Author's Notes: Hello, hello! Here we are after another week. And hey, chapter 20 of about a million! I'm still writing this story as we go, and I need to jump on it, honestly. I got distracted by other fics and dipped back into my obsession with Eric Northman after randomly catching a True Blood episode. But fear not, I've still got a lot of chapters in the bank. There will be no lulls in posting, I promise.

Disclaimer: Not mine.


Chapter 20

Killian woke to that blissful, hazy limbo after a deep sleep. He wasn't quite sure he was even awake. Sounds were muted. Thoughts crawled lazily through his mind. Warm. Soft. He inhaled deeply. Vanilla.

Emma.

His arms tightened around her, and he buried his nose deeper into her hair. She made a little noise in response, maybe a sigh, but he was still too sleepy to tell. He only knew that he liked the sound, and he wanted to hear it again. Weeks of sharing a bed with this woman, and now he finally felt like he had the unspoken permission to touch her.

His eyes were still closed as his hand cupped her breast, and he smiled into her neck when she sighed yet again.

He was debating waking her up when he heard it. His movements stilled, though he tried to stay as relaxed as possible. He needed to gain advantage. Appear oblivious.

Had one of the crew come for the heart? He hadn't heard the stairs groan under footsteps. He didn't hear anything other than breathing. His own and Emma's. Emma.

The protective instinct that filled him was by no means unexpected and yet the intensity still surprised him. He used it to focus on his course of action, rather than the fact that Emma's soft body against his suddenly felt very, very fragile.

No one on the stairs. He knew from experience that he would wake up. A mutinous deckhand had once tried to slit his throat in his sleep. He'd found a dagger embedded in his chest instead.

A dagger that Killian still kept under his pillow.

There was an uncomfortable itch between his shoulders. Someone was staring at him. Perhaps he hadn't heard anything at all. Perhaps it had merely been a feeling of being watched. How long had they been there? How long had it taken for him to notice?

Any answer was ultimately unacceptable.

He was reaching under Emma's pillow for his dagger when two things happened at once: Emma woke up, and a blade was drawn.

Killian reacted with a speed that took everyone in the room by surprise. He grasped the dagger in his hand and turned, blade already raised to block the descending flash of silver that was Davy Jones's sword. The metal met with a clash that had Emma surging upright, eyes wide and searching until they landed on where Killian stood between her and Davy Jones.

When a moment passed and no one made a move to kill each other, she hastily gathered her wits and stood next to Killian. She glared at Davy Jones. "Ever heard of knocking?" she snapped.

Jones stared at her and then chuckled, "You amuse me, Miss Swan." He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her bare legs, and his smile became more lecherous. "Although, you are certainly nothing to laugh at, as it were."

Killian growled. "That's enough," he said, taking a step forward. "We have your heart."

Jones's eyes didn't leave Emma. "But what if I want more?"

"You'll have to kill me."

"That's simple enough."

"Whoa, hey," Emma quickly took a step forward, placing one hand on Killian's arm and holding the other out to warn Jones away. She glared at him. "The deal was for the heart," she said. "That's all you asked for, and that's all you're getting. So do you want your heart or not?"

Jones held her gaze until he abruptly smiled, looking strangely boyish as he shrugged and slid his sword into its sheath. "Fair enough," he agreed.

Emma didn't take her eyes off of him as she said, "Killian, get the key."

"Swan—"

"It's fine."

She heard him swear under his breath but nonetheless moved away to get the key. Glaring at Jones as she walked forward, she kept eye contact with him until she was forced to turn away to open the desk drawer where she had hidden the chest. By the time she stood and placed the box on the desk, Killian was back at her side, the heat of his body a comforting warmth.

He dropped the key onto the desk next to the box. "There," he said. "You have what you wanted. Now leave."

But Jones only picked up the key and then offered it to Emma with a charming, dangerous smile. "Perhaps dear Emma can do the honors?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You can't open it, can you?"

"The circumstances that would have once allowed me to open it no longer apply."

"What makes you think I can?"

"Let's just say I'm willing to bet you have what it takes. If not," he shrugged and smiled blandly, "the offer to cut out your heart is still on the table."

Killian took an angry step forward, and Emma placed a halting hand on his chest. "Killian, don't listen to him," she said. "He's just trying to bait you."

It was undoubtedly true and yet Emma couldn't understand why. Jones was calculated, and though she saw the genuine amusement in his eyes whenever he goaded his grandson, beneath that was almost something anxious. It reminded her of a child who needed to be reassured that monsters weren't really under the bed.

Jones was worried, and yet he eyed her with a strange, heavily-veiled hope.

She took the offered key, feeling the weight of it in her hand. It felt heavier than it should but maybe that was just her imagination. With the key in her hand, she felt required to study the box closer than she had when she'd hidden it. It was intricately made, a mixture of wood and metal, blackened until it almost looked charred. Like some strange, gothic music box.

. . . thump, thump . . . thump, thump . . .

Emma frowned as she heard the disturbingly vivid beating. The key in her hand seemed to weigh even more as the sound reverberated in her mind.

. . . thump, thump . . . thump, thump . . . thump, thump . . .

And then something truly amazing happened when she slid the key into the lock.

Her hand glowed.

At first she was only shocked. She thought that the white light came from within the box, like the Arc of the Covenant from Indiana Jones, but the longer that she stared, it became frighteningly plain that the light came from her.

Like magic.

Terror made her quickly turn the key, causing the lid of the chest to pop open. Emma dropped the key immediately and scrambled backward, directly into Killian's chest, which only caused her to jump away from him, holding her hand in front of her in horror.

It was still glowing.

Panic welled within her. A wind swept through the cabin, which didn't make any sense at all because the windows were closed. Papers flew off the desk. A book fell to the floor. Every candle in the room was suddenly lit, burning too brightly, the flames continuing to climb higher and higher and she was going to burn the ship and then they'd be trapped and Killian would hate her and . . .

"Swan." Killian appeared in front of her, arms out, placating. "Emma, love, you've got to calm down."

She shook her head frantically. The wind in the cabin picked up. "I can't!"

"Look at me, Swan," he urged, taking a step closer to her, only to have her take one back, her glowing hand in front of her as a warning.

"Don't come closer," she said. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

He took a step.

"Killian, don't."

Another step.

"Please."

"It's alright, love," he said softly, raising his hand toward hers. "Swan, it's alright."

Before she could stop him, he slipped his fingers through hers. Her hand didn't stop glowing. In fact, the light seemed to wrap around his hand. Emma searched his face for any sign of pain, but he only smiled at her and gently pulled on her hand to bring her closer. She went tentatively, darting looks between their hands and his face, until his free hand cupped her cheek.

"Just look at me, Emma," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Just look at me and breathe."

It made no sense to do what he said—her hand was glowing, for Christ's sake—but Emma made the mistake of looking into his eyes and so she was trapped.

She breathed.

He was calm. She didn't understand how he could be so calm, but he was, and some of it inevitably washed over her. The wind stopped and papers slowly drifted down to the floor. The candle flames shrank until they were a normal, flickering glow. And to her surprise, despite the anxiety roiling within her, her breaths matched his.

Killian flashed a smile as he looked down pointedly. "Look," he said.

She looked.

Her hand was normal again.

She shuddered in relief. "What the hell was that?" She turned to Jones, who looked troubled and . . . different. "What did you do?"

Jones looked at her absently. "Merely unlocked a part of you that was always there, love," he said. "You're quite welcome."

"What?"

"Magic, lass. You have it."

"That's just . . . that's ridiculous. I can't . . . I'm not from here."

"Perhaps not," Jones agreed, though Emma didn't quite believe him, "but you certainly belong here," he said as he stared at his own hands like he didn't trust them.

Killian's eyes narrowed as he watched Jones. "What have you done?" he asked.

Jones looked up, and there was a strange new glint in his eyes. Something lively. "It's a funny thing, in this realm," he said. "You can live without your heart. I just lived without one for so long that I forgot what it felt like." He rubbed his chest, right over his scar. "Strange indeed."

Emma frowned. "So you . . . couldn't feel anything?"

"Living without a heart is like living in a shadow. Everything is dulled. Less vibrant. And after centuries, that shadow only gets darker and darker until it's all that you are." Jones sighed as he looked at the empty chest. "No need for this anymore."

With a wave of his hand, the chest vanished.

Emma flinched at the display, her gaze once again darting to her hand. Still normal. Jones caught her look. "Magic is nothing to fear, lass," he said. "You only have to use it to learn it."

"Can you take it away?"

"Alas, I cannot. And if I could, I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because it is a part of you, and you, my girl, are quite powerful. I'm sure the lad felt it when he took your hand."

Emma wanted to look at Killian to see if Jones's words were true, but she was too distracted by the calculating look in ancient captain's eye. "You mean you want me as an ally," she guessed, shocked and upset.

He wouldn't take away her magic because of future leverage?

Jones smiled. "I'm a pirate, lass. Best get used to dealing with our selfish ways if you plan on sailing the seas with my grandson. He's one of the best of the lot."

It wasn't meant as a compliment. Yet it wasn't exactly an insult, either. Merely a fact.

"Now," his hand rested on his chest as he spoke, as if he needed to feel the beat of his heart beneath his palm to be sure it was there, "I do believe I'll take my leave."

"As we will take ours," Killian returned. "If only we knew how to get out."

"Up is down."

"What?"

"Up is down," Jones repeated. "It's all you need to know."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"It means what I said it means." Jones began to back away, headed straight for the wall behind him without a care. "Oh, and," he held up a hand, "you might be inclined to sail to Shipwreck Cove." He smiled without humor. "I imagine the seas are about to be rough."

And right before he would have run into the wall, he vanished.

Emma stared at the wall for a long moment, making sure that Jones was really gone, and only then did she turn around, her shoulders sagging as she let out a ragged breath. Her eyes fell to her hand. "I don't know what to do," she said numbly.

Killian took her hand again. "Nothing, love," he assured her. "Not right now."

"How did you know?" She looked at their hands. "How did you know I wouldn't hurt you?"

He smiled. "Well, I'd certainly hoped."

Emma stared at him wide-eyed. "You mean you weren't sure?!"

"Honestly, love, don't make too big a deal out of it."

"Too big? My hand was glowing! With . . ."

"Magic," Killian finished.

"Why are you not freaking out?"

"Well, I think you're doing that well enough."

Emma growled, and though he felt guilty about it, Killian chuckled. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her softly before pulling away only to kiss her forehead. "We will figure it out, Swan," he said. "Until then, let's try to figure out how to get out of this bloody Locker."

Emma smiled as she looked down, suddenly shy as memories of the night before flashed through her mind. Her eyes fell on his chest and lingered. Her thumb ran over a scar on his collarbone. "See something you like, darling?" he teased.

She only hummed in response, though she looked up at him with a close-lipped, sneaky smile. "You know what we should do first?" she asked.

Killian grinned as his arms slipped around her waist. "I have a few ideas," he said, his breath warm against her ear before he gently tugged on her earlobe with his teeth.

Emma laughed, breathier than she liked, but it was a laugh that nonetheless contained the hint of mocking that she wanted. She turned her head and whispered into his ear, "First, we should get dressed."

Before he could protest, she slipped out of his arms and crossed the cabin, ignoring the papers still scattered on the floor as she reached for her pants. She wasn't too surprised when she felt Killian at her back as soon as she was upright, his arms once again around her. "That wasn't very nice, Swan," he said.

"But practical." She turned around and pressed a shirt to his chest. "I'll meet you on deck, Captain."

She gave him a peck on the lips, grabbed her boots, and started for the stairs.

Killian watched her go, shirt held loosely against his chest, and unable to hold back a smile.

He dressed quickly and was on deck just as the sun rose.

Jack was at the helm of the Pearl, and Killian ordered half his crew to the black ship so that they might make better time. He still had no idea what Jones meant when he said that "up is down" but he wasn't about to sit around and think about it. At the very least, he was going to feel like he was going somewhere.

Unfortunately, that didn't get him too far either.

They sailed all day, and yet it was not like the days before. The seas were not calm, and the breeze was not gentle. As the day passed, the seas grew rough, the wind howled, and the sky darkened. Killian scowled from the helm.

"Oi!" Jack leaned against the rail of the Pearl while Elizabeth took the helm. "Mind sharing what you're up to, mate?!"

Up is down, up is down . . . what the bloody hell did that mean?

He had thought about it all day, turning the phrase over and over in his mind. It didn't make sense. He looked at the sky, eyes on the falling horizon. He wasn't about to stay another night in the Locker. He refused.

Emma came up to the helm, her ponytail whipping her face in the wind. "Guess Jones was right about the seas," she said, voice raised to be heard over the wind. "What's going on?"

"I don't bloody know," he replied, frustrated. "Up is down!"

"Well, I don't know about that, but the sun is definitely going down."

Killian paused. "What did you say?"

"It's nearly sunset—"

"No, you said sundown. Bloody hell, love, you're a genius!" Killian surged forward and planted a smacking kiss on her lips. "We need to rock the ship."

Emma blinked. "What?"

"Up is down, love. We need to rock the ship."

"But . . ."

"Trust me." Killian turned to Jack. "Up is down! Rock the ship!"

Jack frowned for a moment before he looked at the sinking sun and then he grinned widely. "Aye!"

Killian locked the wheel, grabbed Emma's hand, and led them to the deck. "C'mon lads!" he said. "We're rocking the ship!"

"We're what?" Vincent repeated blankly.

"Aye, go below. Loosen the cannons. Anything with weight, I want to roll."

When no one immediately moved, Killian raised a dangerous eyebrow. "Do I need to repeat myself or do the lot of you want to rot down here? Now, move!"

Everyone scrambled to do as they were told as Killian went to the rail. "Time it with the swells," he ordered.

Emma clutched the rail next to him. "I just want to go on record and say that this is the craziest thing I've ever done, and I just had a glowing hand," she said.

Killian laughed, slightly manic. "I hope this works, too. Here we go."

And so they started running across the deck, from rail to rail like a twisted game of red rover. There was a shudder and a crash from below with each pass as the cannons crashed into the sides of the ship. Emma winced at the damage but kept running. The change was slow. She initially didn't realize how much the ship was tipping until she was decidedly running uphill to reach the rail, and each time she ran down, she began to worry that on the next pass she just might fall into the water.

A glance to her right showed her the Black Pearl, or rather its hull, which she thought in that moment was just indecent.

That meant it was working.

Which she supposed was a good thing if Killian was right.

"One more should do it, lads!" he shouted before starting up to the rail. It was like trying to run up a mountain, and Emma wasn't sure how she managed to follow him and wrap her entire arm around the rail, but she did and she hung on tight. That moment that she'd worried about? When she'd fall?

She'd reached that moment.

Everyone hung suspended for a horrifying second before the ship tipped completely, and then they were in the water, still upside down and not in the Enchanted Forest. She looked over at Killian, but his eyes were on the reflection of light still playing on the top of the water's surface, and so she looked, too. The light was that reddish orange display of color she'd grown to expect from a sunset.

No, sundown.

She watched and waited, trying to ignore the growing burn in her lungs. The light slowly became darker and darker but it wasn't fast enough. She needed air. She needed to breathe.

Come on, come on, come on, come on . . .

Then suddenly she was being blasted upward or was it down? Emma couldn't tell, and she didn't care. She just closed her eyes and held on. Then, like popping the cork to a bottle of champagne, the Jolly Roger sprung to the surface, right-side up, and in the Enchanted Forest. Emma knew that because she was staring not at the sunset, but at what was undoubtedly a sunrise.

And she laughed.

"Holy shit," she breathed. "I can't believe that worked."

The quip was like a whip, cracking the crew's stupor and disbelief and causing them all to start laughing. She looked at Killian, his hair plastered to his head that he abruptly shook, sending water drops sailing toward her. "Hey, watch it," she complained. "I'm already soaked, alright?"

Killian laughed as he leaned heavily against the rail. "Up is down," he said. "It really does mean exactly what it says."

He glanced over the top of the rail. "Jack and Elizabeth and the rest made it," he said, spotting Jack waving his arms as he walked around deck. "Bloody hell."

Cursing as he got to his feet, he offered a hand to Emma that she gladly took. He pulled her to her feet, yet unlike she had come to expect given the last few days, he immediately let go and walked toward the crew. "I don't know what you lot are laughing about," he snapped. "We've got a damaged ship, not a clue where we are, and a storm brewing."

Emma glanced at the sky, and sure enough it was blood red. Thunder rolled in the distance.

"Mr. Smee," Killian barked. "Go below and assess the damage. Mr. Graves, Mr. Todd, go with him and secure those cannons."

"Aye, Captain," they muttered and then hurried to complete their task.

Killian eyed the rest of the crew. "The rest of you, sleep in shifts. Mr. Turner," he turned to Vincent. "You have the helm while I figure out where the hell we are."

"Aye, sir."

The crew disbursed, half going below to the crew's quarters while Vincent went to the helm, but not before passing by Emma and raising his eyebrows lightly, "Thought he'd lost his head. Glad to see that's not the case, eh, lass?"

Emma only smiled and shook her head. "Go steer the ship, sailor."

"Aye, mum."

"And stop calling me that, you idiot."

Vincent just laughed and continued to the quarterdeck. Emma shook her head at him once again, spared a glance toward the Pearl, and then followed after Killian to the Captain's cabin. She descended the stairs quickly, her only focus on not tripping over her own feet, and so when she finally looked up, she was in for a surprise.

"Whoa," she breathed. "This is . . . wow."

"It's a bloody fucking mess, is what it is, Swan," Killian growled as he stood in the middle of the cabin. Everything was topsy-turvy. The desk was upended. Every single book was on the floor, along with all of his maps, and while the majority of the furniture, like the bed, was bolted to the floor, the trunk at the foot of it was not, and its contents, varied as they were, were scattered across the cabin floor.

Killian kicked at the papers on the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to find anything?"

Emma smiled to herself despite it all as she bent to pick up the paper closest to her. "One at a time, babe," she said as she flipped it over. "Here's a note to buy more rope."

Killian hung his head. "Bloody hell, fuck me," he muttered as he ran his hand over his face, yet in the same motion pointed toward her and said, "Don't think I didn't notice your little endearment, love."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Captain," she as she picked up more paper. "This place isn't going to fix itself."

Killian groaned and cursed some more but nonetheless bent to help. Eventually, he found his map of the Enchanted Forest, and once he located his sextant—under the bed, of all places—he set his desk upright and began to work. Emma continued to pick up, placing books back onto their shelves, and a strange feeling of domesticity overcame her, particularly since she . . . didn't mind it.

It was . . . nice.

In that it was comforting and easy. Killian plotting their course while she righted their cabin—yes, she'd finally caved and admitted it—all with a content silence between them. She'd never experienced a silence that was comfortable. She knew lonely silences and awkward silences and angry silences and just plain uncomfortable silences but not anything that was just . . . easy.

She didn't feel the need to make conversation. She didn't feel like anything was expected of her, whether it be in words or actions. She was just being and Killian just happened to be sharing that space.

It was a novel idea.

Once the books were in place, she started on the papers. Maps she stacked together on the bed so that they wouldn't get stepped on as she walked around the cabin. The rest of the papers she organized. Pages of the logbook were loose, and she sorted those by date in a small pile. The rest were letters to be sent, orders for supplies, and what she realized after finding a handful of the same type of document were receipts.

She'd thought they were just grocery lists.

Technically, she supposed, they were.

Once everything was in neat piles, she found the paperweights that had once been on his desk. One was under the bed, the other was pinned between the bookcases, and another was by Killian's foot, and she tried to keep her thoughts clean as she knelt on her knees to get it. Judging by the way he glanced down at her and his suddenly devilish smirk, she knew that the both of them had failed.

But he said nothing and went back to his map, his eyes narrowed contemplatively as he ran his fingertips over the page. Suddenly, he took his spyglass from his coat and opened the window. He looked out at the water, searching for what, she didn't know, until he collapsed the spyglass with a smirk.

"Never fear, Swan, I've figured out where we are," he said grandly.

She smirked as she leaned against his back, wrapping her arms around his chest as she propped her chin on his shoulder. "And where are we?"

"We're a few leagues from Tortuga, believe it not," he said.

"Hmm," she hummed. "I could use a drink."

Killian chuckled. "I could use a whole bloody bottle."

"Only if you plan to share."

"You're asking much of a simple pirate, love. I'll gladly share my bed," he began as he turned slightly, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. "And I'll even share my ship, but l don't know if I can part with me rum."

Emma grinned slyly as she let her fingers card through his damp hair. "I'll persuade you," she promised.

Killian groaned before he claimed her lips in a kiss that was a mix of relief, desperation, and exhaustion. His hands on her were tight, his lips demanding. She pulled away with a sigh, her eyes staying shut as she let her forehead lay against his chest. It was as if now that she'd shut her eyes, she realized just how heavy they were.

"You should sleep, Swan," Killian said quietly. "It's been a rather long day."

She hummed. "I'm glad we're back. The Locker was weird."

Killian smiled slightly. "Aye, love. Sleep."

"You too."

"There are a few things I have to take care of."

"Then sleep."

"Yes, darling. Then sleep."

Emma sighed deeply. "Okay."

Killian helped her out of her damp clothes, and when she collapsed into bed in nothing but her knickers, immediately cuddling his pillow in such a sweet, vulnerable way that he knew he'd never have seen if she wasn't so exhausted, he nearly crawled right in next to her. Instead, he settled for running the back of a knuckle over her cheek before climbing the steps to the deck. Mr. Smee was waiting for him, red knit hat clutched in his hands.

"Mr. Smee," he said. "Tell me something good."

"The cannons are unharmed."

"Very good. But what of my ship, Mr. Smee?"

Smee began to twist his hat. "Well, Captain, there's been some damage. It's not entirely unexpected, I think, sir."

"Aye, but that's not what I asked, is it?"

"We'll need to stop in the nearest port for supplies, sir," he said. "The ship itself just needs a bit of love, sir. It's the food and water that is our biggest concern."

"Good work, Mr. Smee. Let the crew know that we sail for Tortuga and should dock by midday."

Smee's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the pirate port. Rarely did Killian visit the scandalous town, and so two trips in as many weeks was akin to a holiday. He nodded quickly. "Yes, Captain. I'll let them know. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"Not at this moment, but I'm sure I'll be able to think of something."

"Yes, sir."

Killian moved to the helm where Vincent stood. "Mr. Turner, give me back my ship."

"Aye, sir."

Taking the wheel with a deep, tired breath, Killian adjusted their course so that they were headed for Tortuga. To their right, he saw Elizabeth make the same correction. Ideally, he knew that they should drop anchor in order to discuss what would happen next, yet that conversation would have to wait.

His eyes settled on the horizon.

The sky was red as blood, and already the waves were beginning to rise to beat against the hull. Faint echoes of thunder gave the air a tense feel that he saw reflected in the crew's tight shoulders and snappish attitudes. "Go below and get some sleep, Mr. Turner," he said, glancing at Vincent. "You're to relieve me in three hours."

Vincent nodded. "Aye, Captain."

Killian used the next three hours behind the wheel to think, though his thoughts became decidedly more and more sluggish with each passing minute as exhaustion threatened to overtake him. His mind had nearly too much to catalogue. They had escaped the Locker and returned the heart, yet Killian still couldn't put away the subject completely. It was still entangled with too many feelings about his long-lost relative, previously cold and lecherous and now decidedly different and yet the same.

Killian didn't know if he could count Jones as an ally or not, and that troubled him.

So much had happened so fast that only now did he truly have time to think of what it meant. Aside from Jones, he still had the Commodore and Barbosa to consider. The Commodore was still chasing Elizabeth, yes, but what exactly did Barbosa want? Killian understood going after the heart purely for the power it brought, and yet he'd never heard a single story involving Hector Barbosa that didn't revolve around an ulterior, selfish motive. Killian wondered if he'd hoped that going after the heart would cure him of whatever cursed affliction he bore.

Yet neither the Commodore nor Barbosa were accounted for. Killian didn't know where they were or what exactly they wanted, and he didn't like that at all. Too many variables.

And then there was Jones's advice to sail to Shipwreck Cove, and there was only one reason why he would sail to that damnable place. The Brethren Court.

I imagine the seas are about to get rough.

That was no reason to call a meeting, and yet what were the odds, Killian thought, of the Pirate King, and three Pirate Lords chasing after the same object? All having some sort of dealing with Davy Jones?

Those weren't odds. Those were facts that meant something.

Something was brewing.

Killian looked at the sky yet again. The wind was picking up and the waves were growing, yet he was sure that they would make it to Tortuga before the storm broke. Once they were docked, that was when he would speak with Jack and Elizabeth to try to understand what the bloody hell was happening.

Yet by the time Vincent appeared, bleary-eyed but awake, Killian could think of nothing other than Emma in their bed and how undoubtedly warm it would be.

"You're relieved, Captain, sir," Vincent said as he approached the helm.

"Aye," Killian agreed. "Keep this course. Send someone down to inform me when we arrive in port."

"Yes, sir."

Killian nodded tiredly before trudging down the stairs, his footsteps heavy and slow. He paid attention to very little as he entered his quarters, pulling his shirt over his head and nearly tripping over himself to step out of his boots. And though he enjoyed nothing more than the thought of stripping off his pants in order to feel as much of his skin against Emma's as possible, he just didn't have the energy to bother with the laces.

Emma was asleep on her stomach, her head turned away from him, taking up the entire bed. Killian smiled sleepily as he slid into bed anyway, his arm falling heavily over her back. She reacted to the touch, contently arching her back like a cat with a heavy sigh before turning toward him. Though she didn't open her eyes, she reached out to grab his necklace to tug him closer to her. His other arm slid under the pillow beneath her head as she buried her face in his neck.

"Hey," she mumbled.

Killian was already asleep.


And there we go. Bit of action, bit of fluff, and just what is it that Davy Jones wants? We haven't seen the last of him, I promise.

See you Friday,

AC