Author's Notes: Hey y'all. It's that time again! We left with another cliffhanger, so without further ado . . .

Disclaimer: I don't own it.


Chapter 26

Jack pulled the trigger without thinking.

He had a shot, and so he took it.

What he was left with in the aftermath, however, was the smell of gunpowder. The wind whipped his wild, wet hair. He'd lost his bandanna long ago. The Pearl pitched and rolled through the waves, water sloshing over the rails. Clashing blades still rang behind him. Shouts and cries were barely heard over the roar of the storm.

There was no satisfaction, no closure, no righteousness, no victory. There was just knowledge.

Hector Barbosa was dead.

Jack spared his former first mate one last look before throwing himself headlong into the fight still rampaging on deck, and for longer than he really knew, he lost himself in the familiar ebb and flow of swordplay. It wasn't until the deck became strangely quiet that he realized it was over. There was no clang of metal. No cannon fire. Just the now gentle fall of rain and the still churning sea.

"Jack!"

His head snapped up as Elizabeth strode toward him, looking every bit a Pirate King on the outside. On the inside, in the depths of her golden brown eyes, Jack saw an equally relieved and worried Lizzie. It was Lizzie who threw her arms around him in a way that she hadn't done in years, as if she was the same ferocious yet innocent nineteen-year-old girl that had blackmailed him into taking her on an adventure.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her warm breath tickling his ear.

He turned his head into hers. "Aye, love," he said before abruptly pulling away and jogging toward the helm. "Now!" he said loudly as he gave the wheel a sharp turn, sending them even deeper into the pool. "Let's see what old Jonesy is up to."


Killian knew he was going to die.

He wasn't a fool. He knew his limits, and he had long-since passed them. It was merely luck and pure stubbornness that kept him alive now as he batted away yet another strike from Davy Jones only to nearly trip over his own tired feet. His footwork continued to cost him, his leg had given out minutes before, and it took a kind of grit he hadn't known he'd possessed to keep on his feet at all.

All the skill in the world couldn't compete with centuries of practice and immortality. Any wound Killian made was inconsequential. By all rights, if Davy Jones had been mortal, he would have bled out long ago, and perhaps then Killian could finally find Emma.

Emma.

Gods, he was going to leave her just like everyone else.

She'd hate him.

Jones's blade cut yet again into his side, the slice thin and forgettable under any other circumstance, and yet now it sent Killian to his knees. He stared up at Jones with blazing eyes and a clenched jaw. He tried to lift his sword as Jones came closer but his muscles simply refused, and the cutlass slipped from his fingers.

He could hear Calypso laughing again, but he didn't bother to look at her. No, if he was going to meet Death, he was going to do it proudly. It didn't matter that part of him wanted to plead, to beg to be spared. He could hardly stomach the thought of leaving Emma, of becoming just another person to abandon her. Not after she'd let down her walls for him, not after she'd trusted him with her heart.

And yes, he knew. He knew that she loved him.

He just hated that he'd never get to hear her say it.

"I'm sorry, Killian," Jones said, his voice full of regret and yet without an ounce of hesitance as he withdrew his dagger, the very same one he'd used to cut out his own heart so many years ago. "But magic comes with a price."

He raised the dagger.

Killian lifted his chin in defiance.

But just as the blade began to descend, a savior appeared in a cloud of white smoke and a halo of gold.


Emma needed to find Killian.

Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?

She sliced and diced her way through the walking calamari on the Jolly until the deck was clear. Only half the crew remained, and suddenly all their eyes were on her. It took a moment before she realized that they were waiting for orders. "I . . ." she trailed off, her eyes scanning the men that she knew and yet couldn't seem to feel anything for in that second. Bee was bleeding heavily from a gash on his head, looking like he belonged in a horror film in his bloody, torn clothes. Vincent wasn't any better with his arm hanging unnaturally from his shoulder and all his weight on his right leg.

She saw Ace lying near the starboard rail, a knife in his chest.

"I . . ." Emma swallowed, blinking hot eyes against the cool rain. Dammit, she shouldn't be fighting tears. But where was he? "Who was the last to see Killian?"

A sailor she rarely shared more than a nod with came forward. "I saw him, milady," Higgins said hesitantly with a regretful look in his eye. "Davy Jones took him away in that green mist of his."

Emma's heart dropped. Surely Jones wouldn't . . .

He would.

"Trim the sails," she barked, trying her best to capture the tone Killian always used to get them scrambling to do his bidding. Her eyes narrowed across the whirlpool at the Dutchman. "And hold on to something," she added as she started for the helm.

Grasping the wheel, Emma felt the solid wood beneath her fingertips and remembered how it'd felt to have Killian at her back as he'd taught her to sail through a storm. She remembered the freedom, but most importantly, in this moment, she remembered the power. "Here we go!" she shouted before giving the wheel a sharp jerk and diving even deeper into the whirlpool.

The Jolly resisted. She didn't want to take the waves at such an angle and the entire ship groaned dangerously, but Emma didn't waver. Her grip on the wheel never faltered, her eyes staying firmly fixed on the Dutchman ahead. She could see the Pearl gaining on them both out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored the familiar black sails.

She only cared about Killian.

Surely they wouldn't still be in this damn whirlpool if Jones had made Calypso mortal.

Emma liked thinking of it that way. Still logical, still true, and yet she got to avoid stating the obvious: a mortal Calypso meant a dead Killian.

The Dutchman was soon in sight, and what Emma saw made her heart turn to ice. Killian and Jones were fighting, and Killian was losing. Badly. She could see it in his shoulders, his sloppy attacks, his piss poor footwork. When he fell—Or did he collapse? An idea that Emma rejected on principle because collapse implied defeat and Killian Jones did not give up—she didn't think.

She reacted.

It was just like the fight at Shipwreck Cove. Magic surged through her, hot and powerful and demanding, and Emma gave herself over to it entirely when she saw Jones raise his dagger for the killing blow.

All she wanted was to be right between that blade and Killian.

And in the next second, she was.

She threw up her hands and shoved. Bright light blasted from her entire being, sending Jones flying across the deck to smash right through the doors leading to the Captain's Quarters. Emma didn't bother making sure that the Pirate Lord of the Dead was down for the count. She turned so quick on her heel that she nearly fell, which was just as well, since Killian chose at that moment to collapse completely.

Emma caught his head before it smacked against the deck and immediately began to touch and stroke his face. "Killian?"

He managed a smile for her. "Hey, beautiful."

Her answering smile wobbled. "You said it was all going to be fine," she accused, opting for anger instead of fear. She could hear his struggling breaths despite the storm still raging around them; they sounded short and wet. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth when his weak laugh turned into a cough. "Ssh," she said gently. "Hey, none of that. You've probably got some broken ribs."

Killian groaned in agreement, even as his lips twitched. "Aye," he said. "That must . . . be why it hurts . . . when I laugh."

Emma shook her head at him, wry and disbelieving and slightly manic as his breaths continued to get shorter. "Don't talk," she told him. "We need to get back to the Jolly."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, girl."

Emma and Killian both froze for a moment, each of them torn in what they wanted to do. Emma knew that she needed to let go of Killian, to stand up and face Calypso, but her pirate felt entirely too fragile in her arms, and just admitting that to herself was so entirely strange that it only added to her desire to hold on to him tighter. Killian, in perfect contrast, wanted nothing more than for her to let go because you didn't just keep your back turned to an angry, free sea goddess.

He reached blindly for his sword at his side, his hand grasping first around the blade, slicing his palm, before he managed to clutch the hilt and began to struggle to his feet. He'd be damned if he just laid there while his Swan challenged a sea goddess to a duel.

Emma reluctantly stood, keeping an arm tight on Killian's waist, her fist wrapped around a bundle of cloth and leather. She firmly planted her feet and stood tall, even though she was holding up half of Killian's weight and horribly vulnerable because of it, but that didn't stop her from wanting to pull her stupid, stubborn pirate back to her when he managed to stand on his own out of sheer force of will.

She glared at Calypso. "Don't," she said simply.

But the goddess simpered in amusement. "Your little light tricks don't frighten me," she said. "Now, step aside."

"Not happening."

"Swan," Killian began, but Emma managed to cut him off with a glare without even turning her head. He simply knew by the way her shoulders tensed.

"Not happening," she repeated.

Calypso cocked her head to the side in consideration. "So be it, then," she said before sending a blast of magic at Emma, who once again threw up her hands on instinct, fueled entirely by a need to protect Killian, and watched in mild surprise and intense relief as the shot was absorbed by a shimmering white wall.

She pushed back, shoving the shield forward. Calypso reeled, stumbling back with a scowl, before summoning a ball of blue that almost looked like water. Unfortunately, when it hit Emma square in the chest, it didn't simply splash. Instead it sent her flying backward onto her ass.

Killian made a valiant attempt at Calypso, lunging with his sword, only to have the witch casually flick her hand at him until he was pinned to the mast and bound in the same ropes that had previously held her. He didn't struggle. He couldn't. The ropes were squeezing his ribs to the point that black spots of pain flickered along the edges of his vision as he fought to stay conscious. "Don't," he pleaded quietly. "Just let her go. You have me. Let . . . let her go."

Emma was on her feet in time to hear him, sprinting the short distance to the mast until she was once again between him and someone infinitely more powerful than the both of them. "I'm not going anywhere," she told him even if her eyes never strayed from Calypso.

She took a step back, not in fear but needing to feel him, to know he was alive, just like during the fight with the Brethren. Killian let his head fall forward he could just brush her hair with his nose. "You should go, Emma," he breathed. "Please."

"You should listen to him, Princess." Her head snapped to the side to see Jones slowly stalking forward. "He only wants you safe."

"Yeah, well I want him alive," Emma snapped, gripping her sword tightly at her side, unsure whether to train it on Calypso or Jones. "So I'll just take him and go."

"You cannot control your magic," Calypso said. "Instinct will only go so far, and in your case, not far enough."

Emma felt her hands warm. "You wanna test that?"

Praying that her magic would do her bidding, she lashed out a hand. A bolt of magic hit Calypso in the face like a slap, yet before she could even think about celebrating or calculating her next move, she was thrown off her feet with a wave of Jones's hand. Calypso tried to capitalize, her hand reaching toward Killian's chest, but was thrown by Jones just like Emma.

Unlike Emma, the sea goddess deftly rolled to her feet and fired back. The former lovers began to duel in earnest, and it looked to Emma like an out-of-control light show she might see somewhere in Vegas. She darted forward, ducking under a blast from Calypso that knocked Jones back into the rail, snapping it neatly in two.

Emma didn't wait to see if Jones fell into the whirlpool or not. She dove for the mast, her sword in hand and began to try to cut the ropes, only to have the blade of her sword bounce off harmlessly. "What the hell?" She tried not to panic as she attempted to cut the ropes. Her blade sliding against the seemingly simple nylon rope sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "How do I—?"

"They're enchanted, love," Killian sighed. "Made for Calypso herself."

Emma held up her hands to magic the ropes away.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, putting all her emotion into it, but there wasn't even a flicker of that warmth she was beginning to associate with her powers. Her chest felt strangely empty and cold. "I don't understand," she said frantically, throwing her hands toward the ropes yet again. "Why isn't it working? I don't—"

"Swan," Killian interrupted. "You have to go."

"No."

"Darling, please."

"He did say please, love," a too familiar voice said from behind them, and Emma's heart leapt in her chest at the sight of Jack's wide, manic grin. "Got yourself in a bit of a bind, mate," he said, looking at Killian. "Need some help?"

Jack raised his hand toward the ropes and began to make twisting, fluid movements with his wrist, like a snake charmer, as he nearly sang a few words under his breath. The ropes glowed gold before falling away, Killian falling with them. Jack and Emma both rushed forward to catch him. Emma glared at the captain over Killian's back.

"You know magic?!" she demanded. "When were you gonna share that with the class?"

"When it was relevant. Now just so happens to be that time."

"You're insane."

"Thank the Gods, otherwise this would likely never work," he said before slipping his shoulder under Killian's arm and hauling him up. "Come on. Lizzie's distraction won't last much longer."

Emma looked across the deck in surprise as she watched Elizabeth battle Davy Jones while Calypso beat furiously at the magic barrier trapping her against the rail. Emma looked back at Jack. "Take Killian," she said. "I'll help Elizabeth."

"Aye, lass."

Killian was barely conscious, and though he wanted to argue, he couldn't manage to make his lips work. He grabbed weakly at the back of Jack's coat, trying vainly to feel some sort of strength and not focus on the fact that he was beginning to feel cold and sleepy until Jack started to move. Pain shot through him, and he couldn't contain his shout.

"Bloody hell, Jones. You're a mess," Jack grumbled as he shuffled them toward the rail. "Now, I know you're not lookin' forward to this, but we're gonna have to swing, mate."

But just as Jack got a grip on the rope, it suddenly fell slack, and both he and Killian watched the frayed, cut end fall past them into the sea. Jack turned, forcing Killian to turn with him, but one step was as far as he got before his limbs simply refused to work. He was frozen.

Killian, however, was not.

He stumbled out of Jack's grip and lifted his sword, only to have Jones smack it from his grasp. Roughly, like he was dragging an unruly child by the scruff of his neck, Jones grabbed the back of Killian's coat and hauled him toward the mast. Killian's struggles were weak and futile until he saw Elizabeth and Emma strewn across the deck like ragdolls, and some last vestige of strength surged through him, a violent burst of anger and desperation, and with a yell, he spun round and punched his grandfather right in the nose.

It was just sudden enough and forceful enough to stun, but Killian couldn't properly capitalize on his attack. His steps were too slow, too uncoordinated, and Jones once again had him by the neck. "Wh-what did you do?" Killian demanded as he was once again held against the mast. "If she's—"

"She lives," Jones assured him, with a look in his eyes that was disturbingly kind before it faded into a swirl of regret and determination. "I'm sorry, Killian," he apologized, "but there's no other way."

Across the deck, Emma opened her eyes just as Jones slid his dagger into Killian's heart.


Wow, I totally forgot about how much whump I put on Killian during this bit . . . oops?

Next time . . . "No!" - Emma

Review! Yell at me! Curse me! Tell me you love me anyway? *kisses*

See you Friday,

AC