Author's Notes: Hello all, and welcome to another chapter! I can't believe we're this far into the story already, but strap in, folks, this is only the first story arc of 3. So, let's see how Emma and her magic are gonna come into play, shall we?
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not mine.
Chapter 22
Emma felt ridiculous.
She sat on the bed with her legs folded beneath her and clutched a candle between her hands, glaring at the wick and willing it to light. She'd been staring for at least five minutes without even a bit of smoke to show for her efforts. Perhaps Jones had been wrong. So what if her hand had glowed and some papers had blown around and some candles had fucking lit.
Maybe she didn't have magic.
Maybe she was normal.
The sail to Shipwreck Cove was a three-day journey. Emma had used the first day to organize her thoughts. She had worked very little on deck and felt only a small smidgen of guilt about squirreling away in the crow's nest. But dammit, she had a lot to think about, and her nest was the best place to do that.
So she had sat and stared and thought, arms around her legs, chin propped on her knees. Life had changed entirely too quick, she thought. So fast that she'd had little choice but to just go with it, to take it in stride. If she'd stopped to think about it, really think about, Emma knew that she never would have left Queen's Port. She would have stubbornly stayed, determined to find her way out of the damn Renaissance Fair she'd been dumped in, probably with her cell phone waving in the air as she tried to get reception.
When it came to survival, Emma hadn't had a choice but to embrace her new world, however strange and nonsensical and just plain weird.
So she had.
But every now and then, it sort of crept up on her, the fact that she'd barely been in the Enchanted Forest for two months and so much had changed.
She was on a pirate ship. She'd been to Davy Jones's Locker. She'd held a beating heart locked in a magical box. Her hand had glowed.
And now there was a vengeful sea goddess.
And Emma found it terribly strange, perhaps even terrifying, that she was growing used to it. The ridiculous. The fantastical. It was becoming normal. Expected.
It just wasn't right.
It wasn't normal.
Some days, in some moments, Emma wanted nothing more than to go back to Tallahassee. She understood Tallahassee. She understood her place, her life, her role in the damn universe.
Then she would think about Killian.
And all those thoughts, whatever they were, would abruptly vanish.
Because she did understand him.
He was the biggest surprise the Enchanted Forest had brought her. Emma hadn't thought she'd ever meet anyone again she'd be willing to trust. She hadn't planned on letting anyone even get close. She'd made a promise to herself the day she'd walked out of prison, and she'd kept it for five years without one hiccup.
Then she just had to walk into that tavern, and he just had to be there with all of his good form.
The walls that she'd fought so hard to fortify and seal had shivered with just a look from him. Those sincere blue eyes and his damn lips on her knuckles. More like a gallant knight than a dashing rapscallion. Then he'd gone out of his way to help her home, only to offer her a place on his ship, in his home, without much thought. And he'd been so determined, he'd been willing to ask her again and again and then one more time after that.
He'd pursued her, gone after her. No one had ever done that.
And he just kept doing what no one had ever done.
He put her first. He understood her. He understood her walls because he had walls of his own. And he listened. And sometimes he pushed. Sometimes he wouldn't let her hide. He wouldn't relent until she gave in.
No one had ever cared enough to just try with her.
It really wasn't a surprise, she supposed, when she thought about it, that he had slipped past her walls.
She . . . she cared about him. She cared about him more than she had ever cared about anyone.
And it had only been two months.
It was at that point that Emma had laughed to herself because at that point, there wasn't much else for her to do.
Yet her thoughts had inevitably drifted back to the matter at hand, to their journey to Shipwreck Cove, to the Brethren, to Calypso, and that godawful feeling in her gut that nearly made her sick.
So she left the crow's nest with a singular thought in mind.
Maybe her glowing hand hadn't been a fluke. Maybe she had magical powers. Maybe she could use them to help.
Hence the unlit candle in her hands.
Emma scowled and threw the candle toward the stairs just as Killian came down. He eyed the candle at his feet with mild curiosity before he bent to pick it up. "I hate this candle, too," he said mildly, smiling a little when Emma scoffed in annoyance.
Keeping the candle in his hand as he shrugged out of his coat, he tossed the rain-slicked leather over his desk chair. Emma frowned as he shook out his hair. "How bad is it out there?" she asked.
"It's a bloody nightmare," Killian said as he tugged his boots off his feet. "We have a rather pissed goddess on our hands. I've never seen waves like this in all my life." As he spoke, the ship shuddered, and he glanced at the ceiling above him. "I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight."
"Who's at the helm?"
"Vincent. He's a natural, but young yet," he said as he tipped water out of his boot. "I don't trust him at the wheel for too long in seas like this."
After he wrung out his socks, eyeing them disdainfully before hanging them over the arm of his chair, he picked up the candle from his desk and sidled over to the bed, sitting behind her with one leg still on the floor. He held the candle out to her. "Just what is it you're trying to accomplish, love?"
Emma huffed as she took it from him. "I was trying to light it."
"With your magic?"
She sighed and tilted her head back. "How can you say that like it's a thing?"
Killian smirked. "I thought it was a thing, Swan."
"Yeah, but it's a weird thing," she complained. "And it's not working."
"I'm surprised you're trying at all. I'd thought you would ignore it like all the other things you don't like to think about."
Emma grimaced. "Yeah, well. I did a lot of thinking yesterday."
"I noticed. And what did you think about?"
"A lot of things," she said lightly, and he chuckled.
"Okay, then, Swan," he said as he slid behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His chin rested cutely on her shoulder. Emma stared at him curiously, wondering what he was up to, but he only glanced up at her and said, "Well, what are you waiting for, darling? Light the bloody candle that has wronged you so monstrously."
Emma snorted, but she smiled in the next second. She stared at the candle in her hands, willing it light, feeling a strange need to impress Killian now that she had an audience. Yet nothing happened. She stared harder, willed harder, and yet the wick remained stubbornly bare.
Killian felt her grow tenser with each second that passed until she felt like a statue in his arms. He knew little of magic, but he doubted Emma would ever make progress if she didn't find a way to relax. He didn't need any more incentive to press his lips to her neck and suck gently at her pulse point. Emma shuddered in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. He grinned against her skin.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "I'm trying to focus, here."
"You're focusing too hard, love," he murmured before kissed under her jaw. "You need to relax, and just . . . let it happen. You can do this."
"If I just let this happen, nothing will get done."
"Oh, I disagree, Swan."
Emma rolled her eyes and then closed them with a sigh when his hand cupped her breast. "I need to focus a little," she insisted. "So keep your hands to yourself."
"Fine," Killian agreed, though he gave her breast a loving squeeze before his hand returned to her waist. His mouth, however, stayed against her skin, his nose edging around the collar of her shirt (his shirt). "You focus, darling. I'll be right here."
She groaned, and he smiled. "Just feel it, Emma," he encouraged. "The other day, how did it feel?"
"Are you kidding? I was panicking. You don't want me to burn your ship."
"No," Killian agreed. "But everything's an emotion, Swan. Find whichever one works for you, something strong," he kissed her collarbone, "something fierce."
Emma's heart warmed at his words, and despite her best efforts, she still found her eyes closing contentedly as Killian's lips continued to work against her neck. He was gentler than he'd ever been. Their embraces were usually lustful and passionate, with little sharp nips and soothing tongues. This was different. This was just nice in the best possible way. Because there was nothing fueling his attentions other than the simple fact that he could. Killian could kiss her just because he wanted to.
He wasn't after anything more, didn't expect anything more. He just wanted to kiss her.
And she couldn't remember feeling more special.
"Swan." She hummed as his lips stilled behind her ear. "Emma, love. Look."
Emma opened her eyes and gasped.
Not only was the candle in her hands lit, but so was every other candle in the room. Her eyes beamed just as brightly as the little flames scattered across the cabin. "I did it!" She grinned, turning to look at Killian who gave her a warm, proud smile.
"Aye," he said. "I see that." His eyes narrowed slightly, teasing. "What did you think of?"
Emma blushed. "None of your business," she muttered, turning away from him.
Killian chuckled as he tightened his arms around her, pressing her more firmly against his chest. "I don't think so, love," he said. His lips returned to her neck. "Tell me."
She shook her head. Or tried. But he suckled lightly where her neck met her shoulder, and her head fell limply to the side to give him better access. "No," she said.
"Swan."
"Killian."
"No need to be shy, darling."
"I'm not being shy."
"Stubborn, then."
His hands began to wander. She shuddered. "I thought I told you no hands," she said, even as one of her own reached back to slip into his hair to keep his head at her neck.
"That was when you were trying to light the candle," he said. "The candle's now lit."
"Pirate."
He hummed happily. "Now, Swan, tell me . . . what did you think of?"
Emma wasn't brave enough to tell him. Words weren't her forte, particularly the ones that mattered. She had so little practice saying them.
So she turned her head to meet his too-knowing gaze and that smug smirk and kissed him, biting his lip when he began to laugh. Killian pulled away with a grin that faltered slightly when he met Emma's plainly conflicted gaze. "Swan?"
But she didn't say anything. Instead her arms wrapped around him and she laid her head on his shoulder. He hugged her back without a thought, his hand rubbing her back comfortingly despite his confusion. "What is it, love?"
Emma sighed. "I just . . . I don't want anything to happen to you."
Her words made him pause in surprise. He hadn't had anyone to worry about him in so long that Emma's concern for him was almost novel. He gave her a tender smile that she couldn't see. "Don't worry about me, love. I've survived an angry lass or two in my day."
Emma snorted but her amusement faded quickly. Her arms tightened around him. "An angry goddess is a little different, don't you think?"
"It'll be alright, Swan. We'll bind Calypso once more, and then we'll find that island, hmm?"
He would have said more but the ship shook violently as it hit a wave. He reluctantly loosened his hold around her and pulled back, and they both looked up at the ceiling as the ship shuddered once again. "Looks like they could use you up there, Captain," Emma said.
"Aye," he said, though he made no immediate attempt to move.
"Hey." She nudged his shoulder. "We won't make it to that island if the ship sinks."
Killian leveled her with one last concerned look before he sighed and stood. Emma immediately followed, and when he raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. "What? You don't think I'm letting you go out there alone, do you?"
She reached down to pull on her boots.
"Swan, it's a bloody typhoon out there."
"Uh huh." She looked at the windows, shaking in their frames from the pounding rain. "I see that."
"Emma—"
"I don't have any plans to get swept off deck again," she said quietly, knowingly, as she stood and grabbed her coat.
"You're not going on deck."
"What? You can't—"
"You're taking the helm with me."
"I'm what?"
"What do you say, Swan?" Killian asked with a slight grin as he shrugged into his coat. "Want to sail through your first storm?"
He didn't wait for her answer. He only grabbed a fresh pair of socks before pulling on his boots, then he was taking her hand and leading her up to the deck. The rain was coming down sideways in a cold spray of water that stung her eyes. Each wave rocked the Jolly, sending torrents of water over the rails. Killian was barking orders as soon as his feet hit the deck, his voice miraculously carrying over the wind.
Vincent stood at the wheel, clutching the spokes as he tried to keep the ship steady. His shoulders sagged in relief when he saw Killian climbing the stairs. "That'll be all Mr. Turner," he shouted.
"Aye, sir!"
It spoke to the strength of the storm and the chaos on deck that Vincent didn't even glance at Emma as he passed.
Killian gripped the wheel. "Oi, get over here, Swan!"
Emma found herself between Killian and the wheel in the next moment, her hands clenched around the spokes. The wheel threatened to slip out of her fingers with each wave, jerking in her grip with each crest, and already her arms were burning from the strain. "Killian," she called worriedly.
He gripped the spokes next to her, tightening his hold to take a little more of the strain. "Don't focus, love," he said in her ear. "Feel it."
"It's not the same!"
"I'm right here."
It was the right thing to say. He was right there, right behind her, holding the wheel with her. Logically, Emma knew that he wouldn't let anything happen. He would take over completely if he really needed to, and that reassurance was enough to let her relax just a little. So she listened as he talked her through taking the waves at an angle and how important it was for the bow to lift with the waves instead of plowing into them.
With each minute that passed, she began to understand what Killian meant about feeling the ship. But it wasn't just the ship. It was the waves, it was the wind, it was the rain in her eyes, and Killian's voice in her ear. She felt it all—the wind smacking against the sails, the groan of the ship as it pitched and rolled, Killian's warm laughter whenever they crested a big wave.
Eventually, inevitably really, Emma started to laugh, too.
She didn't feel fear. She felt free. She felt powerful. She felt alive.
She understood perfectly now, how Killian could love the sea as much as he did.
This was freedom.
Emma stayed at the wheel until early in the morning when the storm broke. Killian had eventually left her to steer the ship all on her own, and it had been comical for her to see him working the deck with the rest of the crew, hauling lines and trimming sails. More than once she'd nearly stabbed the bow into a wave because she was watching him.
The man was a damn good sailor.
He dismissed the men on deck to their bunks, and when the second crew came up, he immediately began assigning tasks, appointing Bee to man the helm. The big man lumbered up the steps to the quarterdeck with a smile as he spotted Emma behind the wheel. "I'm to relieve you, milady," he said.
Emma relinquished the wheel with a flash of regret. "Consider me relieved," she said with a faint smile.
"You're turning into a hell of a sailor."
She shrugged. "I've got a few good teachers."
Bee chuckled, the sound warm and low. "I'll take the compliment, milady."
"I was talking about Vincent."
"Ha! That little scallywag might've taught ya how to tie a decent knot, but I'm the one who showed you the ropes."
Emma laughed and left him at the wheel. She had hardly reached the stairs before she heard him begin to sing quietly to himself, going through the first verse of a song that Emma had memorized by the end of her third day aboard. She smiled as she sung under her breath, "Drink up me hearties, yo ho."
Killian was pulling his shirt over his head when she stepped off the stairs into the cabin. She smiled as she wrapped her arms loosely around his waist, letting her head rest neatly between his shoulders. His abs tensed briefly under her touch and his back straightened in surprise. She sighed, full of exhaustion and contentment, and pressed an absent kiss to his shoulder where the scars on his back were the thickest.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what, Swan?"
"Everything."
Killian hummed happily, reaching behind him to pull her around to face him. Her hands slid up his arms and over his shoulders to rest lightly on either side of his neck. Her thumb brushed the scruff along his jaw. "You let me steer your ship," she said. "In the middle of a storm. Why?"
"You have your magic," he explained, running a hand up her back until it tangled in her hair. "And I have mine."
Emma leaned in until her nose brushed his. "It's a good feeling," she said.
"Aye, love. Very good."
Killian pressed his lips to hers softly. She was incredible, his Swan. Seeing her at the helm of his ship had done something to him, awoken something in him. It was an overwhelming feeling of certainty. She was it. She was absolutely it for him.
He was completely and wholly in love with Emma Swan.
And he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that there was no one he would rather sail with than her. He wanted to tell her that he would never be able to love another like he loved her, because absolutely no one but her could make him believe he could rise above good form to be a good man.
He wanted to tell her, but he was terrified that she would run despite her promises.
So he tried, with every ounce of his being, to tell her without saying the words. And maybe, just maybe, when all the candles in the room suddenly flamed to life, it meant that somewhere inside she knew, and she understood.
Emma woke up very warm and very trapped.
One of Killian's arms served as her pillow with the other wrapped around her to lay snugly against her breasts. Her legs were so tangled in his that she had no idea which way to move in order to undo them, and his firm chest against her back and his morning erection against her ass was just incentive to stay right where she was.
Because right where she was felt pretty damn good.
She smiled sleepily at his warm breath fanning the back of her neck. Just by listening to him, she knew that he was still asleep. Light was just beginning to come in through the windows, and with his ridiculously precise internal clock, she knew Killian would wake up in minutes without prompting.
So she decided to use that time to think. She absently began to trail her fingers over his arm that held her against him, feeling the strength beneath his skin, and remembering the way he had worked the rigging, pulling and tying the ropes with a skill that made the task look painfully easy. It had been strangely beautiful to watch him work the deck of the ship that he so clearly loved.
But it was the kiss that she thought about most. There had been something different about it, something new and thrilling. It had been almost unbearably tender and soft. Loving.
The sensation had left her feeling strangely small. Vulnerable. She remembered that her hands had shook before she had slipped one into his hair and the other had clutched his necklace.
But she had also felt undeniably warm. Inside and out.
She felt Killian's breathing change. "Morning," she said quietly. The sound that left his throat in answer was caught between a groan and hum. His arm beneath her head came up so that he could rub soothing circles into her shoulder with his thumb. Emma was now even more trapped yet she didn't care. She smiled instead. "I wonder what the world would think," she mused, "if they knew that the dread pirate Killian Jones liked to cuddle."
His lips were suddenly pressed against the sensitive skin behind her ear. "They'd never believe it," he said, voice low and gravelly with sleep, and the sound went straight between her legs. "You underestimate my reputation, love." His lips moved to the underside of her jaw where he sucked lightly. "And I only cuddle," she smiled at the faint hint of disdain in his voice, "with you."
His arm around her waist slipped beneath her shirt, fingers dancing across her stomach and over her ribs. She sighed into his touch when he cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. "And why's that?" she sighed.
"Because, Swan," he held her tighter and pressed his hips firmly against her, "it brings me great pleasure to hold you."
Emma was hopeless not to press back with a subtle roll of her hips that had him hissing in her ear, "Tease."
She smiled as she turned onto her back so she could look at him. His blue eyes seemed especially bright, the smirk on his lips positively sinful. She wrapped her arms around him and he readily settled on top of her, meeting her halfway for a kiss that stoked a fire in her belly far too easily. Her nails dug lightly into his back, and he ground his hips into hers.
Emma gasped at the feel of him, and the memory of his talented fingers was suddenly tantalizingly vivid in her mind. She wanted more. She wanted more of him, everything he could possibly give. She wanted every inch of him.
But just as she opened her mouth to tell him, someone banged on the hatch. "We've made it to the Cove, Captain!" Smee called.
Killian growled into her neck, the sound torn between defeat and annoyance. Emma regrettably removed her hand where her fingers had just begun to slip into his pants. "I'm going to make that fumbling buffoon walk the bloody plank," he declared, his lips brushing her skin.
"Captain? Is everything alright?"
Killian sighed in frustration as he lifted his head. "Aye, Mr. Smee," he answered. "Prepare to dock!"
They both waited until they heard Smee scamper away and then Killian promptly dropped his head onto her shoulder. "Swan," he complained.
She laughed. "Let's go, pirate."
He claimed her lips in a quick, bruising kiss that had her nails digging brutally into his shoulders. She made a sound of protest when he pulled away and abruptly lifted himself off of her. Emma sat up in bed with an amused smile on her face. She knew it was wrong, but she'd never seen him so painfully aroused and so his obvious frustration was only that much more amusing.
"You know, in my realm," she said, "this is called a cockblock."
Killian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Just knowing that her lips moved around the word cock only made him think about her lips moving around his cock. "Swan," he warned. Or complained. Or threatened. Or pleaded.
He couldn't decide.
His eyes scanned the cabin as he tried to focus. Shirt. He needed a shirt. Where the hell was a shirt? He scanned the floor. None. He meant to walk toward the wardrobe to fetch one when a piece of fabric hit him in the back. He turned just in time to see a familiar black shirt hit the floor and a glimpse of Emma's bare breast before she covered herself with the bedsheets. She smirked. "There's a shirt," she said helpfully.
"Bloody hell, love," he groaned. "Have mercy on a poor pirate."
She had the gall to giggle.
He hated that he loved it.
The shirt still held remnants of her warmth, which only taunted him further as he slipped it over his head and felt that faint heat against his skin. Such a pale imitation compared to the woman still in his bed.
Fitting himself into his leathers was just a cruel joke.
But apparently his Swan thought it was genuinely funny, because she kept giggling behind him.
He glared at her as he pulled on his boots. "You realize that turnabout is fair play, darling," he warned. "Just you remember that."
"Oh, I will, Captain," she promised.
For a moment she thought (hoped) that he would launch himself at her, pin her to the bed, and fuck her into the mattress. His eyes flashed, and she swore she heard a growl in the back of his throat, but he only stared at her for a second more before clenching his jaw and striding toward the deck.
Emma watched him leave with a grin before she settled back onto her pillow with a small, happy huff. She wasn't quite sure where all her teasing had come from. She had never been a tease. With Neal she had been too inexperienced and lacked the confidence. Then the few one-night stands after him had been all about satisfaction and nothing more. It hadn't been about fun. It had been about scratching an itch.
Killian was different.
She felt free with him. Free to be confident, to be sexy. It was almost like playing. It felt like a game she played with her best friend. It was fun.
Feeling the ship slow, Emma quickly got out of bed and dressed. She twisted her hair into a loose braid with practiced fingers, tying off the end with a thin piece of leather. The mood when she reached the deck was tense with anticipation. Few had ever been to the notorious Shipwreck Cove.
It was an intimidating place, seemingly carved straight from the cliff face that jutted sharply into the water. Lights within the rock flickered like glowing eyes and even the wind seemed to whisper like a ghost. Everything about the pirate hub screamed danger, and with that realization the persistent feeling of foreboding that she had fought on and off for the last three days came rushing back with a vengeance.
Killian maneuvered the Jolly into a slip at the dock next to the Black Pearl and another ship called the Empress. He then ordered half of the crew to stay with the ship with Smee while he took the rest with him like an entourage. Yet as Emma walked beside him, she noted that each man had not been picked randomly.
Vincent was there for her specifically. She knew it by the way he trailed just behind her like a watchful Doberman. Ace was there for seniority. Collins and Olsen were two of the biggest men on the ship after Bee. They were the muscle. To her surprise, he'd also brought Wallace, and it wasn't until she'd spotted him absently flipping a knife in his hands and over his fingers that she knew why.
Killian led them through a maze of dark stone hallways, fighting the urge to take Emma's hand. He couldn't be seen like that. Soft. Weak. Let alone what it would do to Emma. If he walked in with her hand in his, he might as well paint the target on her back himself. His best bet was to let everyone assume she was something that she was decidedly not.
He just hoped that she wouldn't see him any differently after this.
Meetings of the Brethren Court rarely ended well, and he knew this one would be no different when none other than Hector Barbosa greeted them at the door with a big, fake smile, "Captain Jones. I see you made it out of the Locker. Pity you couldn't stay."
Da da da dum.
Oh, Barbosa, you lying, manipulative jerkface.
In the next chapter of Run, Baby Run . . . "Worse? Everyone in that room wants him dead! I'm going back." - Emma
See you Friday!
-AC
