Beta-read by lethemoirai, thank the gods for her help!
The adventure continues...
Chapter 25: The Curse
The first thing he noticed was the noise. Buzzing, humming, honking that didn't quite sound like geese, things slamming, dripping, whirring, falling. They weren't sounds he recognized, and he opened his eyes gingerly, almost dreading to learn where he was.
Which was standing in front of a rather ordinary looking door. Glancing from side to side, he saw an ordinary corridor populated by similar looking doors and a window at the end, letting in the late afternoon sunlight. It was cleaner than to be expected in an average tavern, and a wall to wall rug covered the entire floor, which was unusual.
Swan was bloody nowhere to be seen.
Taking a calming breath as his mind imagined the worst, he raised his left hand to knock, thinking he could ask for help from the occupant upon whose doorstep he perched. He jerked with surprise; in place of his hand sat a large metal hook. He would have sworn a moment ago he still had a hand. In fact he did still have a hand, could feel it, and wiggled his fingers just to prove it. But nothing moved. Pushing back the sleeve of his leather jacket, he saw the black cuff that covered his wrist and to which the metal appendage attached.
Unloosing the straps, he ripped the cuff free, breathing a relieved sigh when his hand uncurled and the hook fell to the floor at his feet. Now what he needed to do was locate Emma and figure out how to break this curse and get back to finding the door of time.
He knocked, waiting a couple of moments before the door opened with a quick inrush of air.
"Swan!" he beamed, overjoyed to have found her so quickly, afraid the curse might have separated them or done something horrific to her. She looked fantastic, dressed a little oddly perhaps, and not quite entirely filled out since her ordeal with Stranger, but her skin did appear to be glowing.
She smiled, drying her hands on a towel. "Hey Babe, how'd it go today?" She stepped back to let him in, then leaned forward to press a kiss to his mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed.
Trapping her with his body, he pushed her against the open door, bumping his nose with hers, breathing her in as his heart thumped thickly against his chest, and consequently hers. She must have felt it, because her own heartbeat leapt to match his, creating a singular identity, an accord he'd only known with her. The air around them began to swell as she responded to his look with a heaviness of her own, and then he lowered his lips to hers, tasting her delectable mouth as her hands cupped the back of his neck.
He would have taken her then and there, his relief was so great, but she pulled back, pushing him away with her palms on his chest. "It's been awhile since I've been greeted so, um, fervently," she teased. "You're lucky Henry isn't home." She pecked his lips one last time and walked away toward a bar with a tall steaming pot on it. The smell was delectable, and his stomach growled in anticipation of the meal that must be near at hand.
"Ahh, Storybrooke, right? I wondered where we were." He ran his hand through his hair, suddenly very glad he'd paid attention when she had been talking about her town, and glanced around at the differences in future accommodations as compared to the past.
She looked at him oddly, but then busied herself with stirring the fragrant contents of the pot. "Well, I hope you haven't forgotten my parents are coming for dinner. They'll be here in just a few minutes, so if you want to change first, you have time." She began humming to herself as she opened a large white box, removing containers from it.
He walked toward her instead. "You don't remember the curse," he said flatly.
She continued with her supper preparations, preoccupied. "Hmmm? Curse? What curse? Wait, this isn't like some bad April-fool's joke you have going with Henry, right?" She stilled her motions, regarding him with a skeptical but playful eye, and he was struck with how wonderful she looked, how healthy and beautiful. He smiled in spite of his worry, and she relaxed, thinking he was only jesting, contentedly going back to her work.
Reaching out to place his left hand on top of hers, a curl of alarm wove through his gut. "Mac. Isobel. The letter. The warning about the curse. You don't recall any of it?"
She looked down at his hand, cocking her head slightly as if she were trying to remember, but her eyes were glazed a bit and he could tell she was thinking about something completely unrelated. "Are you okay? And where's your hook? I thought you didn't like working without it." Her brows were furrowed together and she had spoken softly, stepping out to stand in front of him, watching him worriedly.
"The hook… ah, probably outside the door." He looked toward the entrance, stalling, doing anything to break her troubled gaze. Gods, she didn't remember. Any of it. He inhaled deeply, straining to think of some way to rekindle her memories, but his mind stayed blank, the shock of his situation nauseating him like a swift punch to the stomach.
"Killian?"
Comprehension dawned as soon as his first name left her lips, and he turned back to her, mouth gaping. She thought he was her husband, his future self, not Jones as she had always called him. Gods, what was he supposed to do now? Somehow distinguish himself from himself? How was he going to manage that?
As if the answer had been waiting for the question, Mac's words floated through his mind, It will test who you are and how well you know yourself. Perfect. He knew himself very well, didn't he? What he didn't know was who he would become. What had she told him about Killian? His mind began to churn, questions and answers rising up like bubbles to the surface of a pond. Hadn't she said they were different, but that she loved them both? That couldn't be enough, or the curse would have broken earlier when he'd kissed her in the doorway. But then, she wasn't kissing him, she was kissing Killian.
"Swan, it's me, Jones. Don't you remember? You fell through time and landed three hundred years ago. We met and have been journeying to find a way back to your own time. This is the curse trial—you just have to remember. Please, love, for me." He sounded desperate, even to his own ears, his hand tightening on top of hers.
"What are you talking about? Of course I remember meeting you. In the forest, trying to pass yourself off as a blacksmith, working with Cora so you could get revenge on Gold." Her voice had risen and she pulled her hand away from him, her former worry metamorphosing into aggravation.
"No, love, that's how you met the future me." Setting aside her words about revenge for now, he continued, "You met me in the Enchanted Forest, in a tavern. Called me Jones for most of our acquaintance." He tried to keep his tone light, but was failing miserably; she obviously had no memory of their time together. Sorrow weighed down on his heart as surely as elation had lifted it only minutes ago when he'd found her.
"Look, I don't have time for this. I have to finish the soup and put together a salad, and you need to get out of your pirate garb." She turned back to the food preparations, tossing some greens in a large bowl with her lips set in a tight line.
He couldn't tell what he had said to upset her so completely, but she was upset nonetheless. Perhaps he should just go along with it for awhile and see if she might slowly regain her memory. He could only hope.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her back to his chest and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I apologize, love. We'll talk about it later, aye?" Her rigid spine barely gave way, and he knew the small movement was a grudging acceptance to put it away for now, with no intention of forgetting it completely.
Clothes. He would change his clothes and come back out to dinner and pray to the gods he could pull this off for her sake.
====o0I0o====
He took his time foraging through the bureau and wardrobe, running his fingers through soft fabrics and unusual closures, familiarizing himself with the strange clothing. Finally choosing a soft striped shirt and thick blue trousers, both very comfortable, he heard the knock on the door and the sound of happy voices.
Moving out into the sitting area, he was surprised to see a short, dark-haired woman and a light-haired man holding a baby, both about the same age as Emma. Even though she hadn't specifically mentioned ages, he supposed it was right that her parents were so young. David and Mary Margaret, he thought.
"Ah, Killian! I think you dropped this outside." David handed over the hook and then offered his hand. "How'd it go today?"
Although he wasn't in the habit of thinking of himself as Jones, he did now, especially since they all seemed to think he was someone else. Setting the hook on a table, he took David's hand. "Not sure what you're referring to, mate."
"Oh, didn't you tell me you had to take a group of Japanese tourists out on the Jolly? I just wondered what they thought of it." All eyes turned on him; Mary Margaret's and David's were curious, Emma's… wary.
Right. What the bloody hell were Japanese tourists? "They thought it was a fine day for a sail, enjoyed the fish we caught for lunch," he faked, recalling what she'd told him about his occupation.
"With that storm? Ah, well, leave it to tourists to be excited about anything, right?" David gave him a friendly clap on the back and moved over to his wife's side.
Jones smiled and nodded, glad for the easy out, watching as Emma's shoulders relaxed. Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as he thought. Making his way over to Mary Margaret, he took her hand. "Milady," he purred gallantly, bowing deeply.
Mary Margaret looked slightly taken aback, then grinned graciously like the ruler he knew her to be. "Nice to see you too, Killian." She reached up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek, and he decided he liked the happy couple that seemed a good match for his Swan.
"Hey, did you get that safety report finished for the mayor's office?" Emma asked David, moving away while her parents removed their coats and placed them on the hooks by the door.
"Yeah, turned it in before I left. I know Regina has been anxious to get the construction started."
The conversation continued. A dizzying back and forth of information he couldn't assimilate, of names he didn't always recognize, of vocabulary he couldn't decipher. It seemed that being in a different realm in the future was going to have its challenges. He mostly stayed silent, listening to them talk like the best of mates, which he guessed they were, eventually excusing himself, taking baby Leo with him as he retired to the sitting room when supper was concluded and they were sitting around the table sipping wine.
Leo was a solid little fellow, cheerfully mimicking Jones whenever he smiled. He placed the baby's hand on his scruffy face, watching Leo's features crinkle as he tried to figure out what he was touching. He liked babies, had always liked babies. They were so fresh and new, ready to face the world with open mouths and trusting smiles. There hadn't been loads of opportunities to become acquainted with any in the past several years, but he had known a few when he lived with Mrs. Fritz, what with her desire to help everyone, especially new mothers. He didn't even mind when they cried, imagining to himself that it must be hell to have to depend on people who couldn't understand what you were trying to communicate.
Leo let out a particularly loud squall.
"Hey, Killian, alright over there?" David asked good-naturedly.
"Aye, just getting acquainted."
He knew he'd said something odd by the way no one made a sound. Feeling the dread pool in his feet, he looked over at the table and smiled widely, like his comment was the most natural in the world. "Making sure the little fellow remembered who I was."
David and Mary Margaret nodded in understanding, but a strange look passed over Emma's face, and he knew it hadn't gone unnoticed with her.
Her parents didn't stay much longer, begging off for an early bedtime for Leo, and as Emma closed the door behind them, she turned with a sigh and leaned against it. He was standing in front of her, noting every detail of the curve of her cheek, the worry lines creasing her forehead, the slight frown on her full mouth. And he loved her, even though she didn't remember, he loved her just as she was.
"Alright, spill it," she stated, placing both hands on her hips. Gods, her stance had gone from contemplative to warrior maiden poised for battle, and a wave of desire passed through him like the jab of a hot knife. Except the battle was with him.
"To what do you refer, Swan? I thought the night went swimmingly," he said coolly, hedging the question. He didn't want to fight with her, didn't think that would help their situation, or help her remember him. Or maybe it would…
"You didn't open your mouth most of the night! Just went all broody in the living room. You didn't even talk to David, and you guys are friends. And what's with not wearing your brace?"
"Brace? You mean that uncomfortable leather contraption the hook attached to?" He had removed it even before he had searched for replacement clothing, glad to be rid of the thing.
"I thought you didn't like going around without some type of attachment on your arm," she said dubiously, although her posture said she expected a response.
"What are you bloody talking about, Swan? Why would I wear something over my hand when I'm at home? I understand the whole pirate-with-a-hook thing for work, but…"
"Did you say 'over your hand'?" she interrupted, her face turning white like he'd said something positively frightening.
"Aye, I don't see the problem. It works perfectly fine." He lifted his hand to show her, wiggling his fingers and waving it around.
Walking over to him, she angrily grabbed his wrist. "What is wrong with you? You don't have a hand, lost it to the Dark One all those years ago, over a bean and Milah."
She pulled back the cuff of his shirt, revealing his right wrist, clean-skinned and looking just as it always had. Then something happened, a flash of light or a pop of the air, and suddenly he was staring at a large tattoo with the name Milah stitched across it, and his left hand vanished into thin air.
"Whu… Bloody buggering hell!"
"I think I should be the one saying that." She dropped his wrist and stalked toward their sleeping quarters.
He stood for a moment, stunned, then followed behind her, his eyes unable to decide which arm to keep gaping at.
"Swan, what the bloody hell is Milah's name doing on my arm and where the hell is my left hand?" Apparently there had been a few details she'd left out when sharing his story. Killian was missing a hand? She had fallen in love with half a man? And how had he lost the hand in question? Had he been caught stealing? He wanted to know, no, needed to know who this man was that he was supposed to be impersonating.
She rounded on him, not quite shouting, yet. "You mean you really don't remember. You don't remember three hundred years of plotting revenge to kill the Dark One who'd killed your first love?"
"First love? But that's you," he said slowly, and several conversations with Swan suddenly came to light. Milah. Killian's first love was Milah. Of course. When he had taken the potion, he'd forgotten Swan and fallen for Milah. He lifted his hand to scratch behind his ear, the hot knife of desire morphing into a hot knife of warning pointed right at his heart, ready to gouge it out with the flick of her delicate wrist.
She pursed her lips to the side, watching him suspiciously. "Nice try. But I've been looking at that damned tattoo for years now, watching the way people stare at your hook or your fake hand, and I've never said a word about it. Because I understand. And I do. And now you're telling me you don't remember any of it? It just happened to slip your mind?"
"I told you, you think I'm Killian Jones you met in the forest. But I'm Killian Jones you met in a tavern. And I definitely do not have a tattoo of Milah on my arm. That's him. You have us confused, love," he said gently, reaching out for her, intentionally ignoring his blunt wrist. He dropped his arms when he realized his touch would be most unwelcome at the moment.
"Is this some kind of ploy to tell me you want out? That you're tired of your boring life in Storybrooke and you want adventure? Are you tired of me? of us?" She was breathing heavily, resting for a moment as all her attention focused on him; his answer would determine the course of this conversation, for good or ill.
"What? No! Never! I haven't yet asked you to marry me, but I would. I will…" He trailed off, instantly knowing he had chosen the wrong thing to say by the dark look that passed over her face. Gods, women were difficult, or maybe it was just this one, and although his initial hope was that a little conflict might help her remember, this was quickly moving into uncharted territory.
"You mean you don't remember our wedding?" She was angry now, but he wouldn't deceive her, remembering that the possibility of living a lie was what disgusted her most about this trial.
"Well, no, not exactly," he said quietly, wishing the fox would show up and open a portal at his feet so he could escape her gimlet eye.
"This is unbelievable. YOU are unbelievable. Ruby was right. Just when you think everything is going along perfectly fine, BOOM, you find out your boyfriend is sleeping with someone else." She turned and stomped the rest of the way to their quarters, pulling her shirt over her head and throwing it in a chair before donning another. She stopped, suddenly horrified. "Wait, you're not seeing someone else, are you?"
"Swan, what the bloody hell are you talking about? Just looking at the facts here," he thrust his arm out, "I seem to be the sort of man who has had two loves in his life and was quite devoted to them both. And you ask if there's another woman?"
She visibly relaxed her shoulders, plopping down on the bed, some of the fight going out of her. "Then what is it?"
"I told you. We've been cursed, and you have me confused with the man you married." He stood there impotently, hands, no, hand, restless at his side, wishing he knew what to tell her.
"So let me get this straight. You're not Captain Hook, the Killian Jones I fell in love with in Neverland. You're the Killian Jones I met in a bar?" Her eyes were the color they always turned when she was angry, lightening storm green, and they swept his body, seeing the same man she had married, but who had gone mad overnight.
"Aye. Now we have to assess how to get your memories back," he answered honestly, and moved to sit next to her, careful to give her a little space, knowing she would desire it as she considered all he had told her.
"You said this was a curse, doesn't true love's kiss break all curses?" There was a small measure of hope in her voice, but it was the hope of someone who thinks she might have found a way to mollify the mad person.
"Tried that, love, when I walked in the door this evening. But you're not kissing me. You're kissing him."
She threw her hands up and back down again. "I give up. I don't know what's wrong with you, but you better figure it out soon, buddy. And if you can't, then we're going to see Dr. Whale for a full work-up of your head in case you bumped it on the mast of your ship in that storm today," she fumed, rising and stomping off to a smaller, adjoining room.
He sat on the edge of the bed as though he were standing on the edge of a precipice, staring after her dejectedly. Gods, this was going to be harder than he thought.
====o0I0o====
It was. Day after interminable day, nothing. She had insisted upon a full physical, or so he had learned it was called, including a picture of the inside of his head, tubes and wires and strange beeping sounds connected to him in an attempt to convey what was wrong with him, only to find out he was the picture of health. He went through the motions of daily life as best he could, eventually learning the names of everything and everyone, and Emma seemed to stay content as long as he pretended to be future Killian. But it could be excruciating living the charade.
Emma had told him Henry possessed the heart of the truest believer, so he chanced sharing his and Emma's predicament, hoping to play it off if the lad reacted badly. But the boy said nothing, and looked thoughtful rather than doubtful, and for the first time in weeks Jones felt less than completely mad. Something had interrupted their conversation that day, and he'd never found opportunity to revisit the subject; the boy was preoccupied with his own full life, having recently acquired a driver's license and courting a girl on the other side of town. Besides, he wasn't sure what Henry could actually do in their present circumstances.
He'd been able to piece together that he and Milah had had a love affair, resulting in her leaving her coward husband, finally. And then Rumplestiltskin had become the Dark One, just as Emma had told him that day over breakfast in the tavern, and had appeared to claim a magical bean from them. Milah had provoked him, of course, and lost her heart in the process, followed by Jones's hand.
It was a degrading sort of future, dark and filled with hatred and revenge, so different from the happy pirate life he had been living aboard the Jolly with his crew, and even different from the life he was currently living with Emma by his side. The more time passed, the more he agonized between what he knew his future to be and what he had right in front of him. Even if their situation was some kind of bastardized version of the truth, it wasn't altogether unpleasant, which frightened him more than he cared to admit.
He was slowly acclimating to life with the hook, although not easily, since he hated the blasted thing, hated what it represented—a failed love he struggled to even imagine instigating, a failed life that would result in years of waste. He took to only wearing it when he was working, and leaving his arm uncovered most of the time. Emma said nothing about it, although he'd catch her staring at his blunt-edged wrist, turning away as soon as he noticed, as though she were afraid to bring up the subject and chance another row over it.
Evening became his favorite time of day, when he could forget they were cursed, and lose himself in the simple delight of being with her. They would sit on the couch in the evenings and watch movies about all sorts of things, which was a very efficient way to learn the ways of this realm, and she would let him run his fingers—the fingers of his right hand, since his missing left had never reappeared—through her hair. Their nights were passionate, neither of them mentioning his 'memory loss' as she called it. But it haunted them both, and it haunted their façade of a marriage.
And so the days melded from one to the next.
====o0I0o====
Sitting on the couch one afternoon, flipping through the channels and finding nothing to interest him, a beam of sunlight shone through the kitchen window, drawing his eyes to the pendant of his necklace that sat against his exposed chest. He saw the cross he always wore, but sitting next to it was a ring, his wedding ring he guessed. Not sure why he hadn't noticed it before, he removed it from the chain and looked at it more closely.
It was a simple gold band, thick and well-made. He spun it around slowly, admiring the sheen of the metal, imagining what kind of price it would have fetched back home, when he caught the glint of the inscription on the inside of it.
An Age Cannot Sate Love
Although he could agree with the sentiment, especially in light of the future separation inevitable if he and Swan managed to leave this cursed place, he wondered what it meant to Killian, and how it had managed to become inscribed for all time on his wedding band. He wondered if hers matched.
He made a note of checking the next time she left her ring on the windowsill while she washed the dishes, and placed the gold band firmly on the ring finger of his right hand, happy to feel the weight of it where it belonged, a tiny insignia of the love he held for his wife.
He caught her staring at his hand later that evening, a worried frown crossing over her face momentarily, until she hid it behind a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She and Killian must have had a conversation over that ring, then. But damned what Killian did. This was what Jones did, and he wanted to feel the ring on his finger, not forget about it around his neck.
He had his first nightmare that night.
====o0I0o====
Waking in a cold sweat, he forced his eyes open, breathing deeply as his mind registered that he was in their bed, correction, the cursed bed in the cursed Storybrooke. Letting his head sink into the pillow, he reached a hand toward Emma, sighing when his fingers brushed across soft skin, underscoring that he had woken from a mere dream. His heart began returning to normal when he felt her stir.
"Mmmm?" she murmured sleepily. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, love, go back to sleep," he said, staring at the ceiling and keeping his tone light so she wouldn't be alarmed.
"You had a nightmare, didn't you," she stated flatly.
"Aye, but it's nothing. Go back to sleep and we can talk about it over hot chocolate tomorrow," he said gently, taking one of her hands and placing a kiss on top of it.
"What was it about?" She rolled to her side, putting both hands under her head, yawning widely.
He sighed heavily, sorry to have woken her up when she had a busy day at work ahead of her. "I was on board the Jolly Roger, and Milah… Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One… he took her heart… I was… there." He shuddered at the memory as fresh images of her dying in his arms assailed him, along with the painful emotions, feeling as though they belonged half to someone else and half to him.
"Oh, Killian, you're remembering," she said quietly, then tucked herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breathing evened out and she fell asleep with the ease of someone who knows their worries will be over soon.
The frightening reality of his situation made itself plain. If he didn't figure out how to make her remember who he was, he was going to remember who Killian was, until his mind joined the mind of his future self with a finality that sealed both their fates. He briefly wondered how much time they had left, and made a special effort to watch for the clock that would countdown their hours remaining.
====o0I0o====
He woke with the dawn as he always had, and turned to face Emma's back, running his hand over her naked stomach, suddenly noticing the thickened swell above the juncture of her thighs. A jolt of pleasure shot through him like a lightening bolt; her normally flat stomach was barely bulging with the beginnings of pregnancy, he was sure of it.
"Swan," he whispered close to her ear, his throat nearly closed with emotion.
"Mmmm? What is it?" She shifted, turning her ear toward him, but not quite waking up all the way.
"We're having a baby, love. Did you know?" He couldn't help himself from running his hand over her body again, lingering over the hardened bump, excited beyond belief at the prospect of having a child with the woman he loved most in the world.
"What? What are you talking about?" She came fully awake, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
"A baby." He smiled again, and his eyes began to swim as the thought of his child growing inside her thrilled him beyond words.
"But I haven't had any morning sickness, and I'm pretty sure I haven't missed a period," she said thoughtfully.
"Look, though." He rubbed her again, letting his hand linger on the soft, slightly stretched skin.
"What do you mean? My belly looks the same as it always does." She looked confused, and turned her eyes to his with a questioning look.
"No, love, look, there's a bump, a baby bump," he said happily. Even though they were cursed, a new resolve to rescue the three of them from this bloody situation welled up with the same fervency as his excitement over the baby.
"But I can't be." She jumped up and ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a definitive slam.
He followed more slowly, wondering what he'd done this time.
She emerged a few minutes later. "No, I'm not," she said, holding a thin white stick in front of his face. "See? How could you get my hopes up like that?" She looked crushed, on the verge of tears, and he opened his arms to hold her. But she brushed him aside, grabbing a tank top from the chair and pulling it over her head, donning a pair of flannel trousers that slid over their growing baby and mostly hid it from view, before leaving.
He didn't know what the stick had indicated, but the broken expression on her face had told him everything, and he suddenly hated himself for seeing what she couldn't. She was carrying his child, not Killian's.
Mac's warning echoed through his mind as it became clear what their time constraint was—the birth of their child.
A/N So I didn't go into Jones-meets-the-modern-world because I think that's been done in other fics, and their authors have handled it better than I ever could. I hope you all don't mind!
To one guest reviewer: I don't think Emma has contemplated staying in the past-at least I don't remember writing that. If I did, pop me a PM and let me know. And I imagine Emma IS thinking about Henry. After all, I don't give an exhaustive account of her thoughts. But the main reason I've left him out is because I didn't think I could write him in without interrupting flow. It's my own failings as a writer-I'm still a newbie. If I knew how to do it, I would.