"I'm not sure I can get used to Leroy as a warrior," Emma said.
"You have to admit, he's much more useful this way," Killian replied. "Much better than having him waving his arms and running madly about all the time."
"I guess," she agreed. "It was a stroke of genius grabbing Archie's umbrella before we left, but wouldn't it have been better to leave him as a prince?"
Killian shook his head as he adjusted the wheel. "No. He's a much better therapist, I assure you. And probably less inclined to get in our way."
He pointed with his chin as Archie tripped over a coil of rope on the deck, falling heavily into Leroy, who helped him right himself.
"And at least with Leroy still thinking he's Archie's footsoldier, he'll keep the good doctor out of trouble," Killian added.
"We're going to need to find Leroy's pickaxe," Emma said. "The Enchanted Forest is as good a place as any to look. How much longer until we're there?"
"Mid-morning, barring storm or catastrophe, and with both of us aboard, either is just as likely."
She rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. So we'll be sailing all night, then."
"We will, indeed. And Leroy and Archie will be taking the wheel on the overnight so that you and I can have a late dinner in the captain's cabin."
"Subtle," she said with a smirk.
He slid an arm around her waist. "I'd have skipped the dinner invitation entirely if I wasn't being subtle," he said. "And as the sun is making its descent into the horizon, I'm due for my relief."
"Your what?"
"At the wheel, love." He gave her a lopsided grin. 'Though, I'll not disabuse you of any other notions you might have on the matter."
"I'll bet."
Killian raised his hand, gesturing over to Leroy, who was assisting a rather green-looking Archie up the stairs to the wheel deck. Archie broke free, running for the railing and leaning over, heaving hard.
"Is he all right?" Emma asked.
"He's seasick," Leroy said, stepping over to the wheel.
Emma looked over at Archie again. "Do you want us to take him below?"
Archie shook his head no, unable to speak as his stomach heaved again.
Leroy waved a dismissive hand. "He says he's better off up here, where he's got an ocean to puke into."
Killian raised a brow. "Well. That's remarkably astute of him. Tell him thank you from me when he...settles down." He reached for Emma's hand.
"Shall we?" he asked, raising a brow.
Somehow, the last rung on the ladder never got to feel the weight of her boot. Killian had stepped forward and put his hand to her waist to help her the rest of the way down, but once she slid her arms over his shoulders, and his eyes lit up, holding hers...well, it only took a moment for her legs to wrap around his waist and dinner was forgotten.
He got them both over to the bed, turning and falling backward onto it and settling her on top of him, stroking and caressing every inch that he could reach as his lips and tongue played across her neck and collarbone. By the time they'd worked their clothing off, he felt like he was going mad with need for her, torn between the overwhelming desire to plunge right into her - and from the look of her, she shared that desire with equal fervor - and the desire to drown in every feather-touch, every stroke of fingers on heated skin, every slide of himself against her and the rub of her breasts against his chest.
He looped his arms under her, staggering up to his feet.
"Wrap your legs around me again, love," he growled, walking her toward the aft wall, and pushing her hard against it.
"Really?" she gasped. "Standing up?" Though to be fair, it was more like leaning, the way the hull curved. He lifted her slightly, fitting himself to her and sliding her down upon him with a groan. He pushed himself deeper, his face contorting in a grimace of pleasure as he touched his forehead to hers.
"Right here," he murmured against her lips. "The movement of the ship on the waves..." He let out another groan as the ship hit an obvious swell, pushing him forward and up, deeper into her, then rolling her down on him again as the momentum carried over to her. It was like they didn't have to do much work at all - the ship and the sea were in control, and they were both just along for the ride.
Emma threaded her fingers through his hair, and gave herself up to it, and to the rushing whirlpool of pleasure that pulled her down, down, down, with the sound of his cries and the crashing of the waves ringing in her ears.
It was a long, long time before they ate dinner.
###
Robin kept his eyes forward, doing his best not to let on that he knew he was being watched. He climbed over a large, fallen tree, planning on taking cover behind it when he found himself surrounded, as two hooded figures emerged from the hollowed-out log.
"Drop the bow!" A voice called out.
Robin raised his hands in the air. "I'm not going to make trouble," he called out.
"No, you're not," answered the voice. "Now drop it and kick it over here."
Robin slowly removed his bow, lowering it to the ground and giving it a nudge with his boot.
"A little further," said the voice. Robin tilted his head to the side, then took in a breath.
"Snow?"
She stepped forward, tossing her hood back. "It's Snowy. And who are you, brother?"
"You're...you're...what are you?" he asked, scratching his head.
"What are we?" Snow repeated. "Did you really just say that?"
"In a subjective form and modifying a noun that refers to personage, what is not the proper interrogative," said Red, doffing her own hood.
"Perhaps if you'd spent more time in class and less time roaming the woods, you'd have known that," sneered Snow.
Robin looked at her warily. "Very well...who are you, then?"
"Isn't it obvious? We're schoolteachers."
"Schoolteachers?" Robin asked incredulously. "You're the leader of a group of schoolteachers?"
Snow pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocking it into her bow. "I rarely miss," she grumbled. "And from this distance, brother, you're a sure thing."
"Aren't schoolteachers supposed to be nice?" he asked in confusion.
"Clearly, you've never attended parochial school. And I am being nice. I haven't killed you yet."
"Killed me?" Robin looked uneasily from Snow to Red.
"They don't call her Snowy for nothing," Red replied. "Ice in her veins, I swear."
Snow gave her a look that should have frozen her where she stood, but Red wasn't fazed.
"I think he's pretty," she said, stepping forward. "Really pretty."
"Flirty!" Snow snapped. "We don't have time for this. The woods are overrun with the evil Queen's spies, and with George's men. Rumor has it they may even be working together! We can't trust anyone!"
"You never trust anyone anyway, Snowy," Red pouted. "I say we bring him back to the house," she trailed her fingers down Robin's arm.
Snow put her arrow back in the quiver and stepped forward, grabbing Robin's bow off the ground. "Regina won't want any strangers nosing around."
"Sleepy's got things under control there," Red insisted. "Besides, he's got a nice, trustworthy face. And shoulders," she purred.
"Wait! Have you seen Regina?" Robin asked. "I need to find her."
"You a friend of The Bandit Queen?" Snow's eyes narrowed.
"Yes! Yes, I am."
Snow gave him a smile, holding his bow out. Robin stepped forward to take it, turning to Red as he did. "From what I understand - "
His words were cut off as he crumpled to the ground. Snow tossed aside the rock she'd used on his skull and dusted off her hands.
"Come on," she said to Red. "Let's tie him up. We can drag him the rest of the way."
"Cold as ice," Red mumbled under her breath.
###
"Henry!"
Emma sat straight up in bed with a gasp, and Killian bolted upright next to her. She put her face in her hands, panting heavily as Killian reached out, rubbing her back.
"Bad dream?" he asked.
She nodded, taking a deep, gulping breath. "I was...I don't know where. I could see Henry, but he couldn't hear me. He was all alone."
Killian slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him as he laid back. She turned her face into his chest, trying to calm her ragged breathing.
"We'll find him, love. I swear we will."
She nodded, but didn't speak, still trying to process the very real feelings she'd just experienced.
"He's likely having the time of his life, you know. He could be a dwarf, or an outlaw or a prince...he's probably having a grand adventure. It's almost a shame to have to wake him from it."
Emma gave a short bark of laughter. "Yeah, you're probably right."
He shifted down until he was nose-to-nose with her. "He'll be fine, love. One thing about all of this is that you're still fundamentally you underneath the varnish. Henry's a clever boy, and resourceful. He's got the situation well in hand, wherever he is."
###
"Lydia! Jen! Isabel!" Mrs. Reynolds stood at the foot of the stairs, with her hands on her hips, watching silently as the girl lined up in the hallway.
"What's the problem?" Jen asked, taking out her earbuds.
"Which one of you took it?" Mrs. Reynolds stared them each down in turn. "Come on, give it back now, and I won't say another word about it."
"Took what?" asked Isabel.
"My hair color. I had a brand new box under the sink," Mrs. Reynolds replied. "I was planning on touching up these roots and when I went to pull it out, surprise, surprise! It was gone!"
"I already have black hair," Lydia said. "Why would I take it?"
"Me, too," said Isabel.
"Don't look at me," said Jen. "I like being blonde. I didn't touch your stuff."
"Are you sure you bought it?" Lydia asked. "Remember that time you thought you bought that bag of limes but you really forgot to?"
Mrs. Reynolds looked doubtful, but not entirely sure of herself. "Yeah, I remember. But it's easy to get distracted when you guys are always slugging away at each other." She gave a sigh. "Sorry I bothered you. Isn't it time for you to be doing homework, anyway?"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "You said we had until seven-thirty," she reminded.
Mrs. Reynolds looked down at her wristwatch. "Okay. Ten minutes and then down to the table for homework."
The girls grumbled as they headed back to their room, passing the door to the other bedroom on the way. Henry listened warily at the door until they were gone, then rushed over, pulling his backpack out from under the bed again.
He reached inside, pulling out his notebook, a tattered copy of Stephen King's "The Stand," a copy of The Storybrooke Daily Mirror, the dice Killian had given him, and the snowglobe he'd planned to give to Roland. It was a keepsake from his time in New York with his mother, one he didn't think he'd needed anymore, and now he was really, really glad he hadn't given it away. It was pretty much all he had from her now.
The thought brought a lump to his throat and tears stung his eyes. He took the tail of his shirt and wiped some remaining ash off the top of the globe, carefully placing it on the bed. He'd been holding it in his hand when Storybrooke winked out of existence. He'd been down at the dock, and had just found that weird pile of ash - you could still smell the smokey smell of it and when he rubbed it between his fingers, it clung and stained them. He'd called his Mom to tell her about it, then he'd dug out the snowglobe to give to Roland, and everything went bright-white and a roaring sound filled his ears.
The next thing he remembered, he was alone and there wasn't any Storybrooke. Not anymore. There was a gap of a few feet to the shore where the dock had cut off, then...nothing. Just grass and forest and trees. No houses, no buildings, no streets...no town.
Henry sat down on the bed, opening the notebook and adding to his notes:
LOUD NOISE WHEN THE TOWN VANISHED. FELT LIKE IT WAS SUCKED AWAY.
I HAD ASH ON MY HANDS. COULD THE ASH BE CURSED? MAGIC ASH? IS THAT EVEN A THING?
He closed the notebook, and glanced at the door again before reaching into the pack and pulling out the box of hair dye. It would probably be smarter to take the bottles of dye and the plastic gloves out of the box and zip them into the smaller pocket on the inside liner. She probably wouldn't even look in there, if she was snooping. He did just that, carefully folding the box flat and sliding it between the mattress and the box spring on his bed. Then he loaded the other things back into the bag, pausing for a moment when he picked up the book.
He opened it to a section that he'd dog-eared, and began reading once again, pulling out a pencil and making notes in the margins of the page.