Author's Note: So this is late again, but last weekend was wedding weekend for my bff and this week school kicked my shapely ass.
Here's a chapter filled with fluff and plot.
Chapter 31
Emma didn't want to be awake.
It was still dark, the bed was ridiculously warm, Killian was using her as a body pillow, and she was fairly sure she hadn't gotten even four hours of sleep. Yet her eyes had opened anyway, her body fully alert and filled with the urge to move. There was a nagging feeling under her skin that made her want to squirm, as if she'd forgotten something. The problem was that she was sure there was nothing to have been forgotten in the first place.
It left her in a pickle.
She'd already spent fifteen minutes going over her and Killian's plans for the day, which amounted to sex, overseeing the refit of the ship, sex, dinner, and more sex. There wasn't exactly room in her schedule to forget something important—other than her birth control potion, which she never forgot—and so Emma spent the next five minutes absently carding her fingers through Killian's hair and struggling to remember what she must have forgotten.
The answer came when her mind inevitably began to drift. The darkness of the room caused her eyes to droop, the warmth of the bed lulled her body into pliancy, and Killian's firm weight against her served as a barrier between her and the outside world. She relaxed, fingers still in his hair, as she thought once more about her first days in Queen's Port two years ago. She remembered how frustrated she'd been with him, how determined she'd been to get away from him and back to her world, her time.
Well, it wasn't as if she'd known about that detail until she'd seen the Sorcerer.
Emma's eyes shot open.
No, not the Sorcerer. The Apprentice.
Maybe it was the need to come full circle. Maybe there was something else within her urging her to go, but Emma knew that she had to see the secretive old man. Slowly, she untangled herself from Killian, hoping that he wouldn't wake. She never lied to him, and so if he woke up and asked where she was going, she wouldn't be able to not tell him.
And there was a strange surety in her gut that told her she needed to do this alone.
Thankfully, Killian only grumbled as she moved, his arms lazily chasing after her and when the search proved fruitless, latched onto her pillow instead. Emma smiled slightly and shook her head. For all his bluster, Killian Jones was still the biggest cuddler she knew.
Emma quickly dressed, though she paused when her hands reached for her brown leather coat. She tiptoed across the room to the wardrobe and prayed the hinges wouldn't creak as she opened the door. Carefully, she brushed past her shirts and vests and the occasional dress that Killian insisted she have even if she never wore it. Then she reached it. Tucked away in the very back, just as bright as it'd been two years ago, was her red leather jacket.
The material creaked as she put it on, and she imagined it looked a bit silly on top of her billowing white linen shirt, but it felt good. She'd missed it, the feeling of complete control, of total imperviousness. She was ready for battle.
The deck of the Jolly was brisk, and Emma fought the urge to slip her hands into her pockets to fight the predawn chill. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to focus. Though she had spent much of her spare time practicing her magic, it still surprised her on occasion. Sometimes she did things she had no idea she could do. Other times it just wouldn't cooperate.
She really hoped this go-round went according to plan.
Emma closed her eyes, pictured the Apprentice's cabin in her mind, and then threw up her hands.
It felt like her whole body falling asleep. Every muscle tingled, and she couldn't breathe. If it wasn't near-instant travel, Emma would never bother with it at all.
But it was just so damn convenient.
When it worked, anyway.
"Son of a bitch," she cursed as she opened her eyes to nothing but forest. Slowly, she turned, eyes searching for the familiar cabin with its small sheep corals and twining, smoky chimney. Nothing. "Killian's going to kill me," she muttered.
Though her sense of direction was decent, after spending another five minutes staring at the trees that all looked the same, Emma picked a random direction and began to walk. This had been a stupid idea. What had she been thinking? There was no reason to go see the old man. She was fine. She didn't want to go home. She was home.
And that was, of course, the very second that she stepped into a familiar glade.
The Apprentice's cabin was exactly as she remembered it. Even in the grey light it was warm and inviting, the windows aglow, the chimney smoking. She even thought she could smell biscuits.
Emma swallowed back a faint shimmer of anxiety before resolutely striding forward. With every step she grew more and more certain that her arrival, just like last time, was expected. He opened the door just as she raised her fist to knock, causing her blink in surprise and awkwardly lower her hand. "Hi," she said.
The Apprentice smiled. "Hello, Miss Swan," he greeted before moving out of the doorway and gesturing her inside. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?" he asked as he shuffled across to the fire flickering warmly in the hearth. "I've made biscuits. Feel free."
Emma smiled slightly at the old routine, taking a seat at the table and helping herself to biscuit. She quietly murmured her thanks when he handed her the tea, blowing on the steaming liquid before taking a tentative sip. "You knew I'd come," she said.
"I had a feeling, yes."
"Another tip from your boss?"
"Of a sort."
"Right."
They sat and sipped their tea. Emma searched for something to say to explain her presence, yet absolutely nothing came to mind other than the strange feeling she'd had when she had woken up. So she sat and drank her tea, and once it was gone, she reached for another biscuit. Just why was she here? It had to mean something, didn't it?
"What brings you here, Miss Swan? Are you not happy with Captain Jones?"
Her eyes darted to him. "How do you know I'm still with him?"
His eyes twinkled despite the way they innocently widened. "Was I wrong to assume?"
"Did you know?"
"Know what?"
Emma huffed and waved her hand vaguely in the air. "The True Love thing."
"It was one of many possibilities the Sorcerer foresaw," the Apprentice admitted with an almost sheepish smile. "There are many paths one can take in their life. You chose one of many when you decided to stop running."
"What do you mean? Are you saying that I could have—"
"Returned to your own time? Oh, yes."
"But you said that it was impossible."
"By all means, quite so. Yet you would have found a way, if it'd been your wish."
Emma frowned. "Do I . . . Do I have to go back?"
The Apprentice hummed as he leaned back in his chair. "That is a curious question, isn't it? Time is a funny thing, Miss Swan. It's not as we think, this sort of strict linearity. Time is . . . malleable, shall we say."
"So I don't have to go back? I can stay."
"Do you want to leave?"
Her answer was quick and sure. "No."
"Then you have chosen your path."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that you have chosen this life you've created, Miss Swan. For better or worse, as they say."
His words made Emma swallow back the sudden lump in her throat. While she was sure of her decision to stay, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the Apprentice's tone, something in the heaviness of his sigh, the clouded look in his eyes, that made her want to shake him until he gave her a straight answer. "You know something," she said.
"I know many things that a man should not know."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Can it with the riddles, Dumbledore," she said. "I know you're hiding something. What is it?"
"I cannot say."
"Says who?"
"One far more powerful than me."
"Great. I don't suppose you could give him a call?"
"I doubt he would answer."
"Of course not."
"Emma." The Apprentice said her name heavily, quietly, yet with a touch of what almost seemed like fondness. Or perhaps pity. Emma eyed him warily as he stood and ambled toward the fire. He busied himself with removing the once again steaming kettle and pouring more tea. "I cannot give you the answers you seek," he said eventually. "It is not in my power to do so. I can only warn you."
"This path you have chosen, like any other, is fraught with just as much hardship as happiness. Though I fear that the happiness you and your pirate have so greatly enjoyed is nearing its end," he said. "There's a storm coming, Miss Swan, one you must weather if you wish to keep this life you've chosen."
Emma clenched her hands around her mug despite the heat. "What do I do?"
"Beware, Miss Swan. Not everyone is as they seem and the consequences of a single, simple action can be far greater than anyone can foresee."
"Who?" Emma demanded. "Who is he? She? How do I know . . ." she trailed off as the Apprentice continued to merely stare. "You're not going to say anymore, are you?"
"It is not my place. Certain things must come to pass."
"I thought you said that I had a choice."
"And so you've made it. Yet perhaps the only change in events is your presence, and not the event itself."
"What? So I can't do anything?"
"No, Emma. There is always something you can do, so long as you're strong enough to do it." The old man glanced toward the window. "The sun will soon be up."
Emma's gut tightened. Killian. "I have to go," she said.
The Apprentice stood. "Of course." He walked with her to the door, opening it for her and seeing her out. Just as he had two years earlier, he hovered in the doorway as she lingered outside, and when Emma turned around he wore a patient, expectant look.
"Did you know?" she asked. "About my magic?"
"My dear, I knew the moment you entered this realm. You are far more powerful than you know."
"What does that mean?"
"All will be clear in time."
Emma thought about pursuing the subject. He knew something. Just as she'd known that he knew about the pen, she was certain that he knew something about her magic. Something big. Something important. Yet she knew he wouldn't tell her, just as he wouldn't tell her what was coming. Regardless of his ineffectual answers, Emma still felt a strange connection to the man.
"Thanks for the tea," she said.
"You're quite welcome. To be quite honest, I rarely receive visitors."
Emma smiled slightly. "Right."
"One question before you go," he said, holding up a finger. "The hourglass I gave you . . . does the sand stand still?"
The hourglass. Emma blinked. "I haven't even looked at it," she admitted. "Should I?"
The Apprentice smiled. "I was merely curious."
"Right." Emma ignored the sinking feeling in her gut. "Well, I'll . . . see you around, I guess," she said before closing her eyes and thinking of the Jolly.
The effect of being on the water was immediate. She relaxed at the gentle shifting of the ship, the soft groan of the planks, the gentle salt breeze that ruffled her hair. Home. Thoughts of forests and sorcerers and riddles faded from her mind as she quietly treaded down the hatch to the Captain's quarters. Killian was as she'd left him, though he'd since rolled completely onto his stomach to bury his face in his pillow. She smiled as she undressed. Easing herself onto the bed, she carefully straddled him and began to trail her lips and hands over his back, paying particular attention to the newest scars from the whip that he'd refused to let her heal.
He groaned sleepily under her ministrations, muscles flexing beneath her as he shifted and stretched. He flopped over onto his back to look at her with heavy blue eyes that steadily lightened as he took her in. A lazy smile appeared as his hands slid up her thighs to her hips. "Now, that's a sight to wake up to," he murmured. "Or am I dreaming? Because it looks like there's a gorgeous blonde naked woman on top of me." His hands skimmed across her stomach to her breasts. "Very, very naked," he said as he slowly sat up, eyes clearer. He kissed between her breasts. "Is she mine?"
Emma smirked. "It's your dream."
His hands gripped her hips, pushing her down onto his straining erection. Emma gasped. "Aye," he said. "Why don't I show you how it ends?"
Emma found it all too easy to forget every last word the Apprentice had said. All he had to give was riddles, but this she understood. This—her and Killian—this she knew was real.
Andthat was all she cared about.
Killian eyed the small port with an appraising glance. He had never docked at this particular port, though there were no rumors of ill-will concerning pirates, and so he carefully maneuvered the Jolly into a slip, noting with some pride and amusement that his ship made the little dinghies and fishing vessels look like toys a boy would play with in a bath.
"Mr. Smee!"
Smee came scrambling as usual, cheeks red with exertion and the first bite of winter's chill. Even Killian could feel the wind through his coat. "Yes, Captain? What can I do for you?"
Killian handed him the list of supplies. "Take Williams and see that our orders are placed," he said. "I want to be out of here no later than noon tomorrow." He handed over a purse of gold. "Make sure there's no problems with our request."
Smee took the purse with shiny, greedy eyes. "Yes, Captain."
"And Smee?"
"Yes?"
"I know exactly how much gold is in that purse. See that a suitable amount is returned to me."
"A-Aye, sir."
Killian shook his head as Smee suddenly straightened his spine as he shouted at Williams to accompany him. The rat of a man didn't have a backbone until he felt like he had some sort of power, a quality that while useful for a first mate was at times nearly painful to watch. "I'll never trust that one," a wry voice said before arms wrapped around him from behind. "He's twitchy."
Killian grinned and raised his arm to tug Emma around to his side. "Aye, love, but useful."
"You know, you've said that before but I haven't seen anything to prove it."
"Smee has a rather fortuitous knack for acquiring particular items of value."
Emma raised her eyebrows. "You could have just said thief."
"That would be doing Smee a disservice, Swan. He's unremarkable yet trustworthy, as far as appearances go. It's a trait he's used to his advantage."
"And yours."
He grinned. "On occasion."
She rolled her eyes and then shivered. "It's getting colder," she stated obviously and then frowned. "I don't like it."
Killian pounced on the opportunity, pulling her closer and wrapping both arms around her. "I'll keep you warm, darling. Don't fret."
Emma hummed with a smile as she looked up at him. "I'm counting on that," she said before the wind blew yet again, sending cold mist from the water up to bite her skin. She shivered and turned her face into Killian's chest with an annoyed groan that made him chuckle.
"Come on, Swan," he said. "Let's find you a fire."
Ordering a handful of the crew to stay behind and appointing Vincent in charge, Killian led Emma into the small port town. It was the smallest village Emma had yet to visit in the Enchanted Forest, and she imagined that if they had been in her world, it would have been the equivalent of a four-way stop. There was a single tavern next to a handful of empty stalls that Emma thought were likely only half full at market.
Luckily, the tavern was warm and cozy, and no one seemed to look twice at them. Well, not everyone. The moment they were through the door, every single wench had eyed Killian hungrily and then glared at her as if she'd spoiled Christmas. With a small smirk, Emma acknowledged that she very likely had, and clung to Killian just a bit tighter. Sometimes it still felt novel to subtly declare to the world that this dashing rapscallion was hers.
Killian glanced down at her with a knowing smirk. "Feeling territorial tonight, love?" he teased. "I like it."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not territorial."
"Possessive."
"No, buddy. That's you."
"What? I think not."
"Two words. Port. Royal."
Killian's eyes narrowed. "The git had it coming."
"He bought me a drink."
"He grabbed your arse."
"I could have handled it."
"Aye," he agreed with a smile before pulling her to him and placing both hands pointedly on her ass. "But only I get to touch your arse, love."
She rolled her eyes and scoffed, pushing away from him, but Killian knew that she secretly liked his more "caveman" tendencies, as she liked to call it. Few people had ever cared enough to call her theirs, and every now and then Killian liked to remind her that he was the exception. She was his and he didn't share—least of all with drunken midshipmen looking for a quick fuck.
They ordered a plate of meat, cheese, and bread and picked a place toward the back where they had a clear view of the room. It was a new port, and so Killian knew no one, which meant that he couldn't afford to leave his back turned. He sat with his arm around Emma's shoulders, his fingers rubbing gentle patterns up and down her arm as he watched his crew steadily create a riot within the small tavern.
Emma shifted beside him once the voices at the gambling tables began to get too angry for her tastes. "You better go over there," she said.
Killian didn't move. "What's a little fight, love?" he asked with a slight shrug before kissing her temple as he nuzzled her hair, grinning when she squirmed as he licked behind her ear. "Let the lads have it out."
"And then we'll be kicked out," she returned, giving him a shove. "Go put an end to it before it gets out of hand."
Killian huffed but stood. "As you wish," he said, causing Emma's lips to twitch.
Hearing those words never failed to make her grin, and for the life of him, Killian couldn't figure out just why—it was as if he was missing a joke. Shaking off the thought, he crossed the tavern to the gambling tables where a handful of his men were cheating none too subtly and the usual patrons were, appropriately, none too pleased. He sighed internally. Two years ago he wouldn't have given one bloody fuck. Now look at him. One word from his Swan and he was playing mediator.
He really must love her.
"What do we have here, lads?" he said as he shoved the man closest to him out of his seat, grabbed the back, spun it around, and then sat. He propped one arm lazily across the back of the chair while he gestured toward the table in front of him with his other hand. "Looks like a right good game."
"Good game, my arse," one of them men spat. "They're cheating."
"How do you know?"
"I saw them switch out the dice!"
Killian turned toward his crew, who looked either tellingly defiant or uneasy. He barely held in a scoff. By the gods, if you were going to cheat, you bloody well did it right. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?" he said before reaching into his pocket and retrieving his own dice. "Use mine. Unbiased third party."
One scoffed. "Like I'd trust you. You're a dirty pirate."
"I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much," Killian retorted. "But you do have the last bit right." He offered his hand. "Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger."
It caused him no small amount of pride to watch the men pause over his name. The blaze of righteous anger in their eyes dulled to a subdued wariness, and Killian smiled brightly like a shark. "Now, I insist we put this nonsense behind us, mates," he continued. "There are, after all, ladies present," he said, directing his words more toward his men, who all glanced across the bar at Emma.
Everyone knew not to upset Emma. Upsetting Emma meant upsetting Killian and of the two, every man aboard the Jolly knew which was worse. "Since the game is quite obviously rigged, as you say, let's have the original dice, shall we?" he said, holding out his hand toward Bellamy, who reluctantly handed over the dice he had switched for his own. Killian grinned. "Now," he said, turning toward the others. "Only fair to have those back," he reached for the dice in the middle of the table, and then, in a canny sleight of hand (if he did say so himself) "replaced" the dice. "There. Continue on, lads. We're all men of our word, after all."
Rising from the chair, he tauntingly offered it back to the man he'd stolen it from with a grand sweep of his arm, and then started back toward Emma. Perhaps she would reward him for his goodwill, and he could convince her to return to the Jolly early. He was running through strategies when he saw a giant oaf of a man trip and spill his ale over a woman sitting at a table by herself. Then, in a move far too drunk to be remotely subtle, he began to attempt to clean the spill, which amounted to little more than groping the woman.
Honestly, were there no gentlemen left in the world?
"Stop it! I've got it," the woman insisted as the man continued to pat her.
Killian quickly closed the distance between them, placing an arm between the woman and the idiot who reeked of sweat and ale. "Leave the lady alone," he said, expecting a fight and quite honestly hoping for one. It'd been far too long since his last brawl (truly, they were good fun), and despite how Emma would scold him with words like Neanderthal and testosterone he enjoyed the way her fingers would flutter over him to assess bruises and cuts.
The Idiot glared at him and gave him a shove. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Killian pretended to think about it. "Well . . ." His fist hit the oaf neatly in the jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground, out cold. Killian took a moment to grin at his work and the throb in his knuckles before neatly plucking a drink off a passing bar wench's tray. He straddled the bench next to the woman and set the drink down. "A drink for the lady," he said.
She was a beautiful woman, too beautiful for a place like this. Long, thick mahogany hair with equally warm, if startled brown eyes. She was older. There were fine lines at the corners of her eyes, yet not enough to make Killian think that she smiled as much as she should. There was a sadness to her that he recognized. She reminded him of a marooned sailor. Trapped on land, desperate to be free.
"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice soft yet not timid. Curious.
"Captain Killian Jones," he took her hand and kissed her knuckles, "at your service."
She looked him over, eyes lingering on his chest that was displayed between the V of his shirt and vest. "That doesn't look to be the uniform of any Navy I've—" Killian couldn't help but smile, and she paused as her eyes widened. Not out of fear, but in excitement. "Oh," she breathed. "You're a—"
"Well, they call us pirates," Killian said with a grin. "We sail where we will and answer to no Crown."
"I've not seen the ocean much beyond our small port," she admitted, a note of longing in her voice. "Is it wonderful to travel so much?"
"Aye," Killian agreed. "Particularly when such wonders are shared with someone you love." His eyes strayed toward Emma without a thought, and the woman followed his gaze.
"She's beautiful," she said as Emma laughed at something Bee said. "Is she your wife?"
"One day," Killian smiled, "when I can convince her it's a good idea."
"And she's a pirate, too?"
"In her own way. More than a match for me, at any rate." He eyed her. "And what about you? What's keeping you here?"
"Responsibilities," she said, glancing down at the table. "An ailing child, a husband . . ."
Killian stared at her. She was dreadfully unhappy, that much was plain, and something about her called to him. He didn't know if it was the sadness in her eyes that he imagined were meant to burn bright or if it was the barely restrained curiosity in her voice as she questioned him about his life and its freedom. There was a gentle sort of wonder in her eyes that made him want to show her the world. Perhaps then she'd smile.
If he hadn't met Emma first, he was quite certain he would have fallen in love with her.
"I'll tell you what, lass," he said. "I imagine I will be returning to this port quite often. Perhaps I could share with you an adventure or two."
She smiled then, barely a flutter but it made her look ten years younger. "I'd like that, Captain Jones," she said before glancing over at Emma, who happened to look up to meet her gaze. "I think your lover would rather you sit with her."
Killian smirked. "She's lying to herself when she insists she's not territorial," he said, more to himself.
"If my husband looked like you, I'd be much the same."
He laughed. "What's your name, lass?"
And she smiled then, a real smile. "Milah."
He nodded respectfully. "Until next time, then, Milah."
Emma raised her eyebrows when he slid onto the bench next to her. "Should I be worried?" she teased.
"Nonsense, Swan," Killian said as he leaned toward her. "My heart is and forever shall be yours." He kissed her sweetly, yet when he pulled away he was quiet, and she sensed that his mind was elsewhere.
Her eyes trailed back across the tavern to where Milah sat alone, still nursing her drink. She frowned. "She looks lonely," she said.
"Aye, love. I reckon she is. She's not meant to be trapped in this life."
"What do you mean?"
"I see a bit of myself in her, I suppose," Killian admitted as he turned to look at her. "When I was in the Navy, I was very proud of it," he said. "It felt like a bit of a miracle. I'd thought I'd ruined my and Liam's chances of ever getting off that wretched ship. Then, there was that typhoon, and she sank. Liam and I were the only survivors, and we got ourselves a Naval commission just like that. I'd never felt lucky until that day, Swan."
Emma placed her hand on his leg. She knew the story. "But you made something out of yourself," she said.
"Oh, aye," he agreed. "I threw myself into training, rose through the ranks faster than anyone save Liam." He shook his head and frowned thoughtfully. "But for all the learning I'd done, for all the station I'd gained, that uniform always felt a bit . . . stifling. I wasn't like Liam. I didn't have the patience to deal with the Crown, and I hardly respected the natural order. I couldn't have served under anyone other than Liam." He grinned slightly. "Likely would've gone pirate much sooner if that had happened."
Emma stared at Milah. "So she's trapped, too?" she said. "She's in a life not meant for her."
"Not entirely, at any rate," Killian agreed. "No one should live a life where they feel trapped."
Emma laid her head on his shoulder. "You're right," she agreed. "What's her name?"
"Milah."
Emma hummed thoughtfully. "Pretty name."
She had no idea that that name was the first domino that would send her life spiraling out of control.
Yep, enter Milah.
Since I keep missing updates and final projects are approaching school-wise, I'm going to start updating every other Friday. Hopefully that will give me more time to write.
Next time. . . . "I wanted to tell you." - Emma
