cs au week #1: alternative cs version. something halfway between lieutenant duckling and captain duckling, only a few months after liam's death perhaps
The irony isn't lost on her.
It is a peculiar thought to have with a sword in your hand while fighting for your life on the deck of a ship, yet one Emma has anyway as she braces herself against the next blow. The sea will be safer, her father had said, the forest is full of brigands these days. Yet here she is, ship taken over by pirates ready to kill her – or worse. The only comfort is that they don't seem to know who she is and that she's a better fighter. She may have a chance, and she may not get kidnapped and ransomed.
It isn't much, but it might be enough.
Still, even with her skills, three deadly pirates to one tiny princess is everything but a fair fight – they have already gotten rid of the captain and are calmly making their way through the entire crew, she can only be next. Surrender is out of the question and she would rather die trying than give up now. But they are still taller and stronger, they still outnumber her even if she killed two already, and soon they manage to corner her, back pressing against the mast as one of them smirks at her with that glint in his eyes.
The one that disappears when someone starts slow clapping behind him. Princess and pirates stop in their fight, all too surprised and all looking at the newcomer. For it is a newcomer all right, leaning against the ship as he keeps clapping without even hiding his mocking grin, four more guys by his sides with swords and knifes in hands.
Emma almost wants to laugh at those morons not even noticing another crew commandeering the ship after them.
She would laugh, if she weren't on said ship.
"Well done, mates," he says, voice warm and deep with a laugh barely concealed. "Three of you against one of her. Truly impressive, really."
It is only a matter of seconds until both sets of pirates jump into the battle, Emma forgotten as she leans against the mast with a sigh and watches them attempt to kill each other. There is something bestial about the fight, but even so the newcomers clearly have the advantage – both in talent and number – and she can only feel the satisfaction deep within her at her assailants being slaughtered in front of her eyes.
So engrossed into the scene in front of her eyes that she startles with a yelp of terror when a hand grab her shoulder, only to find kind eyes and a smile. "Come with me, lassie. Let's get you out of harm's way until the captain is done."
There is something soft, reassuring, about the pirate's voice and demeanour, and so she finds herself following him to the captain's cabin without second thought – it could very well be a trap, but her adrenaline rush is dying and she finds herself shaking like a leaf and wouldn't say no to sitting down for a minute or two.
Which she does as soon as they enter the room, collapsing in the nearer armchair with a shaky sigh. The pirate stays close to the door, hand against the pommel of his sword, fingers tightening around the metal with each scream or loud sound of a body falling down. He throws her glances once in a while, in what he must think to be some discreet fashion, but she has been the receptacle of looks and whispers all her life and those ones are not subtle at all. Not that she can complain, because she has been staring at him from the moment they entered the room – his jacket looks like the ones she has seen so many times on the backs of naval officers, only altered a bit to look less stiff and severe, and the ponytail he wears gives a softer look to the whole outfit. Obviously not something she would have pictured a pirate wearing.
The door opens with a bang, startling them both, and the man she guesses to be the captain enters in his leather-cladded glory, smears of blood on his hands and cheeks – that, she has no doubt, is a look worthy of a pirate. He barely glances at her before looking away and making his way around the cabin like he belongs – which, come to think about he, he does now. He stops in front of a jug of water and begins to clean himself as he looks back at the other man.
"How is she?"
It is only when the pirate glances at her once more that Emma understands she is the one he inquired about, and a snicker escapes her before she can swallow it. "She is fine, thank you."
It may be surprise but it may as well be awe in his eyes when he looks at her, lips curling up into a grin. "The princess bites back. Always liked that in a woman."
He shakes his hands free of water before making his way toward her, and she doesn't know if the blush high on her cheeks is from his praising words or the way his hips sway with each step he takes. "You know who I am," she finds herself saying, a bit uselessly.
"Well, of course, love. You just have that kind of face. Impossible to forget." His smile is warm, reaching his eyes and doing shameful things to her lower half. "Now, would you rather pack a few things before leaving?"
She is so engrossed in his perfectly aligned teeth (so white, for a pirate) and the mischief in his eyes (blue and deep like the ocean he sails) than she barely registers his words at first and blushes even more at the grin turning into a smirk. "Excuse me?"
"Your things. Gowns, shoes, powders, all the stuff you ladies are so fond of. Would you like to fetch them before leaving?"
She blinks up at him, for surely she didn't fight tooth and nail for her life only to be abducted by another bunch of pirates – but the captain is dead and with him the crew, and she cannot for the life of her sail a ship single-handed. So she sighs and nods before standing up. He follows her to her own cabin, leaning against the doorframe as she fetches a bag and shoves her belongings in it, trying not to feel self-conscious at the way his eyes follow her every movement.
"You know who I am," she says as she folds her dresses to pack them. "And yet you are still a stranger to me."
"Killian Jones, Your Highness." He chuckles. "I'd throw a 'at your service' in there but, you know…"
She stops to stare at him above her shoulder, as he smiles at his own words like it is some kind of private joke he shares with himself in his head. She shakes hers and goes back to her packing, putting in her hairbrush and soaps before closing the bag in a swift movement.
She gives him a nod that he mirrors before grabbing her bag and throwing it carelessly over his shoulder. It surprises her, the good manners, but she isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth so she follows him up and then finds herself carefully walking the plank between the two ships. The pirate from earlier helps her down with a hand in hers, and she ignores the captain's hand on her lower back to help her balance.
"Come," he tells her. "I'll show you your quarters."
Her quarters, as it turns out, are his cabin, and he throws her bag on the bed before making a quick work of cleaning his desk as he reassures her he will sleep in the hull with his crew and apologizing for the lack of fresh sheets. When he looks at her again, it is with a boyish smile and a finger scratching a spot behind his ear.
She only stares with wide eyes.
"Why are you doing this? You are yet to speak of a ransom or to force yourself on me. Why are you being so… nice?"
She squirms under his intense gaze yet reads the hurt in them at her words. It doesn't make sense, nothing about this situation makes any sense at all, not with a pirate acting like a gentleman whose feelings get hurt when reminded of his title. He looks away from her face with a self-deprecated smile and that nervous scratching of the ear.
"It is the right thing to do," is the only explanation he gives her. It will have to be enough – for now. "I have to go back to the helm, but feel free to explore the ship if you want. My men won't be a nuisance."
Another, almost shy, smile and he is gone.
…
They estimate it to be a two week long trip back to her kingdom and not once does she hear a whisper about a ransom or reward. Perhaps it is obvious to them her parents would pay (they will) or perhaps Captain Jones just told them to shut their gobs on the subject, but Emma only faces polite men – as polite as a pirate can be, at least.
It has been a week since they rescued her, if she can allow herself to think in such terms, and life on the ship is surprisingly peaceful. Sure, the food is not that great (even if the cook is making an effort for royalty, if she is to believe the grumbling whispers) and they remain pirates, loud and crass and lacking delicacy. But she could have found worse, so much worse, so Emma counts her blessings.
The man who took care of her on that first day – the one they call Gentleman Starkey – is patient enough to teach her the rules of a cards game and it takes her only a couple of hours to empty every pocket of its golden coins. The pirates complain and the Captain shakes his head with a smile from his place at the helm and Emma laugh.
(One of them even breaks her corset for her, getting rid of the metal armature within it, so she can move freely even in her fine gowns. She feels like breathing again for the first time in years.)
It is late into the evening, stars shining bright on the deep blue sky, when she finds her way to the upper deck. Everything is quiet, pirates eating and chatting peacefully, and the Captain smiles at her when she comes near him – that smile that does funny things to her belly and warms her cheeks every damn time.
"Nice job stripping my men of their money, Emma."
He is a gentleman, the use of her name and not her title the only reminder he is neither a naval officer nor one of her subjects.
"You can't steal what has already been stolen, Killian."
(Well, two can play this game.)
He hums happily even as he quirks an eyebrow at her reply – he has taken an habit of doing so every time her wits matches his, but Emma is certain he isn't aware of it. She smiles.
"Will you tell me?" she asks, taking advantage of his good mood.
He sighs and tightens his hold on the helm, but doesn't ask what she is talking about or denies her the truth – she is grateful for both, even if his easy reading of her mind is unsettling at best.
"I used to sail under the Evil Queen's colours. Not my finest hour, which is ironic considering…" Small nod to the ship as a whole. "I come from a family of sailors, so it only made sense to follow in their footsteps at the time. My brother and I sailed together on this very same ship, until one day she gave us one particular mission. Crossing realms for a magic plant with healing properties."
He stops in his tale then, sniffs as silently as possible and he looks away from Emma – surely to hide his eyes from her, but she doesn't miss the storm brewing in them, the turmoil of emotions.
"We didn't think much of it at first. Magic has its limits, after all, and surely she had hers too. And healing people is a noble cause, one that would have helped her reputation. But, as it turns out… Poison. And my brother paid the price."
Her gasp is loud in the quiet evening, and she immediately feels bad for it because Killian turns to her once more with a sad smile as he softly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The irony, his genuinely comforting of her for a story that burdens him still.
"It wasn't that wild a guess from there. Your mother's ultimate demise would have come from that poison." He shrugs, almost sheepish. "Leaving you to die on that ship just seemed wrong."
She looks at him then – really looks at him, without the pirate persona and smug behaviour to protect him. The man she finds is broken and lost, good despite the world being unfair to him. He keeps surprising her in the best of ways, with his kind words and soft touches and caring gestures. He is everything and so much more, and the revelation – the feelings settling in her chest and in her heart – takes her breath away.
She rises on the tip of her toes, presses her hand to his neck, his 'what…?' dying against her lips. It is tentative and timid at first, until he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him, other hand buried in her hair. He grins against her lips and it makes the kiss sloppy, whispering a 'finally' that has her chuckle too.
"I think," she says, breathless and perfectly wrecked, "it's time for you to sleep in your cabin once again."
He doesn't reply.
Just grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder.
She laughs and squeaks all the way down the ladder, breathless with laughter when she falls on the bed.
…
It's well into the early hours of the morning, sun painting the sky in purples and oranges, and she lays against him in the too small bed, sore and used and loved. He draws patterns on her shoulder in featherlike touches and hums under his breath, some melody she has never heard before. It's simple and nice, just sharing a bed after a night of more colourful activities – she could get used to it, all too easily.
She shifts in his embrace, folds her arms on his chest to look into his hooded eyes. He smiles and kisses her nose, finger playing with a wild strand of hair.
"Come with me. When we reach my kingdom, come with me and meet my parents."
He does.