Author's Notes: Your responses to the cliffhanger last chapter were absolutely fabulous.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter 24
Emma didn't know what to say.
But that wasn't really true. She knew what to say, what was meant to be said, but the words didn't come. She could only stare at Killian and his too honest eyes and try to remember to breathe. Air kept threatening to get caught in her throat. When she even thought about speaking, saying anything in return, she felt like she might choke.
"I . . ." She gaped at him, trying to force her brain to work, but it just wouldn't function beyond repeating Killian's declaration. She stared at him but all she heard was I love you, Emma.
Killian waited for her, as always, and when he saw her panic only build as the seconds passed, he gently brushed back her hair from her face, tucking the locks behind her ear like she did when she was anxious. "You don't need to say anything, Swan," he said. "I just . . . I needed to say it."
Emma's breath stuttered once again. Maybe it wasn't the air sticking in her throat. Maybe it was three words. She swallowed, trying to force them down, along with the terrifying realization that they were entirely true.
How long have you been in love with him?
Far longer than she'd ever realized.
"Killian," his name tasted sweet on her lips as she began to smile, "I—"
Emma liked to think that if she hadn't glimpsed Barbosa over Killian's shoulder, she would have said those three words. She liked to think that she would have had the same kind of courage to say those words as it took to grab Killian's shoulders and shove him out of the way as Barbosa cocked his pistol and fired. But she never would know if it was true.
It felt like getting hit with a sledgehammer. The force of the bullet jerked her shoulder back, causing her to fall. It wasn't until she hit the ground that the pain actually came, but when it did, it was hot and numb. Her whole shoulder and chest felt as if it had collapsed inward. She couldn't breathe. Sounds were hazy. She thought she heard Killian yell, heard another shot fire. She wanted to yell at him to go.
But he wouldn't leave her.
She hated him for it.
She loved him for it.
"Swan." Killian's face was suddenly closer but blurry at the edges. He looked scared. She didn't want him to be scared. "Swan, love. Hey." His hand touched her face. He tapped her cheek. "Look at me, love." Had she closed her eyes? "Emma!"
It was only when he pressed on her wound that her mind snapped back into focus. The haze cleared abruptly as pain blew through her veins, pulling a short, choked scream from her throat. "There you are," he breathed a sigh of relief. She groaned when he pressed harder against her shoulder. "Swan," he turned her face toward him, "can you breathe?"
Emma moaned but tried to take a deeper breath than her pain currently allowed. It was stuttering and agonizing, but her lungs felt full. The breath left her in a rush but she nodded. "Yeah," she said. "It's just my shoulder."
Footsteps sounded through the halls, growing louder with each second. Killian growled in frustration as he turned back to look at her. "Sorry, love," he apologized before hoisting her into his arms, flinching as she cried out. "We have to go."
Emma tried to breathe through the pain to focus. "I sent Vincent back to the ship," she said as Killian began to move quickly through the hallways. "We should be able to sail as soon as we're on board."
"Excellent. I'll enjoy killing him."
"You're not going to kill him."
"He went against my direct order."
"And he followed mine." Even with her head tucked into his shoulder, Emma knew Killian's jaw was ticking. "He's my friend, Killian," she said.
He didn't respond, and although they moved through the halls at a quick clip, it wasn't fast enough. Emma could hear the angry mob gaining on them and squeezed Killian's shoulder. He hissed. "Put me down," she said. "I can manage." Killian looked down at her with a scoff and kept moving. She squeezed his shoulder harder, and he grunted. "I can," she insisted. "We're not gonna make it at this pace and you know it."
Killian went another few stubborn feet before he growled under his breath and abruptly stopped. He set Emma down gently, not wanting to let go of her but begrudgingly admitting that his lass had a point. She wobbled on her feet for a second and sucked in a deep breath that had him wanting to pick her up again, but Emma shot him a glare in the same second that dared him to try. She grabbed his hand.
"Let's go."
They made much better time on their own, turning down the halls and reaching the steps leading down to the docks faster than they ever would have had Killian insisted on carrying her. Emma's entire body throbbed with each step but she kept going, refusing to slow them down, and when she saw the Jolly waiting for them like a beacon at the end of a tunnel, she managed to move a bit faster.
Running up the gangplank felt like the last hundred yards of a marathon, and as soon as her feet hit the deck of the Jolly, Emma's energy abruptly left her. Every ache and pain flared to the point of distraction, and her shoulder felt like a hot lead weight. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she stubbornly remained standing, her grip on Killian's hand tight enough to break his fingers.
And she likely would have had a decent chance if he hadn't been holding her hand just as tightly.
Killian didn't give the men enough time to even blink at his and Emma's sudden, bloody arrival. "Get ready to make way! I want some distance between us and this bloody rock!"
Smee came bumbling up, hat flopping on his hand. "We're ready, Captain. Miss Swan's orders were followed to the letter."
"Very good, Smee. Take the helm. Get us out of here. And send some hot water to my quarters."
"Aye, sir."
Scuttling off, Smee dodged around a harried, pale-looking Vincent who strode straight toward Emma despite the sudden, harsh glare from Killian. "Emma," he paled even further at the sight of her blood-drenched shirt, "I never should have left you." His eyes met Killian's. "I apologize, Captain. I disobeyed a direct order, and Emma was—bloody hell, lass, did you get yourself shot?" he broke off, eyeing the massive blood stain that covered her shoulder and the upper half of her arm.
"Yeah." Emma tried to shrug but immediately regretted it. She hissed. "I'll be fine."
Killian turned to her. "Are you alright to go below, Swan? I'll be there momentarily."
Emma's eyes were pained but determined. "Yeah," she said, before her eyes narrowed dangerously. "And I expect to see you very soon."
"Aye."
Shooting him one last warning glare, Emma turned and shuffled down to the Captain's quarters. The moment her head disappeared below the hatch, Killian rounded on Vincent. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't run you through," he snapped.
Vincent shook his head. "I can't, sir."
"You're correct, Mr. Turner." He grabbed Vincent's shirt and hauled him closer so that his words, dangerous and low, could be heard and felt. "The only reason you are still alive is because of Emma," he growled. "If you ever disobey an order from me again, I'll skin you and leave you for the rats. Are we clear?"
"Aye, Captain."
Killian hesitated as he felt the ship catch the wind and gain speed, flying out of the harbor, yet not fast enough to escape the loud shouts and gunfire coming from the Cove. "And I owe you a debt, Mr. Turner," he added, somewhat reluctant. "If it were not for your actions, we'd all have our heads on spikes."
Vincent nodded. "It'll never happen again, sir."
"See that it doesn't."
Recognizing the dismissal, Vincent nodded once again before running for the rigging, throwing himself headlong into the work as a sort of penance. Killian paid no attention, immediately moving toward the hatch, pausing only long enough to grab the bowl of steaming water that Wallace was carrying across the deck. Absently, he was glad to note that the cook had made it back to the ship.
Good cooks were hard to come by.
Some of the water sloshed over the sides, burning his hands as he descended the stairs as the ship rocked, but Killian paid it no mind. His attention was entirely on Emma who sat slumped in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He quickly sat the bowl on the desk and growled, "What the bloody hell are you doing, love? Get on the bed."
Emma shook her head. "I don't want to get blood on the sheets."
"Hang the fucking sheets, Swan," he snapped even as one hand carefully held her cheek while the other, still crusted with her dried blood, covered her own hand over her wound. "Come on, let's just—"
"I'm fine here," she said, her voice soft and exhausted. "Don't . . . don't move me."
Killian's face twisted in pain. "You shouldn't have done that," he said. "You could've gotten yourself killed and then what would I do? You've spoiled me, love." He caressed her cheek. "I've grown a bit used to having you around."
Emma smiled faintly. "That goes both ways," she said. "Barbosa?"
"Escaped. I just missed him."
"It's okay."
"I'll kill him."
"I know."
Killian's eyes, which had grown glacial at the memory of Barbosa ducking around the corner, fleeing into the mob at his heels, softened with worry and concern as he noticed just how pale Emma had become. "You've lost a lot of blood," he said. "Let's get this sewn, love."
She laughed dazedly. "Time to see just how talented those hands are."
His smile was weak. "Aye."
Carefully, he rid her of her vest and then tore her shirt right down the middle so he could avoid Emma raising her arms. Her breasts were bare, her flimsy lace corset absent, but his movements were precise and clinical as he brought a soaked cloth to her wound. Emma moaned quietly at the heat and weakly tried to jerk away from him.
"You're lucky, love," he murmured as he worked. "The ball went clean through."
"Oh, good. I wouldn't want you digging around for it."
Killian flinched at the thought. "Nor would I."
"Hey, it'll be okay."
He tried to smile. "Aye, Swan. Just . . . hold still, love." Without warning, he poured rum over the wound, fervently wishing he could take her pain as his own when she let out a choked shout. "I'm sorry," he apologized, wincing when a single sob left her lips.
Emma took a deep breath. "It's fine," she assured him, though her voice trembled. "I'm fine, Killian. Let's just get it over with."
The stitches went fast, Killian's hands much more practiced than her own, and she still managed to feel a flash of jealousy and embarrassment at the thought of how he'd dealt with her own sloppy fingers. He bandaged her wound just as effortlessly and fashioned a makeshift sling out of the remains of her shirt. Once she wore a clean shirt, he carefully placed her arm in the sling. "There," Emma mumbled when he was finished. "Good as new."
"Not hardly, Swan," he argued, sounding far more tired than reprimanding. "Come on, darling." He put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's put you to bed."
"I'm not a child," she protested as she nonetheless accepted his help as he led her the short distance to the bed.
Killian smiled slightly as he pulled the blankets up to her chest and sat next to her, his hand gently brushing her hair from her face. "You're incredible," he said, lips twitching when Emma still managed a blush. He brushed her hair again. "Get some rest."
Emma forced her eyes open. "But what about—"
"I'll take care of it."
"Killian," she protested.
"It'll all be fine, Swan," he insisted softly. "I don't intend to insult your sacrifice by getting myself killed."
"Is that honestly supposed to not make me worried?"
Killian leaned closer, bracing a hand by her head. "You don't have to worry about me, love," he assured her, "because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving." Emma tilted her head toward him and he obliged, giving her a kiss that said he loved her just as truly as if he had said the words. "Rest," he ordered softly.
Emma's eyes closed without her consent, and she immediately fell into a deep sleep, causing Killian to dramatically slump forward and let out a slow, measured breath. He placed a kiss to her forehead before hauling himself to his feet, cursing quietly at the throbbing wound in his leg as he limped back toward his desk. His shoulder flared in pain when he shrugged out of his coat.
There was no real time to tend to his wounds. He could already hear the winds picking up, could smell the incoming storm, a storm that he knew was headed straight for him. So he cleaned the gash to his arm. It would be another scar. His collarbone sported a shallow groove where the bullet had grazed him. Unfortunately, he had to leave his leg alone. The fact that he could still put weight on it told him that the wound wasn't serious, only a regrettable hindrance.
He washed the blood from his hands before taking a deep breath and starting up the steps to the deck. His steps were sure and strong as he strode to the helm, barking orders as he went, his voice carrying on the wind that already sounded like a scream. The waves battering the ship were unnatural, too jostling, as if someone beneath the surface was shoving the Jolly back toward the line of ships he could see pursuing him.
He immediately withdrew his spy glass as Smee bumbled up to him. "How many ships, Mr. Smee?" he asked.
"A-All of them, sir."
"What of the Pearl?"
"I haven't seen her, sir."
"Then all of them aren't following us, are they?" he said smartly, collapsing his spy glass and taking the wheel. "Alright, lads. Hold on to something!" he ordered before giving the wheel a sharp turn, causing the Jolly to list dangerously to the side before swaying back up, now directly facing on the oncoming horde.
Smee trembled. "Captain?"
"Yes, Mr. Smee?"
"Are we going to fight?"
"I've never run from a fight in my life, Smee. I don't intend to start now. Load the cannons."
"But we're outnumbered!"
"Load the cannons before I decide you're not worth the extra weight."
"Y-Yes, sir."
Killian locked the wheel and strode toward the rail, eyeing the gathering fog with suspicion. Thunder cracked in the sky and the air smelled heavy and sweet. Rain began to slowly fall, landing in soft pops against his leather coat. His hair soon lay flat, the rain-soaked strands hanging into his eyes. He blinked against the water but didn't move.
"I know you're there," he said suddenly. "Show yourself, witch."
Calypso's footsteps were light against the deck. The long folds of her dress dragged along the deck behind her, the material flimsy like gossamer and shredded into thin ribbons that showed teasing amounts of skin with each movement. She didn't smile at Killian when he turned to meet her gaze, but her eyes traced his form from head to toe and back with a dangerous, hungry look.
"Killian Jones," she said, her soft voice carrying easily despite the wind, almost as if her voice was the wind. There was an odd, distorted quality about the sound, as if it was everywhere at once. "I knew you weren't dead. A Jones doesn't die so easily."
"So that was the deal you struck with Barbosa," Killian surmised. "You cure him and he kills me. Sorry to disappoint you, love, but your little soldier is a lousy shot."
Calypso sniffed, somehow making the action seem elegant. "Perhaps," she agreed. "Yet his aim was true." She stalked closer, hips swinging like pendulum. "I can smell her blood on you," she said, letting her fingertips glide along the wet lapel of his coat. "I still can." Her eyes dipped toward the deck beneath their feet. "She's right below us, isn't she? Tell me something, Captain, do you love her?"
Killian glared. "Yes."
"You would do anything for her?"
"Yes."
"You would die for her? Kill for her?"
"Yes."
"Would you wait for her?" she whispered, fingers leaving his lapel to trail along his jaw. "If you were separated by time, by circumstance, would you wait? Would your love only burn brighter in her absence or would you scorn her? If she ran from you, if she grew afraid or fickle, would you turn against her? Would you blame her for being herself?"
Although her touch made his skin crawl, Killian stood his ground. He arched an eyebrow. "Is that what you did, then?" he asked.
Calypso suddenly scowled and shoved herself away from him. "Davy Jones is a sentimental fool," she hissed. "He tried to tame me. You cannot tame the sea."
"You gave him your word."
"And I went back on it. The sea is always changing. He blamed me for being who I am."
"He gave you his heart."
Guilt briefly flickered in Calypso's eyes. "Aye," she agreed. "And now he's taken it back." Her gaze hardened and once again she stalked toward him with a wild glint in her eye that made Killian want to draw his sword. "It's a Jones's worst fault, the drive for vengeance. Aye, the wrath of an angry Jones is something to fear, but just as your grandfather will have his, so shall I have mine."
And then she thrust her hand into Killian's chest and squeezed.
Gosh, I just love cliffhangers. Don't you?
Next time . . . "What can I say? I love to make an entrance." - Jack
See you Friday!
-AC
