora told me, the one who tried to have me killed in Winterfield", Hook answered her silent question. "That and I have something else in my possession."
"What is it?"
For a moment Emma thought he would not tell her anything, judging by the way he tensed.
"I have in my possession a log that specifically talks about the item we are after. It has details about where we can find it."
"But it's been stolen from us."
"I do not believe so."
"What do you mean?"
"I have a reason to believe that the book Graham stole was not the right one. Cora is in possession of a copy of the book. A bad one."
His words felt like an icy rain falling over her, "What?" She tried to force herself to keep her voice even; she did not want to think about the consequences it had had. She did not want to hear the word Graham, not now. And funny as it could be, all alcohol seemed to have evaporated from her body. "What did you just say?"
"The book that was delivered to your court was a pale copy of the real one."
Her hand, trembling, covered her mouth as she took in everything. Emma did not know where her father had gotten the information and how the book was supposed to save his wife for that matter. Now that she was in possession of more details, questioning her father's sanity seemed the right thing to do. How could he have launched an expedition to get an unknown book without caring for the blood that could be shed? Emma had an idea of how fucked up the situation was but this was a whole new brand of information that lessened her father in her eyes: he was no better than those villains he and his wife had fought before Emma's birth.
Hook let her to it to grab a book from his library, handing it to her. "I don't normally share this with anyone. It's my brother's log."
Emma stared at him, receiving the book he handed her. It was old, carefully manufactured, heavy and covered by leather. It felt precious under her fingertips and she tucked it on her lap and looked up at Hook. "Thank you. For sharing this with me."
"Read it and tell me what you think." He nodded simply. "Do not share it with anyone else. Aside from you, nobody knows about its existence."
"You share it with me? I'm a royal though." Sarcasm filled her and sharpened the edges of her voice.
"You are quite the lass and far more than a crowned head." His teeth glimmered when he grinned.
"Who am I, then?"
He continued to take care of her hands, leaving them only to get a cloth to bandage her palms. "Now, now, I wouldn't venture so far as to presume to know who you are." Hook stopped briefly as he took the cloth between his teeth to tighten it around her hands before he set the gloves on the table for her to take.
"I think I will take it as a compliment. Even if the protocol would indicate to me that it's an insult."
Hook, who had taken his glass back in his hand raised it as if he was giving a toast. "That's more like it. Far more enjoyable."
"You don't exactly strike me as shy nor prudent, so why not risking it?"
"Indeed neither fit me well." He acceded, eyes briefly scanning her face. "Yet I would not put myself into those troubled waters."
The teasing was far too tempting to refuse. "Not worthy of a captain?"
Hook leaned over, his face a breath away from her. His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Make no mistake, Emma I fear no sea nor ocean, but when it comes to you, I would rather have you make the call and lead the dance than assuming anything about you. We would not want you to feel coaxed into something you don't agree with."
Emma, with the alcohol helping, smiled at him, the words ringing in her head. "So you are flirting with me."
His tongue flickered over his bottom lip, far too long for it to be innocent. "Told you, you would know it." The gloves still on the table, Emma reached for them but Hook set his hand on hers, his thumb brushing over the center of her palm, through the bandage. Leaning even closer, Hook almost set his forehead against hers, letting her close the distance if she desired so.
And so she did, nuzzling his nose with her own, her attention drawn to his full lips. A hand on the log, Emma whispered. "I should go back to my cabin."
Hook's fingertips brushed against her temple, light and gentle though he transferred some cream on her skin. "Afraid that the alcohol is getting the best of you?"
"I'm not so easily bested." Emma swayed slightly against him, the tip of her nose pressed to his cheek as she smirked with closed eyes." But I'm the prudent kind."
"You're scared."
Emma finally broke away. "I just know better."
"Afraid." He challenged her, following her with his eyes as she walked around the cabin to pick up her cloak and satchel, the log under her arm.
"I'm not afraid of you. I just know where my interests are." She hardened her voice, firmly stating her position. "If you are looking for a good tumble, any wench at the tavern would do."
Hook laughed, opened his mouth to say something but stopped when Emma cut him off.
"Who was your father?"
She was not sure what she expected from him at that instant but the fact that this single question was enough to disturb him was gratifying. Obviously tonight they had pushed each other until one of them was backed up in a corner; there was a purple stain on the wall to testify of that, and for once she was happy she had trapped him.
Hook first pretended he had not heard her. He chewed a sip of rum and spoke, looking at the shattered glass on the floor rather than at her. "That's a conversation for another day. Replace that bottle and I might tell you the tale. I think you have enough with my brother's log for tonight."
That was her cue to leave and she took it.
Emma nodded and turned around.
"Swan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for the hook."
.
.
.
.
.
"Princess!" A toothless sailor chanted. "Join us, my pretty!"
Emma shook her head and ignored them, running into Smee who was quite in a hurry, his nose reddened by the amount of alcohol he had drank tonight. His eyes were on her beverage at first before quickly switching up to her eyes, his expression apologetic. "Oh missy."
"Good evening Mr. Smee."
He bowed to her, his cheeks reddening more if it was even possible. "I apologize." Yet his eyes still could not find her face.
Emma crossed her arms on her chest, the book in her left hand, hidden from Smee's sight. "Where are you going?" She eyed the crew behind him. "Shouldn't you be celebrating with the others?" Her voice came in a shiver that she would rather suppress but it seemed her encounter with Hook had left her quite breathless.
"The captain needs water so I'm bringing water." Smee explained, "He's a clean man, our Captain, unlike all the others." He looked behind him and frowned.
Emma laughed in a low chuckle. She remembered a conversation she had had with the said Captain about the sailor standing before her. "You must have known quite the share of captains, Smee. Didn't you?"
Smee's cheeks reddened with a darker shade that was not due to alcohol. "That I did, missy."
"Your captain told me you have served Blackbeard."
The name was enough to send Smee into an ocean of terror, his forehead sweating as the color of his cheeks spread to his whole face. "Aye I did missy."
"What happened?"
Smee lowered his eyes to the deck, "I was on the Captain Blackbeard's ship before missy, but it is not a pretty tale for a pretty lady."
The expression in his eyes spoke loudly of the gruesome story.
"He's not a good man, Captain Blackbeard." His attention was now on his gloved hands that matched her own.
"Captain Hook is fearless and a fearsome captain but he treats us well." Smee added in a haste.
"Blackbeard did something to your hands, didn't he?"
"Aye Missy, not a pretty tale for pretty ears."
"You can talk, Smee, I am interested in your story." Emma's eyes went to the crew behind him, too busy drinking and getting wasted to listen to what they were saying. "Look." She pinched off one of her gloves, showing the sailor her burned palm. "I hurt myself the other day while taking a bath."
Smee's eyes softened at the sight, his own gloves now in his right hand as he showed her his. Compared to Emma's palm, Smee's was far more damaged than hers. The skin had melted and healed into new wrinkles, new lines that looked unnatural. It stretched almost painfully and for good measure, Smee closed and opened his hand.
"It doesn't hurt missy, do not worry."
Emma gave him a wry smile, "He did that to you didn't he?"
"Aye, he did." Smee looked away and put on the gloves again, hiding his hands behind his back. "Captain Blackbeard is a cruel man, missy, you do not want to disobey or displease him."
"What did you do to have him punish you? I can't think of anything-"
"I flirted with a woman he thought his, and he got so angry, missy, so angry, made me hold his sword after he had put the blade in the fire." He lowered his eyes, his voice a whisper, "Said I was never to touch anything of his ever again."
"I'm sorry, Smee."
The sailor forced a smile, standing straight like a good knight.
"Don't worry for me missy. They don't hurt anymore. Doctor Victor takes care of our wounds. James has it worse than me with his wooden leg. "
Smee paused and looked over her shoulder. His eyes flying from her to the door, his jaw clenched as he bent over to gather the bowl.
"I'm sorry missy, I need to give the Captain his water. He may be fair, but I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me."
"Right. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble because of me; you should go. Thank you, Smee."
"Goodnight missy."
Emma snorted slightly and nodded, holding the log to her chest, walking to her cabins.
She quickly made the distance from one cabin to the other, not really comfortable under the gazes of the crew. It was very unlikely that any one of them would dare to make a move on her, yet, Emma would not risk herself. Hook might have - probably had given orders, but she would not risk her safety near drunk sailors.
Her breath of air escaped her with great relief when she finally closed the door of her cabins. Emma hurried to detach her cloak from her shoulders and the heavy cloth barely made it to the small desk with her gloves, before she sat on the bed, her hands holding the log.
She was still under shock from Smee's story and his hands. The pain she had seen in the sailor's eyes could not be mistaken. The different kingdoms had given up most of their power over the seas, renouncing to legislate those oceans for they had too much to do with the lands already. It had of course, left a free place to every pirate captain who wanted to impose their law upon the sea.
She did not know where Hook stood in that hierarchy but Blackbeard perpetuated horrifying crimes to spread the word around the world that he was the King. Hook would therefore be the only rival known who could claim the title of King of the Sea. Or whatever name it was given.
But Hook or Blackbeard, no matter whom it was, Emma did not think either could ever do any good to their world, even if Hook was by far less cruel than Blackbeard was. Blackbeard had mutilated Smee for the sake of it, for a perverse need for hurting others, and killed that boy Hook had known a long time ago, not to mention the fact that he commended Emma's murder.
At least, on the Jolly Roger, Emma was safer than she was on land.
Her fingers brushed over the leather that covered the log, the material soft and warm. Over time, the leather was faded by the hands it had been passed into; Hook held this object dearly, and it was probably one of his most precious possessions, Emma realized.
She opened it and started scanning the pages; not only it contained the diary of a man who had spent his life on the sea but it contained a lot of maps, charts and other drawings representing monsters. The more pages she turned the more Emma realized that the book was not so much a diary, for it had really little text compared to the amount of lands reproduced on paper.
It was the work of an artist, beautiful lines and curls, traced with a thin pen, painted lines accompanied by arabesques, maps spread on two pages, even four if needed of places Emma had never heard of.
The more she read the bigger her curiosity was, for she was fascinated by the details of a man's life, the accounts of a journey from one land to another.
Something stood out in the middle of this treasure; no mention was made of Killian Jones, making Emma arch a brow. Wasn't Liam Jones supposed to be his brother? Wouldn't it be logical for him to talk about his brother? Especially if they had shared adventures together?
Her reading fastened as she now sought mentions of the soon to be pirate in every page; a misplaced curiosity to find out more about the man he used to be through the prism of his brother.
She was not sure of what she was looking for, feeling like she was running after a ghost, trying to connect the dots and explain a connection.
Not even halfway through it a tingling sensation started growing from the center of the pages to the tips of her fingers, like a slow fire burning up. It was just like that time when she had taken a bath, the same sensation starting as a warm feeling-
"What the hell?"
Now her palms were burning, forcing her to drop the book, and it fell poorly at her feet, just a regular log, not a dangerous item. She looked at her palms with horror and there were the same burns as before, only this time deeper, a quivering cry escaping her lips as she tried to open and close her fists.
The log had definitely burned her hands.
I apologize for the delay, between my laptop dying on me and a hard time to pull this chapter together, here it is, finally! We are finally getting into the interesting stuff. I hope you enjoyed it and you enjoyed CS scene which is by far my favorite scene in this fic though juicy ones are coming.
Thank you all for your comments and support. It's highly appreciated!
And I don't know about you but the last episode of OUAT killed me, this declaration, this scene, oh my God. We all died.
Anyway, see you in a few my darlings,
lots of love,
Adri
