6 years earlier

After weeks on the high seas, the Jolly Roger was nearing land once again. Usually, knowing that another journey was coming to an end, Killian would bask in tranquility. Another success. But not this time. This time he felt somewhat troubled.

It was the boy. He was sleeping soundly in the captain's cabin as the ship rocked on the waves as if he was born on the sea, completely giving himself to his new circumstances. Some of the crew members were impatient with him, especially over the last few days, as food began running low, but most of them respected their captain's peculiar decision without asking too many questions. Some of them, Killian noticed, were even fascinated with the little creature, devoting their free time to play with him and answer his silly questions.

It was indeed a strange thing, witnessing the tender side of the people he thought he knew so well as ruthless, cold hearted pirates. And even stranger than that, he started to feel his own heart softening towards the child, who at the age of four already knew better than to ask for his mother on a ship full of violent, hot-tempered men.

As clever as the boy may have been, Killian reminded himself, he was never going to stay around for long. The ship was no place for children, and even if they could find a way for the boy to remain out of their business, the horrors that regularly occurred above and below the deck would scar his tiny soul forever. He was surprised that it was even part of his considerations, but clung to it anyway.

He was planning on ordering Smee to drop the boy off at the nearest orphanage, but eventually decided to abide by an unclear urge and do the deed himself. He set a quick pace as they walked along the streets of the poor port town, as if to prove to himself that he doesn't care whether the boy can keep up or not, but glanced back every few moments to make sure that he does.

"Where are we going?" asked Henry.

"I'm going to put you in a place for children who don't have parents." Killian decided not to soften the truth for him. The sooner he realized that he had no one, the sooner he would learn to adjust. He couldn't hope to be found by his mother some day, the pirate thought, knowing that his mother would never break free from her new life.

Henry seemed to be baffled for a second, and Killian was glad for it. If the boy would try to argue, it would be so much easier for him to dismiss him as an annoying, immature creature that can bring him no good. So much easier to leave him here, in this place, and forget all about him. But he only nodded, successfully wrapping his mind around the new idea of his loneliness. Killian stopped walking, and they stood in silence in the warm air of the end of the summer. There was something about this boy, his simple acceptance of any worsening in his conditions. He was a survivor. It must be running in his blood, thought Killian, remembering his mother's boldness.

He couldn't believe the decision that was ripening in his head.

A few moments later, they began walking in the opposite direction. "Did you forget the way?" Henry asked. Killian grumbled, still shocked.

"No, boy, I changed my mind." He said, not looking at him. "You stay with me until we find a better place for you."

Henry didn't reply, and the captain was glad for that. The last thing he needed was to explain himself any further to the four-year-old. As if it was not bad enough that he had to explain himself to his crew. Some ancient part of his brain growled that he didn't have to explain anything to anybody, he was the captain and it was his ship. He could bring eleven children on board and they would have to put up with it. But he knew that this was more than a whim. By deciding to hold on to the boy, he was in fact doing something that could be interpreted as presenting a successor. And he couldn't let them think that. It had to be very clear that the boy was only staying until he could find a suitable arrangement for him, sooner better than later.

-xxx-

present day

It was one of the coldest winters the Jolly Roger's crew had ever known. Icy winds blew, the rain was pouring and nearly half the crew was below deck, coughing, hallucinating, feverish.

"Henry!" hollered the captain from across the deck, and the ten-year-old boy shielded his eyes from the rain with his hands and ran towards him. "Climb and ask Waters if he sees land, I can't hear him from here," Killian yelled to be heard over the roaring wind. Henry nodded and began climbing up the mast.

Long hours had passed before they met land. By the time they arrived, the storm had weakened into a drizzle with freezing winds, and the lights in the windows of the port town seemed warm and inviting. The pirates were slowly flowing down to the dock and into the streets of the town. Killian saw many of them skipping the tavern and entering directly to the brothel. Priorities.

He looked over to Henry, whose clothes were soaking wet. "Let's grab ourselves some supper, boy." He offered. Henry enthusiastically joined him. After a short exploration, they were immediately seated in the nearest pub they could find, and it wasn't long before two steaming bowls of brown stew were placed on the table in front of them. As Henry was devouring his food, trying to evenly spread the meat chunks from the stew throughout the entire meal but ending up eating all of them first, he suddenly said, "I know this place."

"This pub?" Killian asked, doubtfully. The Jolly Roger hadn't been in this area of the enchanted forest for years.

"This town," Henry shrugged as he slurped the liquids from the bottom of the bowl. Killian laughed at his obvious lack of manners, fitting a boy who grew up on a pirate ship.

"All the port towns look alike, boy."

"Right," Henry finally relented, agreeing to let go of his intuition. After all, over the last six years, the boy had been to countless different port towns. With a stop every few weeks, either for restocking the inventory or for receiving payment for a mission, the boy must have been to more realms than most adults had. He knew how to handle a sword, how to navigate using the stars, how to tie the ropes in the appropriate forms and how to deal with rough weather conditions. This was not a bad life for a boy, Killian often told himself. A life of thrills and adventures, of independence.

He loved the boy, he had already allowed himself to admit it a long time ago. Though he wasn't the most useful addition to the crew, his presence eventually caused the rest of the men to be on their best behavior, wanting to teach him how things are done in a proper manner. And he was smart. A capable boy and a loyal companion.

The unpleasant weather sent them back to the ship without their usual stroll around the town. They settled in the captain's cabin, and Henry pulled his nearly finished book from under the thin pillow. From the moment the boy realized that the strange symbols on the page withheld knowledge, and moreover - stories, there was no stopping him. While Killian thought it was quite a waste of time to teach the boy how to read when he could teach him instead how to quickly draw a knife out of his boot or how to set sail during a storm, Henry insisted that they would read together every night. It was rare for the boy to act so stubbornly, and the captain complied, soon learning that his compliance had driven Henry to put great effort into his sailing studies as well, wishing to please him.

Now, when the boy could read all on his own, Killian found that he quite missed the days when Henry still needed his help. He observed the boy's face carefully. Still a child, indeed, but not the baby he took under his wing all those years ago. The sun and the wind had left their marks on him, his skin tanned and freckled, and his expression was wise and determined way beyond his years. Life on the sea wasn't easy, but what a man it was going to make out of him! Killian felt pride at the mere thought. He pulled out a book of his own out of the impressive library he so carefully built over the years and began reading it, not paying as much attention to the words as he did to Henry, through frequent glances over the edge of his book.

It was late at night when the boy finally fell asleep, his book still in his hand, his mouth slightly open. The captain fondly looked at the sleeping boy, and steadily slipped away deep into his own thoughts. About the unexpected small family he suddenly found himself in, about the long anticipated family he almost had, about the terrible morning it was all taken away from him. How the other pirates boarded his ship with their swords drawn, how he sent Milah to hide below deck, how one of them found her there and slashed her throat, killing her and their unborn child. How he came looking for her when they've won the fight, finding her cold and unresponsive.

The longing that washed over him was all-consuming. He missed her touch, her scent, her voice, her warmth. He almost regretted thinking about her, because the desire for something that didn't exist anymore was boiling deep in his stomach, resembling thirst or hunger. He got up to get his flask from the desk drawer and swigged, only to find it nearly empty. Grumbling, he gently took Henry's book and put it away. He took a second blanket from the cabinet and covered him. The nights were cold. He then blew out all the candles but one and went out again, swallowed by the shadows of the streets.

The doors of the brothel were opened to a crack, but the lounge was dark and quiet. He was too late, it was nearly morning and even the ladies of the night were probably asleep already, recovering from whatever damage his crew members might have caused them. Sighing, he accepted his fate and crashed on a cushioned bench near the entrance. He couldn't go back to the ship and to all the memories that hid below its deck. Not right now, when he felt so alone. In the morning he would come back right after Henry would wake up, pretending to have run mysterious errands around town. For now, he planned to stop struggling with his demons and just let them take over this time. It was a relief of some sort.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed before he heard the light thumping of someone climbing down the stairs. It was a thin woman, dressed in a simple, unrevealing white gown. She looked as if she was looking for something, or for someone. Even though he knew it wasn't possible, he wanted her to be looking for him.

He sat down very quietly, as if he was watching a gazelle. She didn't seem to find what she was looking for, and turned around to leave. Coldness was starting to wash over him again as he began diving back into his despair, and then, suddenly, she noticed him. He didn't know exactly what was it that caught her eye, but he felt as if some providence made her freeze in her place and wait for him to reveal himself to her.

He put his faith in his many years of experience in luring women into his bed, and spoke and moved without thinking. She was a prostitute, he reckoned, so there wasn't much of a challenge. On the contrary, she seemed almost eager to take him to her room. Maybe she worked on commission, he thought in bitter irony. He let his body act, free from thoughts, as if he was caught in a dream. Leaning into her, kissing her, groping her body with his good arm. The room was dark when they tumbled inside, and she turned away from him to light the candles that were spread around it. Eager for feminine touch, he pressed against her back and demanded a response from her body, which came in the form of a satisfying gasp and her melting into his firmness.

He nudged her to turn around to face him, which she seemed willing to do anyway, and first saw her features in the candle light. Her face was gentle, yet tiredness and worry had carved distinct lines around her mouth and between her eyebrows. But there was something else, something that screamed for his attention. He was slowly getting out of the trance, realizing a piercing truth.

"I know you," he said.

Her gray eyes shimmered with something he couldn't tell was panic or excitement. "And I know you," she said, and her tone implied to him that she had recognized him before he had recognized her. "Six years ago my son and I were brought here on your ship," She urged him to remember.

Cold understanding washed over him. Of course. Not only did he remember her - her face was a mature, feminine version of a face he knew as well as his own. Henry's mother was standing in front of him in her nightgown, looking a lot older, a lot tougher, and a lot less helpless. He didn't say a word, waiting for her to lead the conversation.

"You saved my son from the slave traders." She continued. He didn't show any sign of agreement, but she carried on. "You took him yourself. I need to know what happened to him." Tears filled her eyes. He couldn't imagine how much anticipation was finally relieved by simply saying those words to him. How much time she had only wished that she could do exactly that. And the next words he was going to say to her would determine her fate.

"I left him in an orphanage in the next town we docked at." He said. "I can't remember where it was."