Hook left Emma in the cabin, leaving the door open. He didn't want the girl to think she was bound to a single room. Despite giving her forced sanctuary on his ship, she was not a prisoner. If for some reason, unbeknownst to him, she wanted to return to the island after healing completely from her injured state, he wouldn't keep her regardless of Bae's wishes.
The captain stayed below deck and went to his private quarters. His men would be up soon tending to their duties, and he needed some time to think alone without Smee breathing down his neck and asking questions about the Roger's new guest.
Emma. He requested she call him by his christened name. It sort of stumbled off his tongue without permission, but the phenomena had happened previously in numerous occasions. Before coming to Neverland and travelling the realms where women were plentiful, Hook would find himself a bar wench, a lady of the night, or a willing peasant woman. The charm had slid easily into place and he'd toss around stories of adventure, and they would call him Captain Hook. Always, he told them to call him Killian. Having them scream his name instead of his title increased that intimacy and pleasure he rather liked.
Hook braced himself in front his mirror, scowling. The laces of his trousers started to feel snug, and he wanted to have his release. Being without women for so long, he and his only hand were well acquainted with each other. Many a nights and early mornings, he recalled Milah and her beauty. On some occasion, his late lover was replaced with a faceless, soft-curved woman. Yet, his growing frustration had someone else in mind, and if he were a lesser man, he'd remedy the situation without shame.
Emma was not a woman. She hadn't the lush curves of Milah or the refined, mature splendor of an adult. She was maybe seventeen. She had looked so young to him backed against the wall of the cabin. Baelfire hadn't known her age when Hook asked, but the man was confident in knowing she was still considered a child by Neverland's standards. The idea that he may be twice of Emma's maturity made him feel perverse for responding to her beauty. The little comfort he received was knowing his attraction didn't really originate from her youthfulness. It came from the qualities he found attractive. Her ferocity and stubbornness were jarring, and he found himself rather taken with it. Her quick-witted tongue was impressive, as well, and would keep him and the crew on their toes. Too long he and his crew suffered the mundane life of keeping to the ship to avoid Pan's vicious island of playtime. A little spice on board would do them all some good.
Indeed, the girl had feistiness and spirit in her, but he'd been taken aback by her loveliness. In the cove, he'd seen a pretty but bedraggled girl. Carrying her back to his ship, he'd seen an injured maiden, pale and listless from blood-loss. In the cabin, with her so close and him being able to interact with her, Hook noticed her features were not just breathtakingly fair but uncommon. There were sure to be few people in the world who shared eye color with Miss Emma, and her hair was very flaxen. Her skin most likely preferred to be a milky, almost translucent shade, but the unforgiveable sun had pinked and freckled it.
The girl's eyes, hair, and skin were indeed off-putting, but her bone structure left him questioning her heritage and background. Having once been a gentleman and an officer for the Royal Navy and then later a thief to any realms' monarch, Hook knew aristocracy when he saw it, and he wondered to which higher level of status she belonged to. Was she, herself, royalty or simply nobility? Baelfire told him she was from the Land Without Magic, a realm Hook steered clear from. If she were, how could she communicate with birds? Such a gift was native to only magical realms.
He'd have to speak with her and come to know more of her history. Aside from being a beautiful, fascinating creature, she was still a stranger to him. He had yet to ask for a surname or the specifics of her coming to Neverland.
Hook hovered over his wash bowl and splashed some water in his face, the coolness taking the edge of his discomfort, and he laughed at his foolishness when remembering how annoyed he felt when Emma kept referring back to Bae saving her life. God, Hook would like to think his behavior was merely from not receiving a bloody thank you from the girl. In actuality, he was jealous and had no business to be. Yes, Miss Emma could learn to be more gracious, but her being flattered and impressed by Baelfire's heroism was understandable and certainly more appropriate. Hook should be relieved she didn't direct her gratitude upon him at all.
But he wasn't.
Bloody hell, she was a child. His mind understood that; why hadn't his traitorous prick?
"Captain?" called Smee from the outside the cabin's door.
"Aye?" he grumbled.
"The girl wishes a bath."
Hook squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers trembling to unlace his breeches and angrily wank that cursed image out of his head.
"And you're bothering me with this information because why?!"
"She has not admitted such, but the young lady requires assistance. I'm asking permission to relieve Baelfire of his kitchen duties, so he can help her."
Hook banged his forehead against the mirror. Baelfire, regardless of his ever-developing affection for Miss Emma, was in no way ready to help the ailing lass bathe. The boy was not ready to help any lass bathe.
"Baelfire will keep to the kitchen, Smee. I'll assist Miss Emma."
"Captain. Given the circumstances, wouldn't it be more appropriate-"
"No!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. "Ready Miss Emma's bath. I'll be to her cabin shortly."
"Yes, captain."
Hook stared angrily into the mirror, his eyes slit and mouth twisted. With no preamble, he yanked at his laces and braced himself against the small dresser. As he thrust into his grip, he told himself that he was pirate, a monster, and blood-thirsty for vengeance against the Dark One. He should feel no guilt about his actions or ungentlemanly thoughts regarding Emma. She was a pretty female, and this was his ship and as captain, should be allowed to do whatever to both with no consequence.
When he finished, he rinsed his hand and changed his trousers, the high of his anger and release dissipating. He left his quarters and made way for Emma's cabin that was previously Smee's, much to his first mate's dismay. He opened the door and saw Emma wrapped up in a bed sheet from chin to feet, leaning over the steaming water inside the copper tub.
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. "Ugh! What are you doing here?"
Hook closed the door behind him. "I understand you need help bathing."
"Do I look like I'm two?! Get out!" She secured the sheet tighter around her person and pinned him with a scathing look.
He stepped forward and cleared his throat, lying when he said, "Miss Emma, I don't quite fancy the situation either. The truth of the matter is, you are unable to properly clean yourself in the condition you are in. If you'd prefer, I can always ask a member of my crew to help you. I expect they'd be eager to oblige."
A conflicted expression clouded her features, and he wondered if she was thinking of Bae, a boy closer to her age and someone she more than likely trusted over him.
"I cannot allow Baelfire to help you, Miss Emma," he tested. "He's a boy and unfamiliar with delicate situations such as these. It would be improper."
"And this," she said, her face pinching like she'd eaten something sour, "isn't?"
"I'm a gentleman when the occasion calls for it. Aside from that, I'm a grown man and you've nothing I haven't already seen."
Emma tucked her chin to her chest, looking down at the floor. He closed the distance between them and gingerly tugged on the material. He was not going to rip it from her but wanted her to shed the barrier on her own. From the way she was gnawing on her lips and the increasing redness staining her cheeks, they could both be there for a while.
"Emma," he said, intentionally leaving out the 'Miss'.
Her eyelids shut for a few seconds, and she took a deep breath, the sheet loosening only a smidgen before dropping to her waist. Hook kept his gaze on her face, but in his peripheral he saw her shirt and sling still intact. He assumed her trousers weren't if she felt the need to cover herself.
The sheet then completed its journey to the floor and he saw Emma swallow, her eyes becoming shiny. "I can't get my shirt off," she said thickly.
He pinched the thin, bloodied and tattered material at her uninjured shoulder and then stabbed his hook through it and tore it off her, careful to extract the trapped section underneath her trapped arm which required him seeing her breasts for a few moments.
"You tore my shirt!"
"It was an atrocity," he said, unconcerned. He showed her his hand. "Let me help you in."
She hesitantly grabbed it and lifted her leg to set it into the tub. When her leg sunk into the water, she gasped.
"Is it too hot?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, I just haven't had hot water in a long time." She let go of his hand and bent down, sinking into the water. She placed her good arm over her sling and crossed her ankles, bring her knees close to her torso, preserving her modesty like he hadn't just seen her feminine parts along with all the damage the island inflicted on her the past three months.
Hook rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves to the creases of his arms, divested his brace of the hook, and grabbed the bar of soap Smee must've left on the desk. He scooted up the chair next to the tub and without saying a word, grabbed Emma's left arm from the water and rubbed sudsy circles on her dirt-tracked skin.
"Hey!" She stole back her arm and covered herself again, shooting him a murderous glare.
"Let me wash you working arm, and then you can use it to wash yourself," he said.
She did not offer back her arm but didn't fight him when he took it again and resumed his lathering of her limb. He cradled the warm, wet arm in the crook of his left and messaged the bar of soap into her slim, calloused fingers before dunking the soap into the water and giving her palm and the back of her hand the same treatment. Hook repeated this until he got to her shoulder, and then travelled his ministrations to her back. He scooted her long, pale tresses so they draped over her injured shoulder and pressed the bar of soap into her left shoulder blade, exposing various scrapes and cuts from the island.
Emma stared at him in bemusement when his scrubbing travelled to her back but didn't shirk away. It needed washing, and she couldn't do it by herself, so she bit her tongue. She had to admit, though, that it felt nice. The way he messaged the soap into her hands and arm wasn't unpleasant in the least. Her overworked muscles had needed loosening and direct attention after so many days of climbing trees, cliffs, and swimming.
With his sleeves rolled up, she was able to see the brace encasing his stump and a tattoo on his forearm. There was a feminine name inside a heart and a wavy dagger plunged into the middle of it. How morbid, she mused but stared anyway. The name and the heart seemed more faded than the dagger, like the latter was a more recent addition.
"Who's Milah?" she asked.
He said nothing and Emma was not about to ask again. She knew he heard her, but if he didn't want to answer, she wasn't going to berate him to satiate her own mild curiosity.
"It's pronounced with a long E sound," Hook eventually said.
"Like Mila Kunis?"
"Am I supposed to know who that is?"
Emma shook her head and rested her chin on her knee. "No." She cast him a side glance, biting her lip. "So you've been here for a hundred years."
"The Jolly Roger" he paused to grab a washcloth and dunked it into the water, "has been circling the island for a long, long time."
"You can't leave, can you? Even with the ship, you're stuck."
"Aye."
She craned her neck to face him and asked, "How do you stand it?"
"There's little choice in the matter, lass."
Pan's words from their encounter rang in her ear. He said there would be an opportunity to leave, and she had to take it. Was Hook sitting on some elaborate escape plan? Was Pan planning some voyage for her to get off the island? Why not kill her if she was such a pain in his ass?
Emma wondered if it would be wise to share with Hook what Pan told her at the north spring. Would he care? Or even put in stock into it? She wanted to. She wanted to believe there was a way out of Neverland, especially after what Baelfire and now Hook told her. She didn't want to die hereā¦or not die here.
"So there's no way out," she said, sighing.
"It's not impossible to cross realms as you know since you are here. But to leave, one needs a concentrated kind of magic that opens portals to other realms."
"Realms," Emma whispered, brow furrowed. She just barely wrapped her head around Neverland its magic for God's sake. Hook was telling her there were different un-plotted, unmapped places in the world.
She felt ill...and pissed. There were more places like this?
"From your evident unfamiliarity with such notions, I take it you are from the Land Without Magic and not Misthaven, also known as the Enchanted Forest."
Emma opened her mouth and then closed it, scowling. She leaned back, hinting to Hook she was finished with him washing her back. "Give me the soap and turn around. Or leave, just don't look."
She took the soap and cloth from him and made sure he turned around to face the bed before she lifted her leg on the edge of the copper basin and started scrubbing.
"Have I offended you?" Hook asked, curious amusement in his tone.
"I don't know those realm names, but there isn't magic where I from. It has enough problems as is."
Emma winced when her sling became completely damp, hot water hitting her wound. She would need another makeshift sling to keep her arm and shoulder still. Her eyes then landed on the shredded remains of her shirt. She would need another and would make Hook see that she got one. He tore it, so he would replace it.
She had wanted to trade pearls for clothes with the Piccaninny tribe, but there were always more pressing items she needed like archery lessons and pointers on how to track and trap a prey. Emma had evaded the Lost Boys by being a faster runner the night she sprinted from Pan's camp. Surviving the island, however, was an entirely different battle.
With her free hand, Emma grasped at the tresses and debated whether she should hack them off, but she was vain about them. Even in during her ugly-duckling phase, she took pride in her hair because it had been the only pretty thing about her.
There was no purpose for prettiness in Neverland.
Well, there was Baelfire.
Emma rolled her eyes and reminded herself how her new found ally would remain just that.
"Do you have any hair rinse?" she asked. Back in her humble cave, she had a few precious vials given to her from Tiger Lily as gifts.
Hook chuckled breathily. "Just soap, lass."
She stared at the pine-scented lye soap in her hand and made a face. Maybe if she just put it on her roots until she could return to the island, her hair wouldn't shrivel up and die.
"I need a shirt," she said. "And a new sling."
"I'm sure we can find something for you. Are you done?"
"Almost." She dunked her head under the water, rinsing the suds from her hair and then surfacing. "Okay."
Hook turned around and helped her out of the tub, her skin pinking from being unable to cover herself. She was thankful he kept his eyes on her face and his expression neutral. Emma could tell he was trying very hard and was grateful he stayed true to being a gentleman for the last twenty minutes, but he was still a pirate and had travelled realms wreaking havoc as pirates do. He had not pillaged and plundered her, but that didn't mean other girls were so blessed.
As if reading her mind, Hook said as he wrapped a drying cloth around her, "I will not harm you, Miss Emma."
She wanted to say something smart and sassy back at him like, "As if you could", but in her vulnerable state, her witty comeback would sound stupid. Instead, she smiled a bitter one and replied, "Well, aren't I lucky, captain?"
