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The interlude in the port town lasted only 24 hours, long enough for the cargo to be unloaded and sold to the highest bidder. Killian parceled out the takings to his crew and they disappeared into the alleyways and whorehouses and taverns, returning at midday next, hungover but in high spirits. They sang and swayed their way back on board. The men had washed, after a fashion, and fought, and fucked. The fighting had taken its toll on the men – gashed lips, split knuckles, bloodied noses – and Emma felt an immediate urge to help them, heal them. But that would mean admitting to a whole ship of men that she had magic. They could heal on their own.

Still, these rough, hungover men were all that passed for Killian's family, and she felt the pressure of her knowledge: that he had family, family that wanted him, in Cath Harbour. Mac's parents were alive, living in that house on the square, with eight growing, blue-eyed boys that would one day become Killian's allies.

Hook took Emma's arm and walked her back up the gangplank to the ship. The crew quieted a touch to watch her, long hair shining and Eternity Stones still glittering at her throat. Hook had explained nothing about her presence to his crew, simply expecting them to fall in with whatever he decided. He had been their captain for over a century by now, and their loyalty was not even a question.

Smee carried the soap and hairbrush and dresses and shoes and cloak that Hook had bought for her, and he disappeared below deck to store her things. Emma cringed to think of Smee rifling through her underwear and her few personal belongings. Everything she had, Hook had given her. She was utterly dependent on him, for her safety, her food, her lodgings and with luck, her way back to her own timeline. She resented every moment of it. She resented him.

Emma expected him to guide her below deck, as he had done for the past few weeks. But instead he steered her towards the helm. She stood by as he discussed their course with an unusually well-spoken sailor by the name of Frenen. Frenen advised Hook that another of George's warships were scouring nearby port towns for him; a rider had arrived in port that morning to warn Hook that The Excelsior, George's flagship, was about 15 miles up the coast, docked and taking on supplies.

"The Excelsior? Now that would be an incredible prize…" he trailed off from his scheming when he felt Emma tense at his side. He shifted his eyes just enough to take her in: disapproval wafted from her just as surely as the scent of the perfumed oil she had used in her hair. Disapproval and something else – concern? – that pulled Hook up sharpish. "Why don't we send a small party to scope her out."

Frenan nodded and turned to carry out his captain's orders. Hook pulled Emma tighter against him, his attention everywhere else - on the re-loading of his ship with supplies, a not-entirely-good-natured fight breaking out on deck – until he noticed that Emma had stopped breathing. He inched himself back from her to take in her face, set in a frown and looking distant. She didn't, at least, look particularly angry with him, so he shrugged it off and called to Smee to take more care with the water barrels.

Emma herself was trying to dredge up a half-remembered, overheard conversation. She's lying in Killian's lap, his hands strumming through her hair, and then she startles as he booms out a laugh above her. David is leaning forward over the campfire, loudly telling Mac and Oona and Snow and Regina a story about Hook, long ago, back in the Enchanted Forest before the curse struck. David had been fighting to free Snow from George, when the king had been forced to dash off to his council because Captain Hook had taken and then burned his most expensive warship. Killian and David were both laughing now, at how they had been unknowingly helping each other long before they ever met. "Aye, taking The Excelsior, that was something. My crew and I celebrated for weeks. I lost not a single man in destroying that arse's best ship," Killian laughs as Emma smiles absently in his arms, her thoughts consumed by how very good his hands feel along her face and scalp.

Emma gasped. She knew by now that Hook taking ships was no laughing matter. What had she been thinking? Stupid, empty-headed, besotted idiot that she had been. She should have been paying attention, not stretching like a satisfied cat as he had petted her. How many men crewed a ship like The Excelsior? Men just like Killian had been… naval officers, perhaps naïve or indebted or simply guided by a sense of duty, and Hook was going to slaughter them. Slaughter them and laugh about it later, with his love's body stretched across his lap, a tale to be told over a campfire to friends. She knew how that story ended: Killian had picked her up and carried her up the stairs of Mac and Oona's house to a warm, soft bed. She had awoken from an intoxicating, erotic dream to find Killian's head between her wide open thighs, his tongue gently teasing her, his blue eyes watching her, waiting for her to wake up and scream his name. Which she dutifully had done.

Who was he, this man, her man? His blinding smile and sparkling eyes and smoldering sincerity had scrubbed all the blood from his history. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When he said he'd been dark, been a villain, had she listened? No, she'd made excuses for him. Accepted that he'd changed. He had killed, but he had killed for her: the men in their apartment in New York, the men in Mac and Oona's house, the men in the alleyway, the men camped above Cath Harbour… And yes, he had changed. But had she bargained on all of this? What did Emma Swan, a relatively uneducated orphan from the Land Without Magic, know of pirates? A fuckload more than she had a few weeks ago, that's what.

Hook kept a close watch on Emma via peripheral vision. She had stood still and tense at his side but had now begun to breathe rapidly, shallowly. Those luscious breasts were pushing against her gown and retracting with every inhalation and exhalation. No matter how arousing the view, Hook recognised that his wife/mistress/prisoner was hyperventilating, and he finally turned to give her his full attention.

"Emma, love, are you all right?"

Her eyes flew to his, slightly wild and definitely spooked. She looked like she was taking the measure of his soul, and he felt fairly certain he was not measuring up to whatever the criteria were. He narrowed his eyes and appraised her, not allowing himself to buckle under her scrutiny.

"You appear unwell, Ms Swan," he said in a low voice. He tucked her firmly against his side and turned her towards the hatch that led to his quarters. "You need a rest. I imagine that your condition has taken more of a toll on you than you realise."

Oh, hell, yes it has, Emma thought wryly. I'm pregnant by Captain Hook, and now I'm stuck with Captain Hook, and having sliced and stabbed his way through two ships, he was about to massacre the crew of yet another. By the time her shock and loathing lifted enough for her to recognise her surroundings, Hook had settled her into his bed with a fresh jug of water nearby. He laid her back across the pillows and stroked his hand along her forehead and down her face with a look of such unguarded concern that Emma wondered, if she slipped his reading glasses onto his face, if he'd become Killian in an instant. Hook let his fingers wander into her hair, following the waves down past her collarbone to where they rested over her breasts. She sensed his breathing picking up speed. "Do you need anything, Emma?" he asked in a quiet voice, one that fully expected to be turned down.

God help her, he looked delicious: all black leather and bright blue eyes rimmed with kohl and dangerous sharpness. Emma melted. Who was she kidding? There wasn't much left that Merlin's little time-travel trick could show her that would change her heart where Killian was concerned. At some point, she'd already forgiven him all of this. She wanted him desperately, despite the fact that he was about to attack another ship – or maybe because of it. She needed everything he had to give, truth be told, and quite a lot that he didn't yet know he possessed.

"Mmmm," Emma murmured, letting one of her hands trail over his scruff. "I need a kiss." She paused and let her fingers slide into his hair. "I think you need a kiss, too, Captain." She pulled him so close that his eyes dominated her field of vision, rested her forehead against his, and gazed at him through her lashes. She couldn't help the smile that played on her lips; he would never resist this. He loved her. She would have her kiss and be home in moments.

"Emma," Hook whispered, drawing his arm around her waist. "You are so bloody beautiful." He stroked his thumb over her lower lip and seemed to take in every detail of her face. His fingers slid down her cheek, her throat, meandered through her hair and played down the strands until they settled over the tops of her breasts. Emma's smile only grew wider: he is so gone, she let herself close her eyes for a moment, only to reopen them big and wanting for effect. Emma knew exactly how to play this man and she had no intention of holding back. She needed that kiss. "You are perfection, love." He brought a loose handful of her hair to his face and breathed in, then settled his gaze back on her eyes. "I'll give you that kiss, Emma." He brought his lips just a feather's-width away from her own. "But you're mine," she felt his hand trailing lightly over their daughter, "both of you."

Emma did not have a chance to let his words sink in before his lips were on her, gentle only for a moment and then increasingly passionate, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and tugging her mouth open. Emma opened her lips for him almost from habit, before the cold reality of the situation dawned on her: no pulse of light, no homecoming, and no habit as she had never kissed this man before in her life. She whipped her hand from his hair and pushed the palm of her hand into his chest, shoving his back just far enough to break the kiss. She stared at him in open shock. "It didn't work!" she panted. "How… why didn't it work?"

Wordlessly, Hook chased after her lips and stole another kiss, this one tingling all the way to her fingertips and toes. His tongue touched hers and she felt him use the grip on the back of her neck – when had that happened? – to tilt her head and explore more deeply. Her hand remained flat against his chest, but she made no attempt to push him away again. He continued kissing her, and she continued to kiss him back, until she realised that her back was pressed into the mattress and his hook was stealthily unlacing the front of her dress. She tried to push him back; he resisted, but only for a moment, finally releasing her mouth.

"I'm still here," she whispered shakily.

"Yes," he grinned as he unwound the last of the bow that had held the front of her dress together. "So you are. Here we are together." Avoiding her eyes, his hand smoothed over her breast where her dress has loosened and his thumb slipped beneath the fabric to circle a nipple. He lowered his face to her chest, moved aside the silk and cotton blocking his way, and let his tongue trail across her breast and along the path his thumb had just taken. Emma sucked in a sharp breath. "Emma," he mumbled against one tight nipple, "Did you really think I'd let you go?"

With that she pushed him hard in the chest and this time she managed to wind him slightly and put some distance between his wicked tongue and her weakening self-control. She sat up so quickly that he had to duck back further to avoid being headed in the face. His hand, however, was still on her breast, stroking and teasing. "The rules of this game seem to involve me wanting to send you back to myself. But I don't want that. I just want you. I even want her," he nodded to her bump, "though I admit I wasn't so sure at first."

"So you believe me?" she asked breathlessly. "You believe that I'm your true love, that this is your child?"

Hook let his eyes rake over her and finally found her eyes again. "Aye, I believe that I love you, that this baby is mine. On the balance of probabilities… perhaps my true love," and here he shrugged.

Emma let out a little sob and she let herself hammer against him once with her fist. "Then how can you keep me here?"

Hook let his hand trail further beneath her dress, his calloused fingers tickling over her bare ribs and abdomen. "I suppose I want you, and I don't want to let you go." His fingers began to trail lower, his hook parting her dress and ripping almost imperceptibly through her shift to clear the way for his hand. "Shall we see if you want me, too?"

Emma rediscovered her self-control in a blaze of anger. She knew precisely what his fingers would discover if allowed to continue on their current trajectory, and she doubted that the evidence of her desire would do her any good at all. She pushed both of his hands out to the sides so fast that the sharp tip of his hook left a deep scratch across her hip.

"Oh, godsdamnit, Emma… are you all right?" Hook reached for a clean piece of linen and pressed it against the bleeding cut. "That was too close to the babe…" Emma noticed his hands shook as he held the cloth against her. He reached for his flask of rum on the desk and uncorked it with his teeth. Emma stopped breathing, the memory of him doing the same on the beanstalk hitting her hard. He poured some ono the cloth and covered the scratch again with the disinfecting alcohol; she hissed and pressed the back of her head against the bed, closing her eyes to block the pain. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Wasn't your fault," she replied through gritted teeth.

"No," he answered sharply. "The wound was not my fault. I was apologising for adding to the pain with the rum. That cut is deep and entirely your own doing. If it had been a bit deeper," he shuddered a breath, "The baby…" he didn't finish.

Emma opened her eyes again and considered him for the thousandth time, trying to figure him out. "The baby is fine, and I will be as well. Thank you," she said softly.

"I will thank you to take greater care with our child. I don't want the little thing stabbed to death in its mother's womb," he huffed.

Oh. Some fatherly instincts, then. Emma smiled, even with the insult to her pre-parenting skills. "I'll be more careful," she nodded.

"Also, you don't eat enough," he added in a temper.

Emma pulled herself up on her elbows. Hook had begun lacing up the front of her dress and was apparently considering her body in a more… dare she think it… husbandly sort of way. Less of the illicit pirate lover.

"Anything else?"

Hook stopped lacing, having reached the top of her dress. He left his hand pressing the clean cloth across her cut over the fabric of her dress. "You don't rest enough. You carry heavy objects even though I've told every man on board to stop you doing so. Haven't you yet noticed the whole-ship uproar that occurs when you try to move boxes about on deck?" Emma had, on reflection, noticed that picking up anything heavier than a plate of food sent frightened pirates rushing to her aid. She had found it annoying; now she realised that it was order.

Emma reached out for his face, as she had back at the beginning of this conversation. "Hook, I don't eat, and I don't really sleep, because I'm sad. I miss Killian. And I know that he misses me. I miss my son, and my parents."

A knock on the door interrupted her before she could layer on the emotional pressure. "It's Frenan," a voice called above the hatch. "We've reached The Excelsior, captain, and I have a report."

"A moment, please," Hook called back. He turned to Emma. "Keep pressing on that," he nodded to her hip.

"Hook, please, you can't mean to keep me aboard as you sack King George's flagship…"

"I think we have established that I will keep you safe, Emma," he shot back, eyes flashing. "You needn't worry yourself, and really shouldn't, for the babe."

With that he bolted up the steps and out of the hatch. Emma dropped her arms to the bed in frustration. He was relenting, true, but far too slowly. At this rate she'd be going into labour before she managed to get him to send her home to Killian.

When she climbed the stairs an hour later, she found Hook, Smee, Frenan and two other, older men gathered around a hastily-constructed table made up of two crates. Hook and Frennan sat where the deck rose a step towards the helm. The other three crouched, listening intently. Emma sighed and looked around for a place to sit in the sunshine. She spotted a crate across the deck, shoved up to the balustrade, with a large coil of rope on top. She made her way across the deck, but just as her hand reached for the rope, a sailor snatched it from the crate. She jumped back in fright at the sudden movement, causing a second man to rush forward and steady her. He removed his hands from her the moment she had her feet again, and apologised profusely for having touched her. Profusely and profanely. "Hells, missus, forgive me an' Bastard Pete here. Fuck knows that cap'n 'd have our hands off if he see us letting you hefting up that rope." Pete snorted. "Or touchin' 'er anywhere. You're good as godsdamned dead, Kennel." Emma, Pete and Kennel all looked back across the deck at Hook, who had indeed stood up on the top deck and was staring fire at the three of them.

"I think he saw," Emma said quietly.

"Fucking too right he did. That man sees every godsdamned thing ever happens on this ship," Bastard Pete muttered. "Eyes like a fucking hawk." Emma felt the deck shake as Hook stalked over to them, sword drawn. Despite this, both men stepped in front of her. "She didn't do nuthin', cap'n," Pete protested. "Just stumbled a bit is all."

Bastard Pete, Emma thought, had severely misjudged the object of Hook's wrath. "Stumbled after this guttersnipe knocked into her," Hook growled, pointing the sword at Kennel. "A fall could have tragic consequences for a woman in Miss Swan's condition. Which would have similarly tragic consequences for you lot."

"Captain, these men were only trying to spare me lifting the rope from the box. I was hoping to sit down in the sunshine for a bit."

Emma thought that this would calm him down, but she too had misjudged his mood. Hook reached between Pete and Kennel, grabbing her arm and hauling her towards him. "You should think more carefully about where you place yourself, Miss Swan. There are too many dangers on deck at the moment. Perhaps you should wait below, as I suggested earlier," he all but spat. Emma once again felt herself tearing up. Do not cry in front of him, she repeated to herself, but it was too late and her hormones were too much to fight. Emma felt a couple of tears slide down her face. Hook must be immune to my crying fits by now, she thought.

Kennel made to grab at Hook's arm, but wisely stopped himself. "I was jus' fetchin' Missus a cushion to sit on. I'll make sure she doesn't come to no harm on deck, cap'n."

Hook released her arm. He dug into his coat pocket for a fresh handkerchief and handed it to her. "See that you do, Kennel. Remember my instructions." He turned sharply to rejoin the men planning the attack on The Excelsior.

Pete had already arranged a cushion on the crate and sat Emma down. "Don't you mind 'im, Missus. Bark's much worse than his bite," he smiled at her encouragingly.

"Well, that ain't true, is it?" Kennel barked. "His fuckin' bite is lethal."

Emma thanked the men and let them go about their business. She noticed that Kennel stayed close at any rate. She watched Hook, surrounded by his men, arguing strategies and options, and occasionally taking a swig from his flask. The sun had started to drop behind the horizon. She could still see land to the east, though faintly, and thought that this must be where The Excelsior had made port. A rocky series of islands lay between The Jolly Roger and the shore, no doubt blocking the pirate ship from view onshore.

How had Killian done it, she wondered. How had he managed to convince her that she loved him? How had he made her admit it? She wasn't used to being the one doing the convincing. She had known before they fell through the portal that he loved her. And she had known that she loved him, truth be told, but would never have admitted it. She remembered their first night in the Enchanted Forest, when they made love and she gifted him his hand. Had it been True Love then? When did it shift to an emotion that made fairies swoon and trees glow?

As she watched him plotting and planning, it came to her: strategy. Killian never did anything without an endgame in mind and all the possible countermoves worked out. First, she needed to make a memory charm to steal all thoughts of her from the heads of every man on board. Then she'd need a particular memory potion for Hook. Then… she needed The Villa. It had worked before, on her. And she needed to do it all before the attack on The Excelsior. She know about that event, and there was no way she should be around for it. Hook had to prevail. It was key for him and his crew, and of the utmost importance to her parents, as it weakened and distracted George.

Emma reached one hand behind her back. She remembered Neal's dreamcatcher: she could use that. She let her mind roam through his apartment in New York and snatched it into her hand. She held it before her and it shimmered as she imbued it with the magic to erase the memories of his crew. She could take Hook's memories herself once she had him inside The Villa. She needed to get the charm onto the highest spot on the ship, so that it would reach everyone on board.

"Kennel," she called. "I've made a good luck charm for The Jolly Roger. I know you'll all be going into battle soon, and I fear that Hook will put me off the ship before it…"

"I should fucking hope so, Missus!"

"Yes, well, I wanted to leave behind something to keep you all safe. Could you attach it to the crow's nest for me?"

Kennel gave her a gap=toothed smile. "That's nice o' you, Missus. I will do." He started his long climb up the main mast, Hook watching him all the while. He stood again, dismissing the men around him, and strode back over to Emma. "What's that fool up to now?"

Emma beamed at him and took his arm. "Would you accompany back to your quarters, Captain?"

Hook side-eyed her sceptically, but nodded. "What's going on in that stunning head of yours, Miss Swan?"

She let him open the hatch for her and help her negotiate the ladder. If nothing else, she thought, I need to get off this ship before I'm too huge to make it up and down the steps unaided. Hook guided her to a chair and poured her out a glass of water. "I'll call for dinner to brought down, shall I?" he asked.

"No, Hook, I…" Emma stopped. She patted the seat directly in front of her and held her hands out to him across the table. "I know you're planning your attack for tomorrow, Hook, and I just wanted…" she shrugged gently, self deprecatingly, and he took both of her hands in this one, "I wanted us to be somewhere special, just for tonight. This is a game I've played with Killian. Do you trust me?"

Hook considered her with sharp blue eyes. "I do, yes."

"Then here's how this works. I want you to think of the most wonderful place you can, somewhere you actually know, somewhere you want me to see…" Hook nodded. "You have to close your eyes and really imagine it in great detail," Emma continued softly.

"All right," he said, his eyes closed. Emma squeezed his hand in hers and summoned all her love for Killian, studying Hook's face, reading his thoughts. When she glanced away from him, she gasped. There it was: the softest of sea breezes blew through the open windows of the villa, where they sat cross-legged, facing each other on the four-poster bed. Outside, they were surrounded by nothing but ocean on all sides, an unreal blue and clear for meters under the surface. She could see shoals of fish diving and rising in the water, and a whale breaching in the distance, calling its song across the gentle waves. Tears started down her cheeks again. He's going to think I'm mad, crying at this idyll. "Hook," she breathed, "open your eyes, my love. I think you've brought us exactly where we need to be."

I meant to update you on what's happening back with Merlin and Regina and Killian and David, but this just ran on, so next time...

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