As if I could ever deny you guys what you wished for. And so many of you wished for it (words cannot express how big my THANK YOU is).
I bring to you, chapter two of I'm not sure how many yet. But that's half the fun ;)
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Feel Again
Two
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It's a few days later when they finally get a chance to settle and make a camp again, their time on the island becoming slowly more dangerous as they circle Pan's hideout, waiting for the right moment to strike. Killian sets Tinker Belle down on the hastily made bed of leaves, her fingers clutching at her stomach where a steady flow of blood is oozing from beneath the crude bandage they'd tried to apply to her wound.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice strangely deep compared to the usual frequency, "I'm so sorry."
And they're all there, crowded around her, whispering back that it's okay, that she shouldn't apologise for her actions. She had been fending off attacks from the Lost Boys when they had discovered that she was working with their enemies, but she just wasn't quick enough for one blade, and while her instincts told her to fly, her body, very abruptly reminded her that she was without magic when the sharp metal pierced her skin.
She whimpers as Killian works at the dressing, pulling a cloth square from his pocket. When Emma sees the monogramed edge her breath catches in her throat at yet another token of sentiment the pirate carries with him. He cleans the wound as best he can, before applying the handkerchief over the blood.
As her petite body whimpers and trembles, they all look to Regina once more. She rolls her eyes, exasperated and wanting just to spend some time with the woman she used to call a friend, before holding her hands out. Tiny sparks fly from her fingertips, but nothing compared to what they're used to, "I told you, my magic works differently here. It can be drained." They had fought hard against the Lost Boys and the toll that has taken is apparent across all of them, "I can heal her, just give it time."
Tinker Belle reaches out to Regina, meeting her halfway as the queen lowers into a crouch by the fairy's side, "It's okay, Regina. I believe in you."
It becomes clear that the two need to mend old bridges and the rest of the group disperses to set up the camp properly.
Emma tries to go with her parents, but their eternal optimism and constant state of apology over her childhood is something she can only take so much of and she remembers what Killian had said to her about talking with Neal when she could be talking with him, so within a few minutes she finds herself wandering over to the side of the camp occupied by the pirate.
She doesn't say anything at first, just picks up the other end of the log he's trying to move and helps him. They drop it down, creating a sort of perimeter to their area and Emma turns around to go grab another, but the pirate stops her, calling out softly, "Thank you, lass."
She nods, smiling tightly, "Just helping."
But his hook wraps around her wrist more firmly, pulling her closer, "No really. Thank you." His eyes slide over to Neal, who is pulling rations from a bag, separating them into small piles, "I know I was harsh," he pauses, "Insistent," he amends, "But I want for nothing but your happiness."
She still can't get used to the sincerity in his eyes, "My happiness will be when Henry is safe."
"Of course," he says, moving fractionally closer and sweeping her hair back from her shoulder to reveal a still healing bruise. "I apologise for the rash behaviour which caused this."
She hisses as his fingers pass over it, but instinctually moves closer to the soft breaths he's blowing out, cooling the tender skin, "You weren't completely to blame, Hook."
He smiles at the memory, moving her hair back into place, "No. I suppose I wasn't."
Remembering where they are, she steps out of his personal space, hurrying to change the subject, "So I thought you said you weren't sentimental?"
She shoots a look over towards Tinker Belle and the pirate immediately knows exactly what she's talking about, "You're a sharp lass. I thought I could get that one by you."
She smiles, picking up the end of another log, waiting for him to help her, "Nothing gets by me."
He happily picks up the other end and they walk again towards the camp, "It was my brother's. Not the last thing of his that I have, but certainly one of the only things I can carry with me at all times."
"You were close?" she asks, genuinely curious about this pirate who seems to have given so much despite his looting ways of crime.
"The closest."
She doesn't get the chance to ask much more after that because Neal is there with their food. But she's finding out more and more that perhaps she would like to know the pirate a little better.
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The soft green glow wakes them all in the late hours of the evening, when the moon hasn't completely risen and it's dark beyond dark. Tinker Belle's whimpering is soft, but as it's the only sound in the jungle, it seems much louder.
Charming's the first to come to his awareness and call out over the sounds of pain coming from the fairy, "What's going on over there?"
Regina looks up from the glow, the light faltering as she loses concentration, "My magic has enough energy to heal her. I didn't want to wait."
There are a few murmurs of agreement around the camp, everyone still in the cloud of sleep. Emma rolls back over, planning on falling straight back into slumber, but something catches her attention before she can get away that easy and before she knows it, she's lying on her back, staring at the dark sky, trying to think of anything but the sounds of the Lost Boys crying their hearts out.
She doesn't remember falling asleep tonight, only that they were all by the camp fire earlier and she had felt completely exhausted from the day's events. She must have fallen asleep before the crying caught up to her, must have missed it. It's a guilty feeling that plagues her at the thought of being selfish enough to sleep while Henry is out there wishing for his family, but she knows that she needs rest to be able to fight for him, to get her son back.
Her eyes travel the camp, watching in wonder her parents who already seem to have passed out asleep in the mere minutes since waking up. She looks curiously at Neal, whose soft snores can barely be heard beneath the sounds of children crying, and wonders how long he must have been on the island for him to be able to drown it out, to drown out the sound of his own son calling for them. Calling for his faith in his family not to be questioned.
After skirting past Regina and Tink, her eyes finally land on the one person she's been most scared to look at. Killian.
And her fears are confirmed when she meets his eyes and he's already looking directly at her.
His brow creases in a slight frown, his head nodding towards her, asking if she's doing okay. She nods and he raises his eyebrows at her.
Conceding a slight defeat, because he really does read her like an open book, she gently shakes her head, pointing a finger to her ear, indicating that she can hardly bear the sounds of sorrow permeating the air.
His movements are swift enough that she can't stop him, but smooth enough that no one else rouses from their sleep. He slides across the leaves and dirt to come to rest beside her, "You alright, love?"
She doesn't trust herself to speak, not with him so close, so warm, so genuine. Her hand reaches out to take his, smiling when he instinctively wraps his fingers around hers. She rolls over, his hand still tucked in hers, in effect pulling his arm across her waist. It's her own silent form of communication. Her way of telling him to stay with her, so hold her tight and not let go because she's trying her very hardest not to run either.
With his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her wrist and his arm laid out under her head like a pillow, she finally succumbs to sleep, the soothing whisper of his breath across her ear distracting her from the sounds of sadness
Words cannot express the strange mixture of feelings she gets the next morning when his body is no longer tucked next to hers, having moved before anyone could wake.
It's a sense of deep disappointment at the loss of contact and ecstatic relief at not having to face everyone this morning with explanations.
But she's beginning to find that for every fibre of her being that doesn't want to be found out, there's an equal part of her begging to be caught, wanting the world to know that she and the pirate are something. Neither of them know what, exactly. But something.
That day, as the heat of Neverland creeps across their camp, Emma finally yields to it and pulls her hair up into a ponytail, trying to keep it off her neck, almost begging for someone to ask her about the bruise that lays there.
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