Cutter shoved Killian into a small room and he couldn't help but smirk to himself when he realized it wasn't the brig. In fact, it looked more like what could have been an officers quarters or maybe even an old store room.
"It was Graham's room." Cutter grunted catching Killian's curious look. Cutter himself was looking about the room now with a certain sense of melancholy. "He was a good lad. Died from some sort o' illness we were at a loss to cure him of. That be why the Cap'n brought on Doc." Killian nodded stiffly, losing a good man was a gut wrenching experience...especially when it was because of some petty affliction.
Still, a room for himself?
"Why this?" He asked motioning about with a look of bewilderment. "Why not put me in the brig or in the hold where the rest of my men are?"
Cutter shrugged, "The Cap'n knows ye be important, she don't want you ailing or plotting an escape. Ye'll be joining her for supper in fact. There be a bit o' water for you to wash up in." Killian glanced over at a small pitcher and basin. He also noticed with wry amusement the absence of a razor and a smile crossed his lips.
"Well, I best be on my way." Cutter turned to leave but then suddenly stopped "Oh, yer 'ands!" He grabbed his knife and quickly sliced through the rope that bound Killian's hand and hook.
Killian smirked, "I was just going to ask how I was to clean my person with such restrictions."
Cutter chuckled, "Aye, and ye would 'ave 'ad a point." Then he sobered up, "Ye know, ye're a unusual sort of man. Ye 'aven't fought the Cap'n -at least not physically, followed 'er orders and most of all been fairly forthcomin'." Cutter tilted his head, appraising the young officer in front of him. "Yep, ye're a strange man, Killian Jones...strange indeed." And with that he left. Killian heard the heavy clunk of a bolt and a slab of wood being hefted into place.
"Well that's that." Killian thought. He saw that he had two options before him; resist and frustrate the pirates into doing something drastic or charm them...or more specifically charm The Black Swan. Yes, the later sounded much more attractive in more ways than one.
"I put 'im in Graham's old room." Cutter muttered, sitting down awkwardly in one of the fine leather chairs in front of Emma's desk. His old bones were beginning to ache, so no doubt a change in wind was coming.
He couldn't say why he'd done it. Sticking a prisoner of war in a room with so many feelings attached to it. It just seemed to him like a way to get Emma to face what she'd been hiding from. Herself. Ever since Graham's death she'd been lost. She drifted like her ship, her emotions constantly at a high as if taking a moment to grieve would kill her. He was worried about her. He'd watched her grow up; from a blonde haired little tyke to a strong Captain. He would follow her to the ends of the earth, but every once in awhile she needed a wee bit o' guiding. In his humble opinion.
Emma's heart constricted painfully at the name, but she did not look up from her map. "Why would you put him there Mr. Cutter? He is a prisoner of war, not a guest to be coddled." She finally glanced up at the weathered old man, her eyes searching his for an answer.
"Ye attract more flies wi' 'oney then ye do with vinegar." He murmured, his filmy eyes smiling. He leaned towards her with a blackened grin. "I also told 'im, that'd ye be 'aving 'im join ye for supper." Emma gave an exasperated shake of her head.
"You've taken a liking to him haven't you, old man?" She smiled at him fondly. "I shall go talk to him and if he is willing to join me for supper, we shall see." Emma stood, Cutter made move to stand with her but Emma stilled him with a steady hand. "You sit, rest a while...I know you're tired. I'll go speak to Captain Jones and then I can see to my own ship." Cutter gave her a relieved smile and huddled deeper into the rich leather.
"Thank ye, Cap'n." Emma gave him a grin and left the cabin. Her heavy leather boots thudded duly across the wood, she forced them to travel to an area of the ship that she had tried to avoid...or at least be close to blackout drunk when she went past it.
Graham had been more than a good sailor, he'd been a good man. She thought about all those things that he'd told her, when he'd been sick. Things she hadn't visited since they sent him over the railing. He'd told her how much he admired her, how she had a good heart despite trying to act tough. He had kissed her with a tenderness that showed her she meant so much more to him. Then before anything could be explored, he had fallen ill and died. Emma pushed her long hair from her eyes and blinked hard. She was not going to cry.
She stood in front of the door and gave herself a moment to steel herself for the oncoming (and unwanted) feelings, threw the bolt and lifted the slab. She walked in and was immediately greeted by the sight of Killian Jones shirtless back. A view, if she was being honest with herself that she didn't mind in the least. His back was covered in small scars along with a few large ones across his arm. There was also a small tattoo etched into his left shoulder. It resembled some sort of bird, but Emma found her gaze drawn to his back -his very well muscled back- that led into well fitting leather trousers. The muscles stood out in perfect definition and rippled as he turned to face her, the front offered an even better view than the back. Emma had seen many a shirtless man, but never one so well maintained. The smirk that greeted her, made her forget everything else that was on her mind.
Killian whipped around, droplets of water sliding pleasantly down his back to see the woman captain standing there gaping at him. He smirked as her eyes darted up to his face, she'd obviously been staring at something other than his back and her face was turning a lovely shade of pink. His grin widened and he tossed the rag aside.
"See something you like?" He said in a teasing tone (he really couldn't help himself with her ogling him like that) as he stood there, his chest bare waiting for her to say something. Her mouth (which was still gaping) clamped shut and she shook her hair back, he'd seen many a lass try that...shaking their hair back gave them a few moments to look away, regain their composure.
She cleared her throat and leveled her gaze on his and he watched the mental concentration as she attempted to keep her eyes solely on his face. "Cutter told me he gave you this room, and that you were to join me for supper tonight. I merely wished to offer you a formal invitation, and give you a chance to decline...if you so desire."
He gave a curt bow, "Thank you, m'lady but I think I'll take you up on supper." She nodded, not taking the time to correct him when he called her "M'lady". Even after she acknowledged his response, she still stood there, hands braced on her waist. He cocked his head to the side as he saw her eyes losing the battle of remaining on his face as they began to wander, "Do you need anything else?"
Her eyes snapped to his again, "No. I was just remembering something, a lot of memories attached to this little room." She shook her head and turned, "See you in a couple of hours, Hook." She remarked over her shoulder and then he was alone again. He looked at the room once more, what had she meant? But memories of what exactly? The room took on an eerie feeling...as though the secrets were suddenly oozing from the walls and he could swear he heard the sigh of someone else over his shoulder. But no one was in the room except him.
He shook his head and glanced down, his breath catching in his throat...he wasn't wearing his brace. Instead it lay on his small cot, gloating at him. Had she noticed and been embarrassed by the sight of his missing hand instead of ogling him? Had she been staring at his stump and inwardly revolted by the sight?
He growled to himself, angry that she had caught him unawares and vulnerable like that. But then why did he care in the first place? He sat down wearily on the cot and put the brace back on, angrily tightening the straps around the stump.
What she thought didn't matter and that was that. She was just a woman.