Emma closed her ears to the echoes and curses from above as the men hauled loot from the rowboat onto the ship, her thoughts already turned to the crate of scrolls at her feet. She picked up the topmost one and unrolled it, the parchment thick and unyielding beneath her fingertips as she spread it carefully across the desk, holding its furled edges open. She hoped to find some clue about the strange bracelet on her arm—a bracelet that now seemed perfectly content to sit quietly on her skin—but it only took a quick glance to see that she wouldn't be getting any useful information, at least not from this one. The text was an indecipherable mystery, and she saw none of the drawings Hook had mentioned seeing during his brief perusal on the island. She let the parchment roll back in on itself with a sigh and dropped it to the floor, reaching for the next. The second one held some promise, and she shifted the inkwell and one of Hook's logs to keep the edges from snapping closed while she studied it. Squared letters flowed across the parchment in neat sections, and interspersed among them were faded drawings, simple profiles of men and women in robes, mountains and waves, but nothing that struck her as an answer to the magical item imprinted on her body.
Familiar footsteps sounded on the ladder, and within seconds she felt the tempting scratch of stubble against her neck. She inhaled his scent, a comforting mix of salt and leather, sweat and something ineffably him.
"Find anything, Swan?" he asked, his eyes scanning the parchment stretched across the desk.
"Nothing yet, at least nothing that seems useful." Her fingers traced over the worn, spotted outline of a mountain. "Hopefully, there will be something in at least one of these though. Heading back up to the helm?"
"Aye, the sooner we set sail, the sooner we can see to the hull, and I don't like the thought of lingering in these waters. The island has already left us, and I'd rather not chance a second meeting with that sea monster, if it still lurks."
"How long until we reach Neverland?"
"There's no telling. We sailed here easily enough, but the Neverland sea has her whims, and whether we reach Pan's island in a day or a week is up to her."
"Well, as much as I've enjoyed Pan's absence, I'm with you. The faster we get away from this place, the better," she agreed, turning away from the scroll so she could take advantage of her favorite pirate's nearness, threading her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulling him closer. "How's the ship?"
"She'll hold, Swan, have no fear. Concentrate on the scrolls, and once we're steady on course, I'll leave the helm to Cowry. Perhaps two sets of eyes will make the search a lighter one."
He brushed his lips against hers, unable to resist stealing the taste of her when she was so temptingly close, but a kiss that was meant to be sweet and fleeting, to tide him over until he could lose himself in her flesh, merely stirred the desire that always rested just beneath their skin. His mouth quirked upward into a breathless smirk as they parted, Emma's smile mirroring his own.
"Well then, Captain," she purred, dragging her nails lightly down his back, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before tracing the supple curve of his, "you better leave me to it, before I get distracted."
"Bloody siren," he breathed, pushing her firmly against the edge of the desk, all thoughts of scrolls and bracelets and important things washed from his mind. The force of her backside jostled the desk, the inkwell stuttering across the wood as the parchment snapped shut. The sound stilled the longing in his gaze and he drew back, his fingers rising to follow the path her tongue had taken. "You're a tempting thing, Swan, but you've got your orders—the scrolls."
Emma's smirk widened as Hook retreated to the ladder, his eyes casting a last glance over his shoulder before he disappeared above. Reminding herself that there would always be later, she forced her thoughts back to the task at hand, and far from that constant wanting of him that never seemed to fade. Her actions had put them all in an uncertain situation—an unknown magic stowed away beside her own newly discovered powers—and she needed to discover why.
Time passed as she moved quickly from one scroll to the next, tossing aside any that held nothing more than words. Every now and then she sensed a familiarity in them, some of the letters the same as the alphabet she knew, but any order or meaning eluded her. The drawings she did find reminded her strongly of ancient Greece, or Rome, but despite that inkling of knowledge, the scattering of unhelpful scrolls rolling across the floor grew rapidly. When she finally parted brittle parchment to reveal an image she'd been hoping to see, she couldn't stifle the cry of excitement that fell from her mouth.
Rolled as flat as she could manage it, she dragged her finger delicately along the faded outline of a large bird with the face of a woman. The harpy was diving straight down upon a ship manned with sailors and oars, the creature's talons outstretched and the men aboard waiting with swords drawn. The artist had added a fierce storm bearing the beast toward the vessel. She studied each lingering and near-lost detail, searching for meaning among the work a stranger had felt important enough to record so long ago.
She'd found several more variations of the harpy by the time Hook returned to the cabin, and his face lit up as he looked them all over. Some drawings showed the harpy alone, wings spread broadly to either side. The resemblance to the statue was striking. Others depicted her carrying flailing men in her talons as she flew, trailing storms and winds behind her wings. Yet despite their careful study, neither she nor Hook could find any traces of the bracelet that was sitting immovable on her arm.
"I guess it was always a longshot," Emma sighed, tossing the last scroll to the floor and pacing the length of the cabin, her fingers gliding over the cool metal of the bracelet as she dropped onto the bed. She didn't bother trying to remove it, knowing what would happen. "What do we do now?"
Hook grimaced and reached for his flask, stopping short with a frown as he remembered his coat was still draped over the desk chair, badly in need of repair. He circled the half-empty crate of scrolls, and stepping carefully over the ones Emma had deemed a lost cause, hooked the coat, retrieving his flask from within. Popping the cork and taking a mouthful, he crossed the distance between them and offered up the rum. Emma took a healthy swig and dropped her head to his shoulder as the bed dipped beside her, his arm settling securely around her waist. She picked at the worn leather hugging the flask absentmindedly.
"Presumably, the bracelet belonged to the harpy in the tomb, so what have we gleaned of her from the scrolls?"
"She liked to eat pirates," Emma muttered sullenly, the words laced with defeat. It felt like they knew nothing, but her spirits lifted the slightest at Hook's chuckle beside her.
"Aye, it seems she did have a preference for men of the sea—I suppose you've that in common already, Swan. Let us hope you don't grow feathers and eat the crew."
"Or it's Captain?"
"I'd like to see you try, love. Don't forget, I've got nearly three-hundred years of experience."
"Yes, but I've got magic," she quipped, taking another drag of the rum and relishing the sweet burn of it at the back of her throat.
"Magic," he echoed, the word lingering in his mouth as his gaze settled on the crate of scrolls that Emma had set aside as potentially useful. "It's magic, Emma."
"Yeah," she hesitated, unsure of where his thoughts lay. "It has to be, it practically dragged me up that island, but we already knew that."
"The Crocodile, he wasn't always the Dark One. Once, he was a man, and there were others, as the tales go—a web of Dark Ones leading back farther than any can recall, some resembling people, others more akin to beasts."
"What does that have to do with the bracelet?" she asked, reflexively rolling the arm where it clung.
"Why are they not all still here? Why is there only one Dark One at a time, Swan? Perhaps the body can die, the vessel, so to speak, but not the power, not the magic. Somehow, the power lives on."
"So, you think the bracelet is some sort of…manifestation of the harpy's power?"
"When the harpy died, perhaps the power stayed, weaving itself into that bracelet—a bracelet that is there and not there all at once. It could be an embodiment of what the harpy once was, and it simply had to wait for the right person to come along, someone who could sense it—free it."
"Someone who had magic."
"Aye."
"We have no way of knowing what her power was though. The bracelet hasn't done anything since I put it on, and we didn't find anything in the scrolls that told us either."
"Didn't we though, Emma? Nearly every image we found of her, what else was there?"
Emma closed her eyes, remembered the path her fingers took over the drawings—the talons reaching, the men on ships, the sweeping wings, the gusting storms.
"Storms," she murmured, picturing the tumultuous swirls that seemed to always frame the harpy. "There was always a storm—winds."
"Perhaps we have an answer then."
"How can we be sure?"
"We test it, Swan. Come on," he urged, already on his feet and halfway to the ladder. Yanking the cork from the tip of his hook, he tossed it backwards and Emma snatched it from midair, corking the flask and dropping it to the bed as she hurried after him.
Hook was already climbing the steps to the forecastle by the time she emerged, blinking rapidly against the sudden glare of the sun. She bounded after him, invigorated by the wide grin he threw over his shoulder.
"Alright," she shrugged when she finally drew even with him, rolling her shoulders and squaring herself to the rail. "If you've got a thing to do, bracelet, this is the time."
She closed her eyes, shutting out the sounds of the crew, the soft drop of Hook's boots as he circled to stand behind her, his hand fitting soundly against her hip. She let her thoughts fold farther in, immediately drawn to the warm center of her own magic, but then pulled away from it—that wasn't what she wanted, not right now. The sound of the sea tumbling broke through and she sighed in frustration. She felt like she was searching through a blackened room for a shadow, but Hook stepped closer, the warmth of his chest spreading across her back, and she leaned into him, feeling the echo of her breath in his own. The warmth of the sun kissed her face, the wind whispering softly along her cheeks as it trailed past the ship, barely more than a trickling stream. She followed the rise and fall of her lungs as she inhaled, the steady thumping of her heart, her own magic running alongside it. She let all of those familiar rhythms slip to the back of her mind, searching for the thing that was different, the thing that had called to her on the island and then melded against her like an invisible skin.
It was there, she could sense it once she let everything else go—a shifting, capricious, wild thing.
She reached for it, pulling and coaxing it along the same channels carved by her own magic, felt its excitement as it began to stir, leaping and swirling against the confines of her body as it sought passage out. The wind picked up around the two of them, rising as if from the deck of the ship, her hair lifting and lashing her cheeks. The masts creaked as the sails billowed and snapped, straining the lifts, the ship listing as the wind roared to a senseless crescendo, gaining a life of its own.
"Easy, Swan," fell the whispered words at her ear, so quiet, yet somehow cutting through the rush of air, each syllable heightened by the warm press of his palm against her. "Call it back to you, love."
There was no panic in his voice, and the realization that he truly had faith in her, trusted that she could do this, it made her feel more than strong, it made her feel unstoppable. She turned her focus inward again, finding the power swirling out of her, the power that dredged the wind from its sleep and loosed it upon the sea—there, connecting her to all of it, the bracelet, the wild tangle of wind pummeling the ship, there was something like a tether. She pulled, summoning all of it back, gathering each stray wisp and forcing them back into the bracelet winding around her arm.
Emma spun to face her pirate as the wind around them quieted and slipped back to its complacent flow, laughter bubbling out of her as she claimed his lips between smiles and shared laughs, his hand circling the small of her back contentedly.
"You did it," he beamed, pride evident in the glimmer of his eyes and the reddened swell of his cheeks as he grinned. "Is there anything you can't do, Emma?"
"I never would have guessed what it was without you, and I'm not sure I could have controlled it either," she reminded him, taking a moment to survey the ship and crew as they cast sideways glances in their direction. "Is the ship okay? I didn't expect it to be so…strong."
"She'll be just fine, though I daresay the crew will have to learn to become more at ease around magic then they previously were." Hook took in the downturn of her lips at his words and hurried to reassure her, turning her chin so she was looking at him rather than around his shoulder. "They'll be quite pleased, I assure you, when you're able to control those winds more fully and their work is halved. They'll be drinking themselves into a stupor in your honor."
"I hope you're right."
"Do you feel up to giving it another go, Swan, blow us back to Neverland a bit sooner?"
Emma nodded, letting the concern over the crew dissipate. It wouldn't do any good to worry over it since she was seemingly stuck with the bracelet anyhow, but if she could practice and learn to control it, it would certainly make their work lighter, and the Jolly nigh uncatchable, whether the sea was becalmed or not.
The sun carved its slow path toward the horizon, Emma stretching and moving from one spot to the next as she practiced calling the winds from the bracelet, Hook's hand always resting somewhere on her body as she worked—ghosting along her arm, his fingertips stroking the sliver of skin at her hip. His touch was a constant reminder that she wasn't alone, that he believed in her, and as the hours ticked by, her confidence grew. The crew relaxed, laughing and reveling at the ease of sailing with a wind that was always at their backs, filling the sails so that the ship fairly flew in her return to Neverland. It wasn't physically demanding, but exhaustion was finally beginning to tug at the edges of her mind when Hook's voice brought her back to the deck.
"Don't work yourself too hard," he cautioned, seeing the slight sway in her step. He motioned Cowry away and led her to the helm. "I think it's time I do a bit of captaining myself before we arrive. Join me, Swan. Once you get your bearings, it's no trouble at all."
Emma gladly tucked herself into the space between Hook and the helm, her hands resting on the smooth, worn handles, taking in the scars and knicks that decorated the wood from where his hook had dug deeply on rough seas. She listened as he explained the workings of the ship, how the tiller ropes pulled starboard or port, depending on how many notches she turned the helm, how the pulleys shifted the rudder, guiding the ship. The sun bathed the deck in its fading, sleepy heat, and listening to the soothing cadence of Hook's words, feeling the comforting weight of his hand moving over hers, it hit her that this was what true happiness was—it could be found in the heady, fleeting joys that marked the day, but these ordinary, quiet moments, they were the slow, steady beating that rode deep within the heart, marking out a life.
"You know so much," she marveled, not surprised that it was knowledge he had, but impressed by the sheer number of things there were to learn about ships. She understood the rigging, and even a few other aspects of sailing, but it had all been memorized, taught to her by the crew so she could aid in specific tasks. Listening to him speak, she doubted anyone else aboard understood each bit and piece of everything as well as he did.
"Aye, well, I've spent almost my entire life at sea—from swabbing the deck to where we stand now."
Her thoughts raced sharply back to the words he had spoken before, how he'd been abandoned as a boy, his father rowing into the night. He'd been sold—no, that's what she'd missed, it wasn't just him. She had been so worried about revealing the secret of her old world, that she'd missed his admission. He'd said boys—his father sold his boys into servitude.
"You had a brother."
"A long time ago," he admitted, and to her amusement, he didn't seem the least bit confused by how her thoughts had jumped from one thing to another. "He once stood here, guiding this ship before she was mine."
The pain was evident in his voice, his timbre lower and more stilted than it usually was when he spoke of past grievances. This wound, however it was inflicted upon him, tore at his flesh still. There weren't words that would soothe those types of wounds, she knew, so instead of trying to find them, she merely threaded her fingers along his and waited until he continued.
"His name was Liam, and he was a far better man than I. He taught me many things, though he would not be proud of what I've made of them…but he is why I wanted to speak to you of Pan, before you make any decisions about asking for his assistance, Emma."
She listened as he told the tale—the King, the Pegasus sail, the dreamshade, Pan, the cure—how relieved he was for the ship, then the Jewel of the Realm, to land in the waters of the Enchanted Forest once more, only to turn and find his only family dying. He'd held his brother in his arms as he slipped away, clawing at his chest, gasping his last breath while Killian pled for help.
"I would have paid any price for my brother, but it wasn't mine to pay. Pan knew that, just as he knew what would happen when we left Neverland. It's why I caution you, Emma, that Pan's motivations, though not always clear, are never to the benefit of those he toys with."
"There was something else between you, the boy on the island. What does he have to do with Pan?"
"Aye, I've been meaning to share that bit of history with you. The boy's name is Baelfire, and he's Milah's son."
Emma's hand slipped from the helm, slid from his fingers as she turned to look at him, the revelation far from anything she had considered.
"Milah's son, but why is he there with Pan, doesn't he know that—"
"He knows who I am well enough, Swan, and hates me for it with a passion. He spent a short amount of time aboard—see these marks here," he pointed to a set of faded letters scratched into the pedestal. "Port and starboard. I made those teaching the lad to sail. For a short time, I thought that perhaps…but it wasn't to be—he was too much of his father's son. He wanted nothing more to do with me once he realized who I was, who I had been to his mother."
"He's been stuck on the island ever since?"
"Aye, I used to think he may just manage to find a way out on his own. He was a smart lad, but it wasn't to be, and any help I offered only drove him more towards Pan—he turned into a quite the lost boy, any fight to leave long since gone."
"But Pan knows there was a connection between you. How?"
"Baelfire may have confided in him, or perhaps Pan simply presumed, seeing as I kept the boy hidden on board for some time. In any case, the outcome was the same. Pan could see I wanted no harm to come to him, and he holds it over me every now and again as a reminder."
"He's that worried about you bringing him the boy he's been searching for, in the drawing he had?"
"Aye, though it's long since disappeared. Should it return, however, he would expect my full cooperation in delivering the child."
"I think you're right, Killian, about Pan," she confided leaning back into him and returning her hand to the helm. "He's too wrapped around our lives already, between your brother and Milah's son. I think revealing anything more to him would be a mistake. Whatever the benefit of his help, it wouldn't be worth the risk."
"Are you certain, Emma? I wanted you to understand my history with the devil, but sometimes needs must, and I don't want fear of your magic to be the cost of caution."
"I'm sure."
She couldn't stop imagining how Hook had looked when he was younger, less worn by anger and tragedy, a youth holding the failing body of his brother. Her gaze settled on the letters carved into the helm, and she couldn't unsee the hollow, dark eyes of the lost boy called Baelfire, the boy whose mother had also died in Hook's arms. So much of Hook's life had been shaped by this place, by Pan. She didn't want him, whatever dark thing the demon truly was, to have more control over their lives. She didn't want to be beholden to him, or anyone else for that matter. She just wanted it to be her and Hook, by each other's side, and more than that—she knew it was all she needed.
Hook had been the one to understand her magic was tied to her emotions, and had guided her in using it to free the bracelet from the tomb. He had been the one to ground her when the sheer wildness of the power she had unleashed threatened to overwhelm, and on a deeper level, he was the one that raised the magic in her skin with the drag of his fingers, the whisper of his lips—every drop of magic in her body called out and responded to him as if they were never meant to be far from one another.
She didn't need a teacher who understood magic.
She just needed the person who understood her.
"I've got you," she added, wanting him to understand exactly why she was certain Pan wasn't needed, nor anyone else, "and I think you've proven you know me better than I know myself."
Something changed in the air, Hook sensing it the same moment she did, as if the wind and sun and sea around them were suddenly more alive, watching, pulling them onward with invisible hands.
"We won't be much longer," he murmured. "Neverland is approaching. Let's keep both your magic and that trinket locked up tight, aye, Swan?"
He didn't say anything further, both of them understanding that if she wasn't planning on making a deal with Pan, it was probably for the best that they keep both her own magic and the bracelet a secret. Pan's agenda was his own, and the less information they made available to him, the better.
"Do you think he knows already?" she whispered, his name nearly slipping from her lips. She wasn't certain how far into the sea Pan's dominion extended, but she wasn't about to use his name and find out.
"There's no telling what that demon can sense," Hook muttered darkly, the sky above them passing quickly from amber afternoon to purpling twilight as the sun teased the horizon.
He brought the Jolly around the coast, letting her drift slowly beneath slack sails into a different bay than they'd previously moored in, and while Emma wasn't exactly thrilled to be back within the strange veil of Neverland, she was more than happy to finally head below deck with Hook, closing the hatch and shutting out the dangerously beguiling call of the island.
Hook's oil lantern had already been lit, and trenchers of fruit and meat were waiting for them on the desk, along with, Emma was surprised to see, her few meager belongings from the bunks. Her fingers wavered as she brushed the soft flap of her leather satchel. It sat nestled on top of her spare trews and shirts, home to only a few small trifles she'd become fond of over the years. She didn't notice or hear Hook as he approached, and the touch of his fingers against her arm startled her.
"I asked Maddock to retrieve your things and bring them here," he hesitated, and when she turned to look at him, she could see a flush creeping into his cheeks and reddening the tips of his ears. His blue eyes didn't quite meet her own. "I hope it wasn't too presumptive of me, Swan."
"No," she whispered, dismayed that her reaction had made him doubt anything, and needing him to understand. "No, Killian. I just…this is the first time I've ever had anything more than a stretch of blanket, the first time my things weren't simply a place to rest my head. I've never had a place to put my things—something that isn't going to disappear, or be tucked up and rolled away when I move someplace new, so I'm just…thank you."
She smiled weakly as the trepidation in his eyes faded away, replaced by an understanding that needed no explanation, his fingers brushing her cheek. It didn't take long for the pull between them to demand more, the trenchers of food forgotten, their bodies melding together, meeting against furniture and walls—a slow dance of hands and lips and whispered things that spilled them onto the bed. Emma paused only briefly as they hit the mattress, brushing a feather aside that had settled across her cheek, mentally reminding herself to stitch the tear shut the next morning, and then she returned to the task of thanking her pirate very thoroughly.
A chill passed over her and Emma shivered as she rested in the shade of the sailcloth that was draped between a grouping of young palms. She ran her hands firmly along the bare skin of her upper arms as she watched the activity on the beach below.
"It's a curious thing, isn't it?" Hook prodded, and though he didn't glance away from his work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he used his hook to puncture a neat line of holes in his torn, leather greatcoat, Emma knew exactly what he was referring to—the seemingly naked skin of her arm.
She dragged her fingers along her skin again, raising the hairs once more. She could still feel it beneath her fingertips, the bracelet, the cool metal of the feathered edges and the smooth rounded quill that embraced her arm, but to find it with her eyes was impossible. It was as if she wore nothing there at all. Once the ship had closed in on Neverland, it had simply disappeared from her arm, like it was hiding itself, probably from Pan, she imagined. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the power swirling, but it was subdued. She didn't mind. She'd rather Pan not take any further interest in her.
"Yeah, it is," she muttered, and then smirked, her eyes still fixed on the ship below. "I've never seen a pirate captain attempt his own mending."
"Is my needlework that bad, Swan?" he exclaimed, pinning the leather between his brace and leg as he used a repurposed awl to alternately push and pull a length of sinew through the holes he'd made. It was slow work, but he tackled it impressively. "I thought I was doing quite well, being less one hand."
"Well, that's never stopped you before, but I think that coat may need a more…delicate touch. Maybe I can mend it later," she suggested, and Hook raised an eyebrow archly. They both knew she wasn't talking about using an awl and thread, but any cavalier use of her magic would have to wait until they were gone from Pan's purview.
"You may be right in that assessment, Swan," he muttered, surveying the shredded pieces of leather with annoyance.
The ground beneath them sloped gently down to the smooth sands of a sheltered bay. The Jolly Roger sat careened on the pristine, white sands, tipped precariously on her starboard side, her masts tied securely off to a ridge of trees a distance away, keeping her steady on the odd angle. They'd had to wait a few days for the neap tide, but once it arrived, they'd quickly grounded her and set to work. The crew was scattered among the wood beams that supported the weight of her exposed belly, some repairing the damage to the splintering hull, and the others focused on the laborious work of removing the barnacles clinging to the wood. Emma had been surprised at the condition of the hull when it was exposed. From the little she'd seen of older ships, wood worm and rot were often a problem, but no such indignities had befallen the Jolly, despite her age. Hook had explained that being built of enchanted wood seemed to ward off the worst of the dangers, though barnacles and physical damage were still a nuisance that needed attending to. The sails were all furled on the yards, and it was something to see, the massive ship beached and awaiting the spring tide before she could return to the sea.
The days passed easily enough, the hours marked by the callouses she earned as she helped the crew in scraping wood and caulking joints, leaving the hot pitch for the men, who knew exactly what they were doing. Nights circled the edge of their campfire as laughter and curses rose with the smoke, stories and tales traded alongside the burn of rum. A week had passed since they grounded the ship, and both she and Hook were laying wrapped in each other, stretched across a cool pallet of palm leaves, Hook's somewhat mended coat draped across them. The moon hung full over the horizon, framed by the breadth of sail above them and the palm trees gathered at its sides.
"The spring tide should arrive tomorrow, or the next day," he whispered against her hair. "We'll be able to get the Jolly back where she belongs and depart."
"I've been wondering," she asked, "when you first came here with Liam, you flew using the Pegasus sail, but then you burnt it."
"I never thought I'd return here," he sighed, the rush of air tickling the edges of her ear.
"How did you open the portal from Port Bastisse, Hook? It's crossed my mind several times, but there were always other things pressing."
"Ah, a gift from Pan," he drawled, flexing his fingers and pulling her attention to his rings, the muscles in his arm jumping beneath her head.
She sat up on her elbow, turning his rough palm over in her hand and studying the rings she'd seen many times before. They were not unfamiliar to her, in fact, she knew exactly how they felt sliding against the most intimate, heated part of her, yet she'd never paid them any close attention.
"They've each a story, a reminder that I don't allow people to cross me, but this one," he flicked his index finger, drawing her eye to an antiqued, silver ring with a small, rounded ruby in the center. "This one was enchanted by Pan. He severed a piece from his shadow and trapped it inside. Now, whenever I need to travel to Neverland, or back to the Enchanted Forest, I've a handy shadow to help me do so."
"But you can't use it to open portals elsewhere?"
"Alas, no. It seems its reach does not extend to any other realms."
Now that she was looking at it, the warm glow from the nearby fire glinting off the red jewel, she could swear the ruby seemed to move.
"I see it," she said, turning his hand and watching as the firelight exposed something dark and fluid shifting in the center. She was more than a little surprised that she couldn't feel it, given that the magic surrounding Pan always set her on edge. "What's next then, when we return?"
She laid his hand back down on the palm leaves and reclaimed her place against his chest, her head settled in the crook of his arm as he pressed his lips against the crown of her hair, his hook wrapping around her hip and slotting itself into her waiting fingers.
"We'll restock the galley and unlade the heavier treasure, give the men time to reacquaint themselves with the finer things, incidentally, an excellent way of determining how much time has passed since we left, and whether or not anything of note has happened, but once that's done…I don't know, Emma. My quest has been thwarted at nearly every turn. I can't find the Crocodile without a bean, and as you know, I've failed in doing so, remarkably."
"Hey," she whispered, rolling and turning into him, her leg sliding between his as she pressed herself close, speaking against his chest. "We'll figure something out. The Dark One, where is he? Maybe there's another way to get to him, like how the shadow can travel here—the mermaids?"
"No!" he hissed, his grip tightening around her, his fingers threading roughly through her hair and tilting her face to meet his, fear etched across his features. "I'll not pay their price again, Emma," he sighed, bowing his forehead to meet hers.
She remembered what they'd asked of him all those years ago and tucked herself back into his embrace, letting the worry she'd called to the surface fade away in the solidity of her body pressed to his. They couldn't trust the mermaids, nor what they might ask of them. It may be something they were unwilling to pay. She wasn't sure how long she listened to the soothing rhythm of his heart before his voice broke the night once more.
"There were whisperings among the forest creatures, the unseelie folk that sometimes worked at the behest of the Evil Queen. It was rumored she had created a world with no magic, a place to trap her enemies and rule over them forever. Not long after, the curse hit the Enchanted Forest—"
"—sweeping up half the kingdom and leaving the land undefended against the ogres."
"Aye, it also happened to be when the Dark One went missing."
"And you think he was caught up in that curse and brought to the Queen's new world, a place without magic. A world like mine, you think?"
"I know it seems unlikely that the Dark One would allow himself to be stolen by a curse, but it's the only trail I have, and though I've scoured land and sea for word of him, there's been nothing. He most certainly isn't still in the Enchanted Forest. I don't believe the Queen's curse has anything to do with your realm, however. I'm sure you would have mentioned an evil queen, and unless I'm mistaken, I had the impression your world has been in existence for quite some time—long enough for men to build ships that fly with no need of a Pegasus sail."
"Yeah, where I came from, it definitely wasn't ruled by an Evil Queen. How long ago did it happen, this curse?"
"Several decades ago, I believe, certainly no less than two, though with my frequent travel to Neverland, I will admit that the years somewhat flow together."
"So, most likely, the Dark One is trapped in a world with no magic. If we could find him, Killian, he'd be without his power, vulnerable."
"Aye, love."
"Then we'll find a way. We have to."
"You seem to have more hope than I, Emma."
"I never used to," she admitted, "but you seem to bring it out in me."
"A strange feeling, is it not, for a lost girl and a lost boy—to dream that perhaps they'll get everything they want?"
"Not lost anymore," she reminded him softly as her lips sought his, the wash of the sea and the wandering stars lighting their path home.
A/N: Thank you for all of the patience while I update. I realize they have become more infrequent, but rest assured, I have no intentions of leaving this tale behind any time soon. I know this chapter is very light and sweet, but it was very important to me that when you guys read these last few chapters, you leave with the impression and understanding of just how absolutely happy Emma is right now—how this is something she never thought she would have, and it is all she wants—that for two pirates living in a difficult world, with difficult, dark paths ahead of them, these are their happy moments.
I forgot to add, for those curious about the history of the island- it is my own envisioning of a tomb for Ocypete, a harpy from greco-roman mythology. She and her two sisters were spirits of wind and storms, thus the bracelet.
FARA