They woke in those small hours between darkness and day, the cabin chilled, though their bodies were warm against one another. Hands quested, reaffirming their solidity, their place in the world as they tumbled into ecstasy. It was in those moments afterward, their bodies still joined and the world at its most distant, that Emma whispered the words of her story against Hook's chest, her fingers tangled in his charms. She took comfort in the weight of his hook against her hip as he held her, his fingers sweeping through her hair and down to the small of her back. Her story was punctuated by the occasional growl of anger low in his throat, the echo of its passage reverberating against her cheek. She held nothing back—the group homes, the people who had promised to care for her only to decide she wasn't enough…and the nightmares of the few who had done worse, the places where running had been the only option. She tried to explain the differences between the world where she was born and the Enchanted Forest, how the people there didn't have magic—didn't even believe it was real—and instead relied on science, though she wasn't really sure about how to explain something like that to a three-hundred-year-old pirate—describing airplanes and cars had been strange enough. She told him of how she'd found the bean, and the night she ran…how there was this pull from the portal that she couldn't ignore. When it had all been laid out—the pain, the loss, the fear—there was nothing left but a lightness in her heart that, despite her beginnings, she had somehow ended up here…
It wasn't until the sun crept through the window panes and bathed them in light that they surrendered themselves to the day, stretching and indulging in the small pleasures that waking together brought. They washed in the basin and scoured the cabin for their clothing, or what was left of it. Hook grinned mischievously as he plucked feathers from her hair, and she from him. He explained what they would be searching for that day as buttons were done up and Emma donned one of his spare shirts, her own no longer serviceable. The sounds of the crew began to carry through the walls of the ship, and sooner than they had wished it, their quiet moment was washed away.
Emma raised the spyglass to her eye once more as the ship cut through the waves, scanning the horizon for any break in the rolling surface—a rocky shore, the blossoming of palms—anything that would indicate land, but the sea was unchanged.
"So, you're saying these islands, they just appear out of thin air?" she asked, passing the spyglass back to Hook and raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun.
"Aye, and never the same one twice, another of this realm's mysteries."
"Does Pan have anything to do with them?"
The thought of all being always under the temperamental eye of Pan made her skin crawl—she hadn't exaggerated when she told Hook she could feel the darkness seeping from him. A break from his scrutiny would bring her some peace of mind.
"Pan himself seems bound to the waters far closer to Neverland, though his shadow travels…further abroad," Hook confided, "though we've never seen it near any of the islands."
"Well, I'm not going to miss either of them if they don't show up," Emma admitted, her thoughts turning again to what the days voyage had in store for them. She wondered if she should climb the rigging to get a better view, but found herself reluctant to give up Hook's company quite so soon. The wind was in a hellish mood that morning, and though it kept the crew busy, Emma couldn't begrudge how it rifled his hair into a sinful reminder of the night before. "What are they like—the islands?"
"They come with no warning and leave much the same, most of them vanished before we've reached the horizon, some far sooner."
They walked easily along the deck, and it struck Emma again how she'd never felt this—this sense of belonging, of rightness—not when she was a child, nor during all of those years with Columbine. It was as if she'd spent years walking through her life with everything shifted two degrees left of where it really stood, and she'd always had to compensate—to tell herself she was the problem, the thing that didn't fit—but with Hook, everything had finally fallen into place.
She couldn't help but grin at the enthusiasm in his voice as he answered her question, describing places that seemed to defy belief—strange buildings and writings he'd never seen before, an entire island built from stone that floated peacefully in the waves, its stairs and balconies meandering upward as lush greenery draped and cascaded into the sea, tendrils and roots reaching down into the depths. It was another glimpse of the young man he had once been—a man who longed for adventure on the high seas and traded tales of his voyages in taverns—before Milah, before the Dark One.
When there was only Killian Jones.
She knew how it felt to lose the person you once were, or were meant to be—although for her it had been nothing more than a hope, a name embroidered on a blanket. Did her mother have dreams in her fingertips when she stitched those letters, a vision for who her daughter would be?
"Are there ever people?" she asked, wanting to shake the unwelcome memory from her head.
"Most of them were abandoned, but there was one we came across, though we did not moor, that was inhabited by creatures not wholly human. The water surrounding the island was beginning to ice over, snow in the air. As we drew close to the shore, nothing more than a sheet of ice, we could see beasts that paced its length—their legs were that of wolves, but their chests and faces were almost human, if one could overlook their elongated jaws that hung open, snapping at our passage."
"Good gods, Hook—this is what the men look forward to in this realm? It's a far cry from warm bar wenches."
"Aye, it is indeed, but for as many islands as we've come across that are hostile, we've found just as many that are left unguarded, their treasures an easy haul—and what is a pirate without his share of gold? One had shores I've never seen the likes of again. The sand was neither white nor black, but thousands of tiny pearls of amber—as the sea rolled ashore, the air was filled with the most hypnotic sound, Swan."
"But where do these islands come from? Where do they go?"
"I don't think we'll ever know—where did Pan and his blasted shadow come from?" Hook pondered aloud, tucking the spyglass away into his jacket and flexing his fingers. "I believe that there are some places that exist outside of our world, perhaps long forgotten and remembered only in dreams—like Neverland. We've simply found the trapdoor, so to speak, for those who are awake."
She turned the thought over in her head, it made sense. Neverland was supposed to be a place that children visited as they slept, but it was real—so if these islands were places that had been forgotten long ago by people, or even entire worlds, it made sense that they would end up here, in the same sea where Neverland hid. There was no telling what treasures they may find. It was indeed a tempting thought for a pirate. She reached for Hook's arm, still unsure how the affection between them was best displayed before the crew—though it was no secret. She ran her fingers over his brace and pulled at his wrist, stopping him as they approached the quarter deck, her fingers sliding back down to the curve of his hook.
"I'm going to head up and keep an eye with Pidgin. If we're going to have an island of starving monsters thrust upon us, I'd like as much of a warning as possible."
"Aye, Swan," he nodded, pulling her swiftly back to him with his hook before wrapping his arm around her waist. Dark locks fell across his eyes as he ducked his head and whispered against her ear, "but don't think I'll be able to take my eyes off of you for even a moment."
"I would despair if you did," she shot back, pressing a fleeting kiss to his mouth before drawing away and heading for the ratlines.
The ship sails like it's weightless, no set course other than away from Neverland and toward the horizon. Although Emma's gaze is trained on the distance, searching for an island where once there was none, she can't help but track Hook's movement as he returns to his place at the helm, sending Cowry to oversee the crew. No matter what task is at hand, a part of her is always aware of his comings and goings. The wind buffets her as she perches on the yard, but both she and the wood beam are stable, and she revels in the roar of it as they sail—delights in the glint of the sun on each wave that rollicks and crashes below.
She pulls a deep breath from the sky, filling her lungs—and something immediately strikes her as wrong. The air tastes heavier, dense and tinged with something acrid. It creeps along her skin, the touch of it unsettling. Her eyes are already searching the sky above for signs of a storm, and though the winds die down to a whimper before fading completely, the sun still glares above them. Below her the sails fall slack and the motions of the crew cease, the sea around them suddenly subdued.
Hook's voice rings out over the eerie calm and she watches as the men draw fabric from their pockets, stuffing their ears—he must be concerned we've run into mermaids, she realizes. He's told her his tales of them, and she doesn't relish the thought of meeting any, especially not in Neverland's seas. The atmosphere around them shifts, settling in a heavy blanket across the ship as fog rises from the water, folding over the deck and spilling around their legs. Though she cannot read the lines in his face from this distance, she catches his gaze with her own, knowing he is easing his concern over her safety before heading to the rail to peer over the side. From her high vantage point, she knows he'll see nothing but the billowing carpet of fog that now surrounds them, so impenetrable the ship almost seems like it's sitting on clouds. In fact, the only lingering trace of the sea is the weak slap of water against the hull as it settles, but even that is fading away.
They're not only becalmed, but blinded.
Hook signals and the men's hands go to their weapons, no words needed to alert them that something is very wrong. There is nothing natural about a fog that envelops so quickly and completely. Cutlass already at his side, Hook waits, listening for those first notes of the siren's song.
It doesn't come.
The fog around them continues to shift menacingly, but the quiet never breaks, and Hook motions for the men to unstop their ears.
Time seems to slow to as weapons are held at the ready, all of them waiting for something to change.
Emma searches the sea of fog below them. It not only spreads out from them like a mantle, but had risen into a flowing wall of mist that steals all sense of direction. Something is coming, she can feel it, and as she watches the depths—she can see it.
Her breath catches in her throat as a section of the fog begins to break and swirl, something disturbing it from beneath…
"Starboard!" she screams, her grip on the mast tightening instinctively as an enormous shadow begins to emerge from the fog.
The ship lurches to port as something large brushes against its hull, and she's nearly thrown from the rigging, just managing to keep from rolling over the edge of the yard as the men rush the railing.
Fear ripples beneath her skin as something pale and glistening unfolds itself from the water, writhing into the air until it reaches its full height, towering above the deck and nearly as high as the crow's nest. The monster tosses its horrifying head and gnashes it teeth—its snake-like mouth a yawning cavern with rows of teeth descending into the darkness of its throat.
The silence that had preceded its arrival is destroyed—the deck exploding into a maelstrom of screams and desperate flight as the crew scatters, the monster lunging at the deck where they once stood.
Emma's eyes follow the scaled neck as it disappears into the fog, but before she can wonder what it is attached to, the ship rocks unnaturally and she whips her head around, watching with horror as the mists billow and split on the opposite side of the ship.
"My god—port! There's more of them!" Her throat burns as she roars over the pandemonium below. She watches with relief as Hook rushes to the other side of the quarter deck, preparing to face whatever rises from the depths.
The Jolly Roger shudders once more and she clings desperately to the mast, her eyes pulled to a dark shape looming beneath the fog. It is far larger than the others, and as more serpent heads shoot from the water—four, no five of them—the mists are disturbed enough to reveal something larger than the ship itself, but terrifyingly human-like in its silhouette. Its skin is translucent and sickly—as if it had risen from the very bottom of the sea itself—and before the fog closes back over its visage, hiding it from sight, she swears she had seen a human face looking back at her.
A scream from below shakes the terror from her limbs and her attention is returned to the crew as the serpents strike toward the deck with alarming speed—each head is large enough to maim or seize a person, and the thought that they may not escape this encounter at all runs through her head. Taking a chance, knowing she has to get down there, she lets go of the mast and scurries across the yard, half crouched. She reaches the edge just as the monstrosity below moves, rocking the ship once more. Lurching sideways, she just manages to leap and catch hold of a brace, her momentum carrying her rapidly downward as she struggles to maintain her precarious hold on the rope. The deck rises to meet her and she lets go, rolling and hissing in pain as she barrels into one of the cleats. Jumping quickly to her feet, blade in hand, she tries to make sense of the chaos on deck.
All five of the serpents were portside now, and everyone was scrambling, trying desperately to keep clear of the snatching jaws as knifelike screeches rent the air around them. The ship shook beneath her feet and a tremor of fear shot through her as images of the unearthly thing beneath them flashed through her mind. She wondered if it was trying to crush the hull itself within its arms.
Find Hook.
Warn him.
She had landed near the forecastle, the entire mid ship a chaotic scene of blades and sea spray, but in a rare second of clarity, she catches a flash of black—sees him sparring with one of the serpent heads near the helm, sidestepping its snapping jaws while searching for a weakness to exploit. She races forward, snatching the back of Maddock's shirt and shoving him forcefully to the side as one of the beasts turns its eyes in their direction.
"Below deck!" she shouts over the ruckus, the serpent bunching the thick muscles in its neck as it focuses on her. Maddock was a good kid, but this was no swordplay against a sluggish merchant, and she can see the fear slowing him down, paralyzing him—that type of failure could cost them more than one life. "Now!"
She sees the neck of the great beast tighten before it shoots toward her, and while it is large and deadly, there is no cunning in its attack. She leaps easily out of the way, dragging the sharp edge of her blade across its neck as it hits the deck and withdraws, but the wound seems to go unnoticed. Beside her the men don't seem to be faring much better, their blades barely cutting through the scaled armor as they strike.
She has to get to Hook.
She's nearly through the madness when she sees him evading another attack, but this time it's clear he's distracted, his attention flickering from the enemy to search for her. They lock eyes in the same second—a single breath of quiet in a sea of chaos—and then the serpent dives once more.
Emma rushes forward, the fighting around her a silent blur as she focuses on him and only him. The monster's head feints to the right, and she fears the beast is smarter than she had anticipated, but Hook is ready for it—the deadly point of his hook lodging itself in the yawning jaw of the beast, driving straight through the flesh behind its jawbone and catching. It shrieks like a thing on fire and the neck writhes, but before it can pull him from his feet, he thrusts his cutlass upward, driving it into a small patch of fluttering, delicate skin just below the head. The serpent seizes on his blade, shuddering, and Emma releases the terrified breath she's been holding.
He turns to her then, relief washing over his face as he realizes she's safe, unharmed, but she can see the exhaustion in his body—and they still have four more serpents to dispatch. She spares a glance for the battle behind her, the death of one of their brethren causing the rest of the beasts to recoil momentarily, giving the crew the breath they needed to plan their next move instead of simply reacting.
It was only a second, but by the time she turns back to Hook, it's too late.
There are six of them, not five.
It had risen silently from the water behind him as he jerked his hook from the lifeless serpent on deck—she doesn't hear his name as she screams it, doesn't hear the battle raging around her once more.
She hears only the pounding of her heart and the tidal wave of dread that pours from it as the beast dives toward him, its rows of wicked teeth glistening.
The wave rumbles through her chest and burns fiery and unforgiving beneath her skin as she screams, reaching for him—she's too far.
The jaws of the monster find their mark—
Fear.
Anguish.
Defiance.
No!
—clamping down viciously over his shoulder and torso.
The wave bursts from her fingertips—a white hot blade of light that spins through the air and across the deck as if she'd thrown it, slicing clean through the massive neck of the serpent just as Hook drops to his knees, a grunt of pain bubbling from his mouth as his eyes find hers.
The head of the monster lays on the deck behind him, the raw, hemorrhaging neck draped limply over the railing before slipping back into the sea.
She stumbles up the stairs, falling to her knees in front of him as the ship heaves, the remaining serpents screaming and twisting as they pull back into the deep.
"No, no, no…" she pleads, her hands hovering above his torn, mangled shoulder as blood weeps from him, running down the ruined leather, the black of it soaked and shining, dripping onto the silent deck. "Hook, please…" she cups his face gently, her eyes filling with tears as she sees the light fading in his. "Killian, come back to me."
"Emma…" he chokes, but her name is lost in the blood that spews from his mouth as he tries to breath, the sound wet, wrong. She feels his fingers try to find her, twitch against her leg, and then, as if trying to touch her one last time had used whatever strength he had left, he topples to the deck, Emma's arms catching and easing him down as she crumbles beside him.
"No—it's not enough! All the time in the world, remember?" she whispers, everything feeling like it's going to fall to pieces around her, but a searing anger pushes through all of it, burning away any thought of surrender—Hook's words rushing back to her.
We all have a path—you can't let anything keep you from it.
Even death?
She runs trembling fingers down his cheek, his pulse erratic and fading as she brushes the arch of his neck. The color is gone from his cheeks, the blue of his eyes deeper beneath lids he can barely keep open. His shoulder and chest are still slowly pumping the life out of him, and she knows she's losing him—he is leaving her.
Fight for him.
"You're going to be okay…we're supposed to do this together…"
Save him.
Not understanding how, or why, but feeling it in the very root of her being, she moves her hands over his battered right side, lowering them to his torn body, her palms bathed in the warmth of his blood as she closes her eyes, finding the image of him in her heart.
He's you everything.
He's your home.
Fight for him.
Bring him back to you.
She could feel it churning, swirling and roaring within her—the same tidal wave of energy, the same warm pull between them that has always been there, tying them together—it pours from her heart and floods her being, flowing out of her and wrapping itself around his broken body.
Home.
Bring him home.
He begins to glow, the light growing until it shines brighter than any sun. The air surrounding them shimmers and pulses, enfolding them in a swirling globe of lightness. She can feel his body changing beneath her palms, can feel the muscles as they knit themselves together, his skin as it heals, the white light pouring from her hands and winding itself around every tendon, every broken edge. She feels his chest as it begins to rise and fall, hears the racking cough as he moves and takes a sharp breath in, struggling to rise—and before the light fades, before the last of it flows from her heart into him, she hears him calling for her…
"Emma…"
His voice the only light on a black sea.
A/N: I have been waiting to write this chapter for what feels like forever. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed working on it. Leave the love!
Also...
The islands that appear and disappear from the sea of Neverland are my own addition to this story, but they are based on islands/places out of actual legends and folklore. Hook is describing my versions of the following: The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Inuit legends of the Adlet, and Baltia.