A/U Tension ahoy! Yes, things happen. Yes, I have an unhealthy amount of fun writing tension (especially between testosterone-fueled males). Yes, I'm introducing a couple of OC's (sort of, does it count if they're previously noted but not in OUAT? I don't know - meh) in this fic and here you meet the first one.
Chapter Six: Revelations
"Is there a way to escape this realm?" Emma wondered aloud, playing with the cuff of her leather jacket. Lancelot smiled marginally as he replied, still sitting beside her on the never-ending road.
"Well, I think there is. I remember hearing about a way back in the Enchanted Forest and I'm quite sure I've seen it happen at least once," he replied. When the blonde raised her eyebrows in question, he continued, "You're not the first person I've come across here; there was a man – Phillip, I'm pretty sure his name was – and he sort of faded away after he heard a voice."
Emma's ears perked up at the name, "Was he in love with a girl named Aurora?"
Lancelot's eyes snapped on to hers and he grinned, "How did you know that?" The blonde shook her head in respite.
"I met Aurora when I was in the Enchanted Forest and she told me about what happened to him. So… if he did than there must be a way to be saved," she said hopefully, pursing her lips in thought. The knight watched her intently, his smile broadening slightly as he observed her sudden optimism. When she noticed his gaze, Emma turned to face him and the small smile that had been pulling at the corners of her mouth vanished as she narrowed her eyes, immediately aware of his scrutiny, "What?"
He shook his head softly, "It's just good to see you hopeful for once. I've seen a lot of people lose hope in here." There was a pained looked that crossed his eyes that made Emma pause.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
It was a moment before he replied, "I've seen a lot of people come through here – this realm, I mean. But, all of them, except Phillip, have disappeared after they gave up. It was always after they gave up. I think the only reason we're still here is because we have hope… or something like that. That's why it's so empty - because no one usually stays."
It was an awfully morbid thought, that the reason the field they sat in was so desolate was that people simply refused to be optimistic. The notion that countless people had essentially chosen to die was unnerving and sent shivers up Emma's spine. Perhaps it was one of the driving forces to the wraith's power. Nevertheless, the blonde found herself surveying the empty field with a feeling of disappointment. She could only imagine how many people had sat where she was, in the same situation, and simply stopped hoping. It wasn't precisely a foreign idea, Emma had given up hope numerous times in her past but the consequences of that had always been so minor.
Here, giving up meant certain death. But maintaining hope meant uncertain solitude in the monotonous field. Lancelot's voice brought her back to the present.
"I hold out hope that my wife will find a way because I'm absolutely sure there is… there always is."
Emma frowned, "Yeah, I bet my family's probably in the middle of another Operation Cobra right now if they've got any idea about it." Lancelot looked at her, silently questioning the reference to the mission that she and her son had undertaken what felt like eons ago. Emma smiled to herself, thinking about all the secret codes that she had developed with Henry. That kid really had brought out her childish tendencies, coaxing the twelve-year-old within; not that she'd ever truly been given the opportunity to act her age as a tween. So, in a way, it was sort of like making up for lost time.
"Don't even ask," she said in answer to his look and he smiled gently. He looked straight ahead then, his eyes glazing over as his face took on a forlorn appearance. It was not a difficult conclusion to make that his thoughts were once again consumed by his wife and so Emma let the silence stretch on. She wondered what he did when he saw her in the dark room – whether he tried to reach her, crashing into the invisible wall with renewed fervour each time. Or perhaps he simply spoke to her, imagining the way she might reply.
Emma admitted it would be interesting if Hook ever replied, although what she would even say was lost to her. It was more than just unnerving to scream relentlessly at him and receive no response, it kind of hurt – not that she would ever admit it to anyone. But judging by his ability to read her, he'd probably be able to tell if they ever met again. It was strange how he could circumvent all her internal barriers so effortlessly. The pirate with the piercing blue eyes and a knack for innuendos was adept at getting under her skin; a skill that was rather rare among the people in Emma's life.
She could still recall the way he'd studied her, like a foreign species, as they'd climbed the beanstalk. The way his eyes took on an almost sympathetic edge as he relayed his perceptions about her history with abandonment, the way they narrowed in disbelief when she claimed to have never felt love, the way they closed off when she'd mentioned Milah –
"Emma?" Lancelot's voice broke through her reverie and Emma's mind snapped to attention, turning to him looking somewhat like a dazed woodland creature. His eyes softened as he scanned her expression, "what were you thinking about?"
"Uh, I – I was… nothing," Emma stuttered, "nothing really," she repeated in an attempt to brush it off despite the fact that she felt very much like an insect under a magnifying glass. She shrugged and looked back at her hands but his gaze stayed on her. She turned to him and shrugged, "What?"
"Nothing – it's just… you looked nostalgic – never mind," he said.
8888
Sun streamed through the small window into Killian's cabin, lighting a patch at the foot of his bed and warming his bare feet under the covers. The pirate stirred at the strange sensation and shifted under the thick duvet. His eyes fluttered slightly before opening, taking in his room and pushing himself up so he could get out of bed. Arms outstretched, Killian yawned tiredly; he'd had another of the dreams where he was in the dark room, Emma's voice taunting him like wind through the leaves. And just like the first time, he'd woken up in a sweat, cursing her unwavering grip on him.
The pirate walked to his dresser, pulled on a black shirt and his trademark black leather coat and moved to the door. He shrugged into his leather boots quickly before making his way out onto the deck, immediately grateful he'd put on the jacket – it was brisk (and that was putting it lightly).
Killian jumped up and down slightly on the spot to warm himself up, frowning at the encroaching land. The Jolly Roger continued to sail towards Calcava Port and he expected they would be there within the hour. The familiar dock flashed in his mind's eye, and he recalled his last journey to the place. It had been a very dark time in his life.
"What are you doing up this early?" a gruff voice questioned from behind him.
Killian turned around and his expression hardened when he took in the man before him. Neal's hands were fisted in his pockets as he walked closer to the pirate.
"I could ask you the same question," he retorted sarcastically, striding towards the Quarterdeck.
"Why do you hate me?"
The question made Killian pause at the foot of the stairs, the question hanging in the air like an explosive waiting to detonate should he prod it the wrong way. He turned around; face impassive though the tension between them seemed to be mounting by the second.
"If anything, I should hate you – you sent me to the Lost Boys and all but destroyed my life. And don't spout some bullshit about my Dad because I know that's not it; if it was, than you would have treated me a lot differently the last time we were on this ship together. So why do you hate me?" Neal said stepping forward as his gaze burned into the pirate. Their breath escaped their mouths in succinct white wisps, a testament to the temperature and the rapidly rising strain between the men. Killian's ice blue eyes met the man's stare evenly and he narrowed his eyes. The emotion slid back into his features, tinting them to display pure resentment.
"I have no affinity for your previous treatment of the mother of your child," he said simply. Neal groaned in irritation and pulled his hands out of his jacket pockets, putting them forward as if imploring the pirate to understand.
"I never wanted her to take the damn mark, Hook. I tried to stop her –"
"That is not what I was referring to," Killian cut him off, a biting edge in his tone. The man's eyebrows shot up at the revelation and he seemed to stare more closely at the pirate.
"What? How do you know what happened between Emma and I? What did she tell you?" The obvious possessiveness in his tone made Killian smirk, the underpinning of jealousy was as clear as if he had just demanded the pirate reveal the extent of their association. He ran his hand through his raven hair, thoroughly enjoying the discomfort etched in the man opposite him's features.
"Oh, the lass and I have shared much in our short time," he responded smugly. The effect of his comment resounded immediately with Neal, who advanced forward with wrath in his step. He stopped just centimetres in front of the pirate, eyes burning with antagonism. Killian held his gaze, staring him down with equal abhorrence.
"I warn you, boy, don't spar with a pirate," he hissed through his teeth. Neal took a marginal step back, standing straighter and clenching his fists in an effort to subdue the cyclone of angry thoughts harassing his mind. Killian's lips quirked slightly in amusement – the minute action a catalyst for the man's ensuing words.
"Emma would never have told you, you probably just read into it. She never trusted you and for good reason!" Neal growled. The smirk evaporated from the pirate's face to reveal unadulterated loathing. He subconsciously felt his good hand touch on his sword, not grasping it but hovering around the hilt like a snake raising its head to strike. Neal noticed the action and raised his eyebrows in humourless disbelief.
"What? You're going to run me through for telling the truth? God, you're exactly like my father –"
"I am nothing like him," Killian snapped, his eyes flashing darkly.
Neal stepped back and put his arms out in a shrug, "You know what? I don't care; I'm just here to save the mother of my child." He turned around to leave.
Had the pirate allowed him to retreat below deck, there may never have been a quarrel. Perhaps they would have continued the journey without another altercation; perhaps they might have even made peace sooner rather than later. But something in Killian, a voice that had emerged after Milah's death, pushed him to speak. And it didn't matter that this was her son; he wanted to hurt this man.
"You killed her," he jeered. Almost automatically, Neal spun on his heel and advanced towards the pirate.
"I did not!" he yelled ardently.
"You may not have taken her soul but you are the reason she is lying motionless on a dirty cot! I don't know what in Calypso's name you did to her, but because of you she refused to trust anyone – not even when her life depended on it!" he paused to take a sharp breath, "You might as well have thrust a dagger into her chest yourself!" Killian growled.
"She didn't trust you because you're a pirate and a bastard! You tear apart families, Hook – and you expect people to trust you?" He scoffed mirthlessly, "Really?"
"She certainly trusted me enough to reveal she had loved once – pivotal word in the statement being 'once'! Quite frankly, I don't understand your motive – she'll never love you again after whatever the bloody hell you did to her!"
Killian's head was jarred backwards with the impact of the hit and he could feel the red mark blossom on his chin. His hand sought it out immediately, rubbing it as he returned to facing Neal whose face quivered with fury. The punch was like kindle to a flame, forcing the tension to burn brighter with every breath.
"At least I actually have a shot with happiness again – revenge has twisted you into the person you once hated… My mother would be so disappointed in you." The words were like a knife twisting into Killian's abdomen and he wondered if it registered on his face, just before he pulled back his fist and slammed it into Neal's nose. The man fell unceremoniously to the ground – just as the hatch to the cabin's below opened and Charming and Snow emerged.
Both individuals registered the scene before them in a split second and the latter was immediately beside the man on the deck, helping him into a sitting position as Charming strode towards the pirate.
"What happened?" he accused, pointing at Neal who had all but shoved Mary Margaret away from him and was now glaring at Killian. The pirate's smirk returned, though it was without warmth, and he flexed his fist provokingly.
"Nothing of importance, there should be a rag somewhere below deck – you can use it to wipe up his blood. I'll be at the helm," he said succinctly, his black coat flapping as he turned around and headed up to his announced destination. Charming blinked twice, shaking his head and turning to Neal. He was standing up, his hand clutching his nose that bled profusely. Mary Margaret stood awkwardly to the side with her arms crossed and shared a brief glance with her husband before quietly returning below deck.
Charming approached, repeating his question in a more diplomatic tone, "What happened?"
Neal shook his head and snapped, "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
8888
Regina woke to the sound of raised voices above her head and quickly attributed it to two of the males aboard. She wiped her eyes groggily, rolling out of the small makeshift bed and standing up. Her black hair was a mess and she moved her hand up to magically flatten it. However, as she attempted the small spell, nothing happened. Regina groaned; clearly, Neverland wasn't exactly accommodating to magic (no wonder Gold had refused to accompany them). She hastily ran her fingers through her short mane in an attempt to tame it before looking around the empty room. Empty?
Regina scanned the room again – yep, Henry wasn't there. She sighed, pulling on her boots and walking out of the room. She had just exited her room when Mary Margaret and David shuffled past her in the hallway and proceeded to go above deck. The yelling had stopped but it sounded as if someone had just hit the deck and Regina mentally wagered that Neal had thrown the first punch (Neal had a shorter temper and the pirate had probably been called every name under the sun – it would take an incredibly selective insult to get a rise out of him), although it was strange that Hook should hit the deck after being hit; surely he'd been dealt much worse blows.
She shrugged indifferently to herself and walked down the hall to where she was sure she would find her son. As she reached the small room, his voice lingered out the door way quietly.
"I'm going to be a hero for once, Mom," Henry's voice whispered. The mayor smiled softly at her son's chivalry and popped her head around the corner before entering the room. The small boy sat on the edge of Emma's cot and he raised his head when he heard his adoptive mother enter.
"Morning Mom," he said, smiling brightly despite the earliness of the hour.
"How long have you been here?" she replied curiously, a delicate hand reaching out to rub his shoulder. Henry glanced back at the blonde woman and his smile lost some of its glow.
"A little while… I thought that maybe, if she heard someone she loves, it might help her stay hopeful," he said. Regina cocked her head to the side with a sympathetic smile.
"Well, how about you go and get some breakfast – we're nearly at Calcava Port, I think," she said, ruffling his hair when he stood up. Henry nodded and mumbled a goodbye to his comatose mother before leaving the room. The Evil Queen stood there for a while after he departed, simply watching the blonde for any signs of life. Regina heard the door to the deck open and close softly as she stood there, contemplating the complexity of the entire situation.
This woman had been nothing but a burden on the mayor's life; she should feel satisfied by her death but such a response was yet to arrive – she had most definitely benefited from the saviour's demise, but that hadn't yet equated to gratification.
Regina heard the door to the main deck open and slam shut again, abruptly followed by loud footsteps. She watched the doorway to see who had returned from the deck above and was surprised to see Neal stride past with a bloodied nose. Hm, the pirate was the one to make the first punch – surprising, she thought to herself.
She turned to Emma again, a knowing smile gracing her scarlet lips. Inevitably, the men's argument had regarded the woman currently motionless on the cot.
Regina sighed, "You're not even here and you're still making messes, Ms Swan. I just hope once we get you back, you have the decency to sort it out without involving our son."
She paused, biting her lip, "I truly am surprised by your involvement with the pirate – but then I haven't actually received your opinion have I? He's here because he wants purpose and that, my dear, refers to you. Although, he's about as ready to admit that as I am to admit I was acting irrationally when I attempted to kill you..."
The Evil Queen chuckled once dryly, her lips thinning into a line. She shook her head, "As for Neal, he obviously still loves you. And he despises Hook, so that's interesting… They have history – Neal and Hook – and it's not a good one."
The door to the main deck opened and shut for the third time, somehow prompting the mayor to register that she was speaking to someone unable to respond. And someone who ruined your life, the dark voice deep in the pits of her mind growled. She snapped the door to that voice shut, shaking her head and silently questioning her sanity. Embarrassment resonated from the Queen as she stood awkwardly for a second in the middle of the room with her arms crossed. It was another second before she abruptly left the room, her head downcast and eyes on the floor.
8888
Killian didn't recall Calcava Port being nearly as dirty as what he currently witnessed. The pirate walked along the dilapidated cobblestone street, glancing around his surroundings with half-hearted pity. The last time he had been there it had been at least remotely respectable – not now though, with the Lost Boys wreaking havoc in search for their boy. It was why Killian walked alone, leaving the rest of his companions on the ship with strict orders to keep Henry below deck and hide him by all means possible should a band of the Lost Ones come knocking.
Henry didn't understand yet, still under the impression that this land was simply beautiful despite warnings by the pirate and the young boy's father that this was no paradise. It had surprised Killian to a degree, how fervently Neal had agreed with him after they reached port. They had even shared a knowingly look for a millimetre of a second, and then the events of the morning seemed to simultaneously crash down on their memories and the glance was swept away with cold indifference.
The pirate wasn't completely pleased about leaving them all back on the Jolly Roger for more reasons than one but their choices were severely limited by fate's design. It was unlikely they would reach trouble just yet; the Lost Boys usually took a while to notice new inhabitants so their safety window was still wide-open.
Finally, Killian reached his desired destination – a beaten-down old inn that looked like it had been half-burnt down and smelt overtly of urine. The sign above read 'The Inn,' and Killian smirked at the owner's originality. Oh well, he thought amusedly, at least he isn't hiding behind a pretence of sophistication. He pulled the hood of his black cloak over his head, tugging it forward to shield his features, before pushing open the wooden door.
The urine smell seemed to increase tenfold as he entered and he coughed lightly to cover his reaction. The pirate hadn't been subject to such sensory assault for a long time. The lighting in the pub was dim and it took him a moment to adjust to it before scanning the place for his contact. His lips spread into a grin when he recognised the dark black hair pulled back in a loose ratty ponytail, strands of grey serving as a reminder of his age. Killian couldn't see his face, but when the man at the bar slammed down his mug of ale and demanded another, he knew it was the gentleman he was searching for.
Killian strolled over to the seat beside him, genuinely eager to gage his old friend's reaction. The pirate tapped the drunkard's shoulder with his good hand; if he used his hook, his identity would be broadcast to anyone with eyes and he didn't particularly want his presence to be widely known just yet.
The man turned to face him, his scraggly beard brushing past the mug in his hand. It looked awfully unsanitary but then, Killian had seen this man do a lot worse. His muddy brown eyes lit up in recognition and his lips spread to grin in a show of yellow and brown teeth.
"Killian, my boy!" he crowed, slapping the pirate on the back who returned the smile and grasped his friend's arm good-naturedly. Luckily for Killian, nobody in the bar would recognise his name or look twice at the call – the vast majority of people in Neverland knew him by his moniker.
"Blackbeard."
"Well, it's been a while since I've actually had a black beard but the name sticks," he chuckled, leaning back and surveying Killian, "You look alright."
"And you look like cat piss," he retorted fondly and leaned on the bar. Blackbeard nodded in agreement and took a swig of his beverage, some of the hairs around his mouth picking up the liquid. The old man wiped his mouth with his forearm to remove the residue and sighed. His breath was foul and Killian coughed again at the smell.
"Mate, when's the last time you brushed your teeth?" he asked.
Blackbeard guffawed, "You always were a pretty boy, Killian. Always a pretty boy. So, what are you doing here?"
The reminder of his task quickly slapped the smile off the pirate's face and his expression became serious. Blackbeard noticed his visible change in demeanour and set down the mug in his hand gently, his smile dropping too.
"What do you need?" he asked automatically.
"Fairy dust."
"Why don't you –"
"Ask them? You should know, Blackbeard – I haven't been on good terms with the fairies for a very long time," Killian said and his friend nodded.
"What do you need it for?" Blackbeard inquired, curiosity shading his features as he took a calculated sip of rum. The pirate's eyes narrowed slightly, a natural reflex to prying questions he had developed after Milah's death. He had to firmly remind himself that this man had once been his captain and had earned his trust a long time ago. Blackbeard sensed his hesitance and smirked.
"For someone who used to be my first mate, you've become a bit of a half-wit; delayed answers to your captain? I'm disappointed, boy," he said affably.
Killian returned the smirk, "I haven't been your first mate for a long time, old man." His answer earned him a chuckle from the dishevelled man beside him and they were silent for a long moment.
"So? What is it that you require the fairy dust for?" Blackbeard asked again, eyes on his mug this time. Killian's eyes were unfocused as he relayed his reasoning, as if visualising each individual facet of his reason for being in the bar.
"I'm performing a ritual that requires it; to bring back a soul from the wraith's void – have you heard of it?" the old man nodded, "Yes, well, I'm assisting some allies of mine by resurrecting their daughter. I also owe her a debt." Blackbeard scrutinised the younger man carefully and noticed an expression that he hadn't observed in centuries.
"Do you care about this woman?" The words escaped Blackbeard's mouth in a rough whisper, spoken by accident as his curiosity overtook his cognitive function – a side-effect of the quantity of alcohol he'd consumed. Killian's head snapped up and though he tried to convey a façade of incredulity, the old man knew him well-enough to see the underlying defensiveness like lacework beneath his mask.
"You should know better than to question my motives, Blackbeard."
"And you should know better than to apply such imprudent emotions to a woman you can never have," he replied, surprising the pirate who stiffened at the insight.
"You always did have a habit of reading far too much into things," Killian deflected, feeling suddenly exposed under his old captain's gaze. The bearded man shrugged and took a long swig of ale.
"It's obvious that you have at least some kind of affection for this woman – if not romantic than at the very least you respect her. Nevertheless, you're trying to disregard it because you know that she will never reciprocate you're disposition; although as to why you might feel that way I can't be sure. It's written all over your face, Killian. You really need to brush up on your ability to hide your emotions," Blackbeard said indifferently. Even semi-drunk, his intelligence exceeded at least 90% of the people Killian knew.
The pirate shook his head, appearing to let the comment roll off his shoulder. In reality, a small thing within his mind pocketed the old man's comments for later brooding. It joined the plethora of comments ranging from Regina's regarding his motivation to Cora's expression when she had deliberately articulated her disappointment that he'd chosen the Swan girl.
"My motivation is of no concern to you," he deadpanned, agitated now that Blackbeard was scrutinising him like an insect, "can you retrieve what I need or not?"
The man beside him nodded, unaffected by his tone, "Of course I can, anything for a friend."
Killian nodded, "And your price? I know that doesn't disappear just because we're friends," he said, biting the last word. He wouldn't deny that there were some things about this man that still put him on edge. Under the pleasantries and genuinely warm past, there was an underpinning of cloak and dagger as subtle as the sound of a hummingbird's wings.
"I don't desire anything currently – I'll get back to you," Blackbeard said after a pause. Killian watched him carefully for a minute, ensuring that the man wasn't being sarcastic. When he noticed the pirate's stare he turned and shrugged, "What? I'm not allowed to be undecided. It's not like I'm going to demand the star of Neverland, Killian."
He nodded and stood up from the stool, "When will you have it?" he asked. The old man thought about it for a second and then replied.
"Tomorrow - same time; I'll have it."
"Thank you," Killian said genuinely, making eye contact once before turning on his heel and leaving the tavern. Blackbeard watched him leave and clucked his tongue thrice, musing the pirate's foolishness to even consider caring for a woman again after all he'd been through. He turned back to the ale in his hands, taking a swig before standing up and leaving the tavern to make plans of his own.
8888
Henry and Neal sat quietly on the steps to the Quarterdeck, watching the sun set into the horizon. They were still awaiting the pirate's return and in the meantime had taken to playing 'I-spy.' After twenty rounds though, it was becoming tedious and silence suited them just fine. The pretty display of colours in the sky drew a gasp of amazement from Henry and he looked to see if his father had the same reaction. However, the expression on the man's face was far from awed. Neal's eyebrows were drawn and he appeared to be lost in some deep and painful thought.
A notion occurred to Henry and he took a moment to word it properly, "Dad?"
Neal turned to his son, the pained expression vanished and replaced by simple interest. The young boy looked down at his hands before articulating his question.
"You've been to Neverland before, right?" he clarified. Neal nodded.
"Well, I was just wondering… what happened while you were here?"
The man was quiet as he pondered his answer and looked out at the horizon again, none-too-captivated by the watercolour of pinks and oranges that tinted the sky. Henry waited patiently and watched his father's face.
When he finally spoke, it was to the sky, "I came here because I sacrificed myself for my family –"
"I thought Mr Gold was your family?" Henry interrupted. Neal frowned and turned to his son.
"That's true but I also found a family in our world when I first went there and they were attacked by Peter's shadow. So, I sacrificed myself so it would leave them alone," he explained.
"So, what happened while you were here?" Henry reiterated lightly, trying not to push any unwelcome memories his father might have. The boy wanted to know and was incredibly desperate to sate his curiosity about the foreign land but not at the expense of anyone's discomfort, especially his father's.
Luckily, Neal chose to answer his son's question, "I met Hook and stayed with him for a while and then… I was taken by the Lost Boys." The man would not deign to attempt to poison his son against the pirate, moreover Henry did not need to know all of the dark ways of the world – least of which the complicated flaws that every individual had. It would be too difficult to explain the situation when Hook had given Neal up. And besides, he'd made peace with his contribution to that night a long time ago – although when he would fill Hook in about his forgiveness he would never know.
"While I was with the Lost Boys they made me work for them and I eventually escaped back to our world and the rest is history," Neal said. Henry nodded again and looked out at the sun descending into the opalescent blue sea.
Just as the ocean swallowed up the sun, Killian stepped aboard. He pulled off his black cloak and immediately noticed Henry on the stairs beside his father. However, what surprised the young boy was the expression of anger that quickly filled his hardened features.
"Why is he above deck?" he growled at Neal. Henry's father stood up and approached the pirate calmly.
"It was getting a little stuffy down there. Besides, I was keeping an eye out and no one saw him," he said. But Killian would have none of it, striding over to the boy in question.
"Henry, would you be inclined to go below deck and organise the meals for everyone?" Henry nodded and made a beeline for the door – already sensing the mounting tension on the deck and refusing to get caught in the crosshairs. As soon as the hatch closed, Killian reeled on the child's father; eyes ablaze with fury.
"You, of all people, should know why he needs to stay below deck!" he hissed furiously.
Neal met the pirate's gaze, equally icy, "Yes, I do. But the Lost Boys don't go hunting until nightfall and no one was around the docks so the risk was minimal. We were about to go below deck just as you came," he replied.
Killian rolled his eyes, "And if someone has seen him? Do you realise what this might mean for our little undertaking?"
"Don't tell me what to do, Hook. I may have been under your command once but that changed a long time ago," he spat, turning around and heading below deck. The sky was finally dark and the stars were beginning to twinkle against the backdrop of the atmosphere. Killian looked around once, a shiver creeping down his spine as he recalled the Lost One's in his mind's eye, and hastened below deck.
Reviews are fresh warm chocolate chip cookies (where the chocolate is still melted) and a glass of milk on a cold day. The pitiful cry for reviews is now definitely a thing.
Just an update on my future plans; I've basically got the full story mapped out but I might change it because my muse does this thing where it will give me one idea and then a week later a bombshell of awesomeness will explode. It's bitchin. I cannot wait for you guys to read the next three chapters. Seriously. Oh, and some of you are spot on with predictions (however, which ones of you are correct I will never divulge *insert evil laughter*).