A/U Muffins to all of you people reviewing and following and favouriting – I love seeing your feedback and it's nice to know you're liking the story so far. Keep it up! Oh and don't hate me *hiding behind Eddy and Adam* I may have a small something in here for plot development that you mightn't like. Trust me when I say it will come in later. See, all this trust? I feel like Killian and you guys are my Emmas.
And the journey begins.
Chapter Five: Cast Off
"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," Killian crowed in mock delight as Henry, Mary Margaret, Regina, David and Neal walked up the gangplank. They seemed unfazed by the stature of the ship, but the pirate wasn't surprised – they had, after all, been on it before. Although he wouldn't deny feeling slightly disappointed for not being there to witness the young boy's first reaction.
David carried Emma's body in his arms and, once on deck, asked Killian, "Where can I put her?" The pirate motioned for the prince to follow him below deck. They reached a room with a small bed pressed against the side of the wall and David placed her gently down. He looked down at her for a moment before following Killian out of the room and back above deck.
As they entered once again into the cool sea breeze, the pirate captain took the opportunity to garner their attention.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, since this is my ship, I only think it fair that I make certain… requests."
David rolled his eyes, Snow pursed her lips, Regina raised an eyebrow and Neal simply frowned. Contrastingly, Henry looked positively thrilled to be on a pirate ship with an actual pirate who was now treating him like an actual crew-member. So Killian chose to address the child when he spoke.
"Do not, for the love of all that is good, touch any of the equipment without my permission or strict instruction unless you want us to end up in Davy Jones' locker. I've got food aboard but if anything looks inedible, let me know because it's likely been poached by seawater and you don't want to get sick. Follow my orders and we'll probably make it in and out of Neverland in one piece." They were silent and he took at that as understanding.
He was about to turn around when he remembered one more thing, "And be warned… Neverland isn't the golden realm you people seem to think it is." Killian unwittingly found himself sharing a knowing glance with Neal, they both knew firsthand the horrors that the beautiful land could produce.
At that, he turned around on his heel and strode up to the helm. Neal almost immediately headed below deck, patting his son on the back once before moving to the hatch. Henry smiled at his father as he departed and headed straight for the forecastle deck. Killian watched him with a smirk, enjoying the child's antics as he stared contently out at the sea. Mary Margaret and David elected to walk to the side of the ship, throwing the occasional check-up glance at Henry.
Regina stood awkwardly in the middle of the main deck before catching his eyes on her and moving towards the Quarter Deck. As she did so, Killian began manoeuvring his ship away from the docks. The mayor was soon beside him, watching his movements with idle curiosity.
"I take it you're not going to ask me to teach you how to sail?" Killian teased amusedly, the archetypal smirk tugging at his lips.
Regina narrowed her eyes at him, "No. I'm just curious."
He glanced at her sideways, noting how she gaged his reaction. The pirate had to physically force himself to appear relaxed; it was as if he knew the question she would ask before she asked it.
"What do you want to know?" he questioned, annoyed when there was an obvious bite in his tone.
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Henry looked excitedly out at the open sea, knowing it wasn't long before their captain would open the portal. The ship pulled away from the dock, hesitantly at first – a precaution with all of the surrounding boats and docks – before picking up a faster stride out into the open space. The front of the Jolly Roger cut through the waves like a knife, sea spray hitting him in the face when he leaned over the front and breathed in the salty air.
As he did, Henry heard his grandparents cry out in a mixture of protest and concern. Henry pulled back and turned around to grin at them in reassurance. Mary Margaret gave him a scolding look, silently warning him not to do that again. The boy chortled and the couple turned back to the side of the ship.
He too was about to return to watching the Jolly Roger slice through the water when his eye accidentally caught sight of Killian at the helm. The pirate moved with precision as he invisibly ordered the sails do his bidding and rotated the wheel. Henry recalled their trip back from New York and could distinctly remember the difficulty his father had experienced with the ship. It was strange to see someone controlling the Jolly Roger so effortlessly.
Mary Margaret and David watched Henry carefully as he stood there, staring at the quarterdeck. They followed his gaze and David huffed in what the pixie-haired woman could only explain as jealousy; having experienced Henry's awe, Mary Margaret could empathise with her husband.
She was surprised to see Regina standing beside the pirate, the movement of her mouth indicating that she was talking. However, whether or not Hook was listening to her was another question since he was concentrated on the waters out ahead. Her internal question was answered when he apparently replied to something she said, turning his head towards the mayor ever so slightly. Mary Margaret turned back to her husband and they faced the railing again.
His arm wound its way around her waist and he drew her closer to his side.
"It's going to be hard. I can see it in Neal and Hook's faces. They're not looking forward to it," David said.
His wife nodded, "I know… David, what if Emma gives up hope? What if we run out of time?" Her eyes sought his and he turned to her immediately, cupping her delicate face with his hands and kissing her lovingly.
"Don't. We'll find her in time and we'll be a family again – if Emma inherited anything from us it was her fighting spirit," he assured her.
"And my chin," she mused and then looked down, pausing before she continued, "But what if we are too late?"
"Don't think about it; don't even let it enter your mind, Snow." He used his hand to lift her chin so she was forced to look him in the eye.
He held her gaze intensely, conveying all off his faith in the exchange. It was strange how they worked – just the day before he had been the one doubting their ability to carry out the plan and she the one comforting him. And now the roles were reversed and he effortlessly took her place as supportive partner. Mary Margaret kissed him once before settling into his embrace and watching their swift departure from Storybrooke's docks.
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"Mary Margaret and David are here because Emma's their only daughter, Neal's here because he wants to save the woman he loves, Henry is here because it's too dangerous to leave him in Storybrooke and I'm helping because I want Henry to be happy. The only thing I can't figure out is why you might offer to help," Regina explained calmly.
Killian kept his eyes on the horizon, pretending to be concentrated on the control of his ship. The truth was he could probably steer the Jolly Roger with his eyes closed and both arms tied behind his back. Nevertheless, he needed a buffer so his emotions weren't as obvious. This woman was just as perceptive as Emma when she put her mind to it.
When he didn't respond immediately, she sighed and leaned back against the railing lining the quarterdeck. "I just don't see you as having any motivation – especially since Gold is back in Storybrooke along with your illustrious revenge." The mention of his foe had Killian's jaw clenching and his fist inadvertently tensed around the wheel, knuckles paling as he gripped the helm in an effort to subdue his internal fury. The notion that the crocodile was still walking made his skin crawl, but for the time being it took second priority to saving the Swan girl.
Rather than reply, Killian answered her with a side-glance, "Shouldn't you be down on the main deck attending to your son?" Regina smirked and threw a glance at Henry, undoubtedly checking that the pirate was not subtly informing her of danger. Satisfied that the child was enjoying the sea breeze, she returned her intent gaze to him.
"Why aren't you back there – fixing your revenge?" she asked truthfully. The intensity of her stare made Killian turn his face to her fully this time.
"Do you ever wonder if this constant pursuit of revenge is the reason no one cares for us? When I have finally achieved my vengeance… I'll have nothing to look forward to. My life will be empty." He made a point of looking at Mary Margaret when he asked the first question and the Evil Queen's eyes followed his line of sight. When she saw the woman by the side of the ship with her husband her expression became closed off and she look down. Killian took the opportunity to turn back to the helm and waited for her to speak again – because she undoubtedly would.
He could see in his peripheral vision as she faced him again, "Well, that answers both questions," she said indifferently. The pirate's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Pardon me?"
She paused, "Why you've left your revenge behind and you're motivation for being here."
"I haven't answered in regards to my motivation, milady," he retorted, defensiveness edging his tone.
"But you really have," Regina said, a small knowing smile trying to make its way across her lips.
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The ships wooden interior creaked unceremoniously as Neal made his way into the depths of its interior. He walked along the small passage leading to the rooms, having memorised the ship's outlook a lifetime ago. Being on the ship brought back memories – not all of them good.
His hands were fisted in the pockets of his hoodie and he walked with a closed-off gait; head down, eyes straight ahead. The man wanted to do nothing but sleep until they reached the place where his life had been a nightmare – Neverland, the realm where he'd lost his childhood once and for all. The idea that his son was intrigued and belated to be travelling to the hellish world was disturbing. Henry knew nothing about the true dangers of Neverland, about the deadly reminders of morbidity that lay around every corner.
Neal shook his head in an attempt to eradicate the thoughts and walked past an open door. He stopped when he realised whose room it was. Turning around, he walked tentatively towards the doorframe and leaned on it as he observed the room. There was a cot pushed against the wall to his left and the room was almost completely bear, save for a bench built into the ship's wall. His gaze, however, was immediately drawn to the woman lying motionless on the bed. She could have been sleeping.
Neal walked towards her and knelt down beside her form, taking in her lifeless form for the first time since her death. He had glanced her in the apartment, but never enough to fully appraise the woman he shared a son with. Her blonde hair curtained the pillow and he felt himself reach out to tough it gingerly. He let his eyes drift to her face, serene and utterly expressionless.
The man found his eyes inadvertently lingering on her lips, their soft hue still managing to stand out against her pale skin. She was beautiful.
He leaned closer, watching her closely and smiling as memories flooded his mind's eye; running from a convenience store with a shirt-load of stolen good, aimlessly searching for a place to stay, her smile when he announced his desire to settle down. She'd been open then, very different to how she was now.
"I'm sorry Emma," he heard himself whisper lightly, watching her face despite the knowledge she would not react. "I'm sorry about all of this… I really am." Neal let his head fall down and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. After all the denial and mixed messages, he was sure now. He loved her; it only took her being gone for him to realise that. And for him, there was still something there – something unfinished between them that forced him to hold her torch. It was why he suddenly found himself lowering his lips to brush lightly against her cold ones. It was why he felt his heart contract at the realisation that nothing happened. But then, he hadn't been her true love for a very long time. And she wasn't dead or under a curse. And the voice in his head making the excuses sounded oddly like his fathers.
Neal stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he turned and swiftly left the room.
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Emma played idly with the grass underneath her; she'd stopped walking a while ago and now simply sat cross-legged beside the road. She plucked a strand of the dull green pasture, stripping it in an attempt to focus her thoughts. They'd been going insane ever since she'd returned from the dark room. The saviour still couldn't understand what had happened or why she'd seen him of all people.
It wasn't as if they had any special emotional connection. He wasn't family and he wasn't exactly an enemy – his presence had never antagonised her as much as irritated her. Emma threw down the blade of grass, groaning and putting her face in her hands. This was infuriating, what was she even doing here?
The blonde let herself fall back into the grass, looking up at the blank grey sky. She placed her hands over her stomach, wondering if she'd ever get hungry. So far, she'd experienced no fatigue or hunger. Emma suddenly found herself visualising a plate of Granny's lasagne and, hungry or not, she could swear she felt her stomach grumble.
She was so consumed by her inner musings that she didn't notice the silhouette on the horizon. It was only when she sat up again to continue her grass picking that Emma finally caught sight of the person in the distance. The blonde stood up and was quickly jogging towards the person – all reservations be damned. And honestly, what could a person even do to harm her in this realm? There weren't any weapons and Emma knew how to fight close-combat. Furthermore, for all she knew she was still technically for all intents and purposes dead.
However, when the silhouette began to materialise into a man she slowed down, realising that a man might be stronger than her – and judging by this guy's size that was probably true. Emma was shocked to see he almost glistened in the sun and quickly attributed it to whatever he was wearing.
The closer he got, the more she could make out his features – he had dark skin and a very large stature. The man was wearing armour and she immediately credited his origin to the Enchanted Forest. Emma walked closer, still trying to make out his facial features.
It was only when they were about ten metres from each other that she recognised him. The blonde stumbled to a stop as he kept walking, slightly confused as he made his way to her. She'd met this man before – sort of. Emma had to think for a second about what her mother had called him when they'd (sort of) met.
He eyed her curiously as he made his way forward and stopped about five metres from her.
"Do I know you?" he questioned, registering her expression and raising his eyebrows.
"Lancelot?"
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"Everyone below deck!" Killian bellowed, stepping away from the helm and moving on to the main deck. Regina followed him as he opened the door to the rooms below and moved to usher the people still above deck into the underbelly of his ship. Mary Margaret and David were swift in grabbing Henry and pushing him towards the open door and soon disappeared down the stairs.
The pirate turned to the Evil Queen before she could depart and held out his hand expectantly.
"I'll need that bean if you expect us to traverse realms, milady," he said eloquently. She met his gaze evenly and held it as she buried her hand in her pocket and pulled it out holding the opalescent seed. She placed it in his hand and paused for a second before turning around and heading through the door and down the stairs.
Killian closed the door behind her and moved to the side of the Jolly Roger, studying the bean momentarily before throwing it into the sea. It disappeared into the water and the surface where it had been enveloped began to curdle. The pirate rushed to the helm, taking hold of the wheel as the water dropped and a whirlpool formed. The Jolly Roger glided towards the portal easily and he maintained the ship as it began its descent into the writhing vortex.
It wasn't long before the tip of the vessel touched the purple mist of the portal at the bottom of the whirlpool. Killian closed his eyes in anticipation and felt as the wind rushed past him; for a moment he felt as though he were flying in a maelstrom of water droplets and rushing wind. And then there was a jolt and when he reopened his eyes, his eyes were met with a familiar sight. In the distance, on the edge of the horizon, was an oddly shaped island. He looked around to make sure and was greeted with endless ocean the colour of sapphires.
"Hello again, Neverland," he whispered to himself.
The sun was setting behind the island and he could see as the stars began to illuminate the sky; like diamonds flowering in a field of blackness. Killian took one last look around, savouring the quiet, before heading below deck. As he entered the hallway, David and Mary Margaret spilled out of one of the rooms.
"Are we here?" the woman asked. The pirate nodded just as Neal entered from another room down the hall. David and his wife turned to watch him walk towards them and Killian could swear the man looked sheepish under their scrutiny – he couldn't imagine why though.
The pirate ignored him and addressed Emma's parents once again, "Henry can come aboard deck now but once we hit land, he is not to come above deck for any reason. If anyone sees him here, the Lost Boys will be alerted and then we'll have an even worse conundrum on our hands."
"Yeah, I know," Neal replied, bitterness seeping into his tone. Killian's eyes snapped onto his and the tension was almost palpable as they glared at each other. The man had firsthand experience of the Lost Boys as a consequence of his past with the pirate and the implication didn't go unnoticed by the couple still standing in between them. Nevertheless, they kept their mouths shut.
Mary Margaret chose to break the silence, trying to garner Killian's attention again.
"How long until we get to land?" she asked. The pirate looked away from Neal, letting his eyes settle on the pixie-haired woman.
"Half a day. The sun's going down but the Jolly Roger can steer herself for the majority of the journey. It's probably a good idea to rest now because once we hit Calcava Port, the real adventure begins." He said the last part with a hint of sarcasm, turning on his heel and heading into a room directly next to the stairs. He could hear as David followed him down the hall and into the room.
"What about food?" he asked and Killian found himself oddly irritated by the impatience in his tone.
"Well, mate; I was just getting to that."
When he turned around again, the pirate was holding five small brown packages. David could now see that behind him was a shelfing unit that appeared to store all of the small food rations. The prince stepped forward gingerly and took the food from his hands, nodding in thanks.
He looked at the small parcels curiously and raised his head to look at Killian, "What's in them?"
"Food," he replied drolly, walking around David and heading back up the stairs without a second glance. The man was about to ask him why he wasn't having anything but then recalled that he didn't particularly care – he just wanted to get some rest and the pirate's temperamental disposition didn't concern him as long as they continued on their journey.
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Hours after everyone had eaten their respective dinner and retired to bed, and the ship rocked calmly to the constant thrum of the oceans waves and the only sound was that of the creaking wooden shafts, Killian lay wide awake. His ice blue eyes were glued to the ceiling as he mulled over a list of scrambled contemplations that he couldn't fathom into cohesive sentences. The pirate glanced haphazardly at the window in his cabin and was greeted with the sight of blackness – it was incredibly late in the evening.
He closed his eyes, even deigning to attempt counting sheep, but still sleep evaded him. Killian sat up abruptly from his bed and swung his legs over the side, pulling on a white cotton shirt that had lain on his bedside. He stood and, without realising it, found himself walking out of his room. The wooden floor creaked slightly under his weight but not enough to draw attention as he walked along the hall.
Killian walked until he reached his decided destination – although when he had decided that this was where he wanted to be, he didn't know. She was exactly the way he'd left her earlier when the prince had lowered her gently onto the cot. Her hair fanned across the pillow like threads of gold trying to weave their way into the fabric beneath her head. She looked peaceful, and he wondered idly what she was doing in the realm she was stuck in. He wondered if she was happy or if fear clutched her heart the way it did his.
The pirate kneeled beside her bed, still scanning her face for any signs of waking. For a blissful moment he could imagine her stirring, sitting up and raising her eyebrows at his solemn expression and questioning his sanity with typical Emma-mirth. His thoughts were interrupted as a wave rocked the ship particularly hard and he stumbled slightly on the spot. The same effect made Emma's head fall to the side and it was unnerving to see movement from her – even if it was caused by the ship's rocking.
"You'd better bloody not give up hope while we're on this voyage, Swan," he said gruffly, his voice coming out as chipped and he coughed lightly to cover it. Silence answered his words and he found himself inadvertently staring at her lips.
"If we get to that lake and you don't come back…" he couldn't finish the sentence, not because of pain but because he wouldn't know what to do. He had no threats or witty remarks to bestow on her lifeless form and there was more than one reason why.
"If I have to see Henry's expression like that day on the wharf again… I refuse to." The last sentence was uttered with a sharpness that sounded foreign, and Killian rested his head in his hand. He wouldn't bear that sight again; the boy's face as it dropped in grief and despair and for a moment the eyes so filled with hope were blinded by bleakness. At least she hadn't been alive to see it; Emma would have broken if she'd seen her son that way. Emma would have broken if she knew just how much she'd inadvertently hurt her son.
Because even if they saved her, no amount of magic could erase the permanent scars that were surely etched into the young boy's mind. There were only so many things that Neverland could make you forget, and Killian had first-hand experience that you never lost the memory of watching a loved one perish.
He stood up, not letting himself glance at her as he walked out of the room and back to his own cabin. He didn't let his thoughts stray remotely near to the blonde saviour as he settled into his bed again; purposefully distracting himself by listing the things he needed to do in the coming days.
Finally, sleep came.
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"So how did you get here?" she asked, motioning at their endless surroundings.
"Well," Lancelot replied, kicking the ground aimlessly, "I was actually about to go through a portal with my wife when… well, you know." He glanced up at her and shrugged, the metal of his armour clanking with the gesture. Emma nodded in understanding; thanks to the little lie-detector built into her nerves, she'd found him to be telling the truth when he told her who he was. Also, he'd made comment about her mother that had prompted her to reveal her own identity.
It was odd to be so trusting of someone, but then Emma figured she was basically dead anyway so it didn't matter much. They now walked side-by-side down the dirt road, asking each other questions to pass the time.
"How about you?" he asked when the silence became too uncomfortable.
The blonde shrugged non-commitally, "I took the mark from someone I cared about so I could protect the people I love and… it caught up to me before I could escape. Why were you and your wife at the portal?"
"We were trying to escape from the wraith after I was marked and the only way was to travel to another realm. We were preparing to jump in and Cora called my name, I turned around and… the wraith had me and I couldn't get away. I don't know what happened to my wife or the portal or anything after that really." His eyes took on a far-away look and Emma immediately discerned that his thoughts were consumed with his wife. She didn't prod him to continue after that, allowing him a moment to himself so he could ponder her. The feeling was all too familiar to Emma and she felt her own thoughts drifting to her family – what they were doing, whether they had grieved. And inadvertently, she suddenly wondered if they'd buried her.
The saviour stopped in her tracks and coughed to cover up the quick intake of breath. She had always hated the idea of being buried alive and she sure didn't feel dead. If they'd buried her and she escaped this realm, is that what she could look forward to? A short period of life before suffocation and blackness smothered her in a worse fate than the wraith's void.
Emma took a deep breath, trying to calm the gooseflesh that was subconsciously creeping its way across her skin. Her fingers trembled slightly and she clenched her fists to hide it as Lancelot turned around, having realised that she'd stopped. He immediately noticed her temperament; apparently his perceptivity wasn't too bad after who knows how long in the wraith's realm.
"What's wrong?" the man asked, reaching a hand out to grip her elbow. Emma shook off his hand, waving her hand in dismissal.
"Nothing, just thinking," she replied airily, walking forward.
Lancelot quickly fell into step with her, watching her face before deciding she wasn't going to talk about it.
"Did it hurt to take the mark?" he asked curiously. Emma shook her head in reply and felt her internal lie detector scold her for the dishonesty. She didn't feel like talking about that part of her demise – and her pride would not afford her the confession of pain to another person.
"Did Cora give you the wraith's mark?" she inquired. Lancelot nodded and the blonde had to quiet the urge to kick the ground – even from the grave that woman sent her temper rising.
"How do you know Cora?" he asked. Emma was about to reply when she felt the familiar sense of falling forward and her surroundings began to fade. She reached out for the knight beside her and felt him grip her arm just before the blackness bit out her vision and she closed her eyes as a natural response. The feeling of Lancelot's hand around her arm vanished and she opened her eyes tentatively, sitting up and looking around nervously.
Emma sighed, almost in irritation. She was back in the warm dark room that was about as well-lit as the seedy alleys in New York. Shaking her head, the blonde stood up and spun around. And just like the other time, there he was. This time, she was prepared for the impenetrable barrier, putting her arms out so she didn't face plant.
Emma stopped in front of it, staring at the pirate in front of her. He looked exactly the same but there was something in his expression, an underpinning of anxiety that pulled at something unfamiliar deep within her. The saviour dispelled the feeling with a quick mental slap and crooked her head to the side.
"If you keep interrupting me like this I'm going to find a way around this wall and kill you, Hook," she said in a loud and articulate voice.
"I'm serious buddy, I was in the middle of a conversation and you don't even have the decency to reply." Silence answered her, "Hook, this is not the time to decide you are done with me!" She slammed the barrier angrily and for some strange reason, the lack of response broke something within the blonde. Her voice was suddenly a lot louder when she spoke and there was an undeniable anger in her words.
"You're such an ass, you know that? Even back in Storybrooke you couldn't leave me alone! God, Hook! Even in death you won't go away! It's bad enough that you were the last person that I saw but now you're the only person I'm ever going to see other than Lancelot?"
And with exactly the same amount of suddenness as the previous time, he disappeared. There was simply blackness where he'd been standing and Emma kicked the wall furiously. She could feel as her view morphed again and prepared herself for the return to the never-ending realm with Lancelot.
She could now feel something on either one of her shoulders and it became more prominent as the dark room faded. It was getting lighter, her view bleaching until she was looking up at something. Emma opened her eyes, not sure when she had closed them, and found herself staring up at a very concerned Lancelot. He gripped both of her shoulders and she was obviously on the ground.
"Emma? Are you alright?" he asked worriedly. The blonde shook her head and blinked deliberately a couple of times to clear her head before she pushed him back to sit up. He knelt by her side, a hand still resting on her back as she coughed slightly.
"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just – I keep getting this annoying thing where I… I feel like I'm falling and then I'm in this room and –"
"It's dark and warm and you can see a person you love?" he finished, eyes wide. Emma's blue-grey ones narrowed at him, brushing herself off and standing up.
"Well, I wouldn't say I'm seeing someone I love," she scoffed, looking back at him. Lancelot's face contorted in confusion.
"But surely it's someone you have a strong connection to?" he prompted in surprise at her reply.
Emma frowned, "Well, if you call the fact that he was the last person I saw before I got my soul sucked a strong connection – sure." Lancelot watched her face carefully and she felt suddenly exposed under his scrutiny, "What? Why, what is it?"
"Well, it's just… sometimes when souls are very close or kindred, they can connect across realms but it is incredibly rare. I can sometimes see my wife but if you say you have no connection to this person then maybe you're just kindred spirits."
Something about his words set the bells on her lie-detector tinkling; he wasn't completely lying though. It was more than that, his statement was almost like a half-truth – not black or white but a vague grey that made Emma's head spin. So she didn't pursue it; something she didn't often do when people were lying to her. Being candid was a trait of hers and to stifle it took great effort, yet some small voice warned her she might not want to know the full truth behind his words.
"Well, maybe we're similar but that's about it. I have about as much in common with him as I do a ship," she deadpanned. Ding ding ding, her internal lie-detector unceremoniously shrilled.
Okay, don't hate me for the Neal-kiss. It's there for a reason.
Reviews are snuggling up under a duvet in rainy season reading books – again, the pathetic cry for opinions. It's becoming a thing.
Please stick with this – I know it's a slow build (and trust me when I say I'm impatient and I'm writing it!) but I promise it will be worth it!