By this point, I should probably copy and paste each little author's note... I know, I'm a terrible person for updating this infrequently. You can all doubly hate me because I'm doing NaNoWriMo, and I have to admit that I'm putting that first right now. Also, depression has been a... well, you can insert a swearword of your choice here. On the plus side, it is now looking less likely that I'll knock myself off before this story is finished, so... yay?

On the plus side, I have things all planned out now. I promise to finish this before the new year, anyway! Thanks to those of you who are continuing to stick with this massive thing. I always appreciate your comments, favourites, and follows.

Buckets of thanks go to my amazing beta, Trish Tavor! As always, her opinions and edits make every chapter much better than what I could ever hope to achieve on my own.

The Past

As the crew prepared The Jolly Roger for its departure, Milah wasted no time in making herself at home on the ship. She'd brought nothing with her besides the clothes on her back, but that didn't mean that she couldn't make herself comfortable in other ways. Killian paused in giving orders to see that she'd dragged a cushion from his cabin up to the deck and was perched on it with her back leaning against the rail. There was a light in her beautiful eyes as she followed the various movements of the crew with the awe of someone unfamiliar with such things. She couldn't seem to wipe the bright smile off of her face, and the sight caused Killian to feel warm. He had put that smile there, and he was certain that it was one of the greatest accomplishments of his life, right up there with killing his grandfather.

It was as he was watching her - specifically the way that the salty wind blew her curls around her face - that something changed. He watched emotions flit across his lover's face: confusion, disbelief, fear, and finally horror. She was on her feet and running towards him before he could fully drag himself out of the trance he always seemed to fall into when he saw her.

"My husband," she choked, grabbing his arm. "He's coming towards the ship!"

It took a moment for the meaning of her words to fully register with Killian. As soon as they did, he felt his stomach drop to his toes.

"What?" He exclaimed in disbelief. It was difficult to believe that a man as cowardly as Milah had described would take on a ship of pirates. Perhaps her husband loved her more than she'd given him credit for.

Milah shook her head, mirroring his disbelief. "Oh, God."

After a moment of hesitation, Killian asked, "would you like to go somewhere private to speak with him? Perhaps explain the situation?"

"That I don't love him and I'm leaving?" Milah's voice rose in pitch steadily with each word. "God, no. Oh, no. No. I never want to see him again."

The last vestiges of colour drained from her face, and, for a moment, Killian thought that she might faint. His hand automatically flew to her waist to steady her. Suddenly, she grabbed his shoulders and fixed him with a steely gaze.

"Get. Rid. Of. Him."

Her voice was low and dangerous to the point where it almost didn't sound like her voice at all. The intensity of it shocked Killian, but he quickly forced himself to return to his usual nonchalance.

Killian shrugged. "Alright. Just wait below, love. I'll have him gone in a moment."

He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and guided her below. She almost ran into the depths of the ship in her desperation to not be seen by the cowardly man who'd fathered her son.

The Present

In spite of her strong urge to interrupt, Emma forced herself to listen quietly as Hook recounted the tale of how he'd gotten rid of Rumplestiltskin. He was unable to meet her eyes as he told her the details, and the spark that he'd often had while recounting his stories was gone entirely.

By the end of his tale, he lapsed into a pensive silence that was loaded with something that made Emma unwilling to interrupt.

"I knew he wouldn't fight," Killian finally said, voice flat. "I wanted to make him see how lowly he was, how undeserving of Milah he was. At the time, I may have thought it was honourable to give him the chance to fight, but there was no chance that he would win. Where's the honour in that? It would be an honourable death, but..." He trailed off, jaw clenched.

It was easy for Emma to see the internal battle that her companion was fighting. On one hand, she could see how the broken man Killian had been would do anything to keep the one person he still loved. Perhaps it had even felt right at the time to simply remove the one threat to their happy ending in such a cruel way. On the other hand, she could see that Killian was now finding it harder to justify his actions to himself. Not for the first time, Emma marveled over the degree to which the man beside her had transformed, even in their relatively short time together. Sure, he wasn't perfect, but he could now recognize his imperfections because he wasn't totally blinded by hatred.

She put a hand on his shoulder and offered him a small smile, if only to try to let him know that she understood. His blue eyes flashed to meet hers quickly before looking away, his shoulder relaxing slightly under her touch.

For the hundredth time that day, Emma felt a flash of resentment towards Milah. She had been the one to selfishly put Killian and Rumplestiltskin in that situation, all because of her own cowardice. Now it was Killian who was feeling the repercussions.

"What happened next?" Emma prompted, unwilling to share her feelings on that particular matter again.

Killian shook his head, clearly still in a brooding mood. "Well, I sailed off with Milah."

"And?"

"Well, we spent some years of ill-won bliss, I suppose," Killian said, face softening slightly as memories flitted behind his eyes.

The Past

In their time apart, Killian had forgotten what a restless sleeper Milah was. Of course, it was entirely possible that he hadn't noticed it back then. He hadn't slept well himself when he'd lived on the streets with her and Liam; his unconscious mind was constantly plagued by visions of his mother dying, and his constant companions, cold and hunger, did not lend themselves well to sleep.

Now that he shared a bed with Milah, Killian was shocked that he hadn't noticed it before. It took a while, but, halfway through the first week, Killian was already beginning to dread trying to sleep.

The Present

Emma didn't need to stretch her imagination very far to imagine why it took him some time to notice Milah's sleeping habits. While he didn't say it outright for once, Emma imagined that he and Milah would have spent very little time actually sleeping during their first few nights together. The thought both bothered her and made her mind wander to less-than-appropriate places. Annoyed with herself, she quickly focused back on the story again.

The Past

Killian would wake up multiple times in the night in response to a kick, thrown limb, or from having his blankets dragged to Milah's side of the bed or kicked onto the floor. Since childhood, Killian had adapted himself to sleeping whenever he could, regardless of the situation. He supposed that was one thing that he could thank his Uncle Connor and the navy for. However, while he slept easily and with little movement, he also woke easily. Again, he knew he had war and Uncle Connor to thank for that little habit too. It wasn't a bad habit to have as a pirate, when it was entirely possible that an unhappy crewman may try to sneak in and slit his throat, but it was certainly inconvenient with Milah.

At around the week mark, Killian gave up halfway through the night and simply slept on the floor. He found that far more relaxing, even if he was less used to sleeping on hard surfaces than he had been some years ago. Still, after discovering him there, Milah had been extremely hurt.

"Growing tired of me already?" She had asked over breakfast.

She tried to pass it off as a joke, but Killian could sense the very real concern behind her words. He paused with his cup of wine-

The Present

"Hold on," Emma interrupted disbelievingly. "Wine?!"

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Swan. That's what I just said. Should I congratulate you on your listening comprehension skills?"

She shot him an unimpressed look. "For breakfast?"

At this, he just looked perplexed. "Aye. Of course."

"Isn't that a little early to start drinking, even for you?" Emma knew he was attached to his rum, but she'd thought his drinking had at least some limits.

Oddly enough, Killian just seemed more confused by her question. He opened his mouth as though to answer, then closed it again as an idea seemed to occur to him.

"Ah. I'd forgotten yet again how little you know of life on a ship." His eyes glimmered with amusement. "The supply of fresh water on a ship is very limited, and it tends to spoil very quickly-"

"Spoil?" The thought of clean water 'spoiling' was a strange concept to Emma.

By this point, Killian seemed resigned to her ignorance. "Aye, Swan. It begins to taste horrendous and eventually spreads around disease. Algae will grow in it as it sits, rats get into it... you get the idea."

He chuckled at the face she pulled.

"The crew often drank beer or water mixed with rum, but, as Captain, I had certain privileges... fine wine being one of them. I imagine it wasn't very strong by your standards, so it was perfectly suitable for a breakfast beverage."

The Past

-halfway to his mouth, taking in the worried crease between her eyebrows.

"Of course not," he promised, smoothing the crease out with a gentle finger.

"Then why," she asked, a hint of suppressed anger in her tone, "were you on the floor this morning?"

Killian shrugged. "You toss and turn all night, love. I needed a good night's sleep for once."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, whether out of embarrassment or incoming rage, Killian wasn't entirely certain yet. He took a quick gulp of wine in preparation while he waited to see which would win.

Relief flooded him as she sighed and sat back, looking upset but unlikely to go into a rage.

"Well... maybe you could try waking me up and asking me to lie still?" She said, staring intently at her plate.

"Alright," Killian agreed.

That night, he woke her up nine times. By the end of the night, she was about ready to punch him.

The Present

Emma glanced at Killian, feeling some emotion that she couldn't quite name. Even having Captain Hook next to her in the flesh, sometimes she still forgot that his life real, rather than just a fairytale. Some parts seemed too terrible or too fantastical to be true. Then she heard little details like this, something so mundane as adjusting to the sleeping habits of a romantic partner, and she was reminded that these people were real. Milah wasn't just a mythical woman whose ghost had haunted Killian... she was a flesh and blood human with feelings, needs, memories, likes and dislikes, just like any other. Killian had really lived through all of these things. He'd really lived for over two hundred years.

She suddenly felt struck with the realness of it all.

The Past

In the morning, they ate breakfast in silence.

"How about pillows between us?" He said finally, rubbing at his tired eyes. His smudged eyeliner only served to make the dark circles more prominent.

Milah nodded, yawning. "Worth a try, I suppose."

Killian only woke up once that night, and it took him a moment to realize why. He still had his own blanket on top of him. No limbs were bashing him. The mattress wasn't shaking with Milah's movements.

It took him a moment to realize that was exactly the problem. Milah wasn't there at all.

Swearing under his breath, Killian pulled on a pair of trousers and hurried up onto the deck. As he'd expected, Milah was sitting against the rails, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Wordlessly, Killian sat beside her and put an arm around her, carefully directing her head to his shoulder.

"We can get rid of the pillows of they're bothering you, love," he ventured.

His words seemed especially loud on the silent deck under the huge tapestry of stars. On the ocean, the sky seemed to go on forever, merging with the dark water until all that could be seen was an endless canvas of darkness and pinpricks of light.

Milah shook her head, tears tracing paths down her face. "I'm afraid I made a mistake."

The words hurt enough that Killian started to withdraw his arm.

Sensing her error, Milah hurried to continue. "Not about leaving with you. I know I love you, even if we are having troubles with sleeping right now, and I know that this-" she gestured broadly at the ship and endless horizon, "-is what I want."

"Then..." his voice tapered off into a question.

"I miss Bae," she said, choking out a sob. "I miss my baby. I keep thinking of him alone with that useless father of his. Maybe I should have brought him with us after all, but I can't go back now. He's gone, and I miss him so much."

Killian stroked her hair, her tears running onto his shoulder. It hurt to see Milah in pain, which was a bit of an unfamiliar situation nowadays. After Liam had died, he had felt his sense of empathy fall fairly flat, but Milah seemed to have a way of awakening long dead feelings inside of him.

"Perhaps we could go back," he said. "I know a pirate ship isn't much of a place for a boy, but we could make it-"

"He'd never leave his father willingly," Milah interrupted, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "I was always the worse parent. If he had to choose between us, he'd pick his father every time."

That confession brought forth a new wave of tears, and Killian felt unable to contradict her. He couldn't simply tell her that she was wrong, not if it might be a lie. Lying to Milah didn't seem like an option; shallow words of comfort were too false for someone as real as her, and he knew she'd see right through them.

"I picked myself over my child. Is that wrong?" She lifted her head to look up at him with teary grey eyes.

Killian shook his head. "Remember what you said before? You told me that you couldn't be a good mother while you were miserable. That's still true, love, whether you miss him or not."

Perhaps the words were harsh, but Killian couldn't regret them, not while he held Milah in his arms.

After a moment, Milah nodded. Nonetheless, she cried until the first rays of the sun began to dance on the waves. For once, he didn't mind his sleepless night; Killian understood that she needed time to grieve for the loss of her son. If he could be there for the woman he loved to help her through it, he would.

Later, after her tears had dried, Killian assured her that she could cry about her son with him however often she needed to. After all, he thought, it was the least he could do in exchange for her choosing to come with him. Perhaps he didn't owe her, since it was truly her decision, but he felt as though he did in so many ways. It was hard to put the reason why into words, but he suspected it was because, for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel lonely. It hurt to think that Milah didn't feel the same.

The Present

At this point, Killian paused, looking at Emma with some concern. She quickly forced her expression into one of neutrality, but not soon enough.

"You're upset." It was a statement, rather than a question.

She shook her head, unwilling to talk about it.

As usual, Killian pressed on anyway. "You're upset because you felt the same way after you gave up your boy, but you had no one to help you through it." Emma turned to him in annoyance mingled with amazement, only to find him looking quite guilty. "I apologize. Perhaps I should have left that detail out."

Even though she wanted to be angry with him, she found that she couldn't fully muster the emotion when he was looking at her with such worry. So, instead, she tried to shrug it off.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I tried not to think about it, since I knew it was the best thing for him, but of course it sucked to give up my kid."

That, of course, was an understatement. The thought of her child going into the same system that had made her childhood hell had haunted her for years. She hadn't told anyone about it after leaving prison, not that she had anyone to tell with no family and no real friends. It was a part of her life she'd tried desperately to forget. Still, she too could remember sleepless nights filled with crying before she was able to push her child into the corner of her mind of things too painful to look at again. She too had been haunted by thoughts of "did I do the right thing", "where is he now", and "is he alright". How different would those lonely nights have been if she'd had someone to help her through them? It wasn't something she had really considered before, having been too used to being alone at the time to really understand what she was missing.

Now, it made everything suck even more.

"You have him now, though," Killian said, stopping to stare her down. "And you have so many people in Storybrooke who care about you and would be at your side in an instant should you ever need them."

Emma laughed incredulously. "Seriously? You're making this about me wanting to go back to New York?" Anger was beginning to bubble up in her chest in earnest now.

"I'm saying that you should never discount the people who care about you. You have something in Storybrooke that you don't have in New York." Killian's voice was quiet and firm.

Taking a step back from Killian, who had now fully invaded her space as he tended to do, Emma scowled. This was practically emotional blackmail. He couldn't just tell her about how his entire family was dead and then try to guilt her into staying in Storybrooke. It wasn't as though she didn't appreciate her family. Even if he wasn't saying that, it still irked her. The entire situation was different; Killian was from a world of magic, violence, and drama. She wasn't, not really, and neither was Henry. She wasn't forgetting about her parents or anyone else. She also heard the strong double meaning behind the whole 'people who care about you' thing; it was clear that he was talking about more people than her family.

"Did you seriously bring that up just so that you could try to convince me to stay in Storybrooke? Or try to convince me how much you care about me, or how great you are at helping wrecks of women? Is any of this even true at all?"

She regretted her last question as soon as it came out of her mouth. Killian's face, previously so open and earnest, shuttered entirely. A heavy silence fell between them, making the birdcalls of the forest and faint rustle of the leaves overhead suddenly deafening. Even her heartbeat was loud, pounding harshly in her chest as she realized how badly she had messed things up.

Killian looked at the ground, a small unhappy smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. It was a rueful smile, full of self-deprecation. His fist was clenched. Emma realized that he was probably berating himself for being stupid enough to trust someone with something as personal as his past.

"Killian..." she began hesitantly.

He took a step back, face blank once again.

"We'd better get going, Swan," he said.

He walked quickly away from her, not bothering to look back.