Wow. Sorry for the delay in updates, I've been super busy. My Nigerian dwarf goat just had twin babies (They are so small, like five inches tall and fuzzy all over—soooo cute. hnnnng.) Anyway, their mama rejected them so I have to get up every four hours and bottle-feed them, yes even at three in the morning, so I'm gonna be pretty exhausted. But I'll still try to update regularly. Expect the next update in a week or so.
Your prayers/thoughts would be much appreciated for my baby goats' survival! I sure hope the mama takes them back…
"Loving you is like trying to touch a star, I know I can never reach you, but I can't help but try."
Warm sunlight trickled in through the lichen at the entrance of the cave, teasing Emma's face in a soft warm glow. She shifted against the warmth that enveloped her back, a slow yawn catching her mouth. Slowly, she opened her eyes. And stiffened.
A pair of strong arms were wrapped around her, one around her waist and the other across her stomach, pulling her flush against a firm chest. Hook's nose was buried in her shoulder, the stubble of his chin scratchy against her bare skin, and his warm breath tickled over her collarbone. A shiver curled in the pit of her stomach. She tried to slip her hands under his arms, prying him off of her. But he only inhaled through his nose and slid his arms up over hers, pinning her against his chest. Emma gasped.
"Let go," she demanded.
"Mmm," he murmured into her ear. "But Swan, you're so much more manageable in this position."
Emma growled, "I'll show you manageable." She drove her elbow back into his ribs, satisfied to hear a pained grunt. His grip slackened, and she wrenched out of his arms, rolling to her knees on the cave floor. He chuckled, the laugh coming out raspy and a bit pinched.
"You know, usually I get a different reaction from the women I meet."
Emma just glared at him and brushed the dust from the cave floor off her jeans. "Now what, Captain?" she demanded. "You said you had a way to get back home."
"Oh, I've got a few schemes. But all of them involve having some sort of breakfast first."
Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm not wasting any more time here. I need to get to my son."
"Aye. And I'm sure Henry will be much appreciative if you're not keeling over from hunger."
Emma glared a him a moment. Then she huffed. "Fine. You got a bow?"
He lifted an eyebrow, then gestured to his hook. "Do I look like I have a bow? And since when were you an archer?"
"My mother's taught me a few things." Emma sighed. "Well, fine. Give me your knife, then."
"You expect to bring down Neverland game with this trinket?"
"Never underestimate what Prince Charming and Snow White's daughter can do when she's hungry."
Without waiting for permission, Emma reached forward, snatched Hook's dagger from his belt, turned and marched from the cave. He stood staring after her, a mix between a scowl and a smirk on his face.
Emma trekked across the mountainside, the hot sun beating down against her back, and told herself for the thirtieth time she wasn't abandoning him. As tempting as it was, she had no idea how to navigate this blasted fairy tale land and find a fabled pirate ship all on her own so she could get back to Henry. That was the only reason. That and… she couldn't bring herself to betray him like that again. Not after he'd gone through the trouble of saving her life. Twice.
She fiddled with the dagger in her hands as she walked, drawing it from the leather sheath and turning it so it gleamed in the morning sun. There was a soft inscription on the base of the blade, near the hilt, in flowing etched script. Emma lifted it to her eyes and squinted.
"Never give up."
Hmm. That would explain a lot about Hook's obsession with vengeance. Emma turned the knife over in her fingers, surprised to see a second, smaller inscription on the back, in gentler, swirling script.
Milah.
Something tightened in the back of her throat.
"It was hers," said a deep voice behind her.
Emma yelped and whirled around, raising the dagger out of instinct. Hook caught her hand before she could do something stupid, a tight grin on his face. The smile didn't reach his eyes.
"What—did you follow me?" Emma spluttered.
He shrugged. "Couldn't well have to running off and leaving me again, now could I?" He applied some pressure to the tendons of her wrist, forcing her to release her hold on the dagger. He caught it in his other hand, not releasing his grip on her.
"The dagger," he said softly, turning it over in his hand. Milah's name glinted in the brilliant sunlight. "It was hers. I gave it to her for our one-year engagement. Popped it from a sea merchant on the way to Terraluga. She was never good with it, but she was determined to learn." He smiled, the old mist of memory clouding his blue eyes. "Told her it was blessed by a sun spirit." He chuckled. "She believed me. Told her no harm could come to her whenever she carried it. And none did. That day… with the Crocodile, she… she dropped it." His voice faltered, and his fingers slid, one by one, off her wrist, his hand dropping to his side. Emma felt her heart begin to ache, and she couldn't describe why. Without thinking, she reached out and laid a hand on the pirate's arm.
"Hey," she said, softening her voice. "I know what it's like to lose someone. The only thing I had left from my parents when I dropped into this world was a tacky blanket." She took a deep breath, beating back a flood of remembered pain. No. Mary Margaret and David were here now, they'd never abandoned her, she was wanted. Hook… he had no one. No one but his crocodile to hunt down. And what would happen to his life once he found him? Where would he go? To whom could he go?
"Look," she said, tightening her grip on his arm. "It's easy to try and cover up all that pain with hatred. To put a face to your scars, someone you can focus your bitterness toward. But revenge doesn't heal anybody. It's like putting duct tape over an open wound. It may seal it for a moment, but as soon as you rip it off—as soon as you take your revenge—you're bleeding on the inside all over again. You've built your life around something that will never bring Milah back. Once you take Gold down, what's next? You'll have nothing. Nothing to go back to, nothing to help get your feet under you again."
"Swan." He reached up, closing his hand over her own, and slowly removed hers from his arm. "You may think you understand me, but please don't try to play doctor. You have your parents. Your wounds are all stitched up, shiny and pink. You don't have to walk around with a gaping hole in your chest where a monster reached in and ripped your heart out." He sighed, dropping his eyes from hers, and turned away. "You can't fix me, Swan. I'm already gone. I died when he took Milah from me. You're looking at a shell. A shell with one purpose, and one purpose only. To catch and gut a crocodile. After that, hell can take me. I'll have nothing else to live for."
Emma bit her lip. "Killian…"
His shoulders tensed at the sound of his real name. But he kept walking, spinning the knife expertly between his fingers. "Come along, love. I'll show you how to make a proper bow."
Hook led Emma up the side of the mountain, pausing only once to lop a sapling from the ground with his sword. As he walked, he began to whittle away at the wood, bending it and strapping it to a slight curve with a long twisted leather strap he tore from the hem of his coat. He handed it back to Emma without turning around. Taking it her hands, Emma felt her jaw fall slack. She marveled at the smooth, effortlessly polished wood, the tension in the drawback, the slight recurve he'd managed to create in the bow. She held it firm between her hands and pulled back on the string, testing the draw. She glanced up Hook.
"What about arrows?"
"Got you covered, darling." He tossed something back to her, which she caught. She turned it over in her hands. It was a thin wooden shaft, about the length of her forearm, with a sharpened tip. She hadn't even noticed him carving it.
"Here." Emma skidded to a stop, almost running smack into his back. He turned and plopped three more arrows into her hands. "That ought to last you for the morning. Now go see if you can't pop a deer or something, I'm going to go set us some traps."
He turned and began walking further into the woods, then stopped and turned back to her once more.
"Oh, and here. If you still want this." He tossed her the knife, and she caught it by the leather sheath. She looked down at it, her heart tightening. He'd really entrust her with something so precious? But when she looked back up, opening his mouth to say he should take it back, but he was already walking away. Emma looked after him for a moment, until he disappeared into the shadows, then turned back and faced the trees.
The sunlight slanted in through the leaves high above, tossing dappled patterns over the leaf-strewn floor. Emma tucked three of the arrows into her belt, then notched the fourth into the bowstring, holding it ready. During her time in the Enchanted Forest, Mary Margaret had taught her enough about archery that she could strike most targets. She had her mother's innate skill. She only hoped it was enough to bring down some sort of meat creature today in Neverland. She could hear her stomach growling, and focusing on a direct solution to this simple problem kept her mind from wrapping around Henry.
She made her way through the trees, her boots soundless against the soft forest floor. She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of life. What kind of creatures even lived in this realm? A deer would be nice, but Hook had said something about a werecat. Wonderful. What other kind of monster critters roamed these forests? Her hands tightened around the bow.
A twig snapping off to her right made her tense. Slowly, she crouched down, turning. She squinted through the trees. At first, she saw nothing. Then her eyes caught the slightest movement through the undergrowth. An ear flickered, then a tail. She made out the dappled coat of a deer, glowing in the sunlight, moving with lazy grace over the forest floor as the creature picked at the grass. A smile twisted her lips.
Sorry, Bambi, she thought. She sure hoped it wasn't actually Bambi. Who knew what kind of creatures were wrapped up in this fairy tale world.
Pressing the thought away, she lifted the bow, drawing back the arrow so that the notched end of the shaft rested against her cheek. She adjusted her aim, holding the deer just below the sharpened tip of the arrow. Her muscles tensed to release.
"What do you think you're doing here?"
Emma swore, accidently releasing the arrow in her surprise. It smacked against a tree just behind the deer, and the creature's head snapped up. With a disgruntled snort it turned and bounded away into the forest.
Emma turned, ready to chew out whoever had lost her her breakfast, and looked up into the face of a child. She blinked. He was no older than Henry, ten or eleven at most. His tousled brown hair hung down into his sparkling blue eyes, and he had that same crooked grin that infuriated her so much about Hook. He wore a simple brown tunic cinched with a leather braided belt just above his belly-button. He fisted his hands on his hips and cocked his head down at her.
"Oi, oldie. I asked you a question."
Emma stared at him. "Oldie?"
The boy grinned, sporting crooked teeth. "You a grown-up. You don't belong here in Neverland. So I ask you again. What you think you're doing here? You working with the pirates? You here to spy on us? Here to take our game?"
"Uh." Emma looked down at the bow in her hands. "I'm hunting for breakfast."
"Ah. So it's the game. Y'know, I know someone who'd be real anxious to meet you."
With that, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Almost at once, three more figures dropped down from the trees, thudding to the ground to encircle Emma. She lurched to her feet, pivoting. They were all children, the oldest one no older than nine. She frowned, but her danger sense had caused her heartbeat to quicken. She looked back at the oldest boy.
"Look, kid. I don't want any trouble. My friend and I just need to get back to a pirate ship. Then we'll be on our way."
"Oh-ho?" The boy looked positively thrilled. He cocked his head and turned to the fourth—and smallest—boy of the party. "Tootles, go tell boss we got a pirate gal for him. He'll be thrilled." He turned back to Emma and reached back into his pocket. Emma took a step back, a flood of premonition surging through her.
"What are you—"
A fistful of sparkling pink powder exploded in her face. She coughed, dropping to one knee. Her head started to spin. The kid with the crooked grin was growing harder and harder to focus on.
"What… what did you…"
"All right, boys, let's bring her in."
And with that, Emma saw stars explode in front of her eyes. With a defeated "Oof" she pitched over backwards and slumped to the ground. The treetops spun and swirled high above her, and then darkness rushed in.
Emma groaned. It felt like she had a hangover. Her body ached and her head hurt like something she wouldn't say in front of Henry. Henry!
Her eyes snapped open. She tried to sit up, but a surge of nausea made her stagger back, clutching at her mouth. Her head spun. She waited for it to clear, before slowly propping herself up onto her elbows, squinting around through watery eyes at her surroundings.
She lay on a hammock, made of some kind of animal skin, swinging from what looked like thick tree branches. Emma sat up, slowly. Umbrellas hung from the earthen side of the dugout, side by side with bows and arrows and sling shots and short swords and daggers. Emma let her gaze travel up to the ceiling. This whole place was made of crisscrossed branches and roots, draped with skins and dirty clothes and hammocks of all sorts.
"Ah. Someone's awake."
Emma turned toward the door. A young man stood there, one hand on his hip, a sly grin on his face. Emma stared. He didn't look like one of those children at all. He stood tall, a lot taller than her. He looked lean and sinewy, but had that kind of whipcord strength about him that told her he was not to be underestimated. Messy copper hair hung across his forehead, and mischievous blue eyes gleamed beneath arced brows. He looked hardly older than nineteen: handsome features, with a light dusting of hair along the bottom of his jaw.
Emma stared at him as he entered the dugout, trying not to let her heart pound out of her chest. Oh, no. She had a feeling she knew exactly who this was. The way he fingered that wicked-looking dagger at his belt, the way his feet just barely ghosted over the floor, hovering in an uncanny way, like some sort of phantom. He stopped in front of her, his mouth curving in a crooked grin. Then he reached forward, took her hand, and gave a deep, swooping bow, pressing his lips to the backs of her knuckles.
"Welcome to Hangman's Tree, m'lady. The name's Peter." He straightened, his bright blue eyes taking in every inch of her in a way that made her want to shrink back. His grin stretched even wider.
"Peter Pan."