Author's Notes: Hellooooooooo! So happy to be back with a new chapter for you guys. This is where the adventure and plot-things start rolling, and I am so super duper psyched about it. I don't know many who have gone this route, but I'm taking a page out of the OUAT book and playing around with "what really happened".
Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Or Disney. Which owns OUAT. So I don't own the thing that is owned by the thing which is . . . you get it.
Chapter 11
It wasn't often that Killian dreamed, but when he did, it was never pleasant. Old wounds that had only festered with time came back to haunt him with biting clarity. His dreams were filled with memories of his father abandoning him, selling him into servitude. Violent flashes of his life as little more than a slave aboard Silver's ship made him jerk in his sleep as if he could still feel the tear of the whip against his back. Then there was Liam. Those dreams always started the same. Tauntingly happy. They would be children again or perhaps rising through the ranks in the Navy. Then the scene would change, and he'd be in this very same cabin, holding his dead brother in his arms and yelling for help that wouldn't come.
He startled awake, his eyes wide open yet his mind still hazy, filled with fading remnants of the crack of a whip and his father's voice. As his mind cleared, he quickly took stock of his surroundings, eyes flying around the room yet truly seeing very little. Floor, walls. Cabin. His hand fisted in the blankets. Bed. His chest heaved, and he swallowed to steady himself.
The moon was still bright in the night sky, sending soft, white light through the windows, and Killian rose silently from the bed. He glanced at Emma, grateful to see that he hadn't woken her. She was still curled on her side, her hand lying empty between them. He doubted that she'd so much as twitched since falling asleep.
Quietly, he opened a window and relished the breeze that whispered over his heated skin. His shirt was damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably. Feeling trapped by the clinging material, he pulled the shirt over his head, sighing in relief at the immediate difference. He closed his eyes and carefully inhaled, finding comfort in the familiar salt air and the sound of the waves. Killian repeated the process a handful of times. Breathe in, breathe out.
He was fine. He had his ship. He was free. He was free.
So preoccupied with his reassurances, he didn't realize Emma was awake until she placed a tentative hand on his back. He tensed at her touch, his heart racing and his gut twisting as her fingers trailed over the long, raised lines of his oldest scars. He tried to prepare himself for her reaction, whatever it might be, and yet of all the possibilities his mind conjured, Emma asked the one question he didn't expect.
Her fingers ran from his shoulder toward his spine. "Do they hurt?" she asked.
Killian let his head drop, an incredulous smile nearly twisting his lips as a heavy sigh escaped him. It almost managed to sound like a weak chuckle. "No," he said. "They haven't bothered me for some time."
Emma stared at the crisscrossing white lines on his back. They were old, smooth to the touch, and for the first time she wondered at Killian's age. She didn't think he was thirty, but perhaps he was close. "How old?" she asked quietly.
"I received my first ten lashes when I was fifteen."
"What did you do?"
"Got into the Captain's rum."
He turned slightly to look over his shoulder, a dark, wry smile on his lips that Emma faintly returned. "That does sound like you," she said.
He did manage to laugh then, a short huff of amusement. "Aye," he murmured.
Emma traced the scars yet again. "I thought you said you were in the Navy," she said.
"I wasn't always in the Navy."
His words hung heavily between them, and Emma sighed. "There's a lot that we don't know about each other," she said as her hand slipped from his back.
Killian smiled slightly. "Aye, love," he agreed. "But perhaps we've both done enough sharing for the night."
Emma nodded and as silence fell between them, she became abruptly aware of his shirtless state. Her hand acted without her consent. She placed her hand on his chest, meaning her touch to be comforting, yet the way her fingers brushed lightly against his chest hair betrayed her. Killian's eyes immediately flashed to her, and though she felt his gaze, she didn't look away from her exploration. She trailed her hand to his side, brushing gently over his wound that she'd stitched. He shivered. She brushed the healing wound again.
Killian grabbed her wrist. "Emma," he warned.
"I know," she said, though she made no attempt to withdraw her hand. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to . . . I just want to make you feel better."
Killian smiled as he lifted her hand from his side and kissed her knuckles. It was such an old-fashioned thing to do, the stuff of Jane Austen novels, and Emma found each sweet kiss just as odd as the first time he'd taken her hand in that crowded tavern in Queen's Port. But she liked it. The gesture was old and fancy and it was her hand he seemed so fond of kissing.
"You already are, darling," he assured her softly. "More than you know."
He slowly leaned in, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, causing Emma to huff impatiently before she surged up to meet him. She felt him smile against her lips and a feeling of power flooded her body. Maybe she did make him feel better. Her hands wandered over his shoulders and across his chest as he deepened the kiss. Emma let out a muffled moan of appreciation. Her nails dug lightly into his skin. His hand in her hair tightened as he nipped at her bottom lip.
Emma pulled away first, although she hardly went far. Her forehead rested lightly against his as her hand slid from his hair to caress his jawline. Killian kept his eyes closed as they both caught their breath, and only when she felt the gentle brush of his thumb against her back did Emma realize that he had slipped his hand beneath her shirt.
He brushed lightly at her skin. "You should try to sleep," he said eventually, his voice rougher than usual. "There's still a few hours before dawn."
Emma knew better than to ask him to do the same. She ran her fingers along his jaw, relishing the scratch of his scruff and the way his eyes seemed to close of their own accord. The effect she had on him was an intoxicating thrill, and when he ran his hand around to the curve of her hip, lightly stroking her stomach, she was vividly reminded that that same thrill was a two-way street.
She'd never been so attracted to anyone in her life.
"Dangerous waters, Swan," he warned before his hands left her completely and he took a step back. "You try to rest. I'll be at the helm."
Emma watched him quickly climb the stairs and disappear above deck. She turned back to the window, closing her eyes against the cool breeze and inhaling deeply. The air calmed her. The subtle roll of the ship soothed her overheated nerves. She knew that the wise decision would be to try to sleep as Killian had suggested. Her limbs still felt weak from the previous day's work, but she knew she would not be sleeping at all.
So she lit a candle and sat at Killian's desk with one of his books until the sun peaked over the horizon. The deck was clear as she went to the galley for breakfast, where she found the majority of the crew with bowls of some sort of porridge. She received murmured greetings and a handful of smiles that she returned with a wave as she walked to the back where Wallace stood near what passed as a stove in the Enchanted Forest—a carefully contained open flame.
"'Ello, love," he greeted brightly. "Same as usual, then?"
She smiled. "Am I that predictable?"
"Makes me life a bit simpler. I don't mind none." He tossed his head toward the barrel of fruit. "I already found a good one. Wouldn't let any of the boys touch it."
Emma snatched up the apple sitting on top of the barrel. "Thanks Wally." She took a big bite, gave him a smile, and slid onto the bench next to Vincent with a sigh, letting her head rest against the ship as she briefly closed her eyes.
"Long night, Emma?"
She cracked open an eye at Vincent's question. "Something like that," she said, which garnered a few snickers and whistles. Beside her, Vincent chortled and she flung her hand out to hit him solidly in the chest. She leveled a glare at the crew. "No one's won anything yet," she said plainly. When that only got her more teasing, she huffed and stood. "Don't you have work to do?"
She marched out of the galley onto the deck, a somewhat pleased smile on her face as she heard the crew grumble yet nonetheless follow after her. Munching on her apple, Emma made her way up to the helm, deciding to forego her usual trip to the crow's nest in favor of spending a few moments with Killian.
She pointedly ignored the low whistle behind her. Vincent. They'd be having a talk later.
Killian shot her a quick smirk and raised that damning eyebrow of his as she climbed the stairs. "Morning, love," he greeted. "Did you manage to sleep?"
She smirked back. "Nope," she said as she sashayed over to him. "Too worked up."
Killian groaned quietly, and she laughed when he hung his head. "Bloody hell, Swan," he muttered. "You'll be the death of me."
"I'm guessing the fresh air didn't help you."
"Not as much as I'd hoped, no," he admitted ruefully. "The blame rests entirely with you, of course. Bloody siren, you are." Emma blushed lightly even as she rolled her eyes. He nodded toward the crew. "The crew seem to be in high spirits this morning."
Emma scowled, and he cocked an eyebrow. "Don't ask," she muttered.
Killian chuckled. "Is it about the wager?" She stared at him with wide, dismayed eyes and a blush that disappeared below the neckline of her shirt. He smirked. "A good Captain knows all the happenings on his ship, Swan. I told you that."
She sputtered. "You knew? For how long?" she demanded.
"Oh, it started up the first night you were here, love. It's bad luck to bring a woman aboard," he informed her lightly. "The men had to wonder why I'd risk it."
"Bad luck, my ass," Emma snipped, leveling an exasperated look at him when he glanced at her ass teasingly.
He shrugged, unrepentant. "You're the one who said it, darling. Now, I only have one question for you," he said before leaning toward her with a lascivious smile. "Just how much did you bet on us?"
Emma watched his tongue sweep across his bottom lip. Damn this man, she thought as she leaned forward, careful to keep her voice low and seemingly unaffected. "I made a deal with Vincent," she said. "We split the winnings fifty-fifty."
"Did you now?" His voice rose in delight. "Just how did you manage such an accord?"
"Well, I'd be doing all the work—"
"I assure you, darling," he interrupted, as he leaned even closer, his nose brushing hers, "that will not be the case."
Emma smiled despite the way her hand clutched a spoke of the wheel as she fought the urge to run. "You promise?" she teased.
He kissed her in answer, his lips hot and demanding and promising. Emma let out a shaky breath when he pulled away, her fists unclenching from the lapels of his coat. "Yeah," she breathed. "I'm gonna go . . . um, rig a sail or something."
Emma, to her relief, only had to endure a few minutes of teasing from the crew once she took her place near Bee. It was all "You look a bit flushed, m'lady" and "Going to be a long day eh, lass?" and "Be gentle with her, lads. She's got another long night ahead!" That last one had come from Vincent, and she'd carefully placed her foot in his path and laughed with the rest of the crew when he flailed wildly before busting his ass.
The day passed like any other. Despite the weariness in her bones, Emma felt at ease working the deck with men she'd begun to admit were friends. She had friends. She'd never been good at making friends. She'd switched foster homes just as often as the other children who could have been her friends, and Lily . . . well, that had been a friendship that had given her hope and snatched it away in the same breath.
But now, on a pirate ship of all places, she legitimately had friends. Vincent and Bee, mainly. She had a soft spot for grumpy old Ace and Wallace's happy-go-lucky attitude in the galley reminded her far more of a free-spirited boy than a pirate.
Then there was Killian, and dare she even think it, but if she had to choose, she'd say that he might even be her best friend.
She'd never had a best friend before.
"So, it'll be a pirate's life for you then, lass?"
Emma glanced at Vincent with a slight smile. "What?"
He leaned against the rail and looked pointedly at the sails above them. "This," he said. "Sailing the seas, adventure, a bit of treasure," he winked, "you're made for it, my fair friend."
"I don't know about that," she said even as she stared at the rolling waves, smiling when a herd of whales breached the surface. "It's . . . insane. My life before this wasn't . . . it was safe. Boring, compared to this."
"Sometimes boring is best."
Emma smiled ruefully. "It's certainly easier. All this is like nothing I've ever known. I've spent so many years alone, and I liked it that way. Now I'm stuck on a ship with twenty men and it feels . . ."
"Right?" Vincent offered with a quiet smile, and she shook her head wryly.
"It doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"Well, lass. I think that sometimes that can be best, too."
"Why?"
"Keeps life interesting." He glanced toward the quarterdeck were Killian stood at the helm. "You know," he began warmly, "we pirates just like to tease. Truthfully, none of us has seen the Captain in such high spirits in years. Keep him happy, would you?"
Emma scoffed. "That's not my job."
"Aye, but you do it so well." Vincent playfully bumped her shoulder. "But, just so you know, if he ever hurts you, you've got a crew willing to mutiny in your favor."
Her first instinct was to laugh, and she did. But Vincent just gave her a little smile as her laughter died and met her gaze steadily when her eyes narrowed. He wasn't actually serious, was he? "Speak for yourself, sailor," she finally said before pushing away from the rail. "C'mon, there's work to do."
"There's always work to do."
"Don't get smart with me."
"Does the Captain let you get away with such sass?"
"Shut up, Vincent."
"You're a wee bit snippy when you don't sleep."
"I slept."
"Not enough, apparently."
Emma wanted to scowl at the way Vincent simply smirked at her with his usual boyish charm. "You annoy me," she said.
His smirk brightened. "Hopefully our dear Captain will allow you your rest tonight. I can't imagine the state we'll find you in tomorrow otherwise."
"Vincent!"
No one asked any questions as she chased him around the main mast with a dagger in hand.
The day came to an end slowly. Emma stood next to Ace at the bow, both content to watch the Jolly cut through the waves. A large bucket of fish sat at their feet. She had caught three fish worth keeping by herself, a feat that had actually garnered a begrudging smile from the salty old pirate. They'd agreed silently to a sort of race, and though she'd only caught three fish to his ten, it was a considerable improvement compared to yesterday.
Ace was a grizzled man with a scratchy lip and a bad eye. He compensated for it by constantly moving his head like a radar, right to left and back, like he was constantly scanning for data. So Emma wasn't surprised when he noticed the change first. "What the buggering hell is that?" he muttered to her left.
She turned to follow his gaze, her eyes narrowed. "I don't see anything."
"It's there," he assured her, his voice like gravel with a perpetual slur that made him sound drunk whether he was or not. "Right yonder." He pointed with his finger. "Comin' fast." His one good eye flashed. "Against the wind," he added.
Just then Killian's voice carried across the deck. "Get the guns ready, mates! We've got company!"
Emma looked up at the helm in time to see Killian pocket his spyglass before gripping the wheel and bringing the ship around. He barked more orders, his voice sharp and commanding, reminding her that the man who planted sweet kisses on her knuckles was every bit a pirate captain. She dodged the crew scrambling on deck as she quickly made her way to the helm. Killian didn't glance at her, even as he said, his voice tight, "I don't suppose there's a point in asking you to go below."
She shook her head. "Nope."
Her words were met with a harsh clap of thunder. The sky darkened instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch, and a thick fog suddenly swept across the deck of the Jolly Roger. The ocean roared, reminding Emma of a whale breaching the surface, and then there was a giant crash of water. The Jolly rolled violently, and when a pair of hands grabbed her, she initially thought it was Killian, until the hands dug sharply into her skin like bony claws.
The smell of rotten fish nearly made her gag. Her eyes strained to see anything through the fog but it was useless. She almost convinced herself that she was actually blind. Hearing helped ground her. The groan of the ship. Scuffling around her. Curses. The slide of a sword in its sheath.
The fog cleared like magic, and it took Emma a second to process the flood of images assaulting her brain. It took another second for her to actually believe what she was seeing.
Because it looked like she and the crew were held captive by skeleton fish people.
She looked down, as much as she could with the knife at her throat, and swallowed back bile when she confirmed that yes, the arm around her waist was pale, slimy bone. Her eyes then frantically scanned the deck. She locked eyes with Vincent first. He was closest to her, his hands loosely at his sides due to the dagger point digging into his kidney. A dagger that was held by what seemed to be a very human-like hammerhead shark. Vincent gave her a very firm look with an obvious meaning.
Don't do anything stupid, lass.
Killian was the only one left alone. He stood in the middle of the chaos with his sword leveled dangerously under the chin of the only man who didn't look like a fish. He was a tall, disturbingly handsome man with a neatly trimmed dark goatee who carried with him an air of casual menace, as if he would as soon laugh at you as he would run you through, or perhaps laugh as he ran you through. His hair was equally dark and curly, tied neatly in a low ponytail at the base of his neck, and he wore a loose green shirt, buttoned low enough to show off a vicious, mottled scar above his heart.
Yet what stunned Emma into complete stillness were his eyes. They were a gut-wrenchingly familiar, piercing shade of blue.
What the hell was going on?
"It's bad form to board a man's ship without permission," Killian said, his voice calm yet brooking no argument.
The man smiled with little concern, despite the sword point tickling his throat. "I thought I would save us all the time," he said.
Killian's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"A word."
"Who are you?"
"Family."
Killian stiffened and pressed the point of his sword deeper to the man's throat. It should have drawn blood. "Try again, mate."
"The name's Jones," the man said. "Davy Jones."
Emma saw Killian falter. His sword arm didn't drop in the slightest, but she saw his shoulders tense and for a split second he was too still. Davy Jones capitalized on the small window of opportunity, drawing his sword in a move too quick to see and knocking Killian's blade from his throat.
"Now," Jones grinned like a shark, "shall we talk?"
Boom.
I went there.
Chapter 12 Preview: "So you've always had a fondness for pirates, then?" - Killian
See you Friday!
-AC
