Author's Notes: So here we are! I'm so excited about the next part of the story. Totally forgot that I had named this section, so this story actually as four parts. I'm sure you guys won't be complaining.
Thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story. As always, you guys are fucking amazing and I love you to bits.
Now, let's see how are two favorite captains get along, shall we? (Sooooo much fun writing these two)
Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Or Pirates. Or Disney. Nothing. I own nothing.
Part Two: Davy Jones' Locker
Chapter 13
Sharing a bed was by no means something that Emma was used to, yet when she woke to find Killian missing, she realized that if anything, she'd quickly grown attached to the extra warmth. She shivered as she sat up in bed, the blankets falling to her waist as her hand reached out to feel the sheets that held no trace of heat. Emma was slipping out of bed in the next second.
She found him where she expected. He leaned against the rail of the quarterdeck, his eyes on water. They stood there quietly for a moment. Emma stared at the waves, the silvery moonlight shimmering over the surface like glass. It made the ocean appear fragile, and in response she felt the undeniable need to be quiet, to settle, so that she might not break it.
"I've always found it calming," Killian said, keeping his voice low as if someone might hear and use the information against him. "There's nothing more beautiful than moonlight on the waves." He glanced at her with an apologetic smile. "Forgive me if I woke you."
"You didn't." The empty bed did.
She kept her voice firm, feeling the need to emphasize that she still had every ability to sleep on her own, thank you very much, but Killian's lips twitched anyway, and she scoffed softly at the fond look in his eyes. "What's on your mind?" she asked.
Killian laughed tiredly as he ran a hand over his face. "Many things, Swan," he said. "A great many things."
He took a drink from his flask. Emma raised her eyebrows. "Is rum your solution to everything?" she asked dryly.
"It certainly doesn't hurt." He took another drink before offering the flask to her, and despite throwing him a sharp look, she took a drink herself. Killian smiled slightly as she passed back the flask, her lips still pursed against the burn of the rum. "Go back to bed, love," he said.
Emma shook her head. "Nope," she said as she turned to face him, resting her hip against the rail. "You're not distracting me."
Killian's eyebrows rose in challenge as he took the smallest step closer to her, and Emma suddenly felt the heat that she'd missed. He bent toward her, his nose brushing hers as his hand settled on her hip. "Don't be so sure, Swan," he said. "I love a challenge."
And though her blood boiled in the most pleasant way, especially when his hand on her hip drifted teasingly up her ribs, stopping just shy of where she wanted him, Emma pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. Her hand cupped his face. "Killian."
Her voice was soft, coaxing, yet uncannily firm. Killian sighed deeply and closed his eyes. His hand on her ribs fell away to grasp her hand on his cheek. He kissed her hand absently, like it had already become a habit, before turning away from her to stare at the ocean.
If their hands hadn't rested between them on the rail, Emma would have worried that Killian was pulling away from her, that he didn't trust her with his secrets. It wouldn't have been right for her to think so even if it was true. She knew as well as anyone that some truths were better kept close, that it was safer that way. She understood that desire to want distance.
But Killian kept her close, kept her hand in his, and so Emma waited. Minutes passed. Perhaps even hours. They stood together and watched the moonlight play over the water. The air occasionally stirred and swept up Emma's hair, adding a hint of vanilla in the breeze that reminded Killian of her first trip to Port Royal when he'd practically blackmailed her into letting him buy her some nice soaps.
Stubborn, infuriating woman.
He squeezed her hand.
"You asked once who had left me," he finally said, his voice heavy with remembered pain. "It was my father." Part of him wanted to chance a glance at Emma to see her reaction, if her eyes widened with surprise or her lips tipped into a frown. Yet the larger part feared that he would see pity, and so he kept his gaze forward as he continued, "After my mother died, we left the small town I'd barely begun to know as home. My father took us from town to town. I hated it. Not the travelling. No, I was actually quite fond of it. Liam made it seem as though we were heroes on an adventure." He smiled, though a cynical huff left his lips as he said, "Yet even that young I knew in my heart that it was a lie. It didn't feel like an adventure. It felt like running."
"What Davy Jones said about my father was true," he explained. "My father had many debts, and running from them proved too difficult with two children. So one day he promises us that we are going to a new land. We would have to take a ship, and I remember being excited to sail."
Emma squeezed his hand and smiled half-heartedly, a smile that Killian managed to briefly return before he looked away once more. "The sail was rough. There was a storm the last night of our journey, and my light went out. I called for my father, and he came . . ." To this day, Killian still didn't understand how his father could so readily come when he called and yet abandon him the same night. ". . . told me that one day I'd have to decide what kind of man I wanted to be."
"He was gone the next morning when the storm cleared," he said, his tone suddenly detached as he straightened his back, though his grip on Emma's hand tightened. "His thieving and debts had finally caught up to him, and there were guards waiting for him at port. So he spent the last of his coin on a rowboat and fled. I found all this out the next morning from the captain, of course . . . along with the fact that my father had sold me and Liam into servitude aboard the ship."
"How old were you?"
"Nine."
Emma didn't know what to say. She knew what abandonment felt like, and so she knew that apologies were empty words that no matter how sincere, were never enough. They were like a cheap Band-Aid over a gapping, gushing wound, and so Emma did not say that she was sorry for him, even if it was true. She stared at the water instead, and tightened her grip on his hand.
"And you're wondering where Davy Jones was all this time," she said knowingly. "Now that you know he knew. He knew and did nothing."
He swallowed. "Aye."
Killian wasn't sure what he would have wanted had he known about his relation to Davy Jones. To be raised aboard The Dutchman seemed a stretch. Surrounded by the dead, sailing an endless sea, never to move forward. That was a half-life. He needed his freedom, and Liam would have never let him settle for anything less. He hadn't let him settle for less.
Yet there had been someone who could have been there. Someone who could have taken the weight of responsibility from Liam. Perhaps then Killian would not have felt so guilty for robbing him of his childhood, forcing his brother to care for him like the father that had abandoned them. Perhaps then he would have drank less, gambled less. Perhaps Liam would still be alive. Perhaps Liam would still be alive.
"Hey." Emma's voice called to him, fracturing his thoughts. He turned to look at her and found her gaze soft and warm, if a bit worried. She placed her hand on his face. It was something of a habit she was beginning to form, a habit that had him leaning into her touch and relishing its warmth. "Don't waste time asking, what if. It's just gonna drive you crazy. Trust me."
Her thumb brushed against the scar on his cheek, a token from Liam on one of the rare days they had to themselves aboard Silver's ship. They'd stupidly picked up two cutlasses and played heroes and villains. Killian had been the villain, and a light shudder went through him at Emma's touch. "You're right," he said. "It doesn't do to dwell on the past."
Emma smirked. She'd never get over the way he spoke. All eloquent and fancy and straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Killian smiled at her and reached up to clasp her hand so that he now held both of hers between them. "Besides," he said. "I find myself thinking more about the future as of late."
There was an odd buzzing in Emma's ears at his words, and her brain felt fuzzy as she tried to process what he meant. Because there was no mistaking it. He meant it. There was that familiar steely, determined blue flame in his eyes that frightened her as much as it warmed her, that was just as unyielding as it was soft. She blinked. "You barely know me," she said, taking a step back.
But Killian didn't let go of her hands. He simply stepped with her. "I know enough," he said honestly. "And I want you, Emma. Even if I can't stand the way you throw off your boots and leave your clothes on the floor and that I find your hair everywhere and that you actually prefer wine to rum—which is ridiculous, by the way—not to mention the fact that I wake up every bloody morning with you snoring in my ear—"
Emma grabbed the lapels of his coat and tugged him to her. They kissed like it was a battle. Emma nipped at his lips, only for Killian to bite back harder. His hand tightened in her hair. Her fingers slipped to clench in his vest, her nails scratching his chest. He pinned her to the rail with his hips. She hooked her leg around him and brought him even closer in challenge.
All the while their skin felt like fire. Their blood roared in their ears. Emma's chest was deliciously tight and warm, and Killian's entire body felt like the sea in a storm. Wild, powerful, and irrefutably honest. For all their shared passion, there was an air of beautiful simplicity around them. She was Emma Swan, and he was Killian Jones, and they were together.
And it was right.
Emma finally pulled away, but Killian refused. His lips skimmed her jaw, nipped at her ear. He left a trail of wet kisses down her neck and lingered at her collarbone. He'd leave a mark, which was his intention. Emma didn't care.
She did, however, have to clarify one thing. "I don't snore," she said.
Her voice was breathless, lacking any authority whatsoever, and Killian smiled against her skin. "Sorry, Swan," he said. "But you do. It's more of a purr, actually." He lifted his head to grin into her glare. "Like a cute little kitten."
Emma moved her hand in his hair to pinch the back of his neck. "I'm not cute," she insisted.
Killian smiled brilliantly. He hummed as he bent to kiss her neck yet again. "Then I believe, my darling Swan, we are at an impasse."
My darling Swan. My.
His.
It should make her upset. She belonged to no one but herself, dammit. She was a strong, independent woman who had gotten out of hell by her own damn self. She'd braved prison. She'd had a child. She'd made a life for herself when she had nothing but a cheap keychain and an old Volkswagen Bug.
But to be his meant to be wanted. I want you, Emma.
And god help her, she wanted him, too.
"You're enough," she said, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Just because your father didn't see that doesn't mean it's not true, Killian."
Killian knew his eyes were watering, but he didn't care. If a tear fell, a tear fell. He didn't give one bloody fuck. Because as always, like Emma had hoped, he heard what she wasn't yet brave enough to say.
You're enough for me.
So if a tear happened to trail down his cheek as he bent to claim her lips again, he ignored it. He was enough for Emma Swan.
And that was enough for him.
Killian and Emma stayed on deck for the rest of the night. They eventually climbed up to the crow's nest, where Emma sat between his legs, leaning into his chest, her head tucked neatly in the crook of his neck while her hand fiddled with the long chain of his necklace. Her focus on his necklace prompted Killian to tell her the stories of how he'd come to gather every bauble and treasure attached to it—from his brother's ring and his mother's wedding band to the skull and crossbones he'd kept from a treasure chest on a sunken ship.
In turn she told him more about her life in the foster system. She told him about the bad homes she'd run away from, the good ones where she had hoped to stay. She told him about Lily, her first friend, and about the bail bonds woman who had been the catalyst for finding her armor. It was then, when Killian asked what her armor was, that Emma realized she hadn't worn her leather jacket since coming aboard the Jolly.
Killian held her tighter when she told him.
They talked about everything and nothing. Killian pointed out the stars and told the stories behind them. Some she knew because of her talks with Ace, but others she didn't and she listened contentedly and relished the gentle vibrations in Killian's chest as he spoke softly of lost loves and great battles. She told him about her first trip to a zoo and how she'd tried to stay in the penguin exhibit despite the smell because she thought the little birds were fancy in their tuxedos. Killian had needed an explanation about both "penguins" and "tuxedos" and how the two could possibly make sense together.
It was silly, pointless conversation that meant the world to Emma. Because it was new. It was different. It was intimacy on a level that neither Emma nor Killian had ever known because they never gave anyone the opportunity to get that close. There was something beautifully fragile and terrifying about it—being vulnerable, sharing secrets, truly trusting someone else with knowledge that could break you.
Emma had tried with Neal, but it hadn't been the same. She had been too scared of sending him running for the hills. She'd told him about the foster system, about being an orphan, but nothing more. He'd never known about Lily. He'd never known that when she'd been a child, she had wanted to be a princess—someone beautiful and special and powerful who had not just a family but an entire kingdom that adored her.
But Killian knew, and he didn't laugh. Instead he told her that as a boy he'd dreamed of being just like Liam and how sometimes, in dark moments, he wondered just how big of a disappointment he'd turned out to be.
When the sun rose, Emma woke, unaware that she had fallen asleep at all. She blinked, her gaze slowly coming into focus on the soft leather collar of Killian's coat that she didn't remember covering her. It slipped from her shoulders as she stretched, yet the arms around her waist tightened. "I don't remember falling asleep," she said.
"It wasn't terribly long ago," Killian answered quietly, his lips at her hair. "I only dealt with your snores for an hour or so."
Emma huffed. "You need to let that go."
"Not a chance, love."
"C'mon," she said as she reluctantly pulled away from him, though she kept his coat. "We've got a heart to find." She shook her head. "I can't believe I just said that and it made sense."
Killian grinned as he followed her down to the deck. She headed for the galley, his coat over her shoulders, while he went to the helm, already reaching for his compass, only to remember that it wasn't his compass that he needed. His scowl quickly morphed into a glare when he climbed the steps to see none other than Jack Sparrow at the helm.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
"Fulfilling my end of the bargain," Jack responded with a sarcastic smile before he glanced pointedly at the crow's nest. "I would have waited, but you seemed a bit preoccupied. I was loathe to disturb such a touching display. Bit of a romantic, me."
Killian's jaw clenched. "Let's be clear, Sparrow," he said. "You're only here to lead us to the heart. The minute you're no longer useful, you might just find that Davy Jones will be the least of your concerns."
"Ah, so you don't trust me. Fair enough, as I don't trust you. But," Jack took a step forward, though he kept one hand on the helm, keeping their course, "let it be known that I haven't survived this long with just me good looks and charm. You help me, and I help you, and then we go our merry little separate ways. Until then, we'll both just have to deal with our mutual dislike of the other, savvy?"
Killian gritted his teeth. "Aye," he finally agreed and Jack abruptly straightened up with a wide smile.
"There!" he said. "Not so hard, now, is it?" Turning to face the deck, he declared, "We're well on our way, Jones." He checked his compass again. "We'll be rid of each other soon enough."
Despite his best efforts, Killian took a step closer in curiosity as he eyed the compass in Jack's hand. "If your compass doesn't point north," he said. "Then what does it point to?"
"What I want most."
"Handy, that."
"Aye."
"Does it work for anything?"
"Even rum. Especially rum. It's always—"
"—gone."
And as if they realized at the same time that they were getting along, Killian and Jack pointedly looked away from each other and took a step a part. To compensate for not being at the wheel, Killian began harshly barking orders, sending the still sleepy crew into a frenzy of action that made Jack smirk to himself as he snapped his compass shut.
On deck, Emma looked up at the helm, eyes narrowing at the sight of Jack behind the wheel rather than Killian. While the majority of her wanted to have the swaggering pirate away from the helm, a small part of her—the, god, she couldn't believe this actually made sense, the fan part of her—was just a bit giddy at the thought of working the deck while Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm.
The same could not be said for the rest of the crew.
She put up with their grumblings as the morning passed. It was mostly harmless and reminded her of a bunch of disgruntled toddlers who were upset with their father for hiring a babysitter that they didn't like. But by the middle of the day, the mutters began to take a turn. It changed from "Who the bloody hell does he think he is?" to "Didn't know we'd switched ships."
When she heard a sailor called Bellamy mutter under his breath, "Didn't know Jones was the type to roll over and take it in the arse," Emma cracked.
Her entire body seemed to act on instinct. Without a thought to her actions, she dropped her line and spun, grabbing hold of his vest, and then with a strength that surprised everyone on deck, yanked him back until he hit the rail. Bellamy was a sailor that Emma had never really talked with. He was a quiet one, and from what she had heard, had been picked up in a port a year ago. He minded his own business, kept to himself, and until now, Emma had been perfectly fine with that.
"You got a problem?" she demanded, and before he could say either way, she added, "Because if you don't watch your mouth, you're about to have one. Captain Jones is doing what needs to be done in order to save your ungrateful ass and everyone else on this ship. So either you can shut your mouth or take a swim. What's it gonna be?"
It was only when he jerked away from her that she realized she had drawn the dagger from her belt and pressed it under his ribs. The knowledge threatened to make her drop her guard but she held firm, glaring into in his eyes, daring him to argue. He didn't. He swallowed and said, "Aye, mum."
Emma held him for a second longer before she abruptly let go, finally lifting her head to look at the assembled crowd around her and suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of their stares despite the way her back was straight and her eyes were blazing. She had a damn weapon in her hand and yet she felt defensive.
When Killian appeared next to her, she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly, though it had less to do with him, as Killian, than the fact that he was the Captain. This was his ship, his crew, and had she honestly just threatened one of them as if she had that same authority?
Killian's voice was deceptively calm as he asked, "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," Bellamy said.
"Ah, good. It would be terrible if there were, Mr. Bellamy. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, sir."
"A ship functions best when the crew follows their Captain," Killian said as he slowly stalked forward, "whatever his course." He paused directly in front of Bellamy. "Do you know why that is, Mr. Bellamy?"
"No, sir."
"Because a good sailor knows his place." Killian's voice gained a sharp edge. "Do you know your place, sailor?"
Bellamy swallowed. "Yes, Captain."
"Very good." Killian leaned the slightest bit closer, his eyes dark with promise, as he added, "The next time you forget, the last thing you'll remember is the feeling of water suffocating your lungs when I keelhaul you the length of this ship. Is that clear?" Looking up and taking a step back, he addressed the crew. "Is that clear?" he repeated.
His question was met with a chorus of "Yes, Captain" and it was only after another heavy pause that he turned and snapped, "Now, get back to work." However, when he walked to Emma, the ice in his eyes melted, and the harsh set of his lips softened into a concerned frown. "Come with me, love," he said quietly.
They retreated up to the quarterdeck where both of them pretended that Jack was absent, despite the way he glanced over his shoulder at them as they went to the rail. Emma placed her hands on the rail, feeling the need to hold on to something. Killian placed his hand over hers. "Are you alright, Swan?"
She stared at the water. It didn't hold the same calm as it had during the night. The waves were wild and powerful. Nothing about it exuded peace. It was chaos. "I didn't know I'd drawn my dagger," she said. "I didn't know until he flinched."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing that bears repeating."
"He upset you."
"He insulted you," she said. "But it was more than that." Emma frowned as she continued to watch the waves fall on top of each other. "He implied that this wasn't your ship anymore, that you were weak, and I just . . . snapped. And then you . . ."
Killian eyed her warily. "Then I, what?"
"You . . ." She shook her head and then turned to look at him. The hesitance in his stare made her wish she'd kept quiet. Insecurities, all too familiar to her, flashed in his eyes as he stared at her and waited for the shoe to drop. She knew that look, and she hated that she'd put it there. "Sometimes I forget," she said slowly. "I forget that you're this big, bad pirate Captain. I forget that you have a reputation and that you earned it. I forget because . . . because all I see is just Killian. And it's because that's the part of you that you let me see."
His hand tightened on hers. "That's the only part that matters, isn't it? That's the part of myself that I'm . . ." proud of.
He wanted to say it, but he couldn't. Killian let the sentence hang, his voice trailing off as he looked at the water. "I do not wish for you to be tainted by my darkness, love."
Emma pulled her hand out from under his. "I'm not some saint, Killian."
"I know that, Swan," he insisted, clenching his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her. "But that doesn't make it any easier."
"To do what?"
"To shield you from the darker parts of myself. I care too much about you."
Emma shook her head. "No," she said. "There's more to it than that."
Killian clenched his jaw but did not reply. It only confirmed to her that she was right. But when silence continued to fill the space between them, Emma took another step back. Killian did not follow her like he had last night. He let her go. She hated the flash of hurt she felt, almost as much as she hated herself for the flash of anger in her veins when he let her walls go up.
She was already so used to him steadily chipping away at them that it had become expected.
Now she felt a crushing disappointment.
This was what happened when you cared. It hurt.
"Find me when you want to be honest," she said before she returned to the deck.
Not a single crew member dared to look her way.
Yeah, you honestly didn't expect it to be smooth sailing for long, did you? Emma and Killian still have a long way to go.
If Emma seems a bit abrupt, fear not. We really get into her head next chapter. She's got some things to work through, stubborn Swan that she is.
So . . . next chapter preview goes to . . . Emma!
Preview for Ch14
"I hate you." - Emma
Bahaha, I'm evil.
See you Friday!
-AC
