Author's Notes: Hellllooooooooooo! Okay, let me just say that the response from last chapter was fabulous! I am so glad that y'all liked it and were dealing with feels overload. Thank you to everyone who reviews, alerts, and favorites. We're just getting started with this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Seriously, you think I'd be writing fanfic if I did? . . . Okay, you got me there. I'd still be writing.


Chapter 10

Emma was in her spot.

The deck was clear, the sky more grey than pink. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms loosely wrapped around her legs as she stared at the horizon. It had a calming effect. There was something faraway and mysterious about it. No matter how far or fast they sailed, they would never catch it. The horizon was just there, and it always would be.

Compared the vastness of the sea, the thought was comforting.

She needed that comfort.

It was ridiculous on many levels, she supposed, that she felt so torn after such a good night. Her mind replayed the night over and over, memorizing every detail—the way Killian's eyes crinkled when he'd laughed at her stories, the taste of that second bottle of wine, the reflection of the moon on the waves, the sound of Killian's voice in her ear, the warmth of his hand on her back.

Then there was the kiss.

She would always remember every searing second of it.

But she would also remember other things. She'd remember feeling the undeniable urge to give in to him. She'd remember feeling like it was safe to do so. She'd remember looking into his eyes and hoping that he might stay.

And hope was scary. Emma Swan had not dared to hope for anything in a very long time.

Everything was just happening so fast. So much had changed so quickly. Too quickly. One day she's a bail bonds person and the next she's meeting with sorcerers in the Enchanted Forest. One day she's entirely independent and the next she's hopelessly lost. She'd been forced to rely on someone for the first time in years. Maybe ever.

And of all people, that person had to have been Killian Jones.

If they had met in her world, she knew for a fact that she would have treated him like any other man. He would have been another one-time thing. Even knowing Killian as she did, she thought that under those circumstances, he might have let her go. Even if he hadn't, even if he'd tried for something more, she would've been able to get away from him. She would've been able to run.

But in the Enchanted Forest the farthest she could go was her little nest.

She was forced to deal with him, with his feelings, and therefore forced to deal with her own. And there was a part of her that resented him for it. That tough orphan, the girl who'd learned to be alone, she didn't appreciate being trapped on this damn ship with Killian Jones. That girl wanted to get away. That girl was alone. She understood being alone. Being alone was safe.

And that was the crux of the matter. That was what had sent Emma scampering up to her nest: Killian Jones made her feel safe.

After their dance, after their kiss, what she had spent the majority of the day dreading had come to pass. She'd descended the steps to his quarters with thoughts of pillaging and plundering and bets running rampantly through her mind. Killian's steps behind her had echoed in her chest like heartbeats.

She'd been a mess of energy but too nervous to do anything about it. So her muscles had been tense and frozen. When he'd placed a hand on her shoulder, she'd nearly jumped out of her skin. "Easy, Swan." He'd put his hands on her shoulders before stepping closer, hands sliding down her arms to lace their fingers together. He liked doing that, holding her hand. She'd looked down at their hands to avoid looking at him. "What's wrong, love?"

And that's when she'd snapped. His voice had been so soft, so concerned, and she hadn't been able to handle it. Him. "I can't do this," she said, pulling her hands from his and taking a step away from him. "You. Me. I-I can't, I'm not . . ."

Killian waited patiently, the soft look in his eyes never fading. "Not what, Swan?"

"Ready." She'd felt like a damn teenager saying it, like she was some inexperienced girl dealing with her first serious boyfriend, but dammit, it was true. "Look, if we do this, it's just gonna be—"

"A one-time thing," he finished.

He hadn't looked disappointed or hurt, which had only made her feel worse, but she'd nodded. "And I . . . you don't deserve that."

You deserve more.

She hadn't said it, but she knew he heard it anyway. His eyes had softened impossibly more, bright blue even in the faint light of the candles. Gently, he'd tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing along her jaw. "Neither do you, Emma," he said. "I'll wait. I'm in this for the long haul."

And her heartbeat had stuttered, because they weren't just talking about sex anymore. "You might be waiting a long time," she managed.

"Darling, I'd wait centuries for you."

He'd been serious. She'd stared and stared, searching for the lie, but it never came. He'd smiled softly at her confusion, her surprise, as if he found it all endearing. "Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Because a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. And you, Emma Swan, are worth fighting for." He'd said it all with a little smile, like she was his best-kept secret, and she'd finally relaxed enough to blush and look away. "I'll leave you to your rest."

And she'd known she was playing with fire when she'd reached out to grab his hand, but she'd done it anyway. "Stay? Not like . . . just, stay. I'm tired of kicking you out of your own bed."

"Swan, I don't mind."

"I do. Look, we managed just fine the past few nights."

"Those were different circumstances, love."

"I know."

And God help her if he hadn't merely smiled as if he'd known exactly what she wasn't saying and nodded, "As you wish."

So now here she was the next morning hiding in the crow's nest. He'd given her exactly what she'd asked for, what she'd wanted, and so she was ignoring him. Emma cast a cautious look over her shoulder. Killian stood behind the wheel like it was any other morning. How was he acting like it was any other morning?

He'd Princess Brided her for Christ's sake!

"As you wish," she mumbled, hating the way her lips twitched upward. "Who actually says that. Oh, that's right. Piercing-eyed smoldering pirates."

Emma straightened her back abruptly. No, she was not going to do this. She wasn't a schoolgirl, this wasn't a damn crush, and she was better than this. Yes. She was going to act like nothing was different, because it wasn't, and carry on like Killian Jones hadn't reawakened her belief in something as silly as love.

So she went down on deck with the crew and started to work. It was easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle of the deck. There was always something to do. She helped Bee with the rigging as usual, even as Vincent followed her around trying to learn details about her "date." She spent a good hour learning how to fish with Ace, who seemed to have more fun watching her fail than succeed, and when she'd finally managed to catch one and keep it, he'd merely hung his head and said, "Well done, lassie."

It was all work, work, work, work until it suddenly wasn't. There was a rare moment of stillness, and it hardly took the crew anytime to make use of it. A few struck up a game of liar's dice, but Emma stayed away from it. She'd already lost three gold coins to Bee and had no plans of losing anymore. Vincent retreated into the crow's nest with a book that he always kept in his pocket. Others simply sat and relaxed as the boat gently glided over the waves.

Emma bravely went to the helm.


Killian had been waiting for her to come to him.

He'd known she would—hoped she would—but he wouldn't deny that every time she pulled away from him, a little voice in the back of his mind warned him she wouldn't come back, that his pursuit of her was futile. Yet it was impossible for him not to keep pursuing her. He wanted her. It was a deep, aching feeling that transcended simple desire. It was . . . well, he didn't know exactly what it was, but it was possessive, it was fierce, it was maddening, and it was bloody brilliant.

It took all his restraint not to pull her into his arms and kiss her for the whole crew to see. He wanted them to know that she was is, and he smiled to himself as he watched Emma make her way toward him, imagining her ire if she knew his thoughts.

I don't belong to anyone, pirate.

He adored that little scowl of hers.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked once she'd climbed the stairs.

"It's a lovely day, Swan," he said, turning to face her while keeping one hand on the wheel. "Even a pirate can appreciate the simpler things in life." She rolled her eyes but said nothing. Killian cocked an eyebrow when she casually slipped her hand into his, but she pointedly ignored him. He grinned. "You're holding my hand, love."

"Don't make a big deal out of it, pirate," she muttered.

He made a correction to their course, his inordinately pleased grin never fading. Emma scoffed lightly under her breath, but he only squeezed her hand. They were quiet for a while, and it struck Emma as odd that she felt no need to fill the silence. She was . . . content.

The crew struck up a song as she and Killian manned the helm, and she had to smile when she recognized the song. It was one of the many Killian had sung for her last night, the one about the mermaid. In the light of day, the song sounded far more jaunty and loud than she thought it should. She preferred Killian's sweeter version.

Killian glanced down at her with a smirk. "What are you smiling at?" he asked, surprised when Emma shyly ducked her head.

"Nothing," she said lightly.

"C'mon, Swan." He squeezed her hand. "What is it?"

Emma sighed quietly. "It's just, well," she began before looking up at him with a small smile, "I know something they don't." Her eyes trailed over the crew moving around on deck. Killian followed her gaze. "You sang that song to me last night," her voice was so soft Killian had to strain to hear it, "and they have no idea. They don't know you can sing, but I do." She shrugged abruptly, the air between them suddenly too intimate. "How 'bout that, huh?" she teased.

Killian smiled. "Indeed, love."

The lull in work lasted another ten minutes before the winds suddenly changed and he began barking orders. Killian watched Emma out of the corner of his eye, wondering yet again about the little smile on her lips, but she only smirked at him when she caught him looking, squeezed his hand, and said, "Aye, Captain."

Then she was off to help sail his ship.

He watched her move on deck with a smile of his own. It had never been his intention for her to work like his crew, yet he hadn't been too surprised when her first morning on the Jolly was spent learning how to sail. He'd noticed Vincent take her under his wing and had thought little of it, as the lad was the youngest aboard and therefore lowest on the totem pole. It was logical that the quiet sailor would take advantage of the opportunity to embrace some authority as a teacher.

The reactions of the rest of the crew, however, had truly surprised him. He'd never been worried about bringing Emma aboard. His crew knew the price of disobedience. They would do as they were told, and he had explained to them, in beautifully horrific detail, the price they would pay should they harm Emma. He'd purposefully left what constituted as "harm" extremely vague.

Yet aside from a handful of leers in the first few days, Killian had been somewhat surprised yet undeniably pleased when the crew took to Emma's presence like fish to water. He watched as Bee taught her how to rig the sails. He proudly (if silently) cheered when she caught her first fish with Ace. Even her growing friendship with Vincent made Killian far happier than jealous (most of the time).

She fit, Emma Swan fit . . . into his life, into his world, she just . . . she just fit right in, and he'd be damned if it didn't make him feel a sense of peace that he hadn't known since Liam's death.

They sailed into the night, using the light of the full moon as their guide. The only time Emma ever paused in her work was when one of the crew would begin to sing, and every time without fail, she would catch his eyes at the helm and give him that secretive little smile of hers that was in some ways just as shy as it was smug. Killian would return it more times than not, although occasionally he'd merely wink at her just to watch her scowl and blush and stubbornly focus her attention on her work.

When he finally dismissed the crew for the night, it was late yet he wasn't tired. He watched Emma disappear below with a hint of anticipation before locking the wheel and following after her. He never quite knew what he'd find whenever he entered his quarters, and this time was no different.

He laughed.

He did that a lot now.

"Comfortable, love?"

Emma mumbled into her pillow. He laughed again as he went over to sit beside her on the bed, glancing at her sprawled form over his shoulder as he tugged his boots off. "You didn't even bother to remove your boots, Swan," he chided.

She mumbled again into the pillow, but wordlessly raised her feet and violently toed off her boots, sending one rocketing into the wardrobe while the other slid slowly from her foot to drop onto the chest at the foot of the bed. Killian neatly set his boots to the side before collapsing onto the bed next to her. With her arms tucked under her pillow, her elbow dug into his shoulder, but he didn't mind even if he'd killed men for lesser offences.

He let his head fall toward her and waited until she huffed and turned to face him. He grinned. "Long day?" he asked lightly.

"Yeah," she said. "The boss was a real hardass today. Work, work, work." She sighed. "And all he did was stand there and look pretty."

Killian smirked. "I'll have you know, Swan, that being this pretty, as you say, is terribly difficult."

"Huh. I would've thought you'd say it was effortless."

He blinked at her in shock for a split second before he laughed, the sound deep and warm. He grinned softly at her smug smirk, her bright green eyes dancing with amusement and an obvious glint of pride at her own wit. "You realize, darling," he began slowly, "that all this means only one thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"You fancy me."

"Of course, that's what you take from this."

"You think I'm pretty." He batted his eyelashes.

Emma struggled not to laugh. "I never said that, exactly."

"It was implied, and though I prefer to be called devilishly handsome, I will happily accept your praise."

He smiled when Emma finally cracked and laughed. "Never thought I'd hear one of those," he said. "You should laugh more often."

Emma's smile fell for a moment before twisting into something softer, almost bashful. Her eyes dropped from his as she curled onto her side, her arm falling over her chest like her heart needed protection. "I haven't had much to laugh at," she finally said, the words slipping from her lips stubbornly.

She wasn't feeling sorry for herself, and she didn't want his pity. The way her eyes met his in challenge conveyed that sentiment clearly. Killian merely smiled. "Well, you may laugh at me as often as you wish," he said.

She smirked. "That's a lot of laughter."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Ah, insulted it is, then."

Emma giggled, and Killian beamed with pride. He gently reached out and ran a finger over her cheek with a playful smile. She blushed prettily, just as he'd hoped, and seeing the smug look in his eye, Emma raised her fist and hit his chest. "Shut up," she muttered.

"I haven't said anything, Swan."

"You're thinking it."

"What am I thinking, then?"

"That I'm," her face twisted adorably, "cute."

"Is that such a despicable crime?"

"Yes."

He chuckled and Emma couldn't help but grin. She quite liked the sound of his laugh. She liked a few things about him . . . Well, perhaps more than a few.

But she wasn't going to take the time to list them. She wasn't that girl.

She did, however, take a moment to marvel at this. Them. It didn't really make sense to her, how she could lie in the same bed with a man so attractive without any fears of what might happen. Nothing was happening. She'd made that clear, yet here he was, here she was, and it wasn't awkward. God help her, it almost felt domestic. Practiced. Easy.

That part scared her, yet somehow she managed to ignore it in times like now, when everything was free and easy. They were just talking—okay, flirting—but it wasn't serious. There weren't expectations. It was just . . . them.

And it felt right.

Emma had never experienced this kind of intimacy. It was the very first time she'd been in any sort of relationship that wasn't rooted in sex. Even her relationship with Neal had started with sex. She'd been young, and she'd romanticized the hell out of their whole relationship in a way that only a lonely sixteen-year-old girl can. It was fast and fun and daring. It was a rush. And in her most level-headed moments, Emma acknowledged that it had all been real. Young and stupid, but real. That's why it still hurt so much to think about.

But this? Killian? He was different. Everything about him, them, was different.

Killian watched contently as her thoughts drifted. His lips twitched as her mouth dipped into a thoughtful frown while her brow puckered and her eyes stared at his chest contemplatively. He waited patiently—initially—wondering if she would eventually share what occupied her thoughts, yet as the minutes passed and that furrow in her brow continued to deepen, he grew restless.

Finally, he smoothed the crease in her brows with a gentle finger. "Alright, Swan," he said. "What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"Well, then," he smiled, pleased, "by all means, carry on."

Emma blushed, yet her smile was rueful and to Killian's eyes, slightly troubled. His smile faded somewhat as his eyes narrowed. He studied her for a moment, and Emma let him. His eyes always shocked her. She'd never seen bluer eyes.

"No, there's more to this," he declared quietly.

"I was thinking that you're different. This," she gestured awkwardly between them, "is different, and I think I figured out why." Killian raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly in encouragement. He wouldn't push her, and that was the reason Emma continued. "We're . . . friends." He frowned, and she growled quietly in frustration. "I mean, we're more than friends, I've told you that, I wouldn't be sleeping with you if you were just a friend." She winced again. "Even if we're not, I mean, sleeping together."

Killian pressed his lips together in a valiant attempt not to smile. "Yes, I think we've established that, love," he said. "So . . . we're friends."

"Yeah. That's what makes you, this, different."

"I don't follow."

"Every relationship I've ever been in started with sex," she said bluntly. "Even the one that," she swallowed, "the one that really meant something. We were never just . . . friends."

Her words caused Killian to remember a brief exchange with startling clarity.

"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 reached out and linked his fingers with hers. He liked how their fingers fit together. Even more so, he liked the calluses he felt. She was a tough lass, his Swan. Yet in moments like these she was undeniably vulnerable, and the urge to protect her was nearly overwhelming.

"The one that really mattered," he began softly, "he's the one who broke your heart."

"Yes."

The answer was simple and clean. Killian raised their joined hands to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. "The man was a fool," he said simply.

Emma stared expectantly. "You're not gonna ask what happened?"

"I want to know everything about you, Emma," he admitted. "But only when you wish for me to know. Your past is your own."

Of course. Of course said that. He was Killian Jones and Killian Jones always, miraculously, managed to say what she needed to hear. Emma stared at him in complete bewilderment for a long moment before she said, her voice measured, "His name was Neal." She waited for Killian to say something, anything at all, but he only continued to patiently meet her gaze. Always so patient. "I stole his car," she said. "Only he was in it, and he'd stolen it first."

Killian smirked a little, and she found herself smiling slightly in return. "I was sixteen," she explained, slowly gathering momentum as she continued to speak. "I was on my own, stole what I needed to get by." His eyes gleamed and she just knew what he wanted to say: pirate. But he kept quiet and waited. She smiled knowingly for a second before she continued, "I just saw that car and wanted it. It was bright yellow and it just looked . . . happy. So I stole it, and then Neal pops up from the back. I was so surprised that I ran a stop sign, and a cop—a lawmen—pulled me over."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "What happened then?"

"Neal," she said simply. "He covered for me, called me his girlfriend, said he was teaching me how to drive stick, and we . . . drove away into the sunset. For a while, anyway."

"It was nice, you know?" Emma stared at their clasped hands lying innocently on the bed between them. "We just . . . did whatever we wanted, went wherever we wanted. All my life I'd been told what to do, and suddenly I was—"

"In control," he finished quietly, his thumb brushing against hers.

Her eyes flitted up to meet his, and she smiled slightly. "Yeah," she agreed. "Neal was there for my first real birthday. I mean, it came around every year, but this time it meant something to someone other than me. He bought us coffee and then broke into an amusement park. I hadn't had that much fun in . . . well, ever."

"But?"

"I got tired of it," she said simply. "Travelling all over the place, never staying too long, sneaking into motel rooms . . . I wanted something permanent, and I . . . I wanted it with Neal."

"Seems perfectly normal."

"He agreed," she said. "When I asked. He covered my eyes and told me to pick a spot on a map and that's where we'd go." Her next smile wavered. "It was Tallahassee."

Killian's chest tightened, but he nodded as he squeezed her hand. "You don't have to finish, love," he said.

But she shook her head. "No, I do." She closed her eyes and sighed. "It's funny, when I think about it now. Tallahassee is what got me into this whole mess. I wanted it so badly that I let it blind me. Turns out Neal was wanted for some watches that he'd stolen. The police were catching up to him, and he wanted to go to Canada. Alone."

Killian frowned, and Emma sighed again. "I didn't want one more person to abandon me," she admitted quietly. "I wanted him to stay, and so I said that I would get the watches for him. He'd stashed them in a locker at a train station. I got the watches without a problem, and when I met Neal where we'd planned, nothing seemed wrong. He even let me keep one of them, like a present." She closed her eyes. "I should have seen it coming."

"He made it appear as though you were the thief."

"He said he was going to fence them. Told me where to meet him. I showed up. He didn't." She smiled humorlessly. "But a cop did. I had the watch on me. And they had me on tape retrieving the watches from the station. I spent eleven months in jail."

"He didn't wait for you."

"No."

"But you waited for him."

Emma looked away. "It's stupid," she said. "I went to Tallahassee thinking that maybe he'd be there. He'd sent me this," she fished the necklace she wore out from her shirt, her thumb rubbing over the swan pendant, "it was on a keychain that he'd stolen for me. The keys to the Bug were with it. I thought it might mean he cared, like maybe it was some apology, but I waited for a year, and then another . . ." She shrugged. "He never showed."

Killian's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Yet you stayed," he said. "Why?"

"I didn't need him to be my happy ending. I made one without him."

"Tough lass," he said fondly.

They lapsed into silence. Exhaustion swept through Emma, the long day of work coupled with her trip down memory lane hitting her like a brick wall. She blinked heavily, unknowingly leaning into Killian's light touch like a cat when he gently brushed his hand over her head, his fingers sliding softly through her hair. Killian watched her with a small, smitten smile even as his eyes darkened.

Because Emma Swan was the first person he'd cared for in a very long time, and someone, this Neal, had hurt her. He'd broken her heart, betrayed her, abandoned her, and Killian desired nothing more in the moment than to hunt the man down—different realm and time, be damned—and make sure he understood just how tragic of an error he had made.

"Swan." Emma's tired eyes slowly met his, brightening when she saw how fiercely they burned. "For as long as you want me, you'll have me," he said softly, yet firmly. "I have no plans to leave you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she whispered.

He smiled. "I never do."


You can't deny that Killian is a man of his word.

Oh, and feels.

This story is about to jump into it's second stage now that Killian and Emma are on relatively steady ground. Now, as story-telling dictates, it's time to shake things up a bit. I'm so fucking excited, y'all. So excited. Shit is about to get real. And mythical.

Chapter Preview! (Yes, I know, I've been skimping out lately). Let's see . . . Killian! - "It's bad form to board a man's ship without permission."

See you Friday!

-AC