Home was a creaking, scratched-up ship that never thanked him for fighting the losing battle that was keeping the trim freshly painted. The sounds of the wind flapping the sails, the gentle splashes of flying fish nearby, chasing the Jolly Roger, the hearty laughter of the crew—Killian never felt as comfortable or confident as he did here. And now he was surrounded by people who have never sailed in their lives. If he'd wanted such an arrangement, he'd have become a tutor.
Nevertheless, the murmurs and shouts filled the ship, something he'd missed. Even the Crocodile aboard gave him a bemused sort of satisfaction rather than fury. Five capable and desperate people, three of whom possessed magic somehow cast a pall over the title of captain, but that they lacked the abilities he had made the situation more tolerable.
When night falls, and he takes his shift at the helm, there comes a sound he would not miss. The sound of Swan coming up to the deck every night, propping herself up by the bow without looking at him, and crying her bloody eyes out.
Killian decided not to ever bring it up. She knows he's there and doesn't care. Perhaps there is some trust in there, that she can cry with him around but not in front of the others, not even her own parents. After all, they understand each other, as she'd said herself. The first night, she'd caught him off guard and he almost spoke to her...until he saw her start for the bow. He held his breath for one moment, calculating if reaching her before she flung herself into the ocean was even possible, but he reminded himself he knew better. It was her boy that was the reason she was there. Someone like Emma Swan, someone like him, wouldn't kill herself as long as she had a reason to fight.
He would know. He'd started for the bow once upon a time, too.
Tonight Swan cries a little softer, her arms folded and over her knees, cradling her head, looking abandoned. Well she had been at one time, as had they all. Not Henry. Henry would not be abandoned.
As if hearing his thought, Swan wipes her eyes and heads for below decks, pausing this one night to glance over at him. Flashing her a grin, he opens his stance a little, silently inviting her over because, well, he didn't know a lady yet to not find provocative ideas about him an enjoyable distraction. Except her, so he prepares for that exasperated expression he knows well enough.
But tonight she gives him a sad, thoughtful smile, like the one she'd given him at the hospital. One of understanding, a silent thanks for not mentioning her bursts of weeping.
A/N: I do not own OUAT. Please read and review.