Ch. 2

They forgot, you see. It was easy to forget. Easy to look into those glossy button eyes and listen to the high-pitched voice.

He let them forget.

One by one they fell. Tarzan first. Useless. Jasmine shoved a lamp into his eye. She didn't last much longer. Zazu pecked her eyes and heart out.

Elsa lasted longer than most ever expected. The ice queen used her powers to fashion a weapon when none were to be had. By the end, Elsa was known as the queen dressed in red.

But he was different.

He was quiet. Polite. Willing to help. Giggled when appropriate.

They all forgot he was a bear. Until he killed them.

Only two thoughts remained in his mind. Someday he'd find his dear friend, and the creators, they had to pay.

Until then, honey rained down from the sky bringing the sweet taste of victory only tempered a small bit by the taste of blood.

The ship sliced through the calm waters; calmer than the storm that ravaged in his mind and heart. The sails lunged forward in the soft breeze.

"Captain, orders?" The crew looked to the young captain, younger than them in this land of odd time, as he stared forlornly out at the sea. She was supposed to be his fair mistress, but so far all she had brought him was anger and solitude.

When he had taken over the ship he had expected to find what he was looking for quickly and easily. His mentor has informed him the sea would provide him with the answer he so dearly sought.

Years later and he was no closer. The roots of his brown hair were graying. His amber eyes, once so young and filled with light were now lifeless, sunken in and hollow. His honey skin tanned and sagging from the decades out at sea under the harsh sun and salty air. Muscles rippled under his shirt. He was almost sixty, and yet somehow it had only felt like mere moments had passed.

Edmund had called him back to the castle numerous times, but he couldn't give up his search. Not yet. Too much was at stake.

Besides, he had done too much, seen even more. The darkness in his heart had become all-consuming. Some called him a monster; he had heard the crew state as much when they thought he wasn't nearby. And he did love to fight, almost as much as he loved to kill. Yet, over the years, he had killed less and less as the need diminished. Strange, the world thought him a monster, yet he yearned for love so passionately.

The Revenge creaked beneath him. The ancient wood fought against the sea, propelling itself forward. Behind them, the Dawn Treader followed. The two ships sailing into further uncertainty.

For decades, they had been searching. The prophet only supplying one piece of information.

"Stay the course; find the light," he finally barked out. He turned on his heels and left, leaving his crew cold and alone, just like his heart and soul.

The long, browned wheat swept softly against her legs in the light breeze. The low evening sun still left her skin warm. The breeze almost smelt sweet, like candy. The tree at her back scraped at her tender skin, it's long branches providing shade in the late afternoon sun. It wasn't very warm, but the shade was appreciated.

If only to remind her of the world she knew.

She stared down at the worn picture in her hand.

Henry.

She worried about him every day for the last year. She wondered where he was.

Before she could give it much more thought, a helicopter passed overhead. Then ten more. The sound of boots tromping towards her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She could sense a gun trained on her from a distance, most likely a sniper ready to lay her to waste should she try to escape.

Not that she could go far, the tracking device implanted in her would always tell them where she was.

The cocking of a gun at her side left little else in her mind.

It was time.

"Tributes, t-minus sixty seconds until departure."

The voice boomed over the loudspeakers, placed strategically throughout the lands.

Hefting her pack, she got up and headed to the transporter. Her jeans, t-shirt and red leather jacket did little cover her in the coming elements, but the creators were sick and twisted; they insisted tributes only got what they knew. The large whirling machines lit up brighter with each revolution. At the edge of her platform, another woman stood waiting. Her long, red hair whirled around her in the wind. Her prosthetic arm pushed it back in place.

A mutual nod passed between their grim faces as they loaded into the machine that would likely bring them to their death. The woman's fake legs creaked and scrapped the metal as the guards locked and loaded them. She was a patchwork of prosthetic limbs, bits, and pieces that she was able to compile together to create a whole.

It wasn't until they were alone that she finally spoke.

"We won't fail." The woman spoke softly, both hoping there were no listening devices. The creators were sick that way. "You know what you've got to do, Emma."

Emma merely nodded, her face stoic. Their packs lay at their feet.

The doors to the machine slid shut, the glass providing them with one last view of the world they knew. Guards moved in front of the doors, ensuring they couldn't escape. There was never any escaping. Not in this world.

One year. One, long, arduous year of searching and wanting answers that weren't to be hers. A year that would ultimately bring both of their deaths, of that much Emma was sure. No matter the training. No matter the secret meetings.

"Emma…" The woman reached her mechanical arm out toward her new-found friend. Emma reached back. The tips of their fingers just touching despite the restraints.

"Sally…" The machine whirred and swirled, lights blinking as the power strengthened.

"T-minus ten, nine, eight…"

"We'll beat this," Sally started but was cut off by the voice booming overhead.

"Seven, six, five…"

"We'll find him," Sally continued, her voice hardening; she always was the stronger one, Emma was glad she had met her. The machine shook with a raising force, making her voice shake with it.

"Four, three, two…"

"You'll free us from their tyranny." Her words were spoken with such conviction and a vengeance, Emma almost believed her friend. Almost. "You have a destiny, as do I."

"One."

The machine bored downwards, shooting down into the hardened earth like it was a hot knife slicing through butter. Their transporter shook violently for only a few moments before coming to an abrupt halt. Their locked safety harnesses released and the door slid open, revealing their new environment.

Overhead, the creator's silly sing-song voices taunted them, yet again.

"Welcome to the games, ha-ha, may the odds be ever in your favor."

"Come on! Follow me! We only have a few minutes if we are going to make it!"

They were running. He wasn't even sure how he was in this position. One moment they were sitting, eating pizza and playing that infernal Xbox, the next, they were off.

Chris had gone to the bathroom.

Now he was chasing after them.

Killian tried to tell himself that he was following Russell because if he didn't, Emma would have more work. But, in the back of his mind, Killian knew he was following the young lad because he believed him to have answers.

The child was a true wonder when it came to running. He darted to and fro, pulling Killian into dark alleyways, jumping over cars, and weaving in and out of traffic. The lights and sounds of the city whizzed by them at a dizzying pace.

"Goddammit, Russell! Killian! Get back here!" Chris shrieked over the loud din of the city.

Still, Killian wondered where exactly where they were going. Why were they running?

A bridge was just ahead. Darkness lay beneath.

"Russell…" Killian's voice wavered as they drew closer to the bridge. There was nowhere else to turn. Nowhere else to go. Everything was moving too quickly.

"We're hitching a ride! Otherwise, we're all done for," Russell rambled.

Chris was far behind, but gaining on them quickly. He held something that looked like a gun in his hand, trained squarely on them. Only this gun looked different then the one's Killian had seen back in Storybrooke.

"Don't even think of it, Russell!" Chris screamed as Russell and Killian careened into the side railing of the bridge.

"Do you trust me?" Killian's head jolted upwards at the young teen's question. His hair whipped about in the strong breeze. They didn't have long. "I don't know who you are, but you aren't Killian Jones. And the woman you met today is not Emma! If you want to find the truth, you need to trust me." And Killian's unsure gaze, Russel threw up his hand. "Scout's honor!"

Russell grabbed for Killian's hand, his small fingers closing tightly around them. A small ring on his finger lit up, sending out a bright light high into the sky.

"Do you have your towel?" Killian's head jerked up at Russell's question. It was the one thing the lad had made Killian take with him from the condo.

Behind them, a whirring sound as the gun pointed at them came to life. A light shone brightly from the center, pulsating as the energy from within it grew stronger. The phaser warming as Chris steadied his shot.

"Russell! Watch that ledge!" Chris wheezed out. He had the gun trained on the two escapees, ready to fire. HQ would be pissed, but they would be just as angry if they jumped realms, again. His finger on the trigger, Chris readied himself. He liked Russell. HQ had high hopes for the young boy. But he had a rebellious streak. The best usually did. "We can talk this out. I won't even tell them that you tried to leave tonight if we can just go back to the condo right now."

Grabbing hold of his wrist, Russell yanked Killian over the side of the bridge with him, the phaser whizzing off as their bodies flew over the ledge. It just missed them, hitting one of the truss members instead. The bridge squealed in protest.

Killian yelled in objection as they fell. Russell held on even tighter.

And then everything went black.

Her lithe body swayed to the beat, rubbing tantalizingly against her partner's. His hand tightened on her hip, pulling her just a tiny bit closer if that was even possible. Her chest heaved as his calloused hand dragged up her body, his lips whispering kisses against her neck.

They were finally alone. She had waited all night for these few moments with him. Hopefully, he had waited too. She never could tell when it came to him. Sure, she could feel his need for her, but he rarely said anything. Never begged and pleaded for her like she did with him. Never called.

What else could she do to get his attention? Why didn't anyone ever love her as much as she tried to love them?

The sound of her zipper brought her back to the present. Her dress pooled at her feet.

A moment later and he was depositing her on the cold Italian marble counter. She shivered. Her hands wandered over the expanse of his chiseled chest. She tried to kiss him, his lips, but he refused. He always did.

It was how Emma knew she didn't fully have his attention, no matter how desperately she wanted it. It never mattered what she did, he was always five steps ahead of her.

Jareth had tried to warn her. Had told her time after time that she wasn't to mess around with him. Maybe it was the idea of rebelling that drew her closer. Maybe it was his withholding of the love that made her want him even more.

She gasped a moment later. Her body yielded to his.

"John…" Her voice sounded raspier than usual.

He was being rough tonight. Her nails scraped down his back, sure to leave marks.

Of course, that was when her phone decided to blare to life. She tried to ignore it, to let it go the voicemail. Only it kept ringing.

Jareth.

Her bedmate, or counter-mate, pulled away. His eyes didn't even meet hers as he started to walk away, obviously still hard and not even close to being finished. He walked towards the shower as Emma moved to answer her phone.

She didn't even get a chance to speak before she heard her superior yelling through the phone. As she was filled in on the events of the night she couldn't help but shake her head. Of course, the kid would escape. It's what he was best at.

She had known the arrival of Killian hadn't been a coincidence. Something was about to happen, and she'd be damned if she let them get away with anything.

"I'll be right there."

She didn't even say goodbye, merely put her dress back on, cleaned herself up with a rag by the kitchen sink, and jetted out.

She had two jumpers to catch.