So, here we are. It took me long enough, even though I had plans for this before I ever finished Ache of the Ocean. In fact, I started writing this months ago. It's finally done.
It's highly recommanded that you read Ache of the Ocean first, otherwise this won't make much sense. A little warning: there wasn't much fluff in the first part, so don't expect much here, either.
I have to thank Meg again (keepcalmwearetimeless on Tumblr) for coming up with the prompt in the first place. You rock!
part one
Not a day went by that he did not think of her. Sunrises came and went in dim shades of grey and blue, hours ticked by slowly, each minute a painful reminder of everything that had been lost, and sunsets stretched on until nothing but darkness remained in the world.
Between each hour, waking or drifting in between the world of dreams and reality, his thoughts were filled with her. The color of her hair as the moonlight illuminated each strand, the echo of her quiet laughter – a sound he had not nearly heard enough times – and the glistening in her eyes whenever she looked upon him. Curiosity and trust, a spark of hope so bright it had been able to penetrate the darkness of his soul.
She haunted him, the panic in her words, the shards of broken trust digging deeply into his heart now that it beat in his chest once more, bleeding him out slowly with each day he waited. Waited for something to happen, for a sign that it was time to find her, to tell her everything he had not been granted the chance to do. The scar left by her tears was aching with each breath he took.
He wondered, wondered every minute of every day, where she was. Whether she was looking upon the same stars he was, waiting – even though she would not know – for the day this existence would end. Some days, lying on his back under the canopy of infinite stars, unable to find rest, her tears and laughter alike haunting his thoughts, he feared that there were no stars for her to look up to at all, that she was trapped in darkness without even a flicker of hope.
Emma.
Could she even recall her own name? The name she had clung to so dearly, the nobody ever seemed to call her? Or had the Queen robbed her of that, as well? His many days in Neverland echoed in his memory, the faces of the many lost boys scattered across the island nothing he would ever forget. The grotesque mixture of sadness, anger and weariness that usually comes with old age, all projected on a child's innocent face. Sadness driving from the eternal loneliness, anger at the abandonment they had faced, weariness at the impossibility of change, all hidden well beneath play and joy and wicked laughter.
For centuries he had been certain that their faces haunted him because, beneath it all, he recognized himself. A lost boy who had grown up, never able to rid himself of neither the sadness nor the anger. All his life, he had been just as lost as them, and perhaps that was what had tied him to Neverland for so long, why he had seemed to hit wall after wall in his attempts to leave the quickly darkening island.
Was Emma to suffer the same fate? Robbed of her name, most likely her family, all her memories, hopes and dreams? Was she just a lonely lost girl now, in a world that offered her no hope to dream?
In his darkest moments, when the moon was hidden away behind thick clouds and the thought of running the curve of his hook through his own heart seemed almost irresistible, another fear crept into his mind, one he usually kept locked away, one he did not dare to delve deeper into, for he was sure it would consume him. Eat him alive until nothing but raw agony and the dull passing of time remained.
Their child.
Wherever Emma was, lost and alone, there was also their child. Their son or daughter. His son. His daughter. To think about their child's fate was too cruel a thought, too painful to endure, and all he could do was cling to the thin thread of hope that there was some mercy left in the Queen's icy heart.
Never in his long life had he dared to dream about a family of his own. Not as a young man, loyal to king, crown and the navy that offered him all the family and satisfaction he could dream of. Not as a pirate, roaming the realms, plundering, drinking, roaring through life like any day could be his last. Not with Milah by his side, inside his heart, not when most of her heart still ached for the son she already had, the young boy she had left and longed to see again. Not in the centuries spent in Neverland, frozen in time. Not when his heart was beating in a box, locked away far from his reach.
The certainty that his own flesh and blood was out there somewhere, that he was robbed of his only chance at redemption and peace, slowly burned him into ash.
.
Too many years had he spent at the Queen's command, hunting through the realm like a shadow, killing as she pleased.
He had forgotten what it was like to be amongst others, to simply live alongside them. The part of the realm that Cora had protected from her daughter's curse was small, yet still too crowded for Killian to bear. There was nothing he had to say, nothing he would have known to speak of. The man he had once been, shouting and laughing as he busted into the nearest inn, was long gone.
Cora had disappeared shortly after the curse had swallowed the land, leaving him to himself, watching from the shadows as the few people left attempted to maintain what little they had. Instead of joining her in whatever dark lair she called her own, or aiding the people to built a new life, he locked himself away in his cabin.
And so the years passed around him as he poured over maps and charts, trailed his finger across page after page until he knew all the books his brother had piled in the small cabin by heart. He watched the horizon far in the West, wickedly changing colors as the days passed by.
The hook remained hidden away in a chest. He feared the metal curve, feared the one doubt he had harbored for so long. Had he killed because he had been at the Queen's mercy? Or had he killed because he truly had a blackened soul?
To bear the hook seemed to only provoke an answer to this question, an answer he was not yet ready to discover.
Instead, he kept it locked away, locked it out of his mind except for those dark nights when he wandered around the helm, searching desperately for a ray of starlight to lighten the darkness that his guilt had cast upon him.
And slowly, days turned into weeks, weeks into months and months into years, until he began to wonder how much time had truly passed, and if there would ever come a chance to keep the last promise he had made.
He had almost lost hope, until the day Cora appeared on his ship, the sun reflecting sharply in her cold eyes.
It is time.
.
He had not forgotten the deal he had made ten years before. To aid Cora in their joint mission to reach the land to which Regina had taken almost every living soul in their realm. A land he knew so very little about. Next to nothing. Even Cora seemed to avoid his more and more pressing questions of where exactly they were headed. Still, he was sure that secretly, she had much more information than she was yet willing to share. He was her pawn, and always had been.
It was not a fate he intended to maintain once they reached the unknown land.
Despite being a walking mystery and unwilling to share even the smallest hint of clues, Cora was more than specific in ordering to do her will. It was only the certainty that she would not betray him – for why would she have offered him their deal if she did not need him – that made him obey. They had a common goal, and she was his only chance at saving Emma and their child from the claws of Regina's curse.
In the end, it came as no surprise to him when Cora sent him head first into the fire. To believe their mission of reaching another realm could be easy would have been foolish, and he had never once clung to such a hope. Yet, when he breathed heavily as he dug his hook into the thick webs of the beanstalk that was his first task, he wondered what else might await him.
He knew of the giant that lived at the top, hidden away in the clouds. It was a story told often, the legendary giant slayer who was lost in the final gruesome battle atop the beanstalk. The slaughter of the giants, the fury of the last remaining of their kind. The beans that grew in the clouds, shimmering in the sunlight like jewels. Magic flowing through them like blood through veins, capable of many deeds.
But there were no more beans to be harvested, no giant kingdom ruled in honor and pride.
Cora's armband dug deeply into the skin of his wrist, surely leaving deep marks on each side, and he climbed on and on. It was not a bean that she had sent him to retrieve, but a legendary compass, one he had heard many a drunk sailor marvel about in shady inns.
The climb was exhausting, tearing at muscles that had rested for too long. To feel the hook back as an extension to his bad arm turned his stomach upside down even more than the sheer endless distance to the ground below, forests turning into large patches of green, fields blurring until nothing but white clouds remained. It was peacefully quiet, not as deafening as the silence of his cabin. The distance to the world below gave way for a serene and clear silence, as sharp as the blue of the sky, spotless and undisturbed.
What awaited him at the top, however, was as far from peaceful as the memories of crimson blood coating his hook.
Ruins and debris, all that was left of a once proud palace. Darkness appeared to have taken over permanently, the silence interrupted by nothing but the crunch of dust and dirt beneath his feet as he walked up to the large door that promised a way inside.
He had walked into many people's homes in the dark of the night, had sneaked past guards and bolted doors, crept into the apparent safety of their chambers, only to leave as quickly as he had come, leaving a silent trail of blood.
This was no different, and the fact that he rushed through halls made of stone so tall he could barely make out the intricate lines at the top of the ceiling, without being detected, with a sleeping giant so close he could almost hear him breathing – it was as if everything he was most afraid of had found its way into his bloodstream, pulsating violently. Perhaps he had once murdered so many people – innocent or not, for whomever looked upon his history was to judge for themselves – not only because he had been robbed of his heart, but because it was in his blood and veins. Because it came naturally to him, even now.
As he stepped into the the room filled to the brim with treasure, he wanted to turn around, wanted to run away from the urges that throbbed in his veins. The natural extension that his hook embodied – ready to strike and kill at any moment without even a blink of hesitation – and the scent of gold sinking into his skin, its glow reflecting in his eyes, the long lost pirate inside of him yearning for chests filled with jewels and coins, trinkets of journeys to the end of the world and back.
The sea had been his first love, and just like every other that had followed, he had lost it. As permanent as it was, infinite and unspoiled by all evil, it had dropped from his veins and dried out in his memory. As he briskly marched through the halls, steps echoing faintly around him, he could almost hear the rush of the shore, the thrill in his veins as his stomach shook and his feet swayed. The rush of adrenaline as adventure crashed upon him like a tidal wave, enveloping him whole until nothing but the raw core of his soul remained.
Cora's task had – despite the threat of a giant and the seemingly endless climb up the beanstalk – sounded like a simple one. Too simple considering the decade of waiting, counting down the seconds. To retrieve the compass to aid them in their journey.
Yet, standing amongst seemingly endless amounts of treasures, his purpose suddenly appeared to be almost impossible. The giant was nowhere to be seen, a danger hidden in the shadows. To rummage around the piles of coins, jewels and other trinkets would take days, time he did not have.
In passing, a trap wire caught his attention, and he wondered how desperate and angry the last remaining giant had to be. To be the last, left behind and lonely. The thought stirred Killian's own grief and madness, and he swallowed painfully, tucking the hook into his side, out of his sight.
But not for long was he distracted by the tears that he longed to cry, yet simply could not bring to spill over. A thunderous rumble vibrated through the halls, the large piles around him swaying, clattering noises filling the room as gold and jewels fell onto the floor. There was no doubt about the origin, loud steps approaching fast and determinedly. There was nowhere for him to go, eyes fixated on the enormous wooden door.
With a cracking noise, it burst apart, large chunks of wood shooting through the air like arrows, cluttering to the floor as the giant leaped into his treasure chamber, an angry roar accompanying his arrival. His nose twitched, and Killian guessed he must have smelled the intruder in his castle. Within a second, he had discovered Killian amongst the piles of gold, enormous legs marching forward.
Killian began to sprint to the far side of the room, avoiding to trip over scattered items that littered the floor. There was no chance of running away from a giant, and any attempt to fight him would only be proof of his own foolishness.
As his feet sped up, and the giant following him became angrier and louder, Killian remembered the wire he had noticed before, spanning through the room. Even though he could not tell what mechanism it would set in motion, it seemed his only chance. With a wide leap, he made his way over to where he had seen it, grasping for his sword. Too long had it been that the handle hand forged itself into his palm, a perfect fit. With a strong stroke the wire gave in, and with a rumble, the ceiling appeared to come to life.
The giant halted his steps abruptly, and Killian's eyes shot up, seeing the large iron cage crushing down just in time to bury the unprepared giant under its weight. For a brief moment, nothing but deafening silence filled the room, the thunder's echo pressing dully in Killian's ears.
Breathing in deeply, Killian's eyes caught sight of a different sword on the floor, the handle still in its former owner's hand, the name that he had heard in so many tales engraved delicately on the blade. Jack. Many stories and mysteries had been woven around the giant killer, lost in the final battle. Myths about a poisoned blade.
As the giant began to rumble, Killian sheathed his own sword, quick finger prying the legendary blade from its owner's crumbling bones. He moved quickly, pointing the sword at the giant's shocked face, giving him not a second to gather himself, for he was sure the giant could lift the cage without much trouble.
It took the giant a mere second to recognize the sword that was pointed at him, mere inches from his skin, and panic flooded his eyes rapidly. No, no, no!
Killian felt his cheeks spread into a smile, one of superiority and power, not one of joy. Your face tell me enough. This blade truly is poisoned. He began moving, taking slow steps along the solid cage, careful to keep the blade pointed precisely at the giant. You have a compass. I need it.
A look of resignation appeared on the giant's face, a small tremor of anger burning beneath it. You're going to kill me either way. Go ahead. Kill me.
The words cut through Killian's skin like knives. He had heard many people beg for their lives when they looked upon him, and he had refused all of them their last request. To hear the opposite now, to be offered a life to take, it pushed him too close, too dangerously close to the edge of forgetting who he was. And that who he had been for so long was gone. You don't know me.
I know your kind. They massacred us, destroyed our beans.
I heard it the other way. He stopped his deliberate steps.
Because the victors get to tell the story. Pushing the blade a little further towards the giant, Killian felt his chest constricting painfully at the words, the truth they spoke of. Stop! Here. The giant fumbled in his pocket, and with a loud, echoing noise, something golden dropped onto the stone floor, shining in the dim light. Killian walked forward briskly, never allowing for the giant to drift out of his sight. Curling his fingers around the compass, golden and so much more beautiful than legend, he took a step back. I am not the bad guy.
The giant's words ached with defeat, and Killian all too well recognized the mantra, the chant that he himself repeated over and over in dark nights when the stars were lost to him.
Perhaps you are telling the truth. But that does not matter. I must go. There was enough pain in his own heart, enough struggle. Killian pulled back the sword, unease filling his stomach as he began to turn. Something caught his eye then, inconspicuous, almost lost. What is this? The small, crinkled object was tied to a rough necklace, resting around the giant's neck like a snare. Killian's eyes widened when recognition dawned upon him. A bean?
It was destroyed like the rest of them. I wear it as a reminder. He was reminded of a different time, one filled with a different kind of grief, shaded more red and less bleak, a bean in his palm, reflecting the sunlight in an obscure ad morbid opposite of his own heart. A reminder that you are all killers.
For a short moment, there was nothing but silence, and when their eyes met, Killian swore the giant could look past all of his pretenses and see him for the man he really was. Lost in a world he no longer recognized, running from a past that haunted him, aching for a future that was too far out of reach. Not all of us are.
Without another word, Killian dropped the heavy sword, feeling the cool handle slip from his grasp. It landed on the floor with a loud noise, raising the small hairs at the base of his skull. With determined steps, he walked towards the large gates, his heart beating furiously, fingers clutching the compass until his knuckles turned white.
Wait!
.
Almost nothing remained.
The castle he had left Emma behind in ten years ago was crumbling to the ground, a sad image by the grand lake that rested as it always had. Now, the formerly high stone walls were falling apart, torn from the curse and the hands of time. The corridors were empty, covered in dust and debris, as if someone had set a magical fire that had burned everything to the ground.
Killian remembered the halls and hidden hallways, remembered the rich scent of food and the warmth of a nearby fire licking the stone walls, always a chant echoing from somewhere in the distance. He had lingered in the shadows, assessing, watching, he would have felt comfortable in the castle, could have imagined it to be a home.
Now, nothing of that was left. It was brutally cold, the wind seeping through cracks in the stone and piercing his skin, the scent of ash and abandonment lingered heavily, and nothing but the howling sound of the wind filled the hallways now.
He was shivering, his heart beating faster with each step, his feet moving forwards without his mind playing any part. They remembered the way, the cobbled stone and winding stairs that lead up into the high tower, of which now not much was left.
The heavy wooden door he had pushed through the last time was pulled from its hinges, cracked in the middle and laying uselessly on the floor. The flowing veils that had danced around the canopy bed were torn, scattered across the room along with dresses and trinkets, broken glass reflecting the weak sunlight that streamed in through the balcony. Everything was shattered and destroyed, dark stains that reminded him of aged blood still speckled throughout the room, and he could never erase the image of Emma, white dress soaked in blood, tears mingling with crimson stains on her pale skin as he had left her behind.
Here we are, Captain. At last. Cora spoke calmly, stopping her slow steps in the middle of the room, paying no attention to the utter chaos around her feet.
His eyes found a sliver of pale blue fabric peaking out from underneath a large part of a pillar that had broken apart, fine silver lines embroidered onto it. He remembered how the dress had glimmered in the sunlight as spring brightened the world.
Then let us finally go. I've waited long enough. Each word was painful to speak, and he could barely hear himself over the rapid drumming of his heart. Too much time had past, too many hours had he spent allowing guilt to eat him alive. Never could he forgive himself, yet he needed this chance to make things right, to make up for every mistake he had ever made. This one chance, two lives to save, to cherish.
Not so fast, Hook. His eyes flickered over towards the wardrobe as Cora resumed talking, and he remembered every small detail of the plan she had laid out for them. From the start, he had known that she was keeping small bits of information from him, adding up to a whole he could not quite grasp. There is something important you need to understand. Something has changed.
There was no mischief in her eyes, yet Cora's words stoked the fire inside of him, a fire that had been building for much too long. What is it now? You promised me a chance to save her. Killian's voice was dripping with rage, with all his feelings of betrayal. To save our child. Cora had led him astray once before, promised him a great many things he never got to see happening. But not this time. This was not about him and his broken heart, not about vengeance and blood lust, but about two innocent people who had suffered a fate he could have prevented, and Cora would not take from him the chance to save them, to undo what he had done.
Cora raised her gloved hand, the golden compass shining against midnight blue. And you will get the chance. The sound of her voice was far from reassuring, yet he detected no lie. Still, he trusted her little and himself even less. It was impossible to decipher the woman and he knew he needed to be prepared. When she began to walk towards the large wardrobe, his eyes followed her cautiously. Your child was meant to break the curse. But the curse has not been broken. Her gloved fingers trailed along the ridges in the wood, following them sharply as she continued to talk. I can not promise you anything. And when we get to this new land, your dear princess will not remember who you are. Cora looked at him at her last words, piercing eyes staring him down, yet he stood his ground. Worry was tickling inside of him at the mention of his child, as his thoughts ran down the path he kept hidden from himself, wondering what had gone wrong.
I will make her remember me. And I will save our child.
Cora's lips twitched, curving into a wicked smile. He wondered if she enjoyed his pain. Such passion. Do you understand that it will destroy you in the end?
He did not answer, merely watched her as she opened the wardrobe with determined hands, the compass dangling from her wrist.
.
Nothing felt real for the longest moment, air stuck in Killian's lungs, limbs feeling numb, his heartbeat shallow in his ears. There was nothing to focus on, the world around him blurring into all colors and shapes, until, finally, he could breathe again, fresh air filling his lungs.
It tasted sweet, the scent of pine trees floating his nostrils. When his dizziness had subsided, and Cora's gloved fingers curled from around his own, he took in their surroundings.
Large trees sheltered them from the night sky, only a few stray stars peaking out from the canopy of leafs. He ground beneath his feet was mossy, earth damp from a recent downpour, the air rich with the scent of bark and leafs. The darkness of the night prevented him from looking much further than a few feet into the thickness of the forest, trees morphing into a canvas of pitch black before his eyes.
He turned to face Cora, her dark coat fluttering in the breeze. The wicked smile was still etched upon her face, and she looked at him with the moonlight reflecting in her dark eyes. With a deep breath that lifted her chest, she turned on her heels, and Killian mirrored her movement, feeling the moss giving in beneath his heavy boots.
The sight in front of them took his breath away. Unlike he had thought, they were not standing amongst the deepness of the woods, but on a cliff, no trees barricading their view. Below them, lined by large trees that were tinted black and silver in the night, he could make out hundreds of lights that illuminated a town that lay lonely and hidden amongst the far-stretched woods.
He had never seen anything like it – the closet he could compare the sight to was the infinite reflection of stars on the calm surface of the sea. Yet, these lights were immobile, steadily coating the town with light. A large tower stood out, endless rows of houses spread around it until they met the line of water that stretched into an ocean until the darkness swallowed the horizon.
Even through the bright illumination, Killian could not help but be wondered by the haze of sleepiness that appeared to cloud the town. Perhaps it was the curse, keeping the town hidden and tucked away in a corner of this new land, perhaps it were his eyes adjusting to the odd and glaring lights. Either way, the only matter of which Killian was sure was his rapidly beating heart, the eagerness to move forward. After all the years of waiting, they were finally here, in this town where he should have been a decade ago, lulled into a haze by the curse, living a lie, but always the promise lingering that his child would one day break the curse.
This is where we part ways, Captain. He turned to look at Cora once more, her eyes not offering him any glance in return, focused instead on the town beneath their feet. He was determined and willing to give what little of his life remained, yet he knew that his determination was in no way compatible with that of the woman who was twirling her fingers around the golden compass, lethal sharpness driving her, sipping from each word. We both kept our promises. Now you are on your own. Her eyes flickered towards him briefly, the sickeningly sweet smile creeping onto her face. Keep in mind, this is a land without magic. Everything is different here.
All he did was nod, and watch as she slowly turned on her heels, her midnight blue coat quickly merging with the dark canvas of the forest, until she disappeared. They had, long ago, discussed the curse, what it would contain and what they needed to be prepared for. Whether she truly knew as little as she had told him or not, Killian was unprepared, and he knew that he needed to think carefully about his every step. Everyone who had fallen victim to the curse had lost their memories, their identities, been given new ones, ones that enslaved them to Regina's will.
The thought alone caused shivers to run down his spine, and the distant cry of a sea gull – awakening his spirits as it had a long time ago – finally drove his feet forward. He needed to find a way into the town that seemed so terribly bright for the late hour of night, and he needed to stay hidden, until he had an idea of what exactly the curse had done to every breathing person of their realm.
Eying the large tower one more time, he began to walk along the edge of the cliff, looking for an accessible path to descent. A line of small rocks continued where the moss disappeared, this spot probably illuminated brightly by the sun during the day. The clouds were merciful, avoiding the moon so that it shone clearly upon the ground.
Quickly, Killian found a less steep hill, one that would make it easier and much quicker to reach the town below. Just as he was about to step over the edge of the cliff, his eyes caught the shine of the moonlight on his hook. Like another star it shone in the night, and he remembered the sick gloss of blood against it, like molten rubies, the iron scent always lingering.
He shook his head. Emma would not remember him, his own child knew nothing about him. It was up to him to rebuild what he had destroyed. A chance at redemption.
With quick fingers, he took the hook off the contraption that covered his stump, and he walked briskly towards the forest in which Cora had disappeared. As darkness closed in around him, he began to feel his skin tingle, every breath a painful labor. The prospect of seeing Emma again, even though she was not the same person that had claimed his heart years ago, was almost too much for him to take. In his many years, he had faced countless dark tasks, enemies and horrors, yet to walk into her life once more – and he did not even dare to allow the painted pictures of their child to appear vividly behind his eyes - seemed like the greatest challenge yet.
When his eyes finally adjusted to the relentless darkness of the night, he knelt down onto the mossy ground, feeling the cold seep through the leather of his pants. Without a long lasting glance at the hook, he slipped the metal curve beneath the protruding root of a tree. The likelihood of anyone stumbling upon it seemed small, and he took a deep breath as he stood back on his feet. To rid himself off the hook felt like a heavy burden falling off his shoulders, allowing him to breathe and focus on his thoughts.
He knew he could not eradicate who he had been for so long, neither would he ever decipher how much of that man was still inside of him, a part of him, yet losing the hook resembled the shedding of an old, weathered skin.
Taking another deep breath, Killian turned and walked away from the hook, the past, towards the countless lights forming a sea of stars, the edge of the cliff glowing as the moon shone over the ocean in the distance.
.
Nothing in this realm made sense to Killian, everything foreign and odd. The only thing keeping him grounded was the salty scent of the sea along with the sharp breeze that danced through the many roads of the strange town he found himself wandering about.
The houses along the roads were remarkable, tall and sturdy, lined with more glass windows than he had ever seen. The source of the many lights – tall lanterns that seemed to burn without fire – illuminated the ground as if it were day, making it impossible to make out even half of the stars that were spread out on the night sky. Odd boats rested in the harbor, blindingly white and oddly shaped. For a long time he wandered along the docks, relishing in the scent of the sea and the song of the seagulls. Not a single person was there to disturb him, an occasional rumbling sound echoing from far away.
In the distance, the moon reflected from the ocean's surface, sharp like a crystal, a steady reminder that not all was different. Still, Killian knew that he could not linger forever, that the wooden planks would only offer him comfort until the sun rose and this strange world began to awaken. With slow, yet deliberate steps, he made his way back into the roads of the town, marveling at the solid ground from which they were made. Odd, colorful lines garnished them, and the carriages that lined the roads in plenty seemed unexplainable to him. There were no horses in sight, nor any other animals suited to pull such a heavy looking carriage.
Further down the road, he could now make out the tower he had seen from the cliff. With quicker steps, he walked closer, eying the large clock. As he stood on the road, breathing in the unfamiliar scents and adjusting his eyes to the glaring lights, he quickly realized the clock was not moving. Frozen.
For a moment, he wondered, until a screeching noise pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned quickly towards the source of the noise, and was blinded by two lights merging into one glare, his feet scrambling as he moved to the side. His earlier question seemed answered when one of the odd carriages drove past him at a hasty speed, the lights shining in yellow and red, no horses pulling it, but moving forward by itself. Cora's words echoed in his mind about this land with no magic, and he wondered how both the carriages and the endless lights were possible. In his long years, he had seen many worlds, some deserted, some bright and twisted, none of them alike.
Killian's legs felt less steady. The odd carriage was long gone, nothing but the rapid beating of his heart left behind, and he continued to walk. He had traveled many towns in his long years on the sea, had seen those that were much smaller, dirtier, and very few that were larger than this.
His footsteps echoed in the empty roads, and he wondered how he would find Emma, how he would fit into this town once the sun rose. Passing by large windows, he was granted a view of many objects that were apparently for sale, objects that resembled torture instruments or curious toys, tools he had never laid eyes upon, food praised of which he had never heard.
His feet stopped in front of a particular window, large dolls dressed in the most peculiar clothes, which were apparently available to purchase in this store. His eyes trailed along the dark blue fabric of the trousers, the blinding patterns of the shirts and the – and surely this must be nightwear or undergarments – bright pink dress that clung to the dolls faint curves.
Somewhere close by, he could hear the dull sound of music. Curious, he turned around a corner and walked on, the music – odd sounds that were blasting more than rhythmical – becoming louder and louder.
He more he appeared to approach the source of the music, a dim pink light began to illuminate the street beneath his feet. Heart rate picking up once more, his fingers curled around the handle of his sword. Whatever dangers lingered in the dark shadows of this world, he was not going to face them unprepared.
When he turned one last corner, the source of the pink light glared brightly before his eyes. A sign, illuminated by the same fire-less light as the lanterns that lined the street. The music appeared to emerge from something he could only compare to a tavern.
His hand had just dropped from where his sword hung on his belt, when a loud voice spoke close by.
Emma, you need to get your shit together. Killian's eyes shot open, the name he had uttered during so many nightmares and had sobbed through so many tears now echoing bitterly from another man's lips. He was petrified, staring ahead into the night, his heart swelling, throbbing in his ears, awaiting a reply, his hopes rising to a point where he could feel them boil, threatening to burn him from the inside.
Don't tell me what to do, August. I have my shit together. It felt as though icy waters were drowning him, flooding his lungs. Killian could no longer breathe, Emma's voice carried over by the cool wind. It sounded bitter, almost weathered, anger seeping from each word. She spoke differently, and yet he would have recognized her voice in the most perilous storm.
Your mother threw you out, Emma. That is not having your shit together. The man's voice turned louder, and anger was as raspy and evident in his words as they had been in Emma's. If you want to be part of Henry's life, you're going to have to work for it. This is Regina we're talking about. The mention of the Evil Queen's name tore Killian out of his state of petrification. What role did Regina play in Emma's life? She's not just going to let him have sleepovers at your place – wait, you don't have a place. You live at Granny's.
Killian understood little of what they were arguing about, and the growing tension between Emma and this man urged his own feet forward, closer towards the brick wall that hid him form their view.
Oh shut up, August. You have no right. The clicking sound of heels against the harsh ground mingled with the dull throbbing of the music. And this is not my fault. I'm really trying here. It's everyone else who can't get over shit I did years ago. Killian could see a shadow moving in the dim light, Emma pacing in frustration. He found his eyes glued to the fluent movements, the way her arms swayed in contradiction to her steps, the outline of her hair as it danced in the wind. To merely be able to look at her shadow – it was more, so much more than he had dared to dream.
Emma, just because you haven't landed in jail for a few years doesn't mean you-
Who do you think you are? I thought you were my friend. Killian's mind was reeling. Emma had been in jail? Who was this friend of hers that was now deserting her? What was her life now, under this curse he should never have allowed to take her? But it seems like everyone I thought cares about me is just abandoning me. Her voice crumbled a miniscule bit at the angry words she spoke, and Killian felt his own heart turning into dust. She might not remember what had transpired, not a single memory of her life left, and yet she seemed to feel the same thing she had had she escaped the curse. My own mother throws me out because she can't stand to look at my face, and you suddenly rise up to some moral high ground and think you have the right to judge me?
I want to help you, Emma! The man's voice rose to a shout, partially out of anger, Killian was sure of that, but partially to end Emma's increasingly loud accusation. Her words were like poison to Killian's ears. They confirmed all his fears – that there had been no happiness for Emma in this land, cursed by a woman who despised even her existence.
Then back off and leave me alone! I don't need you to tell me I'd be a shitty mom. I know that just fine! Killian felt his eyes widen, his stomach twisting at the mention of their child. I don't need your help, and I don't need you judging me. It's just me, it's always been just me. Finally, Emma's words turned more quiet, but now they were interwoven with a sadness that chilled his bones. I thought I would at least have you, but it seems I was wrong about that.
The music blasted behind the brick walls, and for a minute, it was all that could be heard. The shadows moved, and Killian saw a pair of hands grasping Emma's arms. You have people, Emma. If you just let them in and sto-
Who do I have, August? Emma untangled from the chaste embrace, and Killian had to take quick steps backwards as she approached the corner behind which he was still hiding. Tell me that. My mother? All she does is sit by dad's bed, waiting for the day he's going to wake up, and she can't look at me because all she sees in me is him. And I never had friends, I only had you!
You still have me, Emma. There was so much pain in the man's voice, Killian felt as if his own lips were finally speaking all the things they had locked away. He was still here, had finally found her, and still, he knew that she would not know, would not remember.
No, I don't. Emma spoke with an unfamiliar sharpness. Why don't you go to one of your girlfriends and stop making my business yours?
Emma, don't be like this.
Just leave me alone. Killian barely had time to step behind one of the odd carriages that were parked in front of the tavern, as Emma stepped out from around the corner, her arms crossed in front of her chest. He was only able to look at her for a brief moment before she crossed the road and walked off into the dark night.
She had not aged a day, blonde curls falling around her shoulders, a black dress peaking out from underneath a red leather jacket. Her steps were determined, heels echoing in the night. Yet, what haunted Killian the most as he stood lost and unsure, was the utter sadness in her eyes, a sadness not even the darkness could hide.
.
It took Killian a few days to find his way around the strange town. He remained hidden in the shadows, an ability that served him well now. There were plenty of empty and abandoned warehouses by the marina, and he slipped into the rarely bolted doors when the sun went down, a place to sleep easier found than expected.
Each day, he slipped from one alley to the next, memorizing each path across town, each face he came across. The people were dressed differently, and he avoided being seen by anyone, feeling that his own attire would cause too much attention.
There was no sign of Cora, and after the third day passed without any hint at her actions, he began to wonder what dubious plan she was weaving in the shadows.
The morning after he had witnessed the fight between Emma and the man called August, he found her stepping out of a sort of inn, red leather jacket wrapped tightly around herself, the harsh wind of the coast town causing her hair to dance in the wind. She looked so much wearier, weighed down by the burdens the curse had placed upon her shoulders. It felt wrong to follow her, a reminder of their past, yet he did, keeping a watchful eye on her as she went on with her day.
She spoke to almost nobody, kept to herself and spent most of the afternoon sitting at the beach. The sight was speckled with sadness, her beautiful face against the horizon distorted by the agony she tried so hard to hide away from the world. Killian longed to step out and sit down beside her, hold her hand and promise her a brighter future, wrap her up in his arms and comfort her. Instead, he walked away, left her on her own to grief, the moment too intimate and private to intrude on.
On the second day, he saw a few familiar faces in town. His heart skipped when he saw Snow White exciting the school, carrying a large pile of books, dark circles under her eyes and hair streaked with gray. He remembered her differently, always glowing, a shine to her eyes that was legendary in their realm. All of it seemed to have vanished now, leaving behind an empty shell of who she used to be.
As dusk approached, and Killian made his way back towards the marina, he saw a man that he recognized from a tavern he had frequented often with his crew, his bearded face unchanged. Their eyes met briefly, and Killian felt the strength of the curse burning in the air when the man eyed him suspiciously, not a hint of recognition flickered across his features.
As the third day went on without even a hint that Cora was working on her wicked plan in the shadows, Killian, on his way to the edge of town, passed by the school. Even from further down the road, he could hear an unmistakable voice speaking up loudly and with vigor. The sound of the voice sent shivers down his spine, and his feet sped up. Carefully staying hidden on the opposite side of the road, he quickly reached the school.
Emma and Regina were standing by the large front door, both of them standing tall, Regina's red gloved hands on her hips, a menacing glare in her eyes. Killian remembered her all too well, and his chest constricted at the sight. It all came rushing back in that moment, the feeling of utter lack of control, her voice in his head whenever his hook pierced another heart. The pain of being under her control, of her fingers curling tightly around his heart.
For the last time, Miss Nolan, stay away from my son! Regina's voice was loaded with despise, and he recalled that tone all too well. Fear began to grow inside of him as Emma stepped closer instead of retreating. Too little did he know about the curse to estimate how dangerous Regina still was. Her words only caught up with him after a loaded second in which his hand slipped over the handle of his sword. Her son. He recalled the words August had spoken. Was the boy they were talking about... his own son?
He's not just your son, Regina. Not anymore. Emma sounded furious, but Killian detected the despair in her voice, the slight waver and the hint of fear in her eyes. Still, she straightened her back and stood tall in front of Regina, fighting for her cause. Not since he decided he wants to spend time with me.
Rage burned in Regina's eyes like a flame, and she leaned in closer, her voice almost too quiet now to be heard from the other side of the road, but sharp as a knife, filled with venom. That does not give you the right to intrude.
I know I have no rights, and I'm not trying to take him away from you. Killian's blood froze at Emma's words and the utter defeat that lingered in their wake. But he wants to spend time with me, and for all I know, he's a lot happier when we see each other.
Emma's accusation was followed by a long moment of silence. Regina's composure seemed to crumble a little, an unfamiliar hint of actual pain and discomfort flickering across her sharp features. Are you suggesting he's unhappy?
You're his mother, you should know. The tone of Emma's voice had changed to a cold and harsh edge that Killian was unfamiliar with. This world had hardened her, and it pained him to see her like this, in pain and turning cold. He had been heartless for much too long, and he needed to save the light in her that he cherished so much.
I should hate for Henry to see you for the person you really are, Miss Nolan. Regina took one last step forward, her black coat fluttering in the strong breeze now, and she leaned into Emma so closely that Killian could see the fog of her breathing disappearing into the strands of Emma's hair. So I suggest you stay away from us from now on.
Emma stood strong, apparently unfazed by Regina's proximity and venomous voice, a tight-lipped, sickening smile spreading her pale lips. Oh, and you would be the person to tell him who I really am? Killian knew that the two woman were talking about a past he had no knowledge of, a past created by the curse the queen had cast, the story she had written as she pleased. However, Emma's words resonated with a deeper truth, and for a moment, it were the Evil Queen and Princess Emma that he saw standing there by the road, close enough to kill, faces promising the blood lust that their shared past had awoken. Regina would be the exact person to tell who Emma really was, and the fact that Emma had no idea how true her words were only enraged Killian more.
Regina took a step backwards, her face turning into a mask he could not read, voice matter-of-factly as she replied. I don't want Henry to spend time with someone who has seen the inside of a jail cell more often than our own Sheriff, and who frequents bars like supermarkets. She adjusted her gloves with delicate movements, and just as she was about to turn, spoke to Emma one last time. You are not his mother, not since you gave him away.
Regina finally turned and walked away, heels echoing in the empty street and disturbed only by the occasional cry of a seagull. Emma was left behind by the doors of the school, standing lonely and with a shattered expression on her face. Killian dropped his hand from the handle of his sword, watching with an aching heart as her lips quivered.
Regina's words echoed in his mind, and he scrambled together everything he knew, and everything he feared. Emma had given away their child, their son. Henry.
He had a son. A son named Henry, a son who was being raised by the Evil Queen.
Pain and anger threatened to burst inside of him, and he threw a careful glance down the road just in time to see Regina round the corner. She was gone. His breathing became labored as he turned to cross the street, and he saw Emma turning into the opposite direction, her hands balled into trembling fists.
Emma! He called, quickly crossing the street. She turned, her hair still dancing in the breeze, her eyes shining but empty. It was the first time since he had abandoned her all those years ago that he could look properly into her eyes, and it felt as if he was awakening from a nightmare, her comfort washing over him in warm waves.
She stopped and waited as he approached, and suddenly he felt betrayed by his own heart. What was he going to say or do? Do I know you? She eyed him with suspicion, and he stopped a few feet away from her, keeping a safe distance.
I know you can't remember me. But I came back for you. I promised to find you and I have. The words were rushing out him, all of them burned into his tongue and mind for so long. How many nights had he spent awake and restless, imagining what this moment would be like, the moment he would finally be reunited with her, could look upon her face once more and talk to her, be given a chance to make things right. He was breathless, fumbling with his hand, feeling the desperate expression on his face contorting him.
With each word that tumbled from his mouth, he watched Emma's eyebrows draw closer together. When he stopped, she looked him up and down, taking a small step backwards. What kind of a creep are you?
Her words stung, and he kept reminding himself that she was cursed, that she did not remember who he was, that everything they had shared was lost to her. I'm an old friend. Even had she remembered him he could not have answered her question. Who was he to her, after all? Who was he to the world they both came from? He was no one now in this cursed land, he was nothing to her, but she was everything to him. I can make you remember me. His brain seemed to send the idea down into his every limb with fiery sparks, and he recalled stories heard from old sailors, stories about curses broken and memories restored.
His body moved suddenly, and he could barely tell when he decided to give this a try, to play everything on this one card. He closed the distance between them, his hand burying itself in Emma's long hair, pulling her gently but urgently against him as he pressed his lips against hers. If there was one thing in this or any world that he was certain about, it was his love for this woman, a love that had awoken his heart and ended his darkness for a moment brief enough to allow light to shine upon him. It was his greatest risk to believe now that she felt the same way, that their love could bring back her memories and break this curse.
When her knee hit him hard in the groin, pain shooting through him like fire, his world fell apart once more. He stumbled backwards, the echo of her soft lips still lingering on his lips. What the hell are you doing? Emma's voice was harsh and breathless, and she took a few steps back from his hunched form.
He felt as if the air had been knocked out of him, and words only came painfully. That was a long shot. I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did. He knew now that she did not, that what they had shared was not all that he had hoped for and painted in his vivid dreams.
Get away from me or I'm calling the cops. Emma took another step backwards. A look of disgust was sharp upon her face, and Killian struggled to stand tall as he fought for words.
Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but you have to listen to me, you have to remember. She had started to walk away from him, her steps speeding up. A part of him wanted to follow her, because she needed to remember, not for his sake – he was selfish, but he knew it was not all about him, that everybody needed to remember. Still, he only took a cautious, small step forwards, and Emma reached out her arm to keep him away.
You have to get away from me and stop drinking or whatever else you've been taking. Seriously. With those words, she turned once more, and this time kept walking without taking another notice of him. Her steps were rushed, and to see her running away from him was a twisted version of their first meeting, when he had been the one to slip out of her delicate, hopeful grasp and disappear into the night.
Emma! He called once more, helplessly watching her disappear behind a corner.