A/U Thank you so much for the response so far guys! Now the real fun begins (my definition of fun being: simultaneously crushing and cuddling your hearts). Here's Chapter One!
Chapter 1: The Mark
He couldn't see and he couldn't speak – the black rag stuffed in his mouth preventing any articulate speech. The hood enveloping his entire head severely impaired his sight, although he could make out silhouettes in the dim lighting of wherever the hell he was. Killian shifted on the spot, his bound hands and restrained chest preventing any other movement. The pirate would have been able to evade his constraints had his captors not stolen the metal appendage that would have permitted him to escape.
Killian inwardly cursed the blonde responsible for his situation. Had she not knocked him unconscious and tied him – still unconscious, unfortunately – to a groaning metal machine in a dungeon, he would not have woken only to be gagged, blindfolded and incapacitated by an unfamiliar female.
He replayed the memory in his head, trying to ascertain whether he knew the woman or if she might have a vendetta against him – he had, after all, earned the wrath of many a lass in his time. The caramel brown skin and black hair did nothing to jog his memory and yet those feline eyes burned into him with recognition. She had clearly known who he was.
There was only one thing that muffled his discomfort and that was the knowledge that by now his crocodile would be dead. The poison that his hook had been saturated with was not medically curable. And with no magic to assist the Dark One, he would have perished in his own vomit and sweat. Granted, Killian would have preferred to watch as the miserable imp withered away but all the same his revenge had finally been achieved. He wondered idly whether or not Cora would be pleased that her greatest magical rival was deceased and momentarily considered trying to call out to her. He let the thought drop though, if she wanted him out of the situation he was in – she would have done something. The bloody witch had eyes everywhere and would definitely know the pirate's whereabouts.
The sound of footsteps on gravel drew Killian from his thoughts, alerting him to someone's arrival and he straightened as much as he could. The rhythm of feet crunching the stony surface made it clear there were two people approaching. Soon the footsteps were close enough that the pirate would have felt their owners' presence if he hadn't been able to vaguely identify two silhouettes in front of him and he waited impatiently for them to explain their purpose.
One of the people before him shuffled closer and suddenly the black bag over his head was lifted. The room he was in was dark and appeared to be lit only by lanterns gracing the walls. Wooden structures seemed to hold up said walls that consisted of a mixture of stone and dirt. It didn't take an intellect to deduce they were underground.
Killian quickly adjusted to the lighting and eyed the two individuals before him. The person responsible for unveiling him was the woman who had kidnapped him back in Manhattan. He motioned his eyes downward in a silent demand to be ungagged. The woman kept her eyes locked on his as she carefully removed the material hindering Killian's ability to speak.
The pirate flexed his jaw for a minute before letting his eyes land directly on the woman. He drank in her image, smirking reflexively as he studied her face and let his gaze wander downwards. She was about his height and of a slim build. Her face was pointed with sharp catlike features, her eyes the most unnerving feature.
"Who are you?" he asked, letting the bitter ice slip into his tone as he smirked without mirth.
The silhouette in the shadows stepped forward, revealing a man with a more bulky build. He scrutinised Killian indignantly and when the unfamiliar man glanced at the woman, the pirate almost immediately understood why. She glanced at the man and the same possessive streak was obvious in her sharp eyes as she turned back to Killian.
"My name is Tamara," she announced, her voice deep and uncharacteristically musical. Her harmless façade was almost as intriguing as the Swan girl's stoic one.
"I would introduce myself but I get the feeling you already know who I am," he retorted, turning his head to watch the man.
"You're right," the unnamed man said, stepping closer and watching his captive's expression with patronizing satisfaction and a hint of amusement. "We know exactly who you are."
Killian's smirk dropped at the tone of voice being directed his way, his eyes narrowing icily. "As much as I love the fact my reputation precedes me, I admit I'm curious to know who you are." Tamara and the man exchanged another glance and she nodded reassuringly – yet there was no semblance of affection there. Killian wondered suddenly if she was even capable of such warm emotion.
"I'm Greg," the man answered, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"That's nice. Let me elucidate; why am I here?" the pirate asked drolly.
Tamara stood back so she was beside Greg, "We're giving you an opportunity," she said seriously. Unfortunately, however, her captor was not at all interested in aligning himself with them. He would admit that his situation wasn't favourable but being a pirate meant he'd been tied down more than once and with enough time he would escape their binds. The lack of his appendage would make it difficult, yes, but it was not an impossible feat.
With all this in mind, Killian chuckled and cast his eyes downward as he shook his head. His reaction didn't please the two individuals surveying him and Greg walked closer to him.
"As you can probably gather, I'm not interested," the pirate said amusedly, leaning his head back against the wall he was tied to.
"Interesting, coming from a man whose sole purpose in life is unfinished," Tamara interjected indifferently. The implication of her words snapped Killian to attention and he was immediately watching her, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.
"What are you inferring?" he asked. She stepped closer and pulled a small object from her back pocket that reflected a metallic gleam in the light. Manoeuvring the device revealed it was a pocket knife and she held it up for inspection in the dim lighting.
"It's to my understanding that you want Rumplestiltskin dead?" she inquired, but it was more of a statement than a question. Killian didn't answer and kept an eye on the blade in her hand which she brought down so she could focus on him. He met her gaze unflinchingly as she stepped closer again. Greg was watching the two of them carefully, clearly tentative about their proximity. When silence met the woman's query she decided to continue speaking.
"Unfortunately for you, he's still alive – thanks to the efforts of none other than the saviour," she said, clearly relishing in the anger that marred Killian's face. She let this information sink in before whipping the blade forward. He abruptly felt himself sag forward from the wall as one of the binds holding him down was cut, followed in quick succession by the others. Killian stepped forward from the wall, his head tilted down and dark eyes flashing between the two people.
This lass was clearly quite daring to have faith that the pirate wouldn't engage them right then and there out of pure rage. He recalled her earlier statement and finally spoke up.
"How can you help me?" Killian growled.
Greg walked to the wall of the cave and leaned against it – clearly, Tamara was the instigator here. She paced elegantly towards the man, her eyes never leaving the pirate's.
"We know how to kill magical creatures," she said, and stopped when she was close to her partner. Killian looked at her closely – there was something about this woman that screamed deceit. Unfortunately though, as of late he had taken to not trusting his instincts. After all, his instincts had told him to genuinely ally with the good guys once and that had not concluded in his favour.
"How can I be sure you aren't lying?" he questioned, absentmindedly rubbing his stump.
Tamara looked at Greg then, who produced another device from the pocket of his jacket – it was rectangular with a smaller circular prism on one of the surfaces. He walked closer to Killian, pressing numerous buttons on the thing until he held it so that a small screen was visible to them both. The screen was playing some sort of reimaging of the crocodile walking down one of the many streets of Storybrooke, as healthy as if he'd just been dropped down from the heavens.
Killian cursed angrily under his breath as Greg tucked the device away and walked leisurely over to Tamara again.
"As I said before, we're giving you an opportunity to join us," she said confidently, "and as a sign of good faith – here." A flash of silver caught his eye just before the woman tossed the item to him. He caught his hook deftly and immediately addressed its reattachment. When it was clicked into place, he looked up.
"What's the plan?" he asked apathetically.
Tamara smiled unpleasantly and put her gloved hand into the pocket of her jacket. When she renewed it, there was a gold medallion swinging ominously from where she held the material attached to it.
8888
Emma walked briskly through the mostly deserted streets of Storybrooke, her footsteps echoing loudly as she stalked forward. Everyone was either at work or at school; this town's obliviousness to disaster often astounded her. But then, she ought not to criticise them too harshly. After all, how could they be expected to all know the sinister workings of the other residents – or rather, visitors?
She walked purposefully towards the pawnbroker's store and ignored the 'closed' sign that had been posted against the window. The blonde opened the unlocked door and stepped inside, scanning the dank room for the person she sought. The little bell above the door tinkled faintly in the background as she scrutinised the shop. While there appeared to be no one present, she knew better than to trust appearances and quickly moved behind the counter.
There was two metres separating her from the red velvet curtain that sanctioned off the back room when a person emerged. He looked up and immediately stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.
"You came," Neal commented rather dumbfounded. Emma didn't know whether to construe his tone as an insult and so chose to ignore it. He'd called her a short time ago and requested they meet, for once the insistence in his voice making her listen. With everything that was happening, she couldn't have risked letting him sort out whatever it was on his own.
"You told me it was urgent. What is it Neal?" she asked, exasperation clear in her movements. The man opposite her shifted his weight nervously, silence answering her question. Emma sighed.
"I get that you might still be in shock about the whole Tamara-Greg thing and I am really sorry about that but we need to be out there looking for them," she said, trying to incorporate some form of sympathy into her terse words. It had been a hell of a week, what with Tamara revealing her true intentions and the constant anxiety of Hook's return. She knew the pirate would be furious when he divulged her involvement in Gold's recuperation – she wasn't idiotic enough to assume he wouldn't find his way back to the dreary little town of Storybrooke with the intention of continuing his quest for vengeance. As for Neal's ex-fiancé, Emma couldn't help but feel bad for the father of her child when the elusive woman had been exposed as the cause of Augusts' death and a rather unscrupulous individual.
Since that discovery, along with the subsequent one which allied her with the car-accident newcomer Greg, the town had been put on high alert and Emma, along with her father, had spent the week scouring the town for them. Gold's attempts to locate them with magic had proved unsuccessful and made the process all the more tedious. Regina had proved no different in her ardent attempts.
Neal nodded in understanding and bit his lip. He appeared unsure of how to deliver whatever revelation he had stored, resigning to simply pull his hands out of his pockets and hold his left one up to the blonde. Emblazoned across the skin on his palm was an angry red burn. The puckered skin formed a circle with a strange symbol in the centre.
Emma shook her head, confused. He looked resigned and war y but it was only a burn.
"Tamara and Greg paid me a visit early this morning," Neal said, "and… they marked me with this using a talisman." He waited to see if the saviour before him had caught on which she evidently had not.
"Emma, have you ever dealt with a wraith?" he asked and immediately Emma understood. She grabbed his hand deftly, studying the mark and looking up at him with unchained concern in her eyes. While she was sure there was no longer any romantic affection she did still care about his welfare, especially since he was the father of her child. He looked grimly between her blue-grey eyes and the ugly mark on his palm.
"How long do you have before the wraith comes for you?" she asked. The memory of the thing that had attacked Regina danced beneath her lids and she swallowed. Neal shrugged uncertainly and pulled his hand away.
"Don't touch it or it'll transfer on to you," he warned, tucking his hand back in his pocket and looking at her seriously. Emma ran a hand through her blonde hair and exhaled heavily.
"What are we going to do?" she asked. Her thoughts were immediately consumed by Henry and the thought of him losing his newfound father – the father he had essentially idolised since meeting. It would crush him and she abruptly found herself determined to keep this man alive at all costs. Her son couldn't afford to lose anyone, especially someone he'd just found.
Neal shook his head and cast his eyes downward, "I don't know. The wraith will be here soon… I have to leave Storybrooke until we figure out a way to stop it," he said.
"You can't leave! Henry needs you here, he only just found you," she said vehemently. He looked up and the frustration he felt contorted his features.
"Well I can't just stay here, can I?" he snapped, raising his arms to motion around the shop as if it were the entire town. Emma shook her head – there had to be something else they could do. She eyed his hand with the burn mark, the cogs in her head spinning rapidly to form some kind of solution. Henry needed Neal at the moment; he needed the father figure in his life. But he didn't really need Emma – not now anyway. It wasn't something the saviour deigned to admit either, she understood the newfound awe in locating a parent and could fathom the complacency that came with an old one.
They would fix this, but in the meantime more drastic measures were required.
Emma grabbed Neal's outstretched left arm and temporarily blindsided the man. He watched her in utter befuddlement for a moment before realising what she was doing. The blonde placed her palm against his and felt a strange tingling sensation erupt on the space where their hands touched. Neal understood her intent and quickly tried to pry her off but she had a good grip on his left arm, pinned in the spaced between her torso and upper-arm.
"Emma, no!" he yelled, getting a grip on her shoulder. But, before Neal could jerk her away, his body immobilised unwillingly. Both adults' eyes snapped sideways to the door frame of the pawn shop where Gold had his hand outstretched. The tell-tale feel of magic crackled against Emma's back as she kept her hand pressed against Neal's. The tingling was now full-fledged burning and she hissed in dismay at the sensation.
Gold stepped closer, his hand still outstretched to maintain the magic that had his son paralysed, and watched him with a rueful expression.
"I can't lose you again," he said sincerely and let his gaze fall to the saviour who was painstakingly keeping her hand in place. Emma bit her lip as the skin on her palm was attacked. Suddenly, the pain ceased and she let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. The saviour pulled her hand up to inspect it and flinched slightly when she saw the ugly mark now etched on her palm. Behind her, Neal dropped from where he had been held and glared at his father furiously.
"What have you done?" he growled and turned to look at Emma, "What are you thinking?"
Her lips formed a thin line, "Henry needs his father –"
"And his mother! Emma, what the hell is wrong with you?" Neal demanded, angrily stepping closer to her. He moved to grab her marked hand but she anticipated his action and avoided it, lithely walking around him and around to the other side of the counter. Gold stood beside her and she stared at him meaningfully.
"I'm going to leave town so the wraith can't get me. Until you've destroyed it, I'll stay in a nearby town and you can give me regular updates. I'll call when I'm safe and in the meantime keep an eye out for Tamara and Greg," she said determinedly, her brow drawn in thought. Gold nodded in agreement as his son started walking around the counter to protest.
"I'm going to go and say good-bye to Henry and my parents," Emma said quickly before walking out of the shop, the light tinkling of the little golden bell the only sound in her wake. Neal stared at his father furiously for a second before starting for the door. Once again he found himself restrained by magic and bit back the slew of words he wanted to hurl at the pawnbroker.
"I can't let you go after her. You'll just try to take it back," Gold explained sadly, using his magic to draw back his son and set him down away from the door. When a suitable amount of time had passed, he relinquished the magical hold and an indignant Neal all but sprinted out of the shop in search of the blonde.
8888
The salty smell of the ocean wafted up from the waves as they lapped against the side of the ship. It was a considerably docile day in Storybrooke, a substantial event was yet to occur – although he had no doubt something would happen. Something always happened in the seemingly unassuming town. One would think he might enjoy the calm seeing as how he had spent the past few weeks in a whirlwind of deals with witches, traversing of realms, revenge plots and an incredible number of appointments with the floor. But no, Killian Jones sought something to ease his boredom. Or perhaps it was more so a desire to divert his attention from his failed attempt at revenge – and the golden-haired temptress that tended to invade his thoughts at regular intervals.
He enjoyed being back on his ship and vaguely wondered when he would hear from his newest allies. The thought of his crocodile still roaming the streets as a free man boiled the blood in his veins and made him anxious to act. However, Tamara and Greg had made it quite clear two days earlier that they needed other agendas to be addressed before they gave Killian what he wanted – Rumplestiltskin's life. And who was he to demand otherwise?
Immediately following their alliance, Cora's death had been relayed to him. He felt no sincere attachment to the witch and therefore no semblance of grief over her passing. And so now, all he could do was wait to hear their next move – hence the boredom.
The pirate leaned against the side of the Jolly Roger, observing the small section of the town that was visible from his spot on the ship. There wasn't much occurring in the streets as all the young ones were at their education facilities and the adults were consumed by menial jobs. Monotony had never suited Killian Jones and he sighed heavily in frustration.
He was about to move away from the side of the ship when he spotted a yellow 'car,' as they called them, making its way towards the quay. Recognition caused a dark smirk to play across his features and he moved over to the wooden board that led off his ship and onto the docks. Killian walked eagerly up towards the road that ran around the perimeter of the waterfront and leaned lazily against a lamp post. Her car teetered to a stop on the side of the road and she jumped out, her hair flailing slightly in the light breeze. The pirate waited for her to turn around and recognise him – keen to watch the expression on her face as she realised he was back.
Surprisingly, though, Emma simply looked around in search of somebody. She moved with purpose and determination, efficient and precise with every action. He watched her curiously and, after a good minute of observation, decided he would spur an interaction. Strutting down the path that ran adjacent to the road, Killian waited until she saw him to speak. She had just finished scrutinising one side of the harbor and turned to scan the other when she spotted him.
"Morning Swan, surprised to see me?" he asked, watching happily as her face registered shock with an edge of fear. It was a fleeting expression though, swiftly replaced by the stony and defiant façade that only he seemed to be able to penetrate.
"Not really," she replied truthfully and continued looking around for something, "I know not to underestimate you." The unintentional compliment shocked him momentarily, but he let it go – he knew better than to accept her comments as genuine praise.
"So you just wandered down here to take a tour of my ship?" Killian questioned mockingly, stopping a metre from her.
"Don't need one, already seen everything when I was coming back from New York after I tied your sorry ass up," she retorted unashamedly, looking past him to continue her apparent search. Killian's eyes narrowed at the memory and his face automatically hardened.
"Ah, yes, I do recall. Tell me, how does it feel to have salvaged the life of a monster?" he questioned, acid saturating his tone. Emma's previously occupied gaze snapped onto him; so he knew about her involvement in Gold's resurrection. She suddenly felt the need to explain that the Dark One's relation to Henry made him redeemable by default but resisted the urge. She didn't owe Hook an explanation because she didn't need to justify herself to him.
"About as good as it feels to have failed killing him," she countered icily. The pirate glared at her as silence enveloped them and the tension became almost palpable. Emma decided she didn't have the time or the energy for a verbal fencing match with Hook, turning to face the docks and scan them one last time.
"I'm surprised you haven't restrained me as of yet. My reappearance isn't your top priority?" he asked bitterly. Emma mumbled something unintelligible and continued scrutinising the area around her.
"What are you looking for that could engross you this thoroughly?" Killian asked with a bit of bite in his tone, watching her intently.
Emma turned and eyed him without the frequent acrimony or even the dryness she usually displayed in his presence, "Have you seen Henry?" she asked in answer to his question. The pirate's eyebrows rose and drew together in confusion as he analysed her face. Within a moment he was able to determine something more severe was in progress and dismissed his prior resentment. He would never fathom what it was about the lass that commanded every fibre of his attention in a serious situation. And besides, she was still his closest source to the crocodile – thereby increasing her importance on the grounds of possible information. Not that he thought she would willingly volunteer anything of relevance; the game to trick it out of her was a part of the fun.
"I have not seen the lad, why do you ask?" he questioned. She tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind one ear and watched him carefully, as if trying to weigh up the risk that telling him posed. Her right hand hovered near her face for an instant longer than she intended and Killian glimpsed the burn. He snatched her hand away from her face, turning it over and inspecting it before she could even protest. Emma jerked her hand back defensively, but not before he was able to recognise the symbol that had been painfully entrenched on her palm.
"Emma," the pirate growled angrily, "how did you get this?"
"What? The infamous Captain Hook is scared of getting his soul taken?" Emma teased coldly, still not paying him her full attention. Killian smirked but there was no warmth evident in his expression.
"That would require me to have a soul, love," he replied, equally chilly. The blonde gave him a sarcastic tight-lipped smile in response before turning on her heel and heading back to the car. She had taken all of two steps when the pirate gripped her elbow to spin her around.
"You didn't answer my question, Swan. How did you get it?" Killian asked, the intensity in his eyes and tone taking her off-guard for a fleeting moment. He appeared angry by the fact that she had the wraith's mark – and not purely because she had it.
Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously, suddenly sensing the knowing edge to his tone. How she hadn't picked up on it earlier was lost to her but she could now plainly see the way he looked at her with a complex mix of confusion, irritation and – was that protectiveness she observed?
"I get the feeling I'm not supposed to have it?" she inquired darkly, eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. While Emma wasn't renowned for her striking intelligence, she did know a thing or two about deduction. And it wasn't hard to identify that the pirate clearly thought the mark was meant to be somewhere else.
"Did Tamara and Greg give you the mark?" he asked, ignoring the accusation in her voice. Their plan had either not been properly relayed to him or they had left out some very important details. Emma was not supposed to bear the mark.
She shook her head with a frown, "No, but they did give it to Neal. And I'm guessing you were involved." Emma watched his expression as it relaxed only marginally before deepening again as he realised what she must have done. Once again, her accusation seemed to be unheard by the pirate as he bit his lip angrily.
"So he just passed it on to you to save himself? It seems cowardice really does run in that family," Killian gritted his teeth, looking around them and noticing the eerie quiet that had descended apart from the sound of their voices piercing the cold morning air.
Emma felt strangely defensive of her ex-lover, probably because 'that family' technically included Henry. And she knew by now that the boy was everything but a coward.
"Actually, I took it from him unwillingly because, you know, that's what saviours do. And good people," she replied mockingly as he watched her. The man frowned; suddenly curious as to why she would sacrifice herself for the imp. In his opinion, sacrificing yourself for another was a waste of valuable time and effort. After all, how can someone truly appreciate that sort of gesture and, more importantly, how would the sacrifice ever know if their decision was in vain. The whole notion was ridiculous.
"You're a bloody idiot, Swan, and you're going to return that mark," Killian said, striking out with his good arm to grip her elbow. However, Emma anticipated his movement and stepped back so his good hand swiped at thin air. He looked up at her, not so much angry as exasperated and impatient.
"No, I'm going to find my son and then I'm leaving. And I shouldn't have to remind you that just because I'll be gone it doesn't mean you get free reign. Touch Belle or Gold or anyone and I will risk coming back to skin you myself," she threatened, turning on her heel and marching back to the car. It was only a second before Killian was moving to catch up to her, hooking her arm and spinning her violently on the spot.
"Why can't you just have some self-preservation instincts?" he asked, aware of the fact that he had accidently turned her so she was inches from him. Their proximity appeared to affect her too as she glanced haphazardly at his lips.
"What is your problem, Hook?" Emma snapped, maintaining eye contact.
"My problem is you sacrificing yourself for no good reason!" the pirate yelled back. His ice blue eyes were striking like that; focused entirely on her and saturated in raw emotion. Much against his wishes, he was beginning to show the strange protective instincts he felt towards her.
"If you hadn't given Neal the mark in the first place, I wouldn't have to!" the saviour countered.
Emma ripped her arm out of Killian's grip and was about to turn around when a howling noise snapped both of them to attention. Unnoticed by them, the wind had severely picked up amidst their argument. A dark cloud covered Storybrooke, filtering the light that landed on the settlement so it was covered by a monstrous shadow.
The howling, however, did not come from the wind that was attempting to bowl them both over. Rather, it originated from the black hooded thing coming around the corner. Red eyes snapped to attention as they landed on Emma and, for the second time in her life, she felt unadulterated fear. She stumbled slightly as she stepped back from the figure making its way to her. In front of her, Killian drew his sword and turned to face her. He walked straight towards her with his sword raised at his side, a determined edge in his stride.
"Emma, get out of here. Now!"