Warning: This chapter contains explicit descriptions of violence, gore, and torture of an OC. Do not read if that is a trigger or no-go for you. I *think* this is the last chapter that will need this warning, so we'll sail for kinder waters soon.

On a happier note, I have been waiting a long, LONG time to write this chapter, and I am thrilled it is finally here. I hope everyone loves it!

The night dragged its nails along the exposed skin of her back, a shiver rising on her spine. Emma protested sleepily, grumbling and snuggling further into the warmth at her chest. She was eager to return to her dreams, but a soft chuckle against the crown of her hair coaxed her from them, the memories of what she dreamt slipping away like the tide as she rose to wakefulness beside him. His hand drifted along her side before pulling the blanket more securely about her back, and she pressed her smile into the heat of his skin. Hours still lingered between darkness and sunrise, but Emma could already feel the weight of the day against their warm sanctuary, and she wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket tightly around them and hide from it in the slip of their bodies.

After the chaos of the day before, they'd crashed together as soon as they returned to the ship—the dried blood washed from their skin with the sweat and friction of their bodies. Wave after wave, each one higher than the last, the fall almost too much to crawl back from. Her skin bore the marks of his fingers, small bruises that circled her arms and thighs, reminders that he would never let her go. Her own promises were written on his skin as well, fine red welts from her nails crossing the long-faded lashes on his back—there would never be another for her, only him.

The thought of trading the cabin for the daylight made her stomach churn and bile rise in her throat.

"Let's stay here today, in bed," she pleaded, stretching against his arms and seeking the blue of his eyes. There were no remnants of sleep left in his gaze, so she knew he'd probably been awake for some time, just watching and holding her. "I like when it's just us…when there's nothing trying to pull us apart."

"Nothing will pull us apart, Swan," he promised, placing a soft kiss against her forehead and tucking her back into the safety of his chest. "I won't allow it."

Emma rested her ear against the coarse hair of his chest and listened to the beating of his heart, her fingertip moving in small circles beside it. She couldn't help the unease that shifted in her gut, nor the frown that drew her lips into a tight line.

"Sometimes it feels like we have this streak of bad luck constantly trying to run us down," she whispered. "The sea monster in Neverland, and now yesterday—gods, Hook…waking in that camp surrounded and having no idea where you were, if you were even alive…if I was going to get back to you…"

His arms held her a little more tightly, and even without seeing his face, she knew his eyes would be shadowed.

"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked. "Like something looming…"

The creak of the ship kept the silence at bay, the belly of her sighing as she rose and fell on the sea, the gloomy light of the cabin pitching as Emma clung to her Captain.

"Aye, Swan—there have been times when we're apart—that's when I feel it, when I fear there's some small flaw in the universe waiting to rip you away from me, or I from you." He wished he could have swallowed the words back down the moment he felt something warm and wet against his chest and realized she was crying. His beautiful lass, who bravely faced down sea serpents and pirates to get back to him, was disarmed by his own traitorous fear. "Or perhaps it's simply because a part of me still can't believe that you're mine, Emma, perhaps only that—my own insecurities, love. Please, don't cry."

The path of her tears tingled along his skin, followed closely by a slow, trembling breath, her fingers moving to slide beneath his arm and pull him closer. Her body shook as she let go of the quiet sobs that she couldn't set free anywhere else, and he held her, cradling the jagged edges that all lost boys and girls had—the broken pieces left by a life that promised them only fading hope and disappearing happiness.

He held her and whispered promises of forever, swearing to himself and any god listening that he would keep them—come what may.

They'd been sailing for weeks with only the occasional stop in port, the sea shrugging away the warm water and easy currents of summer as the cold winds of autumn blew in, the ship dressed with rime each morning. Emma could hear the sounds of the men on deck as they worked, Hook's voice clipped as he called orders into the frigid morning. She knew it was freezing because, despite being shut away in the cabin still, her breath formed little puffs in the air that meant surely it was too cold to be out of bed. She glanced longingly back at the tumble of blankets, but unfortunately, the man responsible for warming her among them was on deck, surely wondering what was taking her so long.

She couldn't help it, sleep had been difficult to come by once the nights grew cold, even wrapped in Hook's arms, and for some reason, she was having a hard time shrugging away the chill like she used to. Gods, she missed the southern ports and the warm weather, but there was nothing to be done about it. They were here, and the summer months had abandoned them.

Knowing she couldn't escape the cold forever, she tugged her clothing from the drawer beneath their bed, a smile curving her lips as she remembered the night Hook had brought her things to his cabin—their cabin—and how much the small gesture had meant. They'd since replaced her old jerkins and trews with more appropriate items, and the few shirts—most of which had already been lost to Hook's impatience at disrobing her, not that she minded that in the least.

She pulled a soft linen shirt over her breasts followed by one of her new waistcoats, the dark navy leather worked to a beautiful, supple finish that was still supportive as she secured the brass buttons and cinched the ornate belt around her waist. Her old, much-abused trews had also been discarded in favor of fine, black leather pants that hugged her legs sinfully. They were quite like Hook's, but fitted with a custom holster for her blades, so they could rest right where she liked them. The turn to the weather certainly called for the greatcoat Hook had insisted on—you're no simple crew member, Emma, you're mine…and a force in your own right. That should be clear to any and all who look at you. She lifted the leather from the desk and threaded her arms through, sighing at the immediate warmth it brought as it settled atop her shoulders. It was black—she'd insisted, turning down the rich maroons and blues the tailor offered—but Hook had brooked no argument when it came to adding some form of embellishment, and so the lapels were worked with delicate silver swirls, much like the storm winds depicted in the scrolls from Neverland. Unlike Hook's greatcoat though, she'd had the front of hers cropped to end at her hips before sweeping around her sides and down, settling behind her calves while leaving her thighs clear. At the time, she'd refused to sacrifice having her blades within easy reach for warmth. This morning, however, she was having second thoughts.

Gods, it was bloody cold.

She ran her fingers along the lapels and buttons, amazed at the craftsmanship almost every time she put it on. It was by far the finest thing she'd ever owned, and while she knew she looked every inch the successful pirate she'd become, her favorite thing about it was how Hook had grinned, his eyebrows darting upward when he first saw it placed on her shoulders. Oh, well that's much better, he'd proclaimed, and then whispered wicked things in her ear about how much he would enjoy taking it off of her later.

Beneath the layers of linen and leather, the bracelet still clung to her arm. She'd practically forgotten it wasn't always a part of her, and since learning to harness its powers, she'd never once considered trying to remove it. It paid the dues for its freedom each day as they sailed. At the moment, the Jolly was heading northeast around the coast of the Enchanted Forest. Hook's gruesome warning left for all to witness at the town of Araapo seemed to have spread the news of his return far and wide, and the few sails and pennants they saw on the horizon that were flown by rival pirates fled quickly at the sight of the Jolly Roger, unwilling to provoke the demon captain known as Hook. They encountered the occasional merchant ship, and Emma honed her skills as they hunted. With Hook's encouragement, summoning up the winds and minding them became no more work than speaking, and keeping the sails full as they voyaged was child's play. As the days wore on, she'd learned to extend her control, confusing their targets as she manipulated the wind, calling it to blow with a force that would rip the sails from their robands before disappearing entirely, leaving them stranded on eerily becalmed seas as the Jolly Roger descended upon them with full sails. Hook teased that she'd stolen almost all the work from pirating.

During quiet moments, Emma would skirmish with Hook or the crew, learning how to wield the longer cutlasses the men favored with some skill, though they would never be a replacement for her own blades. When swordplay became tiresome, she worked on controlling her own magic. They'd found that having Hook spar with three or four of the men was the fastest way to trigger her instincts to keep him safe, though she almost managed to kill poor Ephraim when she accidentally summoned his axe from his grip, leaving him holding nothing but air as Hook's blade drove toward him—luckily Hook was skilled enough to draw his strike and avoid any serious injury. Once they'd realized she could summon objects, Williams took to shooting his bow across the deck while she flicked her wrist, summoning the arrows to her hand before they could strike the mast. The first few catches had left scratches and nicks, but she had healed them easily enough with a sweep of her fingers and smiled, Hook watching with pride.

Emma's thoughts drifted back to the day at hand as she slid her rapiers into their place on her thighs, following them with new boots. They weren't ideal for the rigging, the soles too firm, but most days she stayed on deck with Hook, learning how to guide the ship and the crew. Maddock had expressed a desire to learn the role of lookout, and Emma had been more than glad to see him out of harm's way with Pidgin teaching him the ropes. Finally dressed, and knowing the eyebrow she would get at the time it took her to leave the warm cabin—she couldn't help it, lately the cold just seemed to seep into her bones and burrow itself a den—she climbed the ladder and strode onto the deck, letting the hatch fall closed behind her as her eyes found Hook.

He was where she expected, hand and hook on the helm as he guided the ship toward the thin darkening of land she could just see in the distance. Cowry must have retired to his berth after a night spent on deck, Hook insisting he wanted to be within sight of land during the morning hours. They were still short several men, and it weighed heavily on Hook's mind, the conversation usually fading into silence whenever they had it over a bottle of rum below. It had been decades since Hook had lost a man, and they'd lost three all that time ago at the spires—three crew members were not simple to replace, certainly not for Hook. He needed men he could trust, men who had nothing left for them in this world. It would take some time to find such replacements.

Emma crossed the distance between them quickly and sidled up beside him, claiming a soft kiss before her fingers lifted his spyglass nimbly from within his pockets, training its weight on the horizon. The small strip of land came into clearer focus, its shores lower and darker than the mountainous southern ports. Pines draped with heavy boughs marched toward the shore, a weather-beaten town squatting along the muddy bay.

"Well, it certainly looks like the northern towns haven't improved since I left," Emma muttered, snapping the spyglass closed and tucking it back against his chest before slipping her hands into the warmth of her waist. "Looks to be as fetid and depressing as ever."

"Aye, I don't imagine the towns here will last much longer," he agreed, "but hopefully we'll be able to restock some of our fresh goods, perhaps see if there are any chickens to procure."

They'd been restocking the hold frequently, not allowing their stores to become depleted as they voyaged up the coast, but this was to be their last stop before heading out to sea, indeed, it was the only port this far north. According to Hook, this was the last window for sailing before the northern seas became dangerous with ice and trade would halt, so it was the perfect time to intercept the rich merchant ships leaving Arendelle and making the long voyage to the southern lands. They were most heavily laden this time of year, and it would be a grand opportunity for the crew.

"I can just see Cowry's face when you inform him that he'll be sharing his berth with live poultry," Emma laughed, knowing the Captain's quartermaster loathed disorder and mess—still a man of the navy in his bones.

"I wouldn't think of it," Hook muttered, "not if we didn't want him to toss them overboard. No, they'll be kept in the hold."

"Good. Maybe they'll eat the rats," Emma teased, knowing the rise it would get out of him.

"You'd do best to watch that tongue, Swan—suggesting such a thing. My ship does not have any rats stowed away," he snipped, narrowing his eyes at her cheek.

It didn't take long for Hook and the crew to bring the Jolly Roger into the bay and moor. The town lacked anything better than a fisherman's dock, and much to Emma's displeasure, they'd needed to row ashore, the dismal town growing closer with each cut of the oars into the icy water. The warmth of the cabin and its tangled blankets was but a distant dream. It was only a handful of them heading ashore, Avery and Quill to see to restocking alongside Emma and the Captain, and there wouldn't be any rollicking in the tavern—this stop being strictly business.

The air and the buildings were pervaded with that boggy, fertile smell of wet soil and decaying matter, a fogginess that clung to the air and brushed the sodden thatched roofs. The streets were mostly empty as they headed into the center of town from the dock, the windows shuttered and leaking no warmth into the grey streets. It was a far cry from the bustling southern ports, and once again Emma was reminded of the five years she spent fighting for her survival in the north. The market itself, once they stumbled into it, was pathetic and bare. She was glad they didn't need much in the way of provisions, but doubted Hook would be able to procure any chickens for the ship—these people here would be hard pressed to exchange a bird they could eat for gold they could not. Quill and Avery stopped at a shop that seemed to have some full barrels, mentioning something about dried beans and beef. The few vegetables she could see laid on bare tables didn't look half bad—and even if they couldn't get fresh meat, she knew Quill would be able to scrounge up enough to get the hold brimming.

Hook and Emma carried on through the market, but her eyes were drawn to something scrambling on the ground in the shadow of a building—an old woman, her hair tucked beneath a cap, was crouched in the dirt, righting a basket and hastily picking up the rags she'd dropped as she eyed them warily, eager to be out of their path.

Something tugged at Emma's mind—something she was forgetting—but before she could identify what it was, Hook was pressing his namesake against her chest, halting her steps.

"Swan, what have we here?" he murmured, the direction of his gaze drawing her own to a cleared area off the market where she could just see the edge of a high scaffold and the shifting back of a crowd. "Well, that explains the empty streets."

"What is it?" she asked, casting one last glance at the rag woman before following after him as he approached the clearing.

The cobblestones of the market faded into a hardpacked dirt square that bordered what looked like a church, the crowd agitated and spoiling for action. The women shuffled and passed sharp words among one another as the men thumped their staffs and tools against the ground, jeering up at something on the scaffold. As Emma and Hook cleared the building and broke into the square, it was obvious what the crowd was waiting on, the familiar shape of a gallows looming atop the scaffold, though Emma couldn't get a clear look at the poor soul at the end of the rope itself—the heads and waving arms of the incensed townsfolk blocking her view.

A voice rose over the din of the people gathered, and though they missed the first few words, the crowd quieted after a moment and the man's proclamation rang loud and clear through the heavy air.

"…has been found guilty of full-thievery, highway robbery and horse-theft. As such, this brigand has been sentenced to hang until dead as restitution for the aforementioned crimes. May the gods have mercy on her soul."

The words washed over Emma like a language she couldn't understand, because as her steps drew her closer to the edge of the crowd, she was able to finally catch a good look at the person standing beneath the gallows, her entire body stiffening as recognition flooded her. She'd know that hair anywhere—chestnut ringlets, though dulled with grime and grease, curtained the thin face and delicate features between them. The woman lifted her head, stubbornly displaying the rope looped tightly around her neck.

Columbine.

She had aged a bit, though that was not a surprise to Emma, her cheekbones sharper and her features harder and more drawn than they once were, but those curls were unmistakable, and Emma could almost hear the musical lilt of her voice from long ago. Columbine glared coldly over the crowd, but her hardness faltered when her brown eyes met the green of Emma's and she realized that her once-friend was standing below.

Hook knew, like he always did, that something was wrong. He sensed the change in her immediately and moved to her side, his hand settling around her waist as he brushed her cheek with his stubble. The weight of his hand and the strong scent of him beside her did more to calm her than anything else could have, drawing her back to the present and far from that day so long ago.

"Emma?" he whispered, his voice hushed and held closely between them, lest someone should overhear. "Is that…"

"Columbine," she choked out. "Yes."

"Tell me what you need, love—and I swear I will deliver it to you."

She understood what he was offering as clearly as she had the night he offered it on the deck of his ship. Was this what she wanted? Did she want Columbine to die at the end of a noose paying for crimes against people she had never tricked into trusting her, only to betray them, or did she want something more, something darker—revenge? There was no doubt in her mind that he would find a way give it to her, that he would cut his way through anyone that tried to stop him, and then—when Emma finally had Columbine at her mercy, she could dispatch her as she saw fit.

She could finally ask her why, and then when the answer wasn't good enough—because there was no answer good enough for abandoning her like that, leaving her to die—she could slice the words out of her throat and watch her choke on them.

He would give her that if she needed it, and she loved him for it, but it didn't take her long to make up her mind. She'd known what she wanted the minute she'd met her old friend's eyes.

"I don't need anything but you," she said, "just you," and keeping her gaze locked with her old friend, she slowly raised two fingers and pressed them against her waistcoat, over her heart, in farewell. There was no apology in her eyes when she turned away from the scaffold and left with Hook at her side, only the faintest curve of a smile on her lips.

Behind them the crowd roared as the hangman kicked the support from beneath Columbine's feet and she dropped, dancing.

Hook stood beside her as she summoned the winds that thrust them mercilessly toward the fleeing vessel, her curls whipping furiously around them as she turned and caught his gaze, green eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Her eyebrow was peaked in a brazen mimicry of his own mannerisms and a pleased smile turned up the corner of her mouth. She was well aware of how seeing her in this element, winds and magic raging around her, stirred that hungry desire in his chest, and gave in willingly when he let it wash over them both.

His grip was firm against her back, possessive, as he pulled her flush against him and stole her attentions, selfishly devouring the taste of her lips and tongue. The winds flickered in the sails at her distraction, but then quickly snapped back to their place, carrying the Jolly Roger ever forward.

"You're a vision," he breathed, inhaling deeply and resting his forehead against hers. "My beautiful Swan. I'll never let you go."

"I'd never let you," she promised, nipping his lip soundly with her teeth and drawing him back in for another bracing kiss that made her legs tremble.

A shout from Cowry pulled them from their embrace, and they both turned their eyes toward the vessel trying desperately to outpace them. Hook raised his spyglass and studied the crew moving aboard the distant ship—they'd tightened their bowlines, perhaps hoping to catch as much wind as possible and escape, but escape was not something he would allow.

"Shall we end this chase, Swan?" Hook asked, grinning as he tucked the spyglass back into his greatcoat and eyed the distant ship hungrily.

"Aye, Captain," Emma purred, settling back against his chest and enjoying the warmth spreading of him wrapped around her.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, the magically called wind that filled the Jolly's sails coming to her attention immediately, but she ignored it and pushed farther, reaching for the natural winds far ahead of them that the merchant ship sailed on. They were flighty, uncontrolled things, but Emma could change that—she could control them. She tugged with her mind, urging them to heed her call, to come and race with the winds at her back. Her voice reminded them that once, in ages long past, they'd answered to a master as well, and they shifted easily, abandoning the merchant vessel and racing across the distance between them.

Hook watched with grim satisfaction as the sails of the other ship fell slack, the men aboard pausing in confusion as they watched the Jolly Roger cut toward them like a thing possessed, while they could do nothing but wait in the strange, becalmed lull that had engulfed them.

It didn't take long for the merchant captain to realize that escape was no longer an option, and within seconds they'd struck their colors, signaling their peaceful surrender. A cheer went up from the cheer as they realized their loot would be easily won, and therefore all the more enjoyable. As the distance between the two ships lessened, Emma called the winds back to her and Cowry moved to take the helm. He would see that she stayed safe and in the perfect position for boarding while Hook surveyed just what their latest conquest would bring to their hold.

The faces of the men aboard the surrendered vessel were bleak, but it wasn't until they'd fully realized just who would be boarding their ship that the color truly left their cheeks. A few of the sailors jerked wandering fingers away from the temptation of their weapons, Hook's reputation stealing any lingering thoughts of fighting back—their only chance, and they knew it in that small, churning center of their gut, was complete and utter capitulation.

Ephraim heaved the grappling hook into the rigging of the ship, giving it a stern tug before relinquishing it to Hook and circling another in preparation for the next throw. Hook stepped onto the rail of his ship and wrapped the rope expertly around his left forearm and hook before taking a firm hold with his hand and swinging across the void between the ships, landing nimbly on the deck and disengaging the rope with a skill that reminded everyone his lack of a left hand was anything but a hindrance. Emma followed immediately after, dropping to the deck beside him before heaving both ropes back to the Jolly. Williams, Ephraim, Skirts, and Avery followed suit, leaving the rest of the crew to man their own ship. Hook was hardly expecting trouble from this endeavor, but one never knew. The seas and winds remained conspicuously calm as he surveyed the wretched lost of sailors before him—Emma's doing, he was certain. A quick survey revealed no firepower aboard the vessel, as least nothing of any threat, and the ragtag crew was a small outfit, only four men and the Captain—as long as there weren't any further crew hiding below deck.

"Williams, Skirts— to the hold" Hook ordered, not taking his eyes from the man across the deck, his features shadowed by a large captain's hat—a vanity Hook had never been fond of, terribly limiting to one's vision, they were. "Retrieve any stragglers and see to our goods."

Their assent echoed across the quiet deck as they carefully descended into the belly of the ship. Avery and Ephraim ambled toward the group of sailors, leering menacingly as they moved their hands to their weapons, waiting for their Captain's next orders. Emma stayed close to Hook, her arms crossed sternly in front of her chest as she watched the captive crew with distrust, ready to call upon her magic if the need arose.

The merchant captain had already removed his sword from his hip and tossed it to the deck in front of him, his hands dangling limply at his sides as he waited for what came next.

"It seems you possess some level of common sense—" Hook taunted, leaning back against the low railing and running the pad of his thumb across his tongue, then reaching down and dragging it along the inside curve of his hook, polishing it "—to consider the lives of your men over the worth of a few paltry items. Your crew must be grateful to have such a thoughtful captain. Let's remove any temptation, shall we, men?"

Ephraim and Avery moved to the four sailors and made quick work of seizing their weapons, tossing them across the deck and far from reach before moving to check within their jackets and boots, searching for daggers and the like.

An urge to move crawled up the back of Emma's legs—something not sitting quite right with her—and she made her way toward the captain of the surrendered vessel. He was a man of middling years, his gut softened with age and his hair swept back into a low braid beneath a stiff hat. His lips were thin and pressed into a hateful line, his eyes flashing with dislike as Hook spoke. She would feel less agitated once she had searched the man herself.

"Please, no!" one of the sailors cried, stepping haltingly toward Avery, his hands raised palms out in a show of harmlessness. "Please, not that."

Emma froze and everyone's eyes snapped to the confrontation between the young sailor and Avery, who was holding an impressive looking knife in his hands. The blade may have been visibly blunt and chipped, but the hilt was leather wrapped and inlaid with something that glimmered like opal or ivory, or perhaps pearl. Avery smirked and tucked the treasure into his belt, ignoring the desperate look on the man's face.

"I'm begging you," the sailor pleaded, ignoring his fellow crew member's hiss of warning and lurching forward again, tugging at the back of Avery's shirt. "It was my father's—the only thing I have left of him. Please, just leave it on the ship, leave me with at least that."

"The Captain has decided to leave you with your life," Avery grumbled, shrugging the man off of him roughly before moving on to check the next crew member. "Be grateful you'll leave with that."

Thinking the encounter done, Emma turned back to the merchant captain, but chaos broke loose. The scorned crew member growled and threw himself at Avery, desperate to wrest the dagger from his belt. Though larger, Avery was thrown off balance and stumbled, the two of them rolling across the deck. At the same time, another sailor decided to take advantage of the fight, but before he could do more than throw himself toward the nearest weapon, Ephraim had buried his axe in his back, the man collapsing with jerking limbs to the deck as Ephraim yanked his weapon free. Avery and the sailor continued to tumble, Avery finally heaving himself on top of the smaller man before yanking the stolen knife from his belt and plunging its dulled blade forcefully into the chest of the man below him, blood bubbling and spurting around the decorative hilt.

The other two sailors erred on the side of inaction, stepping back from the ruckus and eyeing Ephraim cautiously, but Emma sensed movement from the Captain, even before she saw it, and with barely enough time to react, she turned back to him just as he brought his hand from behind his back and hurled his arm forward, throwing something across the deck toward Hook. Instinctively, Emma's hand shot into the air following the path of something silver and spinning—a dagger.

Relief hissed from her lips as her upturned palm stopped the path of the weapon in midair, the piece of metal falling to the deck with a clank an arm's length away from Hook's chest. She whipped back around to face the man who had thrown it, fury and darkness twisting her lips into a snarl. The man's eyes flickered to the sword near his feet, but at the merest hint he may reach for it, a twist of Emma's wrist sent it flying over the rail of the ship and into the sea. She stalked over to him, her rapier at his throat and his arm bent behind his back before he could suck in a breath. She may have been smaller than he was, but she was faster.

Avery yanked the dagger out of the body beneath him and returned to his place beside Ephraim, the two sailors left before them as white as the sails of the ship at the sight of the blood-stained pirates and the strange woman who had stopped a throwing dagger in midair.

For a moment, the deck was silent save for the thump of barrels being shifted below deck as Williams and Skirts worked, confident that their Captain and crewmates could more than handle any trouble above deck.

"Alas," Hook drawled, "so much for favoring the lives of your men, Captain—that attempt on my life was unwise, and I will not overlook it. Now, all of you get to die. What a shame."

"Please," one of the two remaining crew pleaded, stepping back from Ephraim and panting frantically as he looked to his captain, "I don't want to die, Captain Brinley! Please, don't let them—"

"Hold!" Hook hissed, lurching from the rail with a dangerous edge he hadn't yet revealed. His eyes locked with Emma's across the deck as Ephraim froze in his swing, lowering his axe though he kept his eyes on the shaking man in front of him. "Brinley, you say? Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long time."

Emma's grip tightened on the merchant Captain as he tried to twist from her hold, but the effort only doubled the pain in his shoulder and forced the sharp edge of her blade further into his neck, his pulse fluttering just beneath it as it drew the finest vein of blood.

"I've been searching many a year for you!" Hook crowed, grinning as he paced, a manic energy suffusing his movements. "I believe you know the whereabouts of something that belongs to me, Captain Brinley—stolen by a thief and hidden with your family long ago."

"If I did have," the man bit out, his voice rough and clipped as he spoke for the first time. "I would die before I gave it over to someone as evil as you, pirate."

"Ah, so you do know of what I speak. What of your men then? Will their lives be the cost of your obstinance, or perhaps we need to move to measures more…unseemly?"

The man held at the point of Emma's blade hardened his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he ripped his gaze from Hook and stared somewhere out past the horizon, unwilling to engage.

"Avery," Hook ordered, "let's test the sharpness of that new blade once more."

"Aye, Captain," Avery answered, grabbing one of the sailors by his arm and tossing him to the deck, easily straddling the man's chest to keep him from running while he waited for Hook's instructions.

Hook turned his attention back to Brinley and spoke, his tone that of a man having polite discourse over a meal. "The preface, so to speak, Captain Brinley, is that I'm going to have my men start removing pieces from—" he paused in his pacing, staring at the trembling man with a frown "—what is your name, sailor?"

"R-Rupert," the man whispered, only just managing to choke out the sound as he stared anywhere but at the pirate glaring dispassionately down at him.

"Rupert," Hook continued, nodding his head thoughtfully. "We're going to remove pieces from dear Rupert here until I get what I want. Right then, Avery, let's start with an ear."

Brinley strained almost involuntarily against Emma's grip as the quivering man let out an ungodly moan, but Emma shifted her weight and held tighter, twisting Brinley's arm further to incapacitate him. The ship seemed to sway beneath her and she blinked her eyes furiously, licking the dryness from her lips and redoubling her hold despite the sensation that something was wrong.

"My pleasure, Captain," muttered Avery, twirling the blade in his hand before lowering it.

The sailor screamed—a haunting, painful sound more animal in nature than human—as Avery brought the worn edge of the knife to his ear, pulling the tender cartilage out and pressing the blade slowly through it against the skull, sawing with some force when the going became difficult. The man kicked and flailed beneath him, but Avery was not to be deterred, and once his trophy was finally detached, he held it aloft for the merchant captain's perusal, blood weeping down his hand and wrist.

Emma could feel the internal fight within the man called Brinley, his desire to stop the violence warring with and losing to the part of him that feared giving up what Hook sought, the part that held to his pathetic concept of honor and what was right above all else, unknowingly costing the lives of innocent men while preserving the life of one who was not—the Dark One.

The man still pinned down by Avery's weight was sobbing softly, gasping and groaning as his hands cradled the open wound where his ear once was—his cries cutting across the deck of the ship.

Emma was too far to see Hook's eyes clearly as he stared down the other captain, the length of the deck between them, but she knew they would be cold and without remorse—silently urging the other man to surrender what was his, because he would not stop, it would not end. The cries of the sailor continued, and Hook's gaze snapped away from Brinley and down, looking at the maimed captive with no small amount of derision.

"No, no, no, such pitiful cries won't do," Hook scolded. "Your Captain doesn't seem to be the least bit moved, Rupert. We'll have to do better. Ephraim, let's have a hand, shall we?"

Ephraim leered threateningly at the remaining sailor before he moved to Avery's side, readying his axe as Avery stretched one of the man's arms across the deck of the ship, holding him remarkably still as the sailor struggled beneath him, his pleas unintelligible.

"Come on then, Rupert," Hook quipped as Ephraim heaved his axe high over his shoulder. "Don't be afraid to put some real feeling into it."

The thud of the axe splitting wood was lost in the blood curdling scream that went on and on, pouring from the man on deck just as the fluid did from the fresh stump of his arm. Emma nearly stumbled as Brinley tested her grip once more, the deck beneath her rocking as a wave of lightheadedness rushed over her for the briefest of seconds, but she pushed it away and dug in her nails, reminding the man that her blade would slit his throat faster than he could make a move. A pained growl rumbled from his lips, but he stilled, watching from his bent vantage point as the man who had sailed beneath him bled to death on the deck of his ship.

Hook's eyes met Brinley's once more and mirrored between them was unbridled rage. Hundreds of years of death and hunting and suffering and pain had led Hook to this moment, and he was not going to be thwarted by the honor of some decrepit man clinging to stories of chivalry.

"Where is my magic bean?" Hook snarled, his cutlass tearing from his side and dancing hungrily through the air before him as he paced along the deck, an edge of madness in his voice that would have shaken most men, but there was still no answer other than cold silence from Brinley.

"You still refuse to tell me where it lies? Well then, since you care so little for your men's lives, we shall have to make this more personal. Ephraim, rid us of the last one so we can move on to the Captain."

Ephraim caged in the man desperately looking for an escape, swinging his large axe as one might a pocket watch, but there was no escape, not even over the rail, and after a brief feint, the blade wedged itself cleanly between the man's shoulder and neck, shattering through to the chest cavity.

"Now the fun can begin, Captain," Hook promised. "Just remember, you had every chance to stop this."

Hook raised his namesake between himself and the other captain, imagining the ways that—should the bean not be on this ship, or was hidden somewhere on land, he would carve honesty from the uncooperative dog before him, the man who refused to return what was once rightfully his—the one thing he needed to reach the Crocodile and finally take his revenge for Milah's death. His thoughts were clouded with promises of blood and pain and finally the sweet release of sinking his hook into the Dark One's unsuspecting chest—and then she cut through it all—

—Emma.

In a second, all thoughts of revenge were swept from his mind. He watched Emma's blade slip from Brinley's throat, her body doubling over in pain, as if she'd been stabbed, the blood draining from her face. He moved at the same time Brinley realized his opportunity, throwing his weight forward and breaking Emma's failing grip on him, her body snapping and tumbling to the deck as her rapier skittered across the planks. Before any of them could reach her, Brinley's arms had wrapped around her waist and dragged her back against his chest, one arm pressed viciously across her throat, the other trapping her lower body against him.

"Don't!" Brinley screamed. "Get back! Back—or I'll kill her, I swear it! All of you, back!"

Still fighting between some phantom pain Hook couldn't fathom and Brinley's restraint, Emma clawed weakly at his arm before flailing for her other blade, but Brinley was faster, shifting his grip around her waist and snatching her wrist, twisting it roughly.

The hatch to the belly of the ship burst open and Williams and Skirts tumbled through, weapons drawn and ready at the first indication they'd had that things were going poorly. Hook raised his hand in a silent command to fall back, fearing that any attempt to press the man would result in Emma's death. It was all too easy to see how she already struggled for air. Williams' arm lifted momentarily toward his shoulder, searching for the bow he knew was below deck on the Jolly. Hook's ship was close enough that the rest of the crew would be clearly aware of the turn of events, but unable to help without risking Emma. No one besides Williams was an archer, and should the men try anything slower than a well-aimed arrow, Brinley would surely have time to choke the life from her.

"How do you think this is going to end, Brinley?" Hook seethed. "You're outnumbered. You won't make it off this ship alive, I promise you."

Hook's heart raced as the seconds passed, watching as Emma's one free hand pawed weakly at Brinley's arm, the toes of her boots barely scraping the deck. The seconds passed as his hope fell and he realized her magic was doing nothing to help her—perhaps it couldn't because she couldn't, couldn't think of anything other than her desperate fight for air.

Hook felt the life leaving him as he watched her chest rise and fall with short, stuttered draws of air, her eyes locked with his but fading so quickly. He had been a fool—a fool to think life had anything other than pain in store for him, or as Emma had worded it, bad luck chasing them at every turn.

"I disagree, pirate," Brinley sneered, loosening his hold on Emma's wrist just enough to pull something from his pocket. "I'm putting an end to this charade once and for all."

It was then that Hook realized what the man held, something small and bright and glimmering with light—the magic bean.

"If using this is the only way to keep it from such evil, then I will make that sacrifice!" Brinley vowed, pulling Emma, her movements almost gone, tighter to his body.

"No," Hook rasped, stumbling forward as cold dread crept up his spine, the true horror of what the man was going to do revealed to him. Brinley raised the bean above his head at the same time Hook's eyes alighted on the glint of metal at his feet, the small throwing dagger Brinley had sent his way—the one his Emma had stopped with her magic. He snatched it from the deck and in one fluid movement the blade was sliding between the pads of his fingers as he rose and drew back, praying it met its mark as he let it fly across the deck. Brinley's arm descended, the glimmering bean bouncing once on the deck before erupting in a blinding explosion of light and air.

The glowing light spread across the deck of the ship between them, wood planks seemingly disappearing into the swirling nothingness as the vortex widened and yawned. The ship groaned and heaved around them. Grabbing the rail as the deck shifted precariously, Hook righted himself just in time to see Brinley scrabbling for his neck, his fingers finding the hilt of the dagger lodged firmly in his throat.

Hook barely dared to breathe, watching as Brinley stumbled backwards toward the quarter deck and away from the portal—Emma beginning to slip from his grip, still as death—but as if the man were the embodiment of everything the universe wanted to steal from him, he grinned maniacally before grunting heavily and stumbling forward, dragging Emma with him as he tumbled into the bottomless light of the portal.

The sound torn from Hook's throat was inhuman, a strangled cry of devastation as he staggered forward and threw himself after her, leaping toward what was left of the portal as it began to fold inward, devouring itself as it pulled away from him. He was too late, his body crashing and rolling across the solid wood deck—the portal gone.

Emma, gone.

He raged, his fingers and hook carving splinters from the wood as he dug at the planks, staring blindly as he tore at everything that lay between them now.

Wood.

Sea.

Entire bloody worlds.

Emma...

Her name fell like a summoning from his lips, but he had no magic to pull her back to him.

He didn't feel the hands of his men as they pulled him to his feet, dragging him. He didn't hear the anguished crack of the ship beneath them as it tried to settle back into its skin, but failed. He didn't see the rails and mast bowing and splitting, the sea creeping in and surging up from below. He didn't hear the calls of his men as they hauled him over the side and into the waiting rowboat.

The only thing he sees is the pinpoint of light where she fell away from him, and the only thing he hears is her voice whispering through his mind like the wash of the tide.

He wants to close his eyes and never open them, to let the hot ash that's filling his chest spread until he's buried alive by it and can slip quietly into death—because it can't be worse, it can't possibly be worse than this life that feels like a curse in her absence—but if he pushes past the rage and despair that are gnawing at him, bloody hell, he can still feel her.

She may be gone, but she's alive somewhere, and he made her a promise—a promise he intended to keep.

He will always find her.