"The compass is in my sea chest, love, we need it! Now!"

Hook was yelling to be heard over the wind. They had just cleared the mouth of the sheltered harbor which had once held the thriving haven of Tortuga. He'd glanced back just once. The last sight he would have of that beautiful, corrupt, seedy, glorious place was one of flames and destruction. Nothing would be left.

The three enemy ships were still in hot pursuit. Hook was sure that in normal seas, he would have made quick work of this little race. But some dark force was moving against them. The currents and the winds were pushing back on the Jolly Roger, stalling their progress.

He ground his teeth and gripped the helm tighter. Emma had disappeared belowdecks in search of the compass. David was holding on for dear life on the lower deck. The man grew up a shepherd, so Hook couldn't really blame him for being as useless as tits on a merman when it came to sailing. Sparrow, on the other hand, was making himself surprisingly useful. Hook hadn't even needed to give him orders. In some alternate universe, he imagined Sparrow would have been an excellent member of his crew. Not that he'd ever tell him as much, of course. The cheeky bastard.

Emma had climbed back to the upper deck. He could see the exhaustion in her face. Her posture told him volumes about the state she was in, which was not a particularly good one. The battle with the Pearl and her cohort had raged for what felt like hours, and she had been fighting it for all of them. Not to mention the head wound. Her wet hair was plastered against her face, but the rain hadn't quite washed away the caked blood just above her temple. He noted quizzically that she was now wearing the coil of Koulév Nwa wrapped around her torso. He didn't have the luxury of asking her about it just now. They needed to find a safe place to rest and regroup, straightaway. Hence, the compass.

He had kept it for years, not sure when he would really need it. He'd been tempted a few times, but something had always told him to wait. He had paid a heavy price for it, and wanted to be sure. The heavy brass instrument had been enchanted with a one-time only spell which would lead the seeker to safe harbor. Which was something they needed right now in the worst way. He was sure.

"Now what?" asked Emma.

"Open it, love. Where it points, we need merely follow."

He saw how her hands were shaking when she lifted the compass and snapped open the lid. He wished he could take his hands from the wheel long enough to hold her trembling ones, but the task of sailing in these seas under pursuit took all his concentration.

A small flash of light came from within the compass box when it was opened, illuminating Emma's tired, pale face with a faint blue glow. A slender gold needle swung around the dial, held at the center by a small sapphire that gleamed unnaturally bright. It spun lazily back and forth until snapping rigidly to a south southwest heading. He called up to Sparrow, who was trying valiantly to repair their broken topsail up on the mizzenmast, to get the bloody thing fixed already and get his arse back down to the deck. They needed to change directions and quickly. The ships in pursuit were gaining and safe harbor was on another bearing.

"They're getting closer, Killian!" shouted Emma.

"Aye! I believe we are being thwarted in our escape!"

"Ursula."

Hook nodded grimly.

He saw a faint ripple of black out of the corner of his eye. Emma was stroking the Koulev Nwa where it wound snugly between her breasts. Bloody hell- was it...moving? Hook shook his head. Must be the storm and the stress getting to him, but he thought he'd seen it shifting in the stormy light like a living thing.

The wind blasted toward them with a sustained, immense gust. He heard the sails above him actually reverse direction, billowing into a backward shape. They were coming to a full and unnatural stop. Emma lurched forward, grabbing at the helm for balance. He slid an arm around her to help her find her footing, relishing the brief contact. Hook glanced behind them. The ships in pursuit were apparently having no such difficulties with the wind. Of course. Emma followed his gaze. He saw her set her jaw in that determined way of hers that meant trouble for someone. He thought he heard her mutter "calamari" under her breath.

He would've laughed if he weren't certain that something horrific was about to befall them.

The ghostly bow sprit of one of their pursuers came along side them. The sight of the crew aboard was a true shock. They were gaunt, eerily transparent, greenish-blue vestiges of men. Grim-faced, they stood silently at the rail of their vessel. Was Liam amongst them? Hook heard no order, but they all raised their swords and muskets in unison and let loose an unearthly chorus of shouts. The Jolly Roger was about to be boarded, and he could see no mercy for any of them in the dead eyes of the crew. He pulled Emma tighter to him and put his hand to his cutlass.

He felt something slither against his side. Pulling away, he stared at Emma, who was gripping the Koulev Nwa tightly, an expression of cold fury on her face. The rope was most definitely moving, sliding against her body in a slow, almost intimate way. Hook stared at it, mesmerized and totally uncertain of what to do. Then he met her gaze and took a hasty step away, involuntarily. Her beautiful eyes were no longer blue. Her irises shifted subtly from a glossy pitch black to a deep cobalt to aquamarine and back, like the shading on a butterfly's wing. It was as if all the colors he had ever seen in the depths of the seas were swimming inside her, fathoms deep. He stood with his mouth open in shock. She stepped past him to grab the helm of the Jolly Roger.

"Emma...what-"

The ropes began to shift more rapidly. They snaked further along her body, wrapping around her arms and hands like black vines. A subtle blue glow began emanating from them, and from Emma as well. An ebony wave swept down her blond hair from her scalp to the tips, chasing the gold away with a glossy tide of ink. Her clothing, her fingernails, all of it turned a pitch black hue. Hook hadn't the faintest clue what was happening, but his Emma was disappearing right before his eyes. He rushed forward, thinking to grab the rope and peel it off her.

Next thing he knew he was lying flat on his back on the deck, looking up at her. He was thinking there ought to be a sizzling sound accompanying him as he sat up. It had been like grabbing an electric eel. Emma was staring straight ahead, paying him no mind. A small smile was playing at the corners of her mouth. The raw power, the sheer amount of magic flowing through his love had knocked him on his arse.

Where her hands were grasping the wheel, the wood itself darkened and took on the appearance of polished ebony. A pitch black wave of energy flowed out from Emma's hands and washed through every fiber of the ship, transforming the Jolly Roger into an obsidian version of itself, as if it had been dipped in black varnish. He heard the shouts of the ghostly pirates fade abruptly.

Killian ran his fingers over the surface of the deck in wonder. It felt just like the Koulév Nwa, but on a massive scale. The entire vessel seemed to be coated in this mysterious skin. The wood felt soft and slightly oily to the touch, but his hand came away dry. He looked up. Even her sails were a deep bluish black that shifted as he watched. It was like a sheen of oil on top of a puddle, the way the shades rippled through.

It was...beautiful. Deeply disturbing, but beautiful. The wind had disappeared when they had come to a dead halt. Somehow, though, the ship began to move. And how she was moving!

He'd never felt anything like it. Well, except for riding in Emma's car when she "floored it". The sudden acceleration had been quite shocking the first time he experienced it. To feel the same sensation on board his ship though, and especially with not a breath of wind around them, was the strangest thing he'd encountered in a day that had not been exactly lacking in surprises.

They were cutting through the waves at a faster clip than he had ever made with the Jolly Roger before. Looking back, the three ships were disappearing into mere dots on the horizon behind them. The sails seemed to figure into their navigation approximately not at all - whatever propulsion was taking them along, it had nothing to do with mother nature, and everything to do with the suddenly unfamiliar woman standing at the helm.

Hook stepped cautiously to her side.

"Emma?"

She made no answer, instead drawing the compass from her pocket and flipping it open again. Those obsidian eyes flickered to the enchanted needle and then back to the horizon. With one hand, she easily turned the helm to adjust their course, as though it took no more effort than stirring coffee with a spoon. Her glossy black hair streamed behind her as their speed, impossibly, increased. There was hardly any wake behind the ship. The water itself seemed to be pulling them along.

"What in the bloody hell has happened to your ship, ma-"

Sparrow had just dropped down from the rigging, landing next to Hook. He was staring at Emma with his mouth hanging open. Turning slowly to Hook, he started to form a question,

"Wha-" He shook his head. "How-"

He was spinning this way and that, dramatically as usual, eyes widening comically in astonishment over the unrecognizable Jolly Roger. He couldn't seem to think of what to ask, and Hook wouldn't have had any answers for the man anyway. He shrugged slightly to the pirate, conveying as much.

Sparrow threw his hands up in the air. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a flask. Taking a long pull, and then another for good measure, he passed it silently to Hook, who took it without a moment's hesitation. Rum was definitely called for.

Feeling a tap on his arm, he turned to see David holding his hand out toward the flask, his eyes locked on his daughter. Hook passed him the rum and watched as he took several swallows.

The three of them stood there for some time, passing the rum between them. The rain was lessening and Killian could make out a warm light on the horizon. Were they outrunning Ursula's storm? If he weren't terrified for Emma, he'd be drinking this rum in celebration. As it was, he tried to drown his apprehension in the warm comfort of the liquor.

Sunlight broke through the clouds suddenly. Hook closed his eyes and turned his face up to it gratefully. Blue skies above felt like blissful freedom after so much time oppressed by clouds and rain. They'd been sailing for more than an hour at massive speed. Emma hadn't moved even an inch. She held the compass in her left hand and steadied the wheel with her right, preternaturally still.

The three men had settled in uneasily on the edge of the upper deck, legs dangling. Sparrow had gone below and scrounged up another two flasks of rum. They were drinking in companionable silence, occasionally glancing up at the apparition that was and was not Emma Swan.

"So the compass will guide us to a safe place, Hook?" asked David quietly.

"Aye, 'tis enchanted to guide the seeker to a safe harbor. It will only work once, and then the enchantment will wear off. It seemed like the right moment to make use of it."

"Powerful object that, mate. Where'd you acquire it?" slurred Sparrow. He was quaffing the rum at a very liberal pace.

"Tortuga, many years ago now," replied Hook.

They were silent a moment, heads bowed.

"To Tortuga," said Sparrow, raising his flask.

"Tortuga," replied Hook and David, raising theirs. All three drank to the memory of the destroyed city.

"...and to the Temeraire," added Hook. They drank again.

The ship began to slow perceptibly. They scrambled to their feet, Hook and Sparrow both pulling out their spyglasses. Ahead in the distance, silhouetted by the setting sun, was a small island. This was apparently their safe harbor.

The distance closed rapidly. Hook could see that the waters were becoming very shallow and he began to worry about reefs. How would he convey to Emma the danger they were in? Before he could worry further, the ship slowed substantially and began to weave around the underwater banks, as though threading through a maze.

"Neptune's nutsack," whispered Sparrow.

Hook met his bewildered eyes with his own. "You can say that again, mate."

The island appeared to be smaller than Tortuga by about half, with a small, rugged mountain rising up on the left side. A sheltered crescent bay with a narrow inlet must be their destination. The ship deftly navigated the shoals. Hook would never have attempted to make port in such a place. It was a sailor's nightmare. He hoped they would be able to get back out again.

The setting was stunningly beautiful. Nay...make that paradise. He'd never seen the like of it in all his journeys. The waters of the half moon bay were a tranquil turquoise. The setting sun illuminated the expanse of sandy beach with a rosy golden hue. Gentle waves lapped at the shore. Palm trees swayed softly in the breeze. Hook felt a warmth return to his bones that had been leached out by the storm.

The Jolly Roger glided to a gentle stop in a deep section of the bay, not far from shore. Hook could make out a shallow ledge that dropped off sharply where they were floating. A splash at the stern announced the anchor being weighed behind them.

"Rive asté, motchen lem. Dromi."

It was Emma's voice, but not quite. It had an undercurrent to it, like a chorus of soft voices beneath her own, like a river was rushing in the background.

She went suddenly limp, and fell to the deck. Hook and David rushed forward. Hook reached her first and pulled her head onto his lap. Her beautiful golden hair was returning as the inky blackness retreated. He expected her to feel cold, but his fingers on her cheek revealed soft, warm skin, practically buzzing with vitality and life.

"Emma, love, are you all right?"

Beautiful blue eyes flickered open. She saw Hook and smiled up at him. He sighed with relief and heard David do the same. She was all right.

"I'm wonderful. That was...amazing. So tired now, though."

"We've found a safe harbor it seems. We could all do with some rest, love. Let's get you to bed."

She nodded her assent. Hook carried her to the cabin and lay her on the bed, gently peeling off her wet clothing. Her head wound seemed to be completely healed. Aside from being very sleepy, she seemed perfectly fine. In fact, better than fine. She was practically glowing with contentment. What in the seven seas had happened to her?

"I'll answer your questions in the morning, Killian. I'm fine, really. Let's just get some sleep," she mumbled.

He had stripped off his damp clothing as well and slid in behind her, pressing himself against her soft, warm skin with a groan. He was hardening against her, but he knew she needed rest. All he wanted was to bury himself inside her, to claim her, make sure she was still his Emma. He took a deep breath, beginning his mental litany of maritime knots to calm himself.

"As you wish, love," he whispered, kissing her shoulder tenderly.

She turned her head and kissed his lips gently, lovingly. Deciding to just be grateful they were alive, he pushed aside his burning curiosity and his desire for her and settled in to sleep. She sighed with pleasure and her breathing slowed and deepened almost immediately. Killian wrapped his arm tightly around her, protectively, before following her into sleep.