As they approached Tir na nÓg, a light but persistent rain made the world grey and anything beyond the shoreline hard to see. Milah wrapped her coat around herself and shuddered a little in the wind. They hadn't been this far north since harvest month, and while there had been rain before, this weather seemed particularly unwelcoming. Maybe it was the too-familiar fields and and trees, but whatever the reason, the reluctance in her steps as she left the ship wasn't entirely down to the slippery gangplank.

As usual, they made their way to a local inn, this time with somewhat more of a sense of hurry, and ordered a warm meal. The heat of the fire meant they could shed their coats and shake the damp out of their clothes, and the low ceiling and dark wooden walls made the whole place seem more like the galley on the Jolly Roger than anything else. When the food arrived, though, it was much better than what you could get on board ship, a simple yet savoury meat pie served with truly excellent beer.

The first half hour or so was spent in dedicated eating, and then the dice were brought out. While fees hadn't yet been paid from the recent loot, what remained from previous attacks was enough to keep the game interesting. Milah joined in the game at first, but luck wasn't on her side, and rather than giving up any of the few possessions she called her own, she bowed out and contented herself with watching.

Killian had been up by the door, and when he returned he sneaked an arm around Milah's waist and whispered, "The rain's stopped. Care to take a walk with me?"

It wouldn't have been on top of her current list of things to do, but the ardour in his voice raised her curiosity, and she grabbed her coat to go.

Once outside, he took her hand and led her past the huddle of houses by the shore, up to the farms beyond, and then along a muddy track up a hill. She followed obediently, waiting for an explanation or, failing that, some intimacy.

Instead, when her coat had soaked up most of the after-rain dampness and her boots were twice as heavy as usual, he stopped at the top of the hill.

"Here we are, love," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

She looked down the hill at the village below, then turned her gaze inland, to the trees and the river, searching for whatever it was he wanted her to see. Instead, she became increasingly aware of the way the hem of her damp dress smeared against her ankle.

"Am I looking for anything in particular?" she asked cautiously.

His shoulder sank a little.

"Just... the hills, and the way the river moves through them, and the trees against the sky..." He gestured towards them. "You don't like it."

She tried to like it. It was a hill. Quite possibly, it was a nice hill. On a warm summer day, when the sun was shining over the river and the grass was full of flowers, it might have been a hill she'd like to draw. Right now, not so much.

"It's just the weather," she excused herself. "I'm sure it's lovely otherwise."

"Well, it's no Atlantis, I'll admit," he tried to joke, but she could see the disappointment on his face. "But I used to be able to stay here for hours. Running across the hills, wading through the river, climbing the trees."

The longing in his voice told her the truth, and she could have kicked herself.

"This is your home."

"My home is the Jolly Roger," he corrected. "But aye, for many years, when I spoke of home, this is what I meant."

That was a whole lot more interesting than trees and rivers. "Where did you live? Show me!"

"Oh, down there in the village, mostly. We came and went. But my grandmother lived over there." He spun her around and indicated a glen by the forest, where the river ran by. "I'd stay at her house and go out in the forest to play. She was a charming lady, but not always keen to have children running around. 'Off you go, then' she'd say and brush me out the door, but she always had a cup of hot currant juice ready for me when I got back home. Of course, there are other people living there now. She's been dead for many years."

Never before had she heard him speak of his past with such evident joy, and she stuck her hand back in his. "Show me where you used to play!"

He squeezed her hand, and they ran together down the hill along the river to the forest, as he pointed out various trees, crooks in the river, and hidden spots under an upturned tree or by a thornbush.

"You must have loved it here," she said.

"I did," he agreed, breathing heavily. "Now, is my lady satisfied, or shall nothing satisfy you but the home of the fairies? I don't know that I can risk it – the fairies are nowhere near as hospitable as the nymphs, and we know how well that worked out."

She smacked him lightly on the back of the head, but asked, "Is there really a fairy land bordering this?"

"There is. It's a bit all over the place – you know what fairies are like – but there's an entrance not far from here."

"Have you been there? What's it like?"

"Hard to say." He leaned against a tree and fiddled with his fingers, deep in thought. "They throw glamours over it, you see. Its true nature is secret from mortals and so it looks how you'd want it to look – like everything you'd ever dreamed of and yet like nothing at all. Anyone going had better have their affairs sorted first."

The 'because they might not come back' was evident from his face, and though she was tempted, she smiled and relented at his serious expression.

"I suppose following in the footsteps of young Killian Jones is adventure enough. Or is it Kit Newport?"

She regretted her words when his back instantly tensed, but after a moment he drew a long, shaky breath and relaxed.

"Mason told you."

She nodded quietly.

"Aye. It was Kit Newport, then." The way he spoke the name was less like the gentleman's Avalonian he normally used, and more like how Mason might have said it. In fact, there was a subtle shift in his vowels altogether.

When he didn't elaborate any further, she pointed it out: "You sound like Mason, here."

The melancholy expression his other name had brought out was replaced with a wide grin. "I suppose I do. This place creeps back in. Bit less gruff than him, I hope."

"Where did you pick up the Avalonian accent?" she asked.

"School. Then the navy."

That was an inadequate explanation, since Tir na nÒg didn't serve under the Avalonian navy, but she didn't push.

"What about you?" he asked. "Where did you pick up yours?"

"A misguided attempt to better myself."

"Why misguided?"

"Because I did it for a man." She didn't want to speak of this, but after the way he had opened up she supposed it was only fair, and after all he had to know sometime.

"A man? Not your husband."

"No. This was before my husband. I was sixteen. Well, when it started, I was sixteen. We were together for two years. I was a shopgirl, and his father owned the shop. Several shops, actually. He was a rich merchant."

"I think I know this story," Killian said in a low voice.

"Everyone knows this story," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "It's just when you're young, you don't think it applies to you. It's different for us, you think. He truly loves me, he'll defy convention and marry me. Except what always happens is that the rich man marries a suitable woman, and the shopgirl is left alone... and in trouble."

Killian inhaled sharply. "Your son."

"No." That made her smile despite herself. "I told you, I was much younger. I went to see a witch, and she took care of the problem."

Saying it made it sound easy, but that witch had taken every last penny Milah had got, and she'd had to beg Alma for help. Back in the days when it was still a blessing to have a sister, before Alma became a widow along with Gerald's wife and practically every young woman in the village.

"I remember when his wife had her firstborn," she continued. "Years later. I think it was difficult for them... but the child was healthy enough. Looked a lot like him, actually. I'd left the shop, then, but it was warm enough for them to go outside and sit in the sun, with a nursemaid in tow, and I saw them there. I thought I was over him by then, but all I could think was, 'that ought to have been my baby'. And when Rumpelstiltskin proposed... you know, it's funny, it was that same evening. I knew he was a kind man, that he'd never hurt me, and I felt so lonely I loved him just for being there. Maybe if I hadn't been... but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I guess it's all down to bad timing."

"Is it?" Killian asked, and there was a pensive tone to his words that made her look up.

The judgement she had feared was absent – which, considering that he'd eloped with a married woman and had a prostitute for a cook, only made sense. But she couldn't figure out that expression of his.

"Isn't it?"

"I'm not an expert," he said, "but as I understand it, the timing of a man's proposal is rarely down to accident."

The notion that Rumpelstiltskin would deliberately have chosen to propose when she missed Gerald the most made her blood run cold, but she shook it off. For one thing, he would have had to know about that affair, and he hadn't – had he? For another... "No. He'd never do that. That would take such cruel cunning. Whatever he is, he's a good man."

A flash of jealousy showed in Killian's eyes. Perhaps she'd emphasized her husband's virtues too much, but she had to, to rid herself of the image he'd given her.

"Oh well," he said. "I suppose you know him better than I do."

He turned away, and she reached out for him, taking his face in her hands.

"Killian. Love."

Slowly, the scowl faded from his face and he treaded his fingers through her hair.

"Third time's lucky," he said with the attempt of a smile.

"Third time is absolutely lucky," she agreed, and kissed him.

They walked back hand in hand, Killian gently stroking her still tender skin.

"We're setting up headquarters in the inn," he said. "It's a nice room, I've used it before, the bed's quite comfortable compared to the Jolly Roger."

"Who have you been using it with?" she teased, and he gave her a reproachful pout.

"That's not what I meant. Just that..." his fingers stroke the back of her hand. "Are you recovered enough to share a bed, if it's a larger bed than the one in my cabin?"

"Ah." She sneaked a little bit closer and kissed the side of his neck under the ear. While holding his hand like this was painless by now, more forceful bumps still smarted under her skin, but she had missed full carnal encounters just as much as he had. "As long as you don't lean too heavily on my arm."

"If you ride me," he said, lewdness dripping in every word, "I shan't have to lean on anything."

She laughed. Though she'd always quite enjoyed the freedom of riding a man, neither one of her previous lovers had craved it the way Killian did. Perhaps it was the sheer laziness of lying back and taking whatever she dealt him; perhaps, and more likely, it was his way to unload the burden of captainhood. Either way, she wasn't about to complain, especially when his eyes lit up like that.

"Sounds like a plan," she said.

The headquarters were already filled with pirates and their prospective business partners. Killian halted in the doorway and offered up his best smile, which made Starkey close his book and draw nearer to the door. Mullins, on the other hand, only sighed, and Ryan crossed his arms. Judging by his expression, and the expressions of the locals, this wouldn't be solved with lightning-speed charm alone.

Seeing that, Milah pulled back and whispered, "I'll give you some time to sort things out."

He reached for her as she left, but his fingers only brushed against her, a farewell gesture rather than an attempt to make her stay.

"Gentlemen," she heard him say as she headed down the corridor. "How can I help you?"

Downstairs, the inn was filling up with people, many of whom were strangers to her, presumably locals. There was the usual smattering of bar wenches, but it was a woman of a different type who caught her attention. Dressed in a demure yellow-green dress and bonnet, with a wide-set face and slightly bulging eyes under the greying hair, the woman in question gave off the impression of a benevolent frog, and she was currently in deep conversation with Mason.

Milah's disappointment in her shoreleave gave way for curiosity at the sight of the woman, and she stepped up to the couple. "Hello. You must be Mason's wife. I'm Milah."

"Lizzy," the woman said, looking lost for a second before she caught on: "Oh, right, the Captain's lass! I thought you'd be younger. Sorry, I didn't mean... you look lovely."

She sounded like she meant it, despite the still-mottled skin on Milah's face, and Milah answered in full honesty as well: "So do you."

The bright smile Lizzy was giving her, with teeth as white as fish bones and little dimples in her cheeks, only accentuated the gentleness of the face itself. It was the sort of face that made you want to do anything for the person behind it, and from the way Mason's big hand was wrapped around Lizzy's little one, it was clear he felt the same.

"Hey, lads!" Mason called out. "Say hello to Milah."

Three of the young men in the room turned and gave similar smiles, and he introduced them:

"This is Alfie, Calum, and Perry."

"How do you do," she said.

Somehow, when he had spoken of his sons, she had pictured them to be about Bae's age, but even the youngest was well into his teens, and Alfie had a full, well-trimmed beard, which softened his knobbly face. Chip of the old block, that one, and almost as wide over the shoulders. They returned to their own conversation quickly, their parents' affairs of little interest.

"They seem like good boys."

"Oh, they are," Lizzy said. "A solace to my soul, the lot of them. And I need it, too, with him off so much." She nudged Mason with her elbow, without malice, and he sighed, putting his arm around her waist.

"You must really miss him."

"Don't I just! At least I've got him for three weeks, now."

Milah's thoughts, about to head down a maudlin path, reeled back at that. "Three weeks?"

"Mhm. Unless it's the full month, but it isn't, is it?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid," Mason said. His glance towards Milah was sheepish and quickly slid off, showing that he knew damn well what she was thinking.

One week was what she'd got in Atlantis, and would have in Nysa if not for her injury. One week was what she'd expected here, but apparently there was no place like home. What the bloody hell was she supposed to do in this place for three whole weeks? Trod around the countryside? At least she might get that red dress sewn, if there was a decent seamstress in town.

Or she could go into fairy land. Killian hadn't seemed keen on the idea, and she wouldn't go alone, not after last time, but maybe she could convince one of the others. If this was Mason's home, he probably knew his way around enough to navigate the dangers.

She was just about to ask when she saw Killian coming down the stairs. As their eyes met, he gave her a pleading glance.

"Well, I'll let you have this time together, then," she said, standing up. "Nice to meet you, Lizzy."

As she approached, Killian stopped his descent, and they met by the foot of the stairs.

"Three weeks?" was the first thing she asked.

He grimaced. "Can we not have that row right now? I've just had a flaming one with half a dozen merchants."

Some of those merchants were passing them by on the stairs, and judging by their lemon-sour expressions, Killian wasn't exaggerating.

"Very well," she said, taking his hand and leading him back upstairs.

To her own surprise, the irritation that she felt with him only made her more ready to ride him, and the sooner the better. She pushed him down on the bed, without even giving him any time to undress before she straddled him and started kissing his neck. Through their layer of clothes, she could feel him harden under her.

"What was the row with the merchants about?" she asked.

"Leatherwear. They're asking a shilling per hide for the leather alone, and that's..."

"You could get two pairs of finished boots for that in the Enchanted Forest," Milah said, starting to unlace the fine piece of leather that adorned his legs.

"Yes, but you couldn't find anyone with half the skill at putting it together. We'd have to buy the leather in the Enchanted Forest and then return here for the crafting of it, which is far too much work. Although I suppose it's a threat worth... ohhhhh..."

His hips bucked against her touch, and instinctively, his hands gripped at the bedposts.

"Don't just threaten to do it," she said. "If they won't budge, carry it through. Yes, it will mean extra work, but you might find them more ready to aquiesce to your requests afterwards."

"Darling," Killian panted, "we can talk or you can keep doing what you're doing. I'm not really capable of both."

When he put it like that, the choice was simple enough, and so she fell silent in order to bring her full attention to their first chance at having him inside her again since she'd taken ill. He looked so blissful, stretched out like this, worries and concerns ebbing away from his face as she got to work on him, until the remaining expression was of such innocent beauty that he seemed to her the image of a young god – a god entirely at her mercy, as she pinned him down with her weight, flexing her muscles to bring his shaft in further.

Not until they were both spent and she lay beside him, stroking patterns on his chest, did she speak again:

"So what am I supposed to do here for three weeks? Apart from this?"

"Spend time with the crew," he suggested. "Meet new people, enjoy nature... relax."

"I've relaxed for far too long already."

"Not my fault, love."

True as that was, it didn't help any. Yes, maybe if she hadn't spent the past weeks flat on her back in the sickbay, she would have been more appreciative of a slower pace, but she couldn't instruct her body to react as if it were in different circumstances. Ungrateful as it was, this place made her restless, and there was really only one way to find any sort of adventure.

"Milah," he said, deadly serious as he brushed the hair away from her face. "I know you're curious of fairy land, but I'd rather you didn't go. Not yet, anyway. Not until you're..."

"Stronger?" she suggested, just as he finished with: "Happier."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "Stronger too."

"You don't think I'm happy?" she asked.

"I think you're trying to be, and you want to be." His hand caressed her shoulder. "I think you're well out of that place – but no, I don't think you're happy. Some day, I hope you will be, and then I'll take you. Not sooner."

She couldn't meet his gaze. "All right."

For the next couple of weeks, Milah did her very best to relax and find pleasure in the little things. She handed her length of silk over to a seamstress whose body of work on display was so impressive that there was no doubt the end result would be a thing of beauty. She played games with the crew, and learned some knew ones. She listened to stories from the locals, and had interesting conversations with Mason's family. Calum, in particular, turned out to have a way with tall tales. She walked up and down hills, trying to imagine little Killian doing the same.

Altogether, no one could possibly claim she didn't try – but it wasn't enough, and there was still almost a week left of their stay when she took Mason aside and asked, "Will you take me into fairy land?"

His brow drew together in a forbidding manner that would have meant flat-out no from anyone else, but she knew better than to gauge Mason's mood from how intimidating he looked.

"Why me?" he asked.

"Honestly? Because I think you're most likely to get me out. You've lived here, you know your way around."

At those reasons, he only regarded her in silence, and she bit her lip.

"And I don't think you'd go telling on me," she admitted.

"The captain disapproves."

"Very much so."

He sighed and scratched under the edge of his kerchief. "All right. Just so's you get back alive. And you do everything I say, you hear?"

"I promise," she said, surprised that it had been so easy to convince him – but then, she would have gone, one way or another, and he must have known that.

Rather than taking her to the spot Killian had pointed out, Mason first made her wait outside the Roger while he fetched some kind of supplies, and then walked off with her so far across the hills that she started to wonder if he was sending her on some kind of wild goose chase in the hope of wearing her out. It seemed unlike him, though – taciturn as he was, he was usually more straightforward than that.

Just as the ache in her calves reached such a level that she was contemplating calling him out, Mason stopped.

"Here," he stated and handed over two heavy lumps of something, wrapped in cloth. "Hold these."

She obliged, and he proceeded to face the hill and speak throaty words in the local language she'd heard before in the inn, but such power behind them she looked up, expecting at the very least a thunderbolt.

There was nothing.

"Didn't it work?" she whispered.

Mason unwrapped the rope he'd held tucked into his belt and tied a sturdy knot around her waist.

"Come back if I tug on it," he said. "And don't take anything they give you."

"They who?" she asked.

Without another word, he took the wrapped lumps from her hands, and instantly melted into a distant blur along with the rest of the hill. Lazy waves splashed against her boots, and she saw that she was standing at the edge of the ocean – or an ocean, for surely the one she'd left two miles behind had not been so blue, nor the sand so soft under her feet.

Before her was a tropical beach with palm trees and heavily scented wildflowers, leading to a landscape of rolling hills like the one she'd left. Unlike those hills, though, these were covered with tall, colourful buildings, a city more impressive than even Basileia. A faint melody played at the edge of her hearing. There seemed to be festivities of some sort going on, and she walked onward, all weariness forgotten.

The road was straight enough, yet she didn't see the woman until they were nearly face to face. The rich brown hair and tall build was similar to her own, and when she came closer she saw more similarities, in the shape of the face and the colour of the eyes. Her throat constricted and her heart beat faster with happiness, as the features brought back memories that all the years hadn't been able to erase.

"Mama?" she asked in a quivering voice.

"Welcome, my own heart's root," her mother said, taking both of Milah's hands in hers.

Yes, she remembered this, the term of endearment, even the sensation of mother's skin against hers, despite the years that had gone by and the fact that her own hands were so much rougher now.

"You're dead," she said.

"Shhh." Mama shook her head. "Not here. Never here."

"I've missed you so much." Milah's vision blurred with tears, and she blinked them away, not wanting anything to get in the way of Mama's face. "Especially after... after everyone..."

Mama hugged her tightly, hand stroking her forehead in long, soothing touches. "Come. The coach is waiting."

"What coach?"

But even as she asked, she could see a coach pulling to a halt a few strides before them, an ornamented vehicle in gold and red, with four horses and a coachman dressed in white. Ushered ahead by Mama's touch, Milah walked up to it in wonder, staring as the door opened and two much smaller hands reached for her. Those hands, she didn't need to touch to recognise anywhere.

"Bae," she breathed and took the steps in one stride, scooping up her son in an embrace even before she'd finished taking her seat. "Oh, Bae, darling, I'm so, so sorry!"

"It's all right, now," Bae said, wrapping his little arms around her. "Everything will be fine. We'll have a wonderful adventure, all of us together."

"All of us?" Her eyes had been fixed on her son's darling face, but now she raised it and looked straight at Killian's sly grin.

"Ready for a new city to explore, love?" he asked.

"What are you doing here? How did you know?"

"Oh, you can't keep secrets from me," he said, eyebrows cocked. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away, and so I had to come, naturally. This is something we should share together."

"I'm glad you're here," she said, hugging Bae tight and giving Killian a smile that held all of her relief and gratefulness.

"I'll drink to that," he said, pulling his flask from his inner pocket. After taking a swig, he handed it over. "Quick, before your mother sees."

"You never change, do you?" she asked, reaching out her hand.

There was a sudden pain in her stomach, and she looked down, puzzled. Something tugged at her, once, then again, and she saw to her surprise that she had an ugly piece of rope tied around her waist. Every new tug hurt her more, the rope cutting into the skin under her blouse, and she stood up in irritation, ready to untie it. The movement made her lose balance, though, and she grabbed at the doorframe to steady herself, only to get something else in her hand, something heavy and cold and ugly. It weighed her down, straight through the floor of the coach that seemed to fall apart, as light and fluffy as whipped cream. Another equally horrid weight was pressed into her other hand, and –

And she was standing in a dark cave, lit up only by the flying, flittering somethings that buzzed in her face. She tried to wave them off, and found herself staring at Mason's grim mug.

The hill rumbled.

"We have to go," Mason said, shoving her forward. "They really didn't like me bringing iron in here."

"What... Where are we?"

"Go!" he shouted

She ran in the direction he indicated, ducking from stones that rolled down the cave walls, until she reached daylight again and tumbled out onto the muddy grass, Mason in tow. The rope still drooped between her legs like a long and bedraggled tail.

Mason leaned his elbows on his knees, and she saw with a pang of guilt that his face was bleeding. "You just had to... go in deep, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes welling up as she watched the hill close behind them, the precious illusions lost inside. "It felt so real."

"It is real. Sort of. Flesh and blood, anyway, for a little while."

Now that she was out, it seemed preposterous that she ever could have taken in by the lie, no matter how tangible. She knew that her mother was long dead, and that Bae was miles and miles away. Angry with herself, she wiped the tears away.

"I seem to make a frightful mess of things, lately."

"I should have warned you." He started untying the rope. "Except there's no warning for some things. Next time you try, it'll be easier. At least if there's nothing new."

"There won't be any next time," she said with emphasis, and could no longer stop the tears from flowing. Her arms ached for Bae, and she wrapped them around herself so that at least the emptiness wouldn't be so palpable.

Mason led her back to the inn in silence, his large hand around her shoulder the only comfort. Once there, he whistled for Jukes, who went off in search for Killian.

When Killian arrived, she tried to pull herself together and stop crying, but without much success.

"Well," Killian said with a sigh, kneeling by her chair. "That's done."

"I know I told you I wouldn't," she said.

"But you saw the promise of adventure and you had to go find it," he said, caressing her moist face. The new skin was stinging now, along with her tired eyes, but his touch made up for some of it. "I think I always knew you would, whatever I had to say, but I didn't want to admit it to myself, because then I would have to go with you. And I really didn't want to go."

"What did you see?" she asked. "When you went?"

It took him a little while to answer. "Last time... I saw Liam. I haven't dared to try since. They're not evil, the fairies, as such. They're just protective of their own, I guess. Stay out, or stay in, any means necessary. I've heard of people losing years, even hundred of years, and upset as anything about it when they got out, but in there, they were happy. Maybe you would have been too – but thank heavens we didn't have to find out."

He kissed her on the cheek, then stood back up, and she moved over to make room for him on the chair.

"You were there," she said, because that was important, maybe the most important thing she'd ever told him.

His eyes widened, making him look young and lost. "What?"

"You were there," she said. "You were a very important part of it. Killian, I... I may not be happy, quite, but I don't want you ever to think that my happiness doesn't include you."

His mouth closed fervently upon hers.

"We'll make our happiness," he whispered between the kisses. "Without those damned fairies."

"Yes," she agreed, closing her stinging eyes. "We will."