Curse or no curse, strange land or no, there was no accounting for the dreams he'd been having, each of which seemed to center around the Swan girl—Emma—whom he'd not known existed until two days ago.
The previous night, they'd climbed a beanstalk and knocked a giant unconscious with magic powder.
"I don't mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team."
Emma was less than amused—and not at all near swooning at the sight of his smile. What further proof did he need that it'd all been a dream?
And yet…
"So now you're gonna be a gentleman?"
He leaned in close to her, and though he hadn't planned it, caught the scent of a most intoxicating fragrance. Gods, was that her?
It isn't the bloody graveyard, Mate.
"Giants can smell blood. And I'm always a gentleman."
What came next could only be described as an impressive display of oral aptitude, if Killian did boast—first with the rum, and then the scarf used to bandage her hand.
"And then?" She asked a little breathlessly.
"Then we run like hell."
"But Dad…" The lass corrected herself at his reproachful brow: "Killian, what about the mission?"
He hadn't the slightest clue as to where such a tone came from, but he left no room for debate when telling Beth she wasn't missing another day of school.
It wouldn't suit his agenda to have a witness—and besides, he wasn't a complete monster. To subject a child to the queen's endgame would've been nothing short of traumatizing.
"Well aren't you Father of the Year?"
"Fine." She stomped to the lavatory and slammed the door.
—
As luck would have it, the target of his murderous plot exited the sheriff's station just as Killian darkened its door.
"Swan, I was just on my way to see you."
The keys jangled in her hand as she pulled them from the lock. Her attempts at speech were muffled by an edible object, as evidenced by the bite she tore from it when turning toward him. Some sort of pastry that scattered flakes along her path.
"Can you walk and talk?" She asked around the partially chewed morsel as she took off down the lane.
Killian found himself following after her before his response could form, and short minutes later, they stood outside a structure touting a sign that read: Mr. Gold Pawnbroker.
Emma rapped at the door, but if the lack of proper illumination was any indication, the place was empty. "Gold!" She struck the door once more, in a manner too violent to be dubbed knocking. "You in there?"
"Perhaps I could be of assistance." Killian approached the door and took to one knee, retrieving as he did an instrument from the back pocket of his jeans ("Is this really necessary?" He eyed the garments foreign to every realm he'd visited thus far. "Trust me, Dad—I'm doing you a favor."). He would've preferred his hook, but Beth had hidden it rather deftly.
Make one hell of a pirate, that one.
Emma held out her hand to impede his efforts. "What are you doing?"
"I'm helping."
"You know I can arrest you for breaking and entering."
"Suppose your Mr. Gold is being detained inside, unable to call for rescue."
"Fine." Emma conceded. "But you're waiting outside."
—
He held firm to his vow for a full five minutes. But the longer he remained outside, the more conspicuous he felt. Killian Jones was many things—invisible he was not.
"I told you to wait."
"I didn't listen."
Emma glared at him. "Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."
"I would despair if you did." Killian smirked, to Emma's increasing irritation.
They walked deeper into the shop of artifacts, from what Killian imagined to be more peculiar lands than the one he present found himself in—if that were possible. Periodically, Emma called out for Mr. Gold, shinning a handheld light in the direction of her voice, but she continued to receive no answer.
When she disappeared behind a curtain cordoning off a back room, Killian surveyed the contents surrounding the till. Nothing much of note—a globe with no map, business cards with no names. The corner of a page caught his attention, protruding from a larger stack of parchment, but of a darker hue, as was common with age. Reversing its folds, Killian was startled by the hand drawn image, as a voice from his past came to haunt him.
"I want off this ship, Pirate."
"Baelfire…" he whispered.
"Find something?" Emma focused her lantern on him as she emerged from the back room.
"No, nothing." Killian returned the parchment to its keeping for the duration of her probing gaze, but no sooner had she turned her back than he secured it in his pocket alongside his instruments of intrusion. "This Mr. Gold—what can you tell me about him?"
Emma shrugged. "I wouldn't trust him with my lunch order, but he mostly keeps to himself."
"Describe him to me."
"Why so curious?"
"No harm in being prepared, should I find myself in want of his…expertise."
Emma eyed Killian closely, but whatever was on the tip of her tongue was interrupted by a clamor of falling objects emanating from the room she'd just inspected. Finger to her lips, she drew the weapon from the holster at her hip, and took calculated steps in pursuit of the culprit.
She reached one hand forward to draw the curtain, and was thrown back by a dark figure. He ran past Killian, who was preoccupied with any injury Emma might've attained. She waved him off and was on her feet and out the door faster than he could say, "Swan."
—
They gave chase through the better part of Storybrooke, and deep into its bordering forest, coming upon the toll bridge before the trail went cold.
Emma bent at the waist, clutching her knees to catch her breath. When she stood straight, Killian observed a trickle of blood dripping from her palm.
"Give me your hand." He said.
"What?"
"Your hand—it's cut. Let me help you."
Examining the wound, Emma dismissed its severity. "It's fine, just—"
"No," he pulled her toward him by the wrist, "it's not."
"So now you're gonna be a gentleman?"
"Have we…?" Killian took a step back, releasing her. "Have we done this before?"
"Done what?"
"This. All of this."
"Have we…broken into a pawn shop and chased a burglar into the woods?" She regarded him as she would a madman. "Killian, are you okay?"
He answered in the affirmative, despite feeling the furthest thing from okay. He'd heard tale of déjà vu, but had never experienced it firsthand. It was rather an unpleasant sensation.
Perhaps unpleasant was the wrong word—after all, there were worse partners he could've been paired with.
Partners?
"What did you want to talk to me about?"
"What's that?"
"Outside the station. You said you were on your way to see me—what about?"
"Oh, I uh…" Nothing to concern yourself with, Love. A simple assassination—you wouldn't be interested. "I wanted to thank you. For…looking after Beth. She took quite a shine to you."
"She's a great kid. You and your wife must be very proud."
"I'm not married."
"Oh?"
Killian smirked at the change in her tone—unintended as it was. "Beth's mother passed some time ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry." This sentiment, he didn't doubt was genuine. Emma smiled kindly. Killian was about to ask what made her so sympathetic to his plight—a comparable loss, perhaps?—when she reached in her back pocket for her phone. "Sheriff Swan. Hey, kid. Everything okay? Yeah, he's right here." Handing Killian the device, she said, "Speak of the devil."
Killian slapped the back of his neck, pulling his hand away to find its attacker smeared across his palm. "Bloody hell." Barb-faced buggers were everywhere. Instead of swatting them like the lunatic Emma was clearly beginning to believe he was, he relieved her of the phone and said, "Hello?"
"Dad?"
He cringed—internally if not otherwise. Meeting Emma's eye, he refrained from admonishing the lass. "Aye. What is it, Love?"
"What are you doing with Emma?"
Certainly not upholding my end of the bargain. "Er…it's rather a long story."
The river below made it difficult to hear, but Killian caught the gist of her complaint—something about not requiring supervision.
Bloody stubborn child.
Killian was caught up with the conversation to such a degree that he didn't see the cloaked figure until he was in their midst. Until he'd taken hold of Emma and flung her body over the bridge's handrail.
"Killian!"
"I've got to go, Love." The phone fell from his hand as he hastened to Emma's aid.
In bracing for Killian's assault, the man detached himself from Emma's grasping hands, and she disappeared from view as a scream broke upon the air. Killian stood frozen, staring after the empty ledge until the man lunged forward. Crouching low, Killian deflected the man's attempt to upend him, and tossed his adversary head over foot.
Glinting like a beacon in the dark was Emma's firearm; Killian didn't hesitate. Taking it in hand, he turned to the man whose features remained obscure—no, not obscure. Nonexistent. What Killian had taken for a trick of shadow was an illusion. He emptied the chamber, but the bullets passed right through the dark form as though it were comprised of vapor. And perhaps it was. The cloak abandoned its shape and gathered as a heap on the ground.
Unable to form a single coherent thought to explain what he'd just seen, Killian remained in position, prepared for a strike that never came.
Emma.
Her name ran as a whisper across his heart and he moved to the ledge, ready for the worst.
Not again.
But in peering over the rim, his terror was disappointed. He could've laughed for the relief of seeing her dangling from the bridge by one hand.
"Help…would be…nice."
—
"First near-death experience?"
Emma winced. "First time being thrown off a bridge."
Dabbing gently, Killian cleaned the wound in her hand. "Well, you know what they say." He looked up at her with an arched brow. "You never forget your first."
Killian saw her struggle not to smile, a battle she lost in the end.
He secured a proper bandage and cleared away the debris of his medical intervention. When he stood to deposit the rubbish in a nearby bin, Emma returned to the paperwork she'd pulled up before succumbing to Killian's insistence that if she wanted to maintain full use of her hand, she'd do well to prevent infection.
"You know, most men would take your silence as off-putting." She looked up to see him smiling as he regained his seat. "But I've always loved a challenge."
"I'm concentrating." She flipped to the second page of her dossier, and back to the first.
"I'd say you're afraid to talk, that you might reveal yourself. And along the way, you might come to trust me."
"You should be used to people not trusting you."
"The pirate thing?"
"Nowadays, they're just called criminals."
"And you aren't a reformed criminal, yourself." She cautioned a glance in his direction. Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Killian appraised the woman across from him. "Perhaps I don't need you to share. You're something of an open book."
Emma leaned back in her chair, linking her hands in her lap. "I'm all ears."
"Let's see…You keep people at arm's length because you're still haunted by every person who's ever abandoned you—starting with your parents."
Her smug expression vanished.
"Like I said, open book."
"How would you know that?"
Beth's voice, like a conscience, ran across his mind. "You cannot, under any circumstances, tell her you're Captain Hook."
"I spent many years among children of the same misfortune. They all share the same look in their eyes—the look you get when you've been left alone." He paused to allow her time to commend him, or call him a presumptuous arse, whichever her inclination. When she did neither, Killian continued his assessment. "Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn't it? Have you ever even been in love?"
Her eyes engaged in a seeming endless search of his until locking their gaze decidedly upon his lips. "Once."
He felt himself learning forward, and he wasn't the only one.
"You are going to kill her for me."
Killian was transported back to the toll bridge, to knowing that no one, not even a—what had the queen called her?—a Savior could survive a fall from that height when all that waited below were jagged rocks and a low tide. To knowing Emma was their latest casualty. The fear that'd overwhelmed him was unlike anything he'd experienced in three hundred years. It rekindled the sense of déjà vu that'd begun its pursuit of him around the same time a hobbit-sized brunette had entered his life. He'd known, without question, that he'd suffered this particular loss before.
He'd agreed—promised, vowed, given his word in a binding oath—to kill her. And he'd had no qualms about the undertaking at the time. He'd have done anything to see Milah again.
"I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love…"
Emma closed her eyes, and it was all the incentive Killian needed to complete the journey—what spanned mere inches of space but felt as though he'd crossed entire oceans to reach her.
"You couldn't handle it."
Hand at the base of her neck, he drew her forward—
The moment his lips grazed hers—with not nearly enough force to qualify as a kiss—Emma recoiled, sliding her chair back, and attempted to lose herself in her paperwork. Content to pretend he wasn't there.
Killian took the hint. "I should go."
"Beth is probably wondering where you are." Came Emma's too-swift response.
"Aye. Goodnight, Swan."
"Goodnight, Killian." He was halfway to the exit when she called him back. "If you ever get tired of cleaning fish, give me a call." He turned to find her shyly smiling. "I think we'd make quite the team."
—
It was well past midnight when he entered the quaint establishment known as Granny's, and Beth was wide awake, poring over a book half her size. Hearing the door latch behind him, she slammed it closed and hopped from the bed to confront him.
"Where have you been all day? Do you have any idea how long it took me to ditch your little spy?"
"I was…" Killian began before realizing his remorse was unfounded. "You're not my keeper, Love—quite the opposite, I'm told." He pushed past her and plopped down on the mattress.
Who knew plotting the demise of one woman could be so taxing?
Is that what you were doing? Plotting?
"Did you make any progress on the mission? Is that why you were with Mom?"
Killian sat up, his muscles groaning with the effort. "Did you just call Emma—?"
"A slip of the tongue." The child was quick to correct. "I meant Henry's mom. Is that why you were with Henry's mom." She avoided Killian's eyes, biting back any further blunders.
"Lass, are you certain you've relayed the whole story?"
"Mhm. So what did you do today? Is it true you got a job?"
Killian studied her a minute more. Deciding to let the matter drop for now, he said, "Aye. Sheriff's Deputy."
"Daddy, that's perfect!" Killian didn't correct her, didn't withdraw when she hugged him. "We're going to win, aren't we?"
Ignoring a sudden pang of guilt, Killian smiled. "Aye. Circumstances appear rather…promising." The lass tightened her hold with a giggle, and Killian found himself returning the gesture, unable to account for the warmth flooding his veins.
Rather promising, indeed.