A/N - Time for the story to pick up once more…

At some point thick, grey clouds had rolled over the port, bringing with them an angry rainstorm and a powerful wind which shook the shutters over the windows and rattled the clay tiles on the roof. Emma stirred restlessly in the room, unable to settle.

After he had left, she had sat some time in a kind of daze - her skin felt somewhat done and her body ached deliciously. Her skin still tingled from his touch and the sensation of him making love to her - for that's what it had been - was one she replayed over repeatedly in her mind.

Once she had roused herself from her stupor, she called the maid to bring her a bath where she luxuriated in the warm, scented water for a period too long to count: until the pads of her fingertips had become swollen and her skin was flushed scarlet from the heat.

She had wrapped her damp body in a soft, thick bath sheet, and sat on the stool by the dressing table. There, she patted the moisture from her hair, teasing it into twists and pinning it against her head to leave a curl once it dried.

Quietly she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips were still swollen from his relentless kisses. The pale skin of her neck still bore witness to the action of his scruff brushing against it: it burned slightly, a painful sensation but one that thrilled her all the same. On the tops of her thighs, a few small, circular bruises began to appear where his fingers and hook had held her tight - tiny tokens of that night.

Perhaps she should have dressed and walked about the town - it certainly would have made time pass more quickly. But if she left the room, then everything would be real again. The spell would be broken. The night before would be relegated to an indistinct memory.

So instead, she paced about, slowly dressing while drinking a few goblets of wine to steel her nerves.

§

It hadn't taken him long to make the decision.

After dressing in fresh clothes, he had set off into town, meeting with trusted contacts who would be sure to keep his confidence - settling a few debts, engaging some merchants to cater supplies to the ship once his vengeance was settled.

Yet throughout all of this, all he could think of was her. The memory of their night together was still so fresh and vivid in his mind, he kept reliving the sensations - as if he were to stop, they would evaporate from his mind. It was not just her body and sweet taste that lingered, but her soulful eyes and the way she said his name…

He had not made but three steps from the tavern when he was resolved to release her from their contract.

Yes, the thought of seeing her in that man's arms again made his stomach turn. But greater than that was the very real fear that further travels on this dangerous path would lead to her becoming injured - or worse.

He made it back to their lodgings as evening fell. The darkness came quickly; the cloud covered sky had let but little light penetrate its tumbling depths that afternoon, and as the sun slipped below the horizon a hazy calm had fallen over the town: the calm before the inhabitants of the night crawled from their beds and claimed the cobbled streets as their own.

Entering the tavern, he was surprised to find her sitting at a small table by the bar, nursing what looked like a goblet of wine. The cloak around her shoulders enveloped her body, pooling at her feet on the floor and making her seem smaller - and weaker - than he knew her to truly be.

"Milady," he addressed her, dipping into a small bow when she lifted her head and saw him.

"Good evening," she replied, with a nod of her head, pushing a pewter goblet towards him. "A drink before we leave?"

Nodding his agreement, he sat, swinging the tails of his coat over the bench before taking the cup - his fingers briefly brushing against hers, a small sigh escaping her lips.

The room was dark. The blanket of clouds blocked out any light from the moon that may have eked in through the dusty windows. The feeble fire that cackled and hissed was almost on the other side of the room - their table was set in shadow, her features simply lit from what little illumination the small candles around them gave. Her regal beauty was undeniable. He felt so foolish that he had ever been taken in by her weak disguise.

After a drink of the lukewarm wine, he dampened his lips with his tongue.

"I think-," he coughed, clearing his throat and began again, "Emma, I… I've been thinking. I do not think it is wise to continue with this line of action."

"Why?" she quickly asked, arching up her neck, her mouth falling into a puzzled expression.

He caught his breath, as if to reply. Pressing his brows together, he just looked at her for a moment. Could she see? Could she tell? Did she see what he was trying so little to hide?

With a sigh, he shifted his hook from his knee to the table, absentmindedly rubbing it over the aged and scarred wood. "It's not safe. I've not been thinking straight."

"But-" she began.

"Our agreement is null and void. I will find Blackbeard on my own."

She silently sipped her wine. He daren't look up, instead he toyed with his rings, running his thumb over the smooth jewels and decorated silver.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked, her voice a low whisper.

He wanted to shout a thousand and one reasons, to wrap his hand around hers and squeeze it tight, to drop the facade of Captain Hook and explain to her-

"Because…because it is wrong of me to let you do this - to place you in danger." Still avoiding her gaze, he clicked his teeth together while his foot began to tap on the floor.

"You're lying."

Tilting his head, he saw she was staring at him. "Why would I lie?" was his flippant reply, engaging her with his best disinterested look. She didn't flinch, but she scrunched her brow.

"My mother…"

"I will release her as soon as we return to the ship."

She seemed to let the words sink in for a few seconds. "I still want to do it," she told him quietly.

"I've said I will release your mother-"

"That's not why," she snapped, swiftly circling her fingers around his wrist until his skin pinched.

"Then-"

"I honor my deals, Captain."

Killian let out a huffed breath, running his tongue along his bottom lip, "And I have no way to convince you otherwise?"

"No. My mind is settled."

With her jaw firmly set and a tight grip on his hand he could tell instantly that she was not to be dissuaded. It was as if he could see into her mind and feel her determination. An uneasy acceptance came over him and he finished his wine in one, long draw.

"Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we should be on our way." He tried to make his voice sound light and unconcerned, but he saw the flicker of recognition in her eye that told him it was useless.

Whatever remained unsaid, she understood in some way. As they left, the urge to pull her aside, to hold her, to beg her to stay here became intolerable.

But somehow his damn, stupid pride and fear of the unknown won out. So he placed a soft hand on her back and led her into the cool night.

§

It was colder than she had expected. The gown she had chosen to wear was thinner than the others; a few layers of deep green muslin with short puffed sleeves and a deep, square neckline.

They walked in silence. His footsteps were quietly punctuated by the sound of his sword tapping against his boots. She bit back the urge to shiver, gritting her teeth and wrapping her arms around her waist.

On a few occasions, she had thought he was going to say something. His pace had slowed down until they were walking in step. He had rubbed his palm against his thigh and shot her furtive glances.

Finally, she tired of his indecision. Stopping on a quiet street, she turned and faced him.

"What?"

He looked at her, wide eyed, and shook his head. "What?"

"You want to say something. Spit it out."

He sighed and flicked his gaze up to the darkened sky. "Why would you think that?" he asked, pursing his lips and refusing to look at her.

A bubble of anger swelled in her stomach. "Fine, if that's how you want to play this-"

Quickly turning, she brushed away a wave of disappointment and she scolded herself for the sudden urge to cry. Why should she care what he did or said? So they had had one night together. So she felt something for him - he clearly did not, or could not, reciprocate these feelings. Perhaps he was incapable.

"Emma," he said firmly, darting around to block her way.

"What?" she snapped, the sudden anger rising within her, crumpling her brow, hot tears forming at her eyes.

"Darling-" he whispered, learning into her, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek until her eyelids fluttered closed and a single tear slipped out. Her lips opened to speak - "Shhhh," he murmured, pressing his own cool lips against hers in a chaste kiss. "I'm sorry," he sighed against her cheek.

For a moment, words were lost to her. She met his eyes with her own, even in the blackness of the night they were the color of the ocean, and in a second she was swimming within them. She saw it, deep in those depths, that reflection of her own heart in him. Holding her breath, she waited for his declaration, for him to pull her close and swear his love. Then they could tumble back to the tavern and make love until dawn; all thoughts of revenge superseded by the burgeoning of new love.

The words seemed so close to falling from his mouth. He held her shoulders firm, the heat of his hand and body helping push back a little of the chill. He licked his lips, his breath shaking-

"Killian-" she whispered.

"Be careful," he finally said. She dropped her eyes, disappointment slowly trickled through her like cool water, dampening her fervor and causing her to stumble back. She was wrong. He didn't care, not in the way she did.

"I'm perfectly able of taking care of myself, Captain."

He stiffened at the word 'Captain'. She turned her head, his grip loosened and she stepped further away - a physical distance to match the growing chasm between them that seemed to widen with each passing second.

"Of course," he nodded stiffly, looking over her shoulder, his face serious and severe. "Shall we?" he offered, reaching out his hand.

Not replying, she turned once more and hurried on.

§

They slipped inside but did not speak again. Killian darted off to the same corner where he had sat the night before. Emma released the clasp on her cloak and gathered it in her arms. She quickly looked around, he was not there yet.

A barmaid with a two flagons of ale in each hand slipped by; Emma whispered into her ear, her order accepted with a nod, before she wandered over to Blackbeard's section of the bar. The tables were laid out much as they were the night before, his heavy raised chair dominating the area.

Her heart was beginning to race. The order of fine and ale reached the table quickly and she slipped a few coins from her purse to the lass.

Fine?

Although she couldn't see him, she knew Killian was watching her intently. It was like a burning heat was focused on her face. She bristled under the warmth, daring briefly to look in his direction. He had snuffed out the candle on his table. All she could make out were the darkened shape of face and the barest outline of his form. Still, it comforted her somewhat, knowing he was there.

Even if his duty to her was merely honor bound, even if she had seen more in his eyes and his actions than was truly there: even still, his presence gave her strength as her nervousness rose.

Patiently she sat waiting.

§

The bottle of rum couldn't have comefast enough.

Sitting down, he had moistened his fingers and killed the flame of the candle.

He grabbed the bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth, ignoring the small, pewter glass that had accompanied it, instead pouring a large mouthful straight down his throat. It did little to calm his stomach, in fact, as he looked across the room, the uncomfortable tightness merely grew stronger and more potent.

Clearly, she was nervous. She fidgeted in her seat, toying with the goblet in her hand, taking quick little sips as her eyes roamed the room. All about, the men were watching her, their eyes transfixed by her incandescent beauty. Illuminated by the glow of the myriad candles and lanterns, her skin glowed. The emerald green of her dress contrasted sweetly with the gold of her hair and her rose red lips.

Clenching his fist, he wanted to kick himself. Earlier, in the street, she had opened up to him. He had been given the chance to tell her how she made him feel and admit his own weakness and how much last night had meant… But instead he had cowered away and hid beneath the facade of a single-minded pirate, one for who love was but a fleeting sensation of the night and honor was the only true calling. And now, he thought, all was lost.

He saw her look his way. He sank back further into his seat, dipping his head in shame.

He made a silent prayer that all would turn out well and took hold of the bottle once more, washing away his fears with the tart taste of rum.

§

Running her toe nervously along the floor, a panic gripped her.

Where was he?

Surely he would be here. The ship was still in the docks, she had seen its distinctive dark sails as they had walked to the tavern.

Then all of a sudden, she felt arms grab her from behind. Rough hands clawed at her, she fought back kicking her legs out and twisting her body. But it was futile. A heavy, musty smelling blanket quickly covered her body. And then, darkness…

§

The pleasant buzz of liquor had calmed his stomach. He relaxed a little, stretching out his legs and laying his hook on the table.

Soon, he thought. He must be here soon.

The thought was broken by the sound of shuffling feet. He turned to look and was met with a fist hitting his face. Dazed, he reached for his sword, but he wasn't quick enough. Something heavy was crashed against his head, everything became hazy and then finally, black.

A/N - Thank you all, once again, for all the feedback, follows, favourites and reviews. My muse is fuelled by you!