Author's Notes: Hello, hello! Thanks for being patient. This update is coming a bit later in the day that usual, but I've been stuck (I say that lovingly) at my grandmother's house, and she refuses to pay for Internet when her desktop comes with solitaire. What more does a granny need? I love her so much.
Anyhoo, I finally found time to sneak to Starbucks. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited. We're slowly getting more and more readers, and I am stoked, people. You're fucking awesome. All of you. Kisses.
So let's clear up this Davy Jones thing, right? Things are gonna get crazy!
Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Or POTC. Disney, leave me alone.
Chapter 12
Davy Jones.
Bloody fucking hell.
Killian took a step back now that Jones also had a blade, and as they began to circle each other, he searched the other man's face for proof that they were related. He dismissed the shared dark hair, the shared build. That was trivial. Yet he couldn't dismiss the man's eyes. Startlingly blue. Familiar.
His mother's eyes.
Killian swallowed. "If you want to talk, then we can talk," he said before chancing a glance at his captive crew. His gaze lingered on Emma, something that did not go unnoticed by anyone aboard. "But let my crew go."
"I'll do you one better," Jones offered graciously. "I'll let her highness go."
He glanced at the man holding Emma and a second later the knife at her throat was gone. She cautiously took a step forward but did not make a move closer to Killian like she thought was expected of her. She wasn't that girl. Instead, she lifted her chin and pinned Davy Jones of the infamous Davy Jones' Locker with an unimpressed glare. "For someone who says he wants to talk, you're not doing much talking," she said.
Killian didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or scream. Jones had no qualms. He threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, I like her," he said to Killian, as if giving his approval. "She's a real siren, isn't she?"
"Swan has a point," he said. "What do you want?"
"Well, it's family business. So, perhaps we could sojourn to your quarters?"
Killian glanced at the crew. "I want your word that my crew will remained unharmed," he said.
"Of course. I'm a gentleman." Jones waved Emma politely toward the hatch leading to the Captain's quarters. "After you, Princess."
Part of her wanted instantly to object. If this was family business, why was she being invited along? When her eyes met Killian's, his gaze was forceful, yet pleading as he gave a small nod of encouragement. Go along with it, Swan. Please.
And so despite the fact that it went against every instinct she had, Emma turned her back on the skeleton fish crew and Davy Jones himself, and started down the stairs. Hearing footsteps behind her, but having no idea whose, she hurried to the bottom and a low chuckle followed after her.
Guess that answered that.
Davy Jones descended the stairs after her and stepped into the room as if it belonged to him. He offered her a courteous smile as he passed her to sit at Killian's desk, propping his feet up on the edge in a carefree way that grated on her nerves. She glared at him, refusing to take her eyes off of him, even when she felt Killian's hand stroke her spine from her shoulders to the small of her back as he came to stand directly in front of his own desk.
"I have a small favor to ask of you, son," Jones began.
Killian growled. "I am not your son," he spit.
"Grandson, then. And for the record," he held up a defensive finger, "I disapproved of your mother's marriage to that bastard from the start, but Katarina was a stubborn lass." Though his glare never faltered, a shade of confusion shone in Killian's eyes that Jones explained away with an absent wave of his hand, "Your father took your mother's name after her death to hide from his debts."
Killian ignored the new information. "What do you want from me, Jones?"
"My heart. I require you to retrieve it. Alas, I would do it myself, but there's this small little detail in my curse that prevents me from stepping foot on land but once every ten years."
"Our luck it's not today, huh?" Emma said dryly.
Jones smiled without humor. "Indeed, Princess."
She scoffed. "I'm no princess."
"Perhaps not yet, but time has a funny way of, well, you'll see eventually, I suppose." At Emma's wide eyes he grinned widely. "Oh, yes. I know you're not from this time," he said smugly. "See, I know when every sailor will meet his or her end. It's something of a talent that comes with the job. And you, love, you're a bit of a mess." His eyes trailed over to Killian. "As are you, Captain."
Killian took a step forward. "So, I'm to retrieve your heart? Are you sure you can trust me with such a treasure?" he challenged, anxious to remove Jones's attention from Emma. "After all, the one who crushes the heart of Davy Jones not only becomes immortal, but also gains the fastest ship in the land."
"Very true," Jones conceded, his smile twisting into something dark. With a flick of his wrist, a dagger materialized in front of Emma's chest. Killian lunged to grab it but suddenly found himself unable to move. Jones paid him no attention, his gaze fixed on Emma. "But, you see, in order to gain possession of the Dutchman, one has to cut out their own heart." The dagger pressed further into Emma's chest before slowly dragging downward, slicing through a button of her shirt. "And that's, well, it's quite the painful process." Another button popped, the tip of the blade now pressing between her breasts. "If you betray me, I'll carve out her heart myself, and I'll assure that you will be forced to watch every agonizing second."
A small bead of blood swelled around the dagger's point.
"That's enough," Killian snapped. "I'll get your damn heart. Now, drop the bloody knife before I find a way to shove it down your throat."
Jones smiled with the sort of fond exasperation of a parent dealing with a headstrong child. "Now, there's no need for threats," he said as the knife clattered to the floor. The force holding both Emma and Killian in place vanished but neither moved. "I think we're getting along swimmingly," Jones continued. "A few things before I go." He swung his legs off the desk and stood. "There is a race of sorts in regards to claiming my heart. Many men will chase its power. You'll need an advantage."
"The Jolly Roger is fast enough," Killian said evenly.
"Indeed," Jones agrees, "yet it does do well to know where one is going. A good compass is what you need."
"Well, you're in luck. I've got one."
"This compass is . . . special," he said. "It does not point north, and it is in the possession of a man I believe will be willing to help you." Jones rounded the desk to stand at Killian's shoulder. "Find the compass, find my heart, and then return it to me."
"So be it," Killian agreed through gritted teeth. "Who, pray tell, possesses this magic compass?"
"Jack Sparrow."
Emma gasped quietly in recognition, yet the sound went unnoticed by the two Jones Captains, who met each other's gazes evenly. "Find the compass, find my heart," Jones repeated. "There are many wheels in motion, things that must come to pass, if we wish for the sea to remain free."
"Aye." Killian's eyes narrowed. "Now, get off my ship."
Jones flashed a quick, dangerous smile before dissolving into a sea green mist. Killian paused only long enough to be sure that the pirate of the dead was gone before taking two quick steps toward Emma. Framing her face in his hands, he captured her lips in a fierce kiss, his mouth hot and demanding against hers. She clutched his shoulders and gave as good as she got, making a noise of complaint when Killian pulled away sooner than she liked.
His eyes scanned her face as his hands stroked her cheeks and her hair, his gaze trailing down between her breasts to glare at the drip of dried blood before meeting her eyes. "Are you alright, Emma?"
Her next breath was a bit shakier than she liked, but she managed a smile. "I'm fine," she said. "It was just a prick. It's nothing."
"He hurt you."
He said it like it was the gravest offense, like of the whole ordeal that was what mattered the most. Emma's heart fluttered. "I'm fine," she repeated before her eyes fell on the open hatch leading on deck. "You better check on the crew."
"Aye," Killian agreed. "Perhaps it would be best if you were to stay here. I think we'll drop anchor for the night."
She nodded. "Yeah, I'll," she glanced at her shirt, showing much more than just a spot of blood, "fix this."
Emma wasn't sure whether she was impressed or offended when Killian managed to avoid glancing at her breasts a final time before he turned and climbed the stairs to the deck two at a time. As soon as he was gone, Emma took in the captain's quarters with fresh eyes, surprised by the strange sense of loneliness she felt. It was almost as if she was seeing it again for the first time, feeling out of place and lost, unsure of her decision to stay.
Emma realized with a pang of panic that it was because the Jolly Roger had become a home to her. These quarters were hers. This was her room. She had her clothes in the wardrobe, her few belongings in the trunk at the foot of the bed. The journal that she'd started to while away the hours after sunset was sitting on one of the bookshelves.
This place was supposed to be safe.
And Davy fucking Jones had ruined that.
She irrationally wanted him to come back just so she could punch him in the nose, because she'd never really had a home and this was as close as she'd ever gotten to one and no one just got to waltz in dammit.
Her anger had yet to fade by the time she had shed her vest and shirt, and without any other options, stolen one of Killian's shirts as a replacement. Killian returned just as she was fishing through his coat pocket for his flask.
"Brilliant idea, Swan."
She took a sip and wordlessly passed it to him. "It felt necessary," she said.
"Aye," he agreed before taking a drink. His gaze fell on her with only a hint of his usual heat. "I approve of your wardrobe change, love."
Her teasing smile fell flat. "What is it about men seeing women wearing their clothes?"
Killian smiled faintly as he took a step toward. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, his eyes once again boring into hers.
"I'm fine, Killian," she assured him, touched by his concern. "How's the crew?"
"Unharmed. It seems Davy Jones kept his word."
"Yeah, about that," Emma took the flask back from him and took a drink, "so I need to tell you something. This guy that we have to find—"
"Sparrow."
"Yeah," she took another drink, "I sort of know him."
Emma liked to think that she had made some strides in the belief department. She accepted that the Enchanted Forest was a real place (Renaissance Fair that it was). She accepted that magic was real. She accepted that some legends in her world were real here. Like Neverland.
Yet when she stepped off the gangplank onto the docks of Tortuga, she found the strength of her belief tested.
The whole damn port was straight out of the movie—crowded, loud, and crass. Gunshots went off like fireworks. Everyone seemed to be shouting at someone. Whores in brightly colored dresses and thick makeup paraded by, winking and smiling slyly. Bottles were smashed over heads. Swords were drawn.
And everyone was drunk.
Killian kept her close as they wove through the crowd, his hand a firm warmth on her waist. "Is it the same as your movie, Swan?" he asked.
Emma dodged another drunk, a disbelieving laugh on her lips. "Exactly the same," she said.
"Perhaps we have a distinct advantage, then. You're practically a Seer, love."
She snorted and rolled her eyes. The crowd thinned just enough for her to see a long row of taverns. "There," she pointed. "This way."
"You must have liked this movie of yours, for you to remember such details."
"It was a good movie."
"So you've always had a fondness for pirates, then? Or is it just me?"
Emma ignored him. Killian took it as a yes, and his answering smirk was smug as they continued down the narrow alleyway. A weathered wooden sign swayed in the breeze, grabbing Emma's eye. The Salty Dog. "This one," she said, pointing. "It's where they went in the movie. C'mon."
She grabbed his hand and led them forward. Killian eyed their hands with a small smile as he followed her into the tavern, where they had to immediately throw themselves to the side as two drunk brawlers tumbled out the door. Killian glanced at Emma to see if she was alright, and was only somewhat unsurprised to see the smile on her face. Bloody brilliant little pirate she was, his Swan.
The tavern was rough and loud. A different fight broke out every other second. The sound of flesh hitting flesh and the crash of glass created an unusual, lively music. He searched for a table, finding one near the back that had a good view of the door. Emma followed his gaze and headed for the table without a word.
She sat in her chair though her eyes never ceased their movement. Excitement caused her to tap her foot beneath the table as she scoured the tavern. God, she was really doing this, wasn't she? She was looking for Johnny Depp's doppelganger in the real Tortuga.
The thought made her snicker under her breath. It was partially nerves, partially disbelief, and a hell of a lot of complete bewilderment. Killian lifted his eyebrow in a way that only he could, teasing and amused and sinful all at once, and she blushed as he said, "You're loving this."
"Nothing about this makes sense," she said. "This is real."
"I thought we were past that real or not real nonsense."
Emma rolled her eyes. "This is serious, though," she said, trying to explain. "This isn't . . . this isn't about me believing that I fell through a portal or that you've been to Neverland. This is you believing me."
Killian frowned. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"No, it's not that," she said honestly, the quick answer making her blush and him smile. "But as wonderful as you've been helping me adjust to this world, I'm still a girl from the Land Without Magic. And even if I'm looking for a freaking character in a movie, it's . . . it's the most familiar thing I've done since I've been here."
Her voice was soft, almost bashful when she finished, and Killian studied her quietly, eventually dropping his gaze from hers to twist his glass of rum. "Do you still wish to return to your world, Swan? Because if you do, I will still do all in my power to help."
Emma blinked. "You'd do that? Even after—"
"Aye."
"Do you want me to go back?"
"No," he said softly. "I'll always want you to stay, Emma."
Her mind swam. She tried to process the thoughts drowning in her head, but all she managed to do was hear always and you and stay. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but a flash of oddly familiar movement out of the corner of her eye distracted her. "He's here," she said.
Killian turned. "Where?"
"Dark hair. Hat. Beads in his hair."
"I see him."
Jack Sparrow wasn't exactly like Disney had led her to believe. While he still held a specific swagger, that sort of well-placed confidence that was nearly lazy, he wasn't as . . . weird in real life. There was no swaying walk, no pointy, wavy hands as he talked to a few men at the bar. He wore a weathered, brown leather coat and beneath that, a white shirt that looked fairly new since it still looked more white than beige. His brown vest was unbuttoned, and his sword and pistol were tucked into his belt.
Emma glanced at Killian. "Do you know anything about him?"
"I know the name," he said. "And I know the legends of the Black Pearl, but I've seen neither man nor ship."
Emma watched Jack take a tankard of ale from the bar and find a table in the quieter corner of the tavern. "Okay," she said, propping her arms on the table and leaning forward. "So how do you want to handle this?"
Killian responded by tossing back the rest of his rum before grabbing the bottle as he stood. "I'm going to offer the man a drink," he said simply.
Emma snatched their glasses and followed him over to Jack's table. The pirate captain saw them coming. His dark eyes narrowed even as he adopted a smile. "I don't believe we've met," he said as Killian and Emma sat across from him. His eyes trailed to Emma. "I never forget a face."
"Captain Killian Jones," Killian said as he refilled his and Emma's glasses.
"My keen sense of intuition tells me that you already know who I am," Jack responded with an appraising tilt of his head as his eyes slid to Emma once again. "And who are you, lass?"
"Emma Swan."
"Now, that is interesting. Curious name, Swan."
Emma was surprised when the sound of her name from his lips irked her. "Only he gets to call me that," she said, glancing at Killian who felt a rush of blinding satisfaction at her declaration.
"Apologies," Jack said with a light smile. "I was merely commenting on the name itself, love. Names, I find, are quite telling." He looked at Killian. "It leaves me wondering why the grandson of Davy Jones is buying me a drink."
Killian's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
"You look just like him, mate. Lovely eyes, the pair of you. Yet judging by that scowl of yours, I gather that it's not exactly a point of family pride."
"I'd tread carefully, mate."
"My apologies," Jack returned with a fake smile before holding up his tankard. "Cheers."
Emma leaned forward. "Look, we need your help."
"Ah, if only I was inclined to give it."
"What do you know about the heart of Davy Jones?"
For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Jack gave them his full attention. He stilled, and a million different thoughts flew behind his eyes. "Now, that changes things," he said lowly. "What do you want with that repugnant crustacean's heart?"
"We want to find it."
Jack's eyes flitted to Killian with a new, appraising light. "Wanting to take over the family business, eh?"
"My reasons are my own," Killian said flatly.
"Fair enough." Jack turned back to Emma, seeming more inclined to talk to her, although there was something lurking behind his eyes that she didn't understand. It was almost as though he was searching for something. "The first thing you need to know is the story of how he lost it in the first place."
"He carved it out."
"Aye, but why would a man do that?" Emma raised her eyebrows and Jack leaned forward. "Love, lass. Drives a man mad, it does. Makes him do things he'd never do."
"Like carve out his heart."
"See, good old Davy Jones was just a measly, pilfering pirate like the rest of us once upon a time," Jack explained. "Loved the sea. Loved the freedom. Wanted nothing more than to sail the seas for all time. Until one day he meets Calypso herself, and they fall in love. She promises to make him immortal so he can sail the seas for eternity, only she needs one thing."
"His heart."
"Proof of his devotion, lass. And so being the idiot in love that he is, Jones carves out his own heart and gives it to her. They bury it on an uncharted island, where Calypso promises to wait for him. Only when ten years pass, and once again he's allowed on land, she's not there." Emma frowned and Jack smiled grimly. "But he kept coming back, you see," he revealed. "For centuries he returned once every ten years until one day he decided his heart would be his own once again. Only when he went to take it, he found the chest in which it was kept locked. The key wouldn't turn."
"Why?"
Jack suddenly shrugged. "No idea," he said. "Just a story, love."
Killian cleared his throat sharply. "Where's the key?"
"Even if I did know where the key was, which is by no means a subtle way of implying that I do," he leaned back in his chair, " . . . but if I were to know where said key was . . . why would I share its location with you?"
"We are not the only ones who seek the heart."
"Well, the lot of you will have a hell of a time finding it."
"Not if we have a good compass."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Just what are you proposing, Captain?"
"You have a compass that can lead us to the heart," Killian said, his voice low and filled with an undercurrent of danger. His eyes were a threatening blue as he glared at Jack. "And even if you don't have the key, which I doubt, you at the very least know where it is."
"I'm still not hearing a reason why we should be friends, mate."
"Because we have a ship," Emma said. "You don't."
"And what makes you think that, lass?"
"You're here instead of hunting down the heart," she said simply. "If you had the Pearl, you would've already taken the heart for yourself."
"Very well deduced, Miss Swan."
"So, will you help us or not?"
Jack held up a finger. "One question," he said. "Just what is it you plan to do with the heart if young Jonesy here doesn't want to carry on the family business?"
"Return it to Davy Jones."
"You plan to go to the locker, then?"
Killian nodded. "Aye."
Silence fell over the table even as Emma watched a man get a chair smashed over his back before tackling his attacker to the ground. Her gaze settled on Jack, whose kohl-lined eyes moved slowly between her and Killian. She studied him with interest, taking in the differences between the character and the man. There was something different about him, the real Jack. Something more genuine.
The character that she knew was a man out for himself, an honorable, yet dishonest man, and she saw every bit of that calculating, cunning mind flashing in Jack's eyes. He was still every bit as clever. That hadn't changed. But his eyes flashed with something else as he continued to look between her and Killian.
It looked like jealousy to an untrained eye, but Emma wasn't a novice. She knew the look for what it was—longing. Even a hint of grief.
She knew then that Jack would join them.
So when he held out a hand to Killian, she wasn't surprised. "Then we have an accord," he said.
He and Killian shook hands, and Emma poured the rum.
Oh, yes. We have the ultimate Captain team-up. Can you imagine the trouble Killian and Jack can find together? Of course, that's if they get along. We'll have to see.
Prepare yourselves for an adventure!
Quote from next chapter comes from . . . Jack! - "We'll both just have to deal with our mutual dislike of the other, savvy?"
See you Friday!
-AC
