Author's Notes: Heyy! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and alerted! You're awesome.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not mine. I'm just having fun.


Chapter 5

"Isn't that fascinating?" the sorcerer continued as he grabbed another biscuit. "I find I'm quite fond of not knowing. Keeps me on my toes, as they say." He nibbled on the end of a biscuit. "Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "I imagine you have many questions."

"Yeah, you could say that," Emma snapped. "What the hell do you mean I'm out of my time?"

"Just that, Miss Swan," he said. "Somehow, you have fallen backward in time."

Killian held up a hand. "Hang on," he said. "I thought you said that travelling through time was impossible?"

"Yes."

"Well, obviously it's possible, otherwise Emma wouldn't be here."

"Quite."

"Then there must be a way to send her back. Doors open both ways, mate."

"Yes, I suppose they do," the sorcerer agreed. "This door, however, I fear is locked."

"Locked?" Emma strode forward and placed both palms flat on the table. "What do you mean locked? Unlock it."

"Some things are beyond my power. I'm only an apprentice, after all."

Emma frowned. She stared at the sorcerer, eyes narrowed. Something he'd said made her brain itch. The man could create a portal with a flick of a wand. How much more complicated could time-travel really be? Wait. An apprentice. He was only an apprentice.

"You're kidding me," she said. "You're the sorcerer's apprentice?"

He smiled. "Yes."

"As in Merlin?"

"The very same."

"Merlin?" Killian repeated. "He's nothing but a legend."

"I assure you, Captain, he is very real."

"Well, where the bloody hell is he, then?"

"Unavailable, I'm afraid." The apprentice leveled a look at Emma that she didn't understand. It was a strange mixture of knowing and curiosity, and perhaps, even the smallest sense of suspicion. Then the old man blinked, and he smiled kindly as he rose from his chair. "Fortunately, however, he told me that this day would come. That you, Emma, would arrive on my doorstep in search of a way back to your time. I was asked to give you this."

He walked to an old trunk that sat at the end of his bed. Withdrawing his wand once again, he gave it a single, sharp flick. The sound of dozens of tumblers falling into place filled the little cabin as the trunk glowed white brightly but briefly. The lid opened with a quiet whine and the sorcerer bent with a huff to rifle around in the contents. Emma watched with wide eyes as the old man's arm continued to sink into the depths of the chest. Surely the chest wasn't that deep?

It was almost as if it was magically bigger on the inside.

"Ah!" the apprentice finally grunted. "Here it is." He pulled out an object from the chest. Emma only caught a flash of gold before it was hidden by his robes. "Forgive the mess," he said. "I haven't had the time to reorganize my chest in decades." He straightened up, his back creaking as he did so, which caused him to huff in annoyance as he walked back to the table. "Here," he said, setting the object on the table. "This belongs to you."

"And hourglass?" Killian said. "How is that supposed to help her?"

"I don't know."

"Helpful."

Emma reached forward to touch the hourglass. Much like the door the apprentice had created, the hourglass was of equal craftsmanship. The two glass orbs were thin and delicate. Gold spun in thick rope-like handles to surround the hourglass. She frowned as she tapped the top globe filled with sparkling blue sand. Not a single grain fell.

"Why isn't it moving?" she said. "Hourglasses measure time. This one's . . . frozen."

"Yes, curious, isn't it?" the apprentice leaned forward to peer at the hourglass as though he'd never seen it before. "Time exists in a loop around you, Miss Swan."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that, at some point, you will return to your own time."

"How?"

"That, m'dear, I do not know."

"Then what use is this thing?" She tapped the hourglass again, but the grains remained frozen. "I need to go home."

"And you will. It is simply, well," he smiled slightly, "a matter of time." The apprentice reached into the pockets of his cloak. "However, if there comes a time where you wish to return to your realm, despite the different era, I will give you this."

He held out his hand. In his palm was a bean that sparkled like a clear gem. Killian's eyes widened. "That's a magic bean," he said. "You can travel to whatever realm you wish with one of those."

"Yes," the apprentice nodded. "And they are growing to be increasingly rare these days. Very few giants are willing to place their trust in humans." He placed the bean into Emma's hand. "I am willing to extend that trust to you, Miss Swan."

Emma closed her hand around the bean. It was slightly warm to the touch and a light, heady feeling rushed through her. "Uh, thanks," she said. She glanced at the hourglass. "Guess that's it then."

She stood, the bean in one hand and the hourglass in the other. Killian placed a hand on her back as he led her to the door, a fact that both annoyed and soothed her. She didn't like the idea of needing his comfort just as much as she appreciated the warmth of his hand. Once they were outside she looked at the surrounding trees and blue sky with new eyes. This was it. It was real.

She couldn't go home.

This was it for her, then. The Enchanted Forest. The Renaissance Fair. This was it.

Emma had never been more terrified in her life.

"Miss Swan."

Killian's hand on her back flexed as she turned around. The apprentice stood in his doorway, looking like a genial old farmer with the exception of his sharp eyes. "Perhaps you could indulge me with a question of my own," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Just how did you come to be here?"

"What, your boss didn't tell you?"

"Believe it or not, he actually tells me very little."

Emma sighed. She hesitated only a moment before answering. What harm could it do? "There was a kid," she said. "He had this pen. One second I'm there, the next I'm here. Why?"

The sorcerer smiled slightly. "An old man's curiosity."

Emma's eyes narrowed. There was a nagging feeling in her mind that the man knew more than he was telling. He knew about the pen. Did he know the boy, then?

"What do you know about it?" she asked.

"Nothing that will help you, I'm afraid."

He wasn't lying. Part of Emma wanted to push for answers. The other part, the part that she knew she would give in to, wanted to run. So when Killian pressed gently on her back to urge her to move, she did not fight him. She went straight for their horse. She placed the hourglass in one of their saddlebags, but slipped the bean into her jacket pocket, zipping it closed.

Killian was quiet as they both climbed into the saddle. There wasn't a hint of flirtation as he reached around her to grab the reins. He turned the horse sharply and immediately spurred the animal into a canter. They rode hard and fast until Emma was sure the horse would keel over, and it was then that Killian abruptly dropped onto the ground. He led the horse at a sedate, almost contemplative place, leaving Emma alone in the saddle with her thoughts.

Her most prevalent thought, the one that she inevitably came back to, was what the hell was she supposed to do now?

She had no way to go home. Yes, she had a magic bean. Because of course, those were real now. Magic beans. Magic. That was a thing.

Funny. She literally had a magical solution to her problem, and even that wasn't enough to fix things completely. Because, yes, she could use the bean to go back to her world, the Land Without Magic, but it wouldn't be her world. Not really. She would be living three hundred years in the past, and that was truly a different world all in itself.

It left her with her only option. Staying. Here. In the Enchanted Forest Renaissance Fair.

What the hell was she to do here?

What would she do for money? She doubted that a bail bonds person was needed or wanted, and if the position was open, she had a feeling she would be fighting against three centuries of backward sexism. Women here were expected to stay at home, marry, and have children.

Yeah, cross her off that list. That wasn't happening.

She sure as hell wasn't going to whore, and she definitely was not going to steal.

She couldn't live here. It was that simple.

Which, of course, only meant that she had to find another way home.

Time travel was supposed to be impossible, but here she was. Obviously, it was possible. Screw the damn sorcerer's apprentice—don't think she hadn't seen that broom by the door, she'd seen Fantasia—he'd said that she would go back, didn't he? He just didn't know how, or when, and on that note, she believed him.

But he knew something about that pen. Maybe she could find it.

Killian stopped walking when they reached the very same place they had camped last night. Emma mechanically slipped from the horse, giving the animal a gentle pat on the neck as she tried to come up with a plan to find the pen. She'd simply need to start asking questions.

She thought about returning to the tavern as she gathered wood for the fire. Perhaps there she could find some answers. Someone had to know something about magical pens, right? This was a land of magic. Surely a magical pen wasn't the craziest thing she could be searching for.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

Emma's eyes snapped toward him. Killian recognized the look. She was tense like a wild animal ready to bolt. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"This, being trapped here," he said. "You're not just going to accept it."

"How can I?" Emma demanded incredulously. "This isn't my home. I don't belong here."

"Well, why not? Why not make a new home? Here."

"And do what? Honestly, what can I do here? I have nothing other than the clothes on my back and an hourglass that doesn't work."

"You've got me."

"Oh, really? Don't you have a ship to get back to?"

"Aye." Killian nodded and then added, quietly, "You could come with me."

He studied her reaction. She opened her mouth like she wanted to laugh. Her lips were curled ever so slightly, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to smile and say it was all a joke. He met her gaze evenly, openly, and watched those pink lips fall slack. Her green eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in a strange mixture of suspicion and confusion.

She didn't trust him. He knew that well enough. It was likely wise of her to keep him at a distance. He was a pirate, after all. But there was something about her, this Swan, that made him remember the lieutenant he used to be, that honorable man who seemed so far in the past that if Killian were to look, it would be nothing but a blur.

When the seconds continued to pass without a response, he continued, infusing his voice with such persuasiveness that Emma very nearly believed him on the spot. "I can show you this realm, Swan. I can show you things you've only seen in dreams. Islands. Great cities. There is a whole world out there, love. A world where you are just as new and strange as the very air you breathe. This place is not your home, but perhaps it can be a fresh start."

Emma blinked. A breathy, hesitant laugh escaped her as her brain struggled to accept the man in front of her. He was telling the truth. He meant it. He meant it.

"Your crew . . ."

"Will do as I say," he said firmly.

"You would . . . no, I can't." She shook her head. "I'm not going off on some wild adventure with some guy I just met." Her voice was harsh. "Not again."

Killian frowned. "Again?"

Dammit, she should've just kept her mouth shut. "It doesn't matter," she said. "It's not a mistake I'm making again."

"Mistake?"

Emma closed her eyes briefly. "He was a thief. I was a thief. He stabbed me in the back. I went to jail. End of story."

"You loved him."

"No."

Killian didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes and that subtle arch to his eyebrow. It was placating, and she hated it. She watched him warily as he stood and walked over to where she sat on a thick, fallen log. He straddled the makeshift bench instead of sitting next to her like a normal person. She forced herself to appear unaffected as she turned to look at him.

Killian didn't say anything immediately. He simply looked at her. There was that wall again. He was beginning to understand what that meant, what it was there to do. Protect her from the world, from people who would hurt her. Her eyes were guarded but challenging. Oh, she was ready for a fight alright. Backed into a corner.

She still didn't trust him.

He'd have to work on that.

"I would never leave you in a prison, Swan," he said. "A woman as beautiful and spirited as you does not belong in a cage."

Run.

Emma needed to run. She needed to leave, to get away—from this camp, the Forest, and especially Killian Jones. He . . . said things. Things that no one had ever said to her. Pretty things. Meaningful things. Honest things.

And it was too much, because she desperately wanted to believe him.

"I-I'm going to bed," she said quickly, abruptly standing and retreating to the other side of the fire where she'd laid her blanket.

Killian watched her retreat to the other side of the fire. She was as far away from him as she could possibly get, a fact that he noted with a sense of grim satisfaction. It meant that he was right. That wall of hers was meant to keep out pain. It was meant to push people away before she could get her heart broken.

Yet if her heart could be broken, it meant that it still worked.

Perhaps his feelings were not entirely one-sided, after all.


Emma couldn't sleep.

Her body was exhausted. She wasn't even sure she could feel her legs. She felt like a lead weight lying on the ground. Even turning her head took a herculean effort, and so she lay awake staring at the stars.

She'd never really noticed them much. Stars. Not like this, untouched by city lights and smog. They were bright. Truly. Billions of little balls of light. Instead of looking like dull glass, here they were brilliant diamonds.

Perhaps the Enchanted Forest wasn't all bad.

But no, she couldn't think that. That was dangerous. She couldn't stay. She had to get home.

Emma turned her head just slightly. Killian was next to her, although there was a respectable distance between them. He had insisted on it the very first night, despite his reassurance that should she desire it, he would happily move closer.

He liked her. She wasn't blind. She could see it. He did little to hide it. She caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. For all of his flirtation, there was rarely any heat in his stare. Instead there was curiosity, a desire to know her, to understand her. Only when she met his stare did it morph entirely to lust. That little smirk of his would appear in an instant and his eyes would burn teasingly with dirty, unspoken promises.

Killian Jones was dangerous. She'd known it the moment she met him, but now she realized that he was dangerous for entirely different reasons. It wasn't the fact that he was a pirate. No, Killian Jones was dangerous because he made her feel things.

She felt the urge to trust him. She felt as though he might understand. She felt as though if she lowered her walls for even a moment, there would be no going back. He would be there to stay.

That was it, really. Emma felt like he might stay.

No one ever stayed.

She'd learned that over and over again. Everyone left her. Everyone eventually gave up on her. Everyone eventually realized that she wasn't good enough.

Killian would be no different.

She repeatedly convinced herself of that over the next five days. Killian tried to get her to open up. He asked about her family. He asked about her childhood. He asked about past lovers. All basic questions that should not require complicated answers. And Emma supposed that her answers weren't complicated. No, they were devastatingly simple. She had no family. Her childhood had been unbearably lonely. And lovers? Aside from Neal and a handful of one-nighters, she'd been alone.

No one's life should be so easily summed up.

After the second day, Killian stopped asking, and they travelled the rest of the way to the Queen's Port in silence. They arrived at the tavern just before evening, and Emma was struck by the thought that she had already been in the Enchanted Forest for two weeks. It wasn't so long a time. Her mind knew that. Yet when she rode into town on the back of a horse, she couldn't help but feeling the smallest sense of belonging. It wasn't like before, when she had wondered into town looking for cell reception without a clue. On the back of a horse, she almost felt like she knew what she was doing.

But then she was sliding off the saddle, and she suddenly felt small again. Her jeans were stiff and sweaty. Her white sweater was more of a beige. Even her jacket was covered in dust. She'd dunked her head into a creek yesterday but her hair still smelled briny. She felt like a street rat, and the small port town suddenly felt like it might swallow her.

Killian watched her with disappointed eyes as she grabbed her hourglass and patted her jacket pocket. Checking her belongings. She was leaving. He'd known nearly the moment he had asked her to come aboard the Jolly that she would run. Those walls of hers had climbed impossibly higher. There was no scaling them. Not in five mere days.

So when she turned to him with her squared shoulders and her lifted chin and her distant eyes, Killian smiled half-heartedly and asked, "So what next, love?"

"I'm going to find a way back home," she said.

"The apprentice said it was impossible."

"But he said I would go back. I have to, I think. Otherwise the universe explodes or something."

"Well, we wouldn't want that."

"No." Emma's lips twitched as she fought a smile.

"This quest to return home," he said, raising an eyebrow, "I assume you have a place to start?"

"The pen. There's a piece of this whole freaky puzzle that's missing, and I'm pretty sure that pen has something to do with it." She sighed and looked over his shoulder at a passing sailor headed toward the docks. "I know it's a long shot, but—"

"I have every bit of faith in you, Swan," Killian said softly. "If there is any way for you to return home, you will find it. However," he paused and took a cautious step forward. Emma tensed. She hesitated to even breathe because he was so close. Her eyes met his—honestly, she should have known better—and she couldn't look away. "It would be remiss of me if I did not ask you again . . . sail away with me, Swan."

Emma's throat constricted. Her tongue felt dry. She swallowed, hoping to moisten her tongue enough to answer, but she only succeeded in making herself lightheaded. Right. Breathing. She should breathe.

God, she actually couldn't breathe.

She forced herself to take a slow, steady breath. It came out shaky, and she ignored it. Killian just kept staring at her, too-blue eyes glowing with faint hope and something else that she couldn't name. It scared her. He scared her.

"I can't," she breathed. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I can't take a chance that I'm wrong about you."

Killian nodded and managed a weak smile. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Emma." He took her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles. "Goodbye, darling."

Emma watched him leave, hating every step away from her that he took, but she did not call him back.

It wasn't until Killian had disappeared into the crowd that Emma felt the weight in her pocket. She frowned as she felt both pockets of her jacket. The bean was safe. Yet her other pocket was bulging. When she withdrew a familiar leather purse, she had to smile. "Pirate," she mumbled fondly.

Then she shook herself. No fondness. That was not allowed. She'd made her decision, after all. She'd stick by it. She was better off on her own.

It was with this knowledge firmly in mind that she walked into the tavern. The establishment was just as rowdy as her first night. There were sailors enjoying their last day of shore leave, surrounded by ale and women, and Emma wondered how many were a part of Killian's crew. Tom, the barkeep, was filling tankards of ale from the barrel taps behind the bar when she walked up.

"I see you're back from your journey, lass," he said. Emma thought there was a kinder light in his eye than the first time they'd met. "Did Cap'n Jones bring back the horse? Thistle's just a good a steed as any."

Emma blinked. "Y-yeah, he's great," she agreed. "And I got some answers."

Tom chuckled. "And yet I bet you just got more questions."

"Something like that."

"I'd love to buy him back from ya. Thistle, of course."

"Oh? You don't have to." Emma glanced back toward the door. "He's just outside."

"I can't do that to ya, lass. Let me give you something."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Okay," she agreed. "A bed, a bath, and some food and we'll call it even."

"Done."

Tom led her up a case of rickety stairs to a small second floor. There were only three rooms, as far as she could tell. One was considerably bigger, and when Emma walked by the open door she spotted a handful of cots lined up against one wall. Tom led her to the end of the hallway and withdrew a ring of skeleton keys from his belt. "This here is the best room in the house," he said. "Course, that's not sayin' much, but it's cleaner than the rest. Water for the bath should be up in an hour or so. Would ya like your dinner while you wait? It's bread and pork tonight."

"That'll be fine," Emma said before she felt herself smirking against her will. "How much did he pay you?" she asked.

"Who's that?"

"Killian." She shook her head slightly. "Captain Jones," she corrected. "He paid you off to be nice to me."

"You're a smart lass." Tom smiled at her, and although it held less warmth than cynicism, Emma didn't think he meant her any ill-will. "And a tough one, I'd wager, if ya feel safe enough usin' his name. One of the most fearsome pirates on the seas, and you mean somethin' to him. Reckon I'd best do as he asks."

"He's not . . . we're not . . ."

"Aye, lass. I'll send someone up with your dinner."

Dinner was delicious. The pork was juicy, the bread soft and still warm. Even the ale brought up with her meal was spectacular, which made Emma wonder if Killian had offered Tom a few threats of bodily harm along with his gold. She shook her head and then paused, her tankard halfway to her lips.

The only time Killian could have assured Tom's graciousness was the night they'd met. When had he found the time to threaten Tom between their gambling and their night on the Jolly? Her mind flashed to the next morning at the rail with Hawkins. Killian had appeared out of nowhere, but she'd assumed that he'd simply been below deck.

But what sense did that make? No decent pirate captain slept in with a stranger on his ship. He must've left before dawn to threaten Tom, and she was none the wiser.

Pirate.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of her bath. Two girls lugged kettles of steaming water into the room to fill a small copper basin. One offered to help her bathe, a suggestion that Emma quickly shot down with all the subtlety of a rocket. The tub was small, barely big enough for her to sit in with her knees pulled up to her chest, but she sank into the water with a blissful sigh and vowed never to take plumbing for granted again.

The girls had even brought up a small bar of soap, which Emma nearly used entirely on her hair. By the time she stood to dry herself with a thin piece of cloth, the water was an ugly grey color that made Emma shudder. Nope. She'd never look at a shower the same way again.

Just as she was about to dress, she noticed a small pile of clothes. One of the girls must have set them aside. Curiously, she picked up a pair of pants. They were made of a thicker material than she was used to but they looked sturdy. A grey tunic-like shirt and thick blue vest drew her eye. She ran her hands over the material. It felt finer than something a barkeep would own.

She shook her head.

Killian Jones.

"Son of a bitch," she said with a small smile that slowly fell.

One of the most fearsome pirates on the seas, and you mean somethin' to him.

Surely she couldn't mean that much. She wasn't worth that much. Her eyes burned as she continued to run her fingers over the vest. No one had ever been so kind to her. No one had, well, no one had really taken care of her before. Foster families had provided enough to keep their meal ticket. The orphanages were simply too crowded for special attention. That was what had made Neal different. He'd given her his attention.

But no one had ever gone out of their way for her until Killian Jones.

Sail away with me, Swan.

Emma went to sleep dressed in her new clothes.


Killian couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so poorly. He could find sleep even in the middle of the nastiest storm, and yet with the Jolly anchored safely in a calm harbor, he tossed and turned as if his bed was made of rock. It certainly felt like it, and he'd been sleeping on the ground the past two weeks.

He couldn't get her out his head. Emma Swan.

The longer he was away from her, the more he realized how truly incredible she was. She was scared and closed off and hostile but he didn't mind. He understood those walls. He could steadily bring them down, if given time. He was sure of it. She'd give him hell, but it'd be worth it.

He wanted to know her, that secret part of herself that she protected so fiercely. He already knew her to be brave and determined. Downright stubborn, actually. She was a fighter, his Swan. A survivor.

They had that in common.

By the time the sun peaked over the horizon, Killian was striding across town to the tavern. He had no idea what he was doing. Not really. He had no idea what he was going to say. He only knew that he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing. It was right. It felt right.

Tom was stoking the fire when he entered the tavern. "Tom," he greeted. "How are you this morning?"

"Very well, Cap'n." Tom scurried to his feet despite his broad size. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Miss Swan's room, if you please. I trust she was well taken care of last night?"

"Yes, sir—I mean, Cap'n." He tentatively pointed toward the stairs. "Last door on your left."

Killian clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Thanks, mate."

The stairs were noisy and creaked with each step, but the second floor was silent with the exception of a small choir of drunken snores from the room to his right. He eyed the door suspiciously before hurrying down to Emma's room. He carefully turned the knob, happy to see that the door was locked. Emma had remembered his words of warning.

He knocked quietly.

The door opened before he could lower his hand. "Swan." He couldn't help but smile a little at the sight of her. She looked lovely in her blue vest, her blonde hair pulled back from her face. She stared at him in shock, mouth open, and he nearly gave into the sudden desire to kiss her.

He refrained only because he suspected he'd sooner earn a punch to the face rather than a kiss in return.

And he had to admit, he loved her a bit for that.

"Killian," she breathed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I honestly have no idea."

"What?"

"Come with me."

Emma started to shake her head. "Killian, I—"

"You and I . . . we understand each other," he interrupted. "Look out for yourself and you'll never get hurt, aye?"

Emma straightened her back and put a hand on the door, ready to shut it. "Yeah, and it's worked out so far," she said.

When she tried to shut the door, he caught it with his foot as his hand reached up to cover hers. "Until the day that it doesn't," he said, his voice firm but soft. Emma's eyes were drawn to his, and her breath nearly caught when she saw that his eyes were practically glowing. "You're here, Swan. For who knows how long. And yes, I realize it's completely mad what I'm asking, but I am asking. Sail away with me," he entreated. "You can be a part of something, something bloody magnificent, or you can do what you do best and be alone."

Emma didn't know what to think.

She couldn't think.

She could only stare at him in shocked, confused wonder.

He'd come back.

"You . . . you're . . . here," she said stupidly.

But Killian only nodded. "Aye," he said. "For you."

He'd come back. For her.

"Okay," she whispered.

Killian froze for a split second before he began to smile. "Okay?" he repeated.

Emma tentatively returned it. "Let's set sail."


Woohoo! So excited. It's adventure time!

No time for a preview. Got a lecture to go to!

Lots of love,

AC