A/N: Any errors on naval time are my own. If I understand the Westmarine website's page on Ship's Bell Time properly, "four bells into the forenoon watch" would be 10AM. If I read it wrong and someone more knowledgeable can correct me, I'll fix it.

A/N: Just in case I'm not the only person out there who had to look this up, rum is made from fermented sugarcane products, including—but not limited to—molasses.

Chapter 20

One of the occupational hazards of being a pirate was coming face to face with one's previous victims. (Or, if one was ruthless enough to dispatch them to the Underworld before moving on, with their families.) Killian Jones had faced a number of such victims over the years. One such recent encounter had even been with a mermaid, or at least, he'd thought so at the time. All the same, his blood ran even colder than the clammy tentacle that was now wrapped about the lower half of his face.

"I need answers from you, Captain," Ursula gritted, "so I guess I'll have to free your mouth. But know this," she continued as a third tentacle coiled about his throat, joining the two already securing him. "A reticulated python can exert around six pound of pressure when it constricts around its prey. One of these?" The tentacle about his throat tightened just enough to be uncomfortable, "I'm thinking, oh… eight or nine. So, I'm about to ungag you. If you shout, scream, or in any way try to alert someone regarding your predicament…" She smiled as Killian wheezed, struggling for breath. "Do we have an understanding?"

Eyes bulging, Killian tried to nod. Still smiling, Ursula retracted the tentacle about his face and loosened the one about his throat, still keeping it close enough that he could feel its presence. She waited a moment for the pirate to finish wheezing and gasping in fresh air. As soon as he had breath enough to start cursing her, though, she tightened her hold on his throat.

"That's a warning, Hook," she said. "You'll answer me truthfully and civilly, or…"

"All right, all right," the pirate acquiesced between wheezes. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, first," Ursula said, "you can tell me why Captain Hook, scourge of the sea, is suddenly cozying up with the Dark One."

The pirate turned his head away from her and Ursula let him for almost a full twenty seconds, before wrenching it back to face her.

"Well?"

Hook exhaled through his teeth. "One learns, in my line of work, when to fight the current and when to ride with it. Currently, the Dark One has powerful supporters and I can't afford to have them all turning against me at the moment." He met Ursula's eyes squarely. "Let's just say, I'm forgoing a few battles in order to win the war."

"Some might say you're being downright friendly toward him."

"I've been chasing him down for a long time," the pirate snapped, irritation almost palpable in his voice. "To be so close to vengeance and yet so far gnaws at me. But if he suspects my motives, before I've the opportunity to settle the score, then that vengeance will be farther off still. I grant I might have been more of a hothead when first we met, but long years and worthy foes have taught me something of patience. I'm playing a part while I await my best chance."

Ursula considered that. Then she nodded slowly. "You and I," she said, "have something to settle as well. But, like you, I can forgo my vengeance for a time. And if you help me, perhaps I can stave it off indefinitely."

Hook regarded her warily. "What sort of 'help' did you have in mind?"

The sea witch smiled.

"I… uh… think I may have it," Belle said hesitantly, looking up from the heavy volume with the cracked red leather binding.

Rumple was at her side at once. "Let me see," he murmured. A moment later, he shook his head. "That would work," he said, smiling a bit to blunt his disappointment, "if Roland were a bit older. I used this one to make a charm for August a few weeks ago. But adder's ear moss can be dangerous to pre-adolescents. However…" He flipped the page and his smile brightened. "I believe that this will suit admirably." He tried not to smile at her excited intake of breath as his eyes panned the list of ingredients. "Lavender, valerian root, magnolia bark…" He frowned at the next one and turned to one of his units of shelves. No small vials and philters here; the smallest earthenware jar in this area would probably hold half a liter, while the largest would hold three times that. He checked the labels carefully. When he found squat, opaque vessel he needed, he uncorked it and sniffed with dismay.

"What is it?" Belle asked. "What's wrong?"

Rumple sighed. "Tomte thistle," he replied, holding out the jar to her. "Fresh, or at least, it should be. Unfortunately, the preservation spell must have run its course. See for yourself; it's dried out. Completely useless." He'd have to look in the others too, though he'd lay odds that the spell had failed in the moment when he'd driven his dagger through Pan's heart and into his own. When a spell-caster died, so too did their spells. There was no literature on the subject of whether a return to life would renew them. Understandably. So far as Rumple knew, he was the first spell-caster to have died and come back. He should have thought to check these jars while he still could have done something about them.

Belle gave the brown husks in the vessel an unhappy glance. "Can we get more?"

Rumple shook his head. "It's not native to this realm." He frowned. "I wonder…"

"Rumple?"

He hesitated. Just how much faith did he have in his magic now? Then, sighing, he reached under the counter and pulled out the small volume that Tink had given him.

"I haven't seen that one," Belle said.

Rumple shook his head. "It's a loan. It may prove to be of some use."

"A… a loan. One of Regina's?" she tried not to let her distaste show.

"Tinker Bell," Rumple replied. "I… well. I was hoping to be able to acquire some basic grounding in light magic. Thus far, it's proving to be an uphill battle. But while I'm still struggling to master the first spell," he turned to the page on removing excess salt from soup for emphasis, "I think that there may be something of use a bit further in." He began turning the pages slowly. "She did say that there was a spell in here to keep ground spices from going stale. If there's a way to…" He stopped. "Here. Well. It doesn't look especially complicated." He studied the words on the page carefully and tried to draw them into his mind. He was glad that Belle wasn't asking him what he was doing. In fact, she was looking carefully at the table before her, probably realizing that if he knew she was watching him, it would interfere with his focus. He didn't need any such interference now. Magic was, above all, an emotional endeavor. He had to concentrate on what he meant to do, on the boy he was trying to help. In his mind's eye, he pictured Roland as he'd seen him most vividly: a child in the woods surrounding the town, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. Rumple did have something of a soft spot for children, particularly dark-haired boys with no mothers in their lives. If he could get this spell to catch, he could help the boy and perhaps others. He could… He sucked in his breath and waved his hand over the jar.

Nothing. The leaves inside remained withered and brown.

"Rumple?"

He shook his head. "I really hoped that would work."

"Could… could you try again?"

Rumple took another breath and let it out. "Not now. Magic requires belief. And each failure makes that belief harder." His face crumpled as he lifted Tink's book for emphasis. "These spells," he continued miserably, "are ranked in order of difficulty. If I can't even master the first one, what hope have I of mastering the… the…" He closed the book with a sharp snap. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter which number it is. Right now, at this moment, it's beyond me. They all are."

Belle's hand was on his shoulder. "It's all right," she said. "We'll find some other way. Perhaps Tinker Bell could…"

If he could get to her when Blue wasn't present. And if Blue didn't return unexpectedly. As grateful as he was for Tinker Bell's assistance, he knew that her willingness to help him had not been without repercussions. And while he didn't know the price the Blue had demanded of her, it was safe to assume that if Tinker Bell continued to help him, the consequences would be more severe each time. It was enough that she'd extended herself once. He couldn't ask her to keep doing so.

He pressed his lips together firmly, trying to keep his frustration from erupting in tears. He needed to calm down. When he was calmer, he might be able to come up with a better solution. He reached up and squeezed Belle's hand, gently removing it with a sad smile. Then he walked over to a corner table and picked up his drop spindle and the basket of combed wool rolags, ready to be spun to thread. As Belle watched, he attached the leader thread and reached into the basket.

"I don't think I've ever seen you spin something that wasn't straw before," Belle murmured.

"This time," Rumple murmured, "it's not about magic. It's about relaxation." He gave the drop spindle a twirl and began feeding the wool to it, sinking into the soothing rhythm.

Belle watched him for a moment. Then she went back to the spell books. "Maybe there's another recipe," she said. "I'll keep looking."

He nodded and began a simple breathing exercise, closing his eyes, while he continued feeding the wool to the spindle. He wasn't sure how long he kept at it, before Belle exclaimed…

"Rumple!"

Jerked back to reality, he started and released the drop spindle. It whirled in reverse, the thread he'd been spinning reverting back to wool fiber, which flew about the basement workroom, covering every surface with a thin layer of short fine hairs. He wasn't sure whether to curse or to cry, but he knew he oughtn't to do either. It was just thread that he could spin again. No true harm had been done. No…

"I'm sorry," Belle breathed, almost immediately. "I didn't mean to startle you. But the thread… it-it turned golden!"

Rumple's eyes widened. Then they darted about the room. Search though he did, he could spy neither glint nor glimmer. "Are you quite certain?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm. "I thought I saw something like that the other day, but I couldn't be sure. I…" He stopped as Belle, looked down at the ingredients he'd been assembling on the worktable. Then, with a wondering expression on her face, she thrust the open tomte thistle jar toward him.

"I think some of the thread bits might have floated inside," she whispered.

As he took the jar, the fragrance—a combination of cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg, mingled with an earthy aroma he couldn't compare to any other—hit him almost at once. Incredulous, he looked down into it. Green twigs bristling with short spikey thorns and cuplike, indigo-blue flower-heads greeted him.

"I…" His mouth opened and closed several times. "I… Well." He felt exhausted, as though he'd just run a marathon, but it was a good kind of exhaustion. "It would appear I have magic," he said, setting the jar down carefully.

"Light magic," Belle whispered, reaching across the table to seize his hand.

Killian Jones returned to Granny's Bed and Breakfast with his head spinning. He'd had no idea that Ursula was in this town; he'd been under the impression that the Dark Curse had only ripped away those who had been dwelling in the Enchanted Forest, not Neverland. Then again, he'd scarcely bothered keeping tabs on the sea witch once he'd destroyed her dreams. She'd been a mermaid once, and mermaids could cross realms. Who knew where she might have traveled after they'd parted ways?

And now, she wanted to use him against Rumpelstiltskin. Well. It wouldn't be the first time that one villain had tried to manipulate him into attacking another. Pan. Greg and Tamara. Regina. Zelena. Rumpelstiltskin. Hell, he might as well add Ursula's father to that list. And now, the daughter was following suit.

The wise play, of course, would be to tell Emma what was in the wind. Except that it was one thing for a lass to know that she was being courted by a pirate—particularly one trying to leave his past behind—when she didn't know everything that past entailed. Tell her that he'd been disillusioned by the king he'd served who'd sent his ship in search of a deadly poison that would decimate an opposing force in a way too heinous for any dispute? Aye, she could understand why he'd turn to piracy, particularly when she learned that the mission had cost him the life of his brother. Tell her that he'd been seeking revenge on the Dark One for murdering the woman he loved? She hadn't condemned him. And certainly, she understood that he had sunk vessels that had fired on him, robbed, pillaged, and killed when necessary. But to her, those deeds were in the abstract. He'd given her bare facts—he'd sunk ships and people had died. He hadn't shared the details of a battle fought at sunset, when they'd put so many foes to the sword that it was impossible to know how much of the red in the water could be attributed to their blood and how much to the sinking sun's reflection on the waves. He hadn't described the lengths he'd ordered his men to go in questioning captives as to the locations of their valuables. And if he hadn't dared to share those parts with her, how could he tell her what he'd done to Ursula?

Because the Sea Witch as good as threatened to tell Emma herself. Happiness for happiness. I stole her joy and she thinks to take mine in return. And where have I heard that tale spun before?

Should Emma learn that he'd had a hand in creating the sea witch—who clearly seemed bent of some mischief in Storybrooke, well! No matter that the deed had been perpetrated so long in the past. The seed he'd sown on that long ago day was coming to fruition and though the fruit might be rotten… He shook his head. Emma loathed it when he hid things from her, but he might have no better choice.

Because something Ursula had asked him before sending him on his way still perturbed him.

"Are you so sure that the Dark One has forgiven you? Maybe he's just biding his time, lulling you into letting your guard down, the better to surprise you later. After all, that's what he did to Cruella, Mal, and me. So why should you be any different?"

Maybe Rumpelstiltskin had been a little too amenable to reinstating their truce. Maybe Killian was deluding himself, thinking that the crocodile wasn't waiting to snap his jaws shut about him. Why, hadn't Rumpelstiltskin even admitted as much when Killian had broached the subject?

Oh, come now, captain. As much as I agree that it's time we put the past behind us, do you really imagine we can shake hands and end an enmity that's persisted for going on two centuries so easily?

Maybe, when he'd gone on to say that it would take time and effort on both their parts, he'd only wanted Killian to believe that he was willing to meet those requirements but, come to think of it, Rumpelstiltskin might just have been stating the prerequisites for peace, not agreeing to work toward it. So. Suppose, Killian thought, that he continued working with the assumption that Rumpelstiltskin was willing to move on from the past and, so believing, talked to Emma and the others about Ursula… And then, once Ursula was soundly defeated, while everyone was celebrating the victory, Rumpelstiltskin were to then waylay him and exact the vengeance he'd meant to all along?

Killian's eyes narrowed. Ursula had promised to help him defeat the Dark One. (He'd seen no reason to disabuse her of the idea that Rumpelstiltskin was still he.) But Ursula had no reason to help him! She hated him and for good reason. Unless, she was trying to pit him against Rumpelstiltskin to keep both of them from interfering with whatever she was planning! And if that were the case… If that were the case, then she might also be accosting Rumpelstiltskin, perhaps at this very moment, trying to get him to reassume their old feud. Something, Killian allowed, Rumpelstiltskin might be all too delighted to do. Particularly if the former Dark One had accepted a truce, not because he wanted to let bygones be bygones, but because he'd been fighting for his life and knowing that there would be one less person out there bent on taking it had been worth it to the old crocodi—

He slapped his forehead with a groan of frustration. If he could only be sure! He had no desire to betray Rumpelstiltskin, not unless the man was even now planning to stab him in the back. In which case, all bets were off and it was best to strike now, and not allow him the opportunity. But if Rumpelstiltskin truly had no designs on his life, if Ursula hadn't approached him as well, or if she had and he'd turned her down…

Killian sat awake for a long time, thinking things over and weighing his options. And when, at last, he decided that he might as well try to get some sleep and hope that an answer would suggest itself in the morning, the first pale fingers of dawn were stealing through the window curtains before fitful slumber finally claimed him.

"You seem unusually perturbed," Rumple greeted him as he pushed open the door to the shop. As was his wont, the former Dark One was polishing some knickknack or other behind the counter.

Killian nodded. "I need to talk to you," he said, stepping inside.

"Well, I'm hardly preventing you," Rumple said with a faint sneer.

Killian took a breath. "I… well. I suppose I've come to warn you."

Rumple didn't pause from his polishing. "Yeah?" he replied, sounding unperturbed. "What about?"

"The sea witch," Killian said, lowering his voice. "She's in town to settle old scores. And she's offered to forgive me an offense I once committed against her if I betray you to her."

Now, he did set the knickknack aside. "Go on."

Killian hesitated. "While, in the past, I might have jumped at the opportunity, I think it might be wiser if we were to join forces against her instead. She," he winced, "has no reason to think kindly of me at all. And if she's willing to ignore the history I have with her in exchange for my getting you out of the way, methinks it means you might be the only person who can stop her."

A peculiar expression stole over Rumple's face. "Indeed," he said thoughtfully, beckoning Killian closer. "Indeed. I do believe you're learning, Captain." Smiling, he extended his hand across the counter. Killian took it. And then, Rumple reached across with his other hand and tore Killian's heart from his chest.

As Killian doubled over, groaning and clutching at his chest, Rumple continued, "Unfortunately, I can't take the chance that you aren't trying some subterfuge of your own."

"What?" Killian managed to gasp. And then he saw Ursula step out of the back room to join Rumple—no, to join the Dark One, now with skin as scaly and golden as it had been at their second meeting.

The Dark One giggled. "Did you truly think I could bury the old hatchet someplace other than in your neck? The sea witch and I have an understanding, you see. One I suspect you'd already discovered when you came in here hoping to drive a wedge between us."

"She'll stab you in the back, just as you're doing to me!" Killian groaned.

For answer, Rumple took the sea witch's hand in his. "I rather doubt that," he said cheerfully. "For one thing, I'm doing this to your face. For another, my history with the sea witch isn't nearly as complicated as mine with you. But if time and fate should prove you right, at least I know this. You'll never have the satisfaction of knowing it." And the Dark One's hand contracted around Killian's heart as the pirate screamed—

—And flung back his bedclothes. He was in his rented room in Granny's bed and breakfast. And, from the look of things, it was something like four bells into the forenoon watch. It had been a dream and he'd overslept.

The burning question now, though, was whether his nightmare had been a prophecy…

…Or merely the product of the fears he'd gone to bed with.

Those fears weren't ungrounded. Perhaps it was the fate of a villain to be doubted even when trying to do the right thing, but really, when had doing the right thing ever gotten him what he wanted? He'd offered his services to Emma in the Enchanted Forest, willing to forego Cora's scheming and ally with her and her companions. His honesty had gotten him chained to the wall of a giant's keep. Greg and Tamara had used tactics similar to those Ursula was using now, pitting him against Regina. He'd gone to the Evil Queen in good faith, much as he was contemplating doing with Rumpelstiltskin. And Regina had flung him into a chasm, using him as bait to distract an undead dragon. He must be mad to think that he would fare any better trusting the Crocodile.

But was trusting Ursula any saner?

Killian reached for his leather jacket, hanging on the chair by his bed, and dug his hand into the pocket. Under normal circumstances, it was a bit early for what he was about to do, but after the nightmare that had awakened him, perhaps some fortification was in order.

Fortification on the order of fermented molasses.

Lily walked down the road toward town. She was starting to know her way around now, at least in the business district. She supposed that she might as well check out the school that she was supposed to be attending before the library opened.

The same gaggle of little kids that she'd seen out the farmhouse window the other day overtook her, chattering and laughing, just as they had before. The tallest, a girl of about thirteen or so with the kind of fine straight hair that never stayed tied up or pinned back, gave her a shy smile as she passed. Lily smiled back automatically, tensing up a bit until the crowd had moved a ways down the road. Then she relaxed.

She didn't want to get tied up in a conversation with the local kids, even if they seemed friendly enough. Certainly not when she had no intention of attending class. She knew how it would go.

Hi! How come I haven't seen you around before? Who do you have for English? Are you in any clubs? Do you live nearby?

Too many questions that she wouldn't have answers for. She could brazen past the first one easily enough. But in a town this small, there probably weren't more than two teachers for each subject and Lily didn't know any of the names. She didn't want to talk about extra-curricular activities. If she claimed to be in a club, it would either be one that didn't exist here or, with her luck, it would be one to which thin-hair belonged, and Lily would be hard-put to explain why thin-hair hadn't seen her at any of the meetings. And if she claimed not to be in any, then she'd be opening herself up to either being pestered to join one or being asked what she did with her time instead. And as to living close by…

No, Lily didn't want to get caught up in pointless conversations or anything else that would distract her. She was going to see the school, maybe hang around long enough to learn a few teachers' names, just in case… And then she was going to go pump that helpful librarian for more information.

And if she could plant a few doubts and stir up a little trouble while she was at it, then so much the better.

She was almost a block away from the red brick building when she spotted three people walking through a nearby park. They were deep in conversation and didn't notice her, but Lily wasn't taking any chances. She ducked into a recessed shop doorway—a restaurant, as it turned out—and pretended to be engrossed in reading the menu tacked up in a glass case in the entry. Maybe she was being silly. After all, it had been nearly twenty years since she'd seen him, and surely he would look older now than he had then…

But she was positive that the eldest member of the group had been the same old man—the same uncannily-perceptive old man—who had sought her out on a bus en route to Pittsburgh from Mankato and given her the book that had been guiding her steps ever since.

And Lily wasn't about to reveal her presence to him until she was sure whose side he was on.

Belle smiled a greeting when Lily entered the library shortly after noon. "Back again, I see," she greeted her.

Lily nodded. "You gave me a lot to think about," she said honestly. "I mean, back home, they still shuddered when they talk about Regina." She pretended that she didn't notice the librarian's slight sniff. No love lost, there. And possibly not all doubts, either. "And here…"

"Here, she's doing her best to turn over a new leaf," Belle said firmly. "She's far from the only one."

Lily nodded again. "But you're sure it's not a trick. I mean…"

Belle shook her head. "I know what you mean," she said, and her smile seemed to be frozen on her face. "But from all I've seen, I do believe she's trying to make up for her past."

But you're not sure she can. Aloud, Lily asked, "Did you know her… before? I mean, back in our land?"

"She really was different then," Belle said firmly. "People do change."

"Like your husband," Lily nodded.

Belle's smile widened. "Just like him, yes."

Lily knew better than to push things farther now. It was obvious to her that while the librarian was spouting some insipid 'party line' about heel-face-turns and second chances, she didn't actually believe everything she was saying. Belle definitely hadn't forgiven Regina for the past—something that suited Lily just fine; she wasn't about to forgive Regina for her decision about leaving her mother dead. But even so, the librarian clearly drew a line between sharing recent history and spreading gossip. And if she wasn't going to dish any dirt on Regina or agree with Lily's suggestions that the Evil Queen's reformation might be a sham, then there was no way she'd consider any insinuations about the man she'd married.

At least, not yet.

Well. There was still time for that. Right now, while stirring up trouble was a nice distraction—which might pay off handsomely down the road— Lily was more interested in learning whether Rumpelstiltskin still had magic. If he did, that was going to be a problem.

Ursula had laid it out for her. With or without magic, Rumpelstiltskin's knowledge was a powerful weapon. They needed to ensure that he would either help them, or be kept from helping the heroes. But in order to take him off the board, they needed to know whether he still possessed power. Lily still wasn't sure how they were supposed to figure that out, or how Ursula meant to use her old friend to find out. But if Belle had been any more garrulous, Lily would have done a bit of sleuthing along those lines today.

Instead, she moved the conversation back onto safer ground. "So, how much of home made the trip over?" she asked. "I mean, if I went foraging in the woods around here, could I expect to find the same sorts of plants I knew back in Sherwood?"

Belle relaxed at once. "Let's go look that up, shall we?" she said briskly, motioning to Lily to follow her. "I shouldn't think there'll be much to find until spring, but a little research now won't hurt…"

Lily trailed behind her, smiling a bit to herself. She didn't really care what sort of vegetation abounded here, but people often disclosed details they didn't mean to when they let their guard down. Maybe she'd yet get something useful about Regina or Rumpelstiltskin out of Belle. And if not? Maybe she'd at least learn a thing or two about which plant life in these parts was safe…

…And which was deadly.

"I simply don't understand, dahling," Cruella groused. "What possible reason could you have in cozying up to the pirate now? I mean, it's not as though we don't have other means of keeping tabs on those hero types."

Ursula didn't answer at once. Instead, she stood gazing out the window, watching the snow flurries outside. Finally, after Cruella cleared her throat several times, she replied, "Yes, I know."

"Then?"

Ursula turned to face her with a sly expression. "It's not about using him to spy," she said. "It's about finding out where his loyalties lie."

"Come again?"

Ursula smiled. "Do you imagine I've told him everything we've learned since we arrived? Right now, I want to know two things. First, whether the Dark One is still the Dark One—and until we do know, I think it prudent we avoid using his name in casual conversation. Just as a precaution."

"Noted," Cruella nodded. "Why invite his scrutiny if we can avoid it?"

"Exactly. Second," Ursula continued, "I want to find out whether he and the pirate have truly made their peace, and whether it's still unmakeable. Because if he's still the Dark One, then what Hook told me earlier makes sense. Pretending to be his friend while waiting for the chance to strike is exactly the kind of thing I'd expect. But that only makes sense if he still possesses his magic. If he doesn't, then I can't think why Hook hasn't already attacked. Unless…"

Cruella's eyes narrowed. "Unless it's no game and they really have set aside their feud."

Ursula nodded. "The rest of the town seems convinced that the Dark One has turned over a new leaf. So either Hook knows better, or—"

"Or he wants you to believe otherwise," Cruella said slowly. "Which seems unlikely. I mean, how would misleading you on that score benefit him?"

"I don't know," Ursula admitted. "But until we find out which it is, I don't think we can proceed with our plans. We need to know the extent to which the Dark One can hinder us."

"Then why approach the pirate at all?" Cruella demanded. "Wouldn't going to the source be a better idea?"

"Well, it would be, if we could be certain of getting a straight answer out of him," Ursula admitted. "But we can't. If he's truly lost his power, you don't expect him to admit it to us, do you? And if he's truly turned over a new leaf, then there's no guarantee that once we reveal our presence to him, he won't go running to the heroes."

"And you're so sure that the pirate won't be a similar concern, dahling? How?"

Ursula smiled. "Oh, let's just say that, after my little talk with him yesterday, I think I have a bit of leverage…"

Hoist on his own petard, Killian thought furiously, as he paced the pier in the twilight. He didn't know who to trust anymore. Either Ursula or Rumpelstiltskin might cheerfully stab him in the back or slit his throat. But Emma could shatter his heart. If he told her what was happening, he was practically inviting her to do so. If he didn't and she found out, it would likely happen anyway. The wise move was to be above board with her and tell her what was going on. He knew he should. But a confession of such magnitude could only be made at the proper time and that time, regrettably, wasn't now. It would have to wait until he could be certain that he could explain himself in a way that wouldn't have her spurning him in outrage. But as to when that time might be…

He had to stall. He had to keep Ursula from talking to Emma until he could find the right moment and the best words. For the first time in over two centuries, his life was finally sailing on a smooth course. He couldn't risk scuttling things now.

"Well?" a strident voice rasped behind him and he turned to see Ursula standing before him. It rankled him that he hadn't had warning of her approach. No splash to announce she'd emerged from the sea, no vibrations to herald her steps on the wooden pier. "What have you decided?"

Killian pursed his lips together, sucked in his breath, and exhaled. "We have an agreement," he growled, hoping that he was making the right decision.

The sea witch smiled, showing her teeth for the first time. "Splendid," she said, extending her hand.

As Killian shook it, he noted that it was almost as cold and clammy as her tentacles.