Prompted by a conversation with jadepersonaldriscal on Tumblr.


Like with all his scars, Emma tenderly ran her fingers over it with a question in her touch, silently waiting and giving him space to tell her about it or not. She never asked, not out loud anyway. Never pressed him for answers or demanded explanations, though he knew there were a few, like the one she was currently caressing, that made her blood boil and filled her with righteous indignation, the how and what evident in the unmistakable account that remained etched on his skin with only the who and the why left untold.

The pads of her fingers traced over the raised, mottled flesh in the middle of his upper back, causing the skin around it to ripple as a shudder ran the length of his spine. Misinterpreting the reaction, she pulled her hand back and offered a quiet apology before rolling away. Turning onto his side, Killian reached out and pulled her back to him until she was nestled against his chest, her head tucked under his chin as her fingers now wound their way through the coarse hair of his chest.

"It's all right, love," he assured her. "I know you're curious."

"No… I mean, yes. I am curious, but you don't have to… please don't feel like you have to-"

Killian shifted back and placed his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face towards his so he could press a soft kiss to her lips.

"I know I don't have to, Swan," he murmured low, his breath mingling with hers as they lay close together. "I want to. I want you to know everything. It's just…"

The fringe scattered along his forehead was swept away by her hand, which then began to card through the hair at the back of his head. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed tightly, the memories washing over him in waves that made his stomach roll.

"I've had a mark there for as long as I can remember," he told her, his words hesitant and difficult to get out at first. "Though it has been… modified from its original design over time."

"It's… It's a brand, isn't it?" Emma inquired, her voice small and pained.

Killian's eyes fell shut when she pressed her forehead against his, falling silent once more and giving him room to navigate through the tale.

"Aye," he confirmed. "Silver wanted to make sure everyone, including the Jones brothers, knew whose property we were."

He could feel the furrow in her brow from where it rested against his own. Her hand slipped down from the back of his head, and he knew she was tempted to trace over the brand again, his words not matching the remnant of his time spent in Silver's servitude.

"Did you… tamper with it?" she asked. "Try and get rid of it by cutting over it, or something?"

"Silver had it placed where we could not reach it on our own in order to keep us from doing just that," he told her. "And there would have been severe penalties to be paid if we had caused any damage to the other's."

"What about after you were free? When you joined the Royal Navy?"

"I wanted to rid myself of it, but Liam said we ought not to bother with them. What more could Silver do to us?, he'd said," Killian replied, unable to keep the resentment out of his tone. "Why not put it behind us? It isn't as though we have to look at it, right?."

"But it ate away at you," Emma said, knowingly. "Why not ask a fellow officer to-"

"None of them knew," he said, cutting her off. "Liam thought it best to keep our indenture a secret. Even though Silver was dead, we did not want to risk any provisions he might have made to have our debt transferred to another in the event of his death."

Emma shifted her position, tucking herself back into his chest and nestling her cheek against his heart, her hand toying with the wisps along the nape of his neck.

"When I turned pirate," he continued. "I didn't trust any of the crew to come near me with a blade, and Milah refused to put a knife to me."

"What about a tattoo?" Emma asked. "You have several from that time in your life. Why not have one put over it to disguise it?"

"It wouldn't have mattered," he sighed. "I would have known it was there, and besides… tattooing back then isn't like how it is today. The scar would have made things difficult and there was no guarantee the ink would take. Plus…"

"You would have had to reveal it and your other scars to the tattooer," Emma finished for him, perhaps realizing for the first time that none of his tattoos were on his ruined back. "So then," she hedged. "How did the brand go from Silver's mark to what it is now? Did you get caught and branded for piracy at some point?"

"The P doesn't stand for piracy," he corrected, his jaw clenching in preparation of her next question, and the reply that would follow.

Sensing the rage simmering in his veins, and perhaps having already deduced the answer, she gently asked, "What does it stand for?"

"Pan," Killian seethed through his teeth. "It stands for Pan." Inhaling a deep breath to try and calm himself, Killian wrapped his arms tighter around Emma as she did the same. "I'd disobeyed him during one of the errands he'd sent me on. His response was to remind me…"

"Of what?"

"That I belonged to him now."

"You belong to no one," Emma insisted, her voice rough and words clipped from her vehemence.

"That's not true," he replied, prompting her to snap her gaze up to meet his own. A soft smile pulled at his lips as he imparted, "I belong to you. Body and soul."

A mirroring smile stretched across her face until a thought bloomed in the green depths of her eyes. Embedding her teeth into her bottom lip, she reached around and moved his hand so it rested on her upper back, then positioned hers over the spot where his brand resided. Reading the intent in her expression, Killian nodded his consent then rested his forehead against hers once more as her eyes slipped shut.

The skin beneath his palm grew warmer and warmer as did the place under Emma's hand, yet he felt no pain. When her magic receded, he reciprocated her touch, tracing the fresh brand and making out the outline of an anchor; one that matched the tattoo he had inked on his bicep. He didn't need her to tell him what design she'd given him, he already knew even without the pattern her fingertips were drawing.

A swan, of course. Her brand. One he would wear proudly for the rest of his days.