Smee's head swims as he watches the Queen slip his heart – his heart – into a little velveteen pouch. It's been a hundred and fifty years since he's witnessed magic like this – since the Dark One killed the Captain's love on the day that changed their lives forever – but never once has he considered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of it himself. He blinks as his breathing slows, the seconds ticking by with surreal sluggishness. He feels… hollow; like himself and yet somehow oddly detached. As excruciating as it was to have his heart torn from his chest, nothing hurts now – quite the opposite. Everything just feels… a little less. And maybe, given the nightmarish situation he suddenly finds himself in, that's just as well.
"H-how—" He stuns himself with his ability to speak. "How will I find him?"
To his relief, the Queen isn't enraged by his question. Indeed, ripping his heart out seems to have quenched her anger for the time being, as though she's derived some great, twisted satisfaction from it. She reaches into the plunging neckline of her dress and pulls out a small glass vial, looking smug. Smee's eyes widen when he recognizes the contents.
"You know what these are?"
He nods stiffly, gulping at the sight of the white beans.
"He used one to go to the Land Without Magic," she explains, "Fortunately, I have a few more left in my possession. One of these will send you there. You will use the other to bring him and the stone back to me." Her hand closes around the vial. "Go get something small that belongs to him."
The sudden, inexorable compulsion to obey her catches him off guard, and he's turned and set off for the Captain's quarters before he knows what he's doing. He's struck by another pang of numbing fear as he realizes that Queen's control over him isn't merely based on the threat of death, but that the witch can literally force him to do her bidding like a puppet on a string now. Dear Gods. He descends the ladder into the Captain's quarters and steals a moment for a deep breath, clapping his hand to the top of his head. Even the soft feel of his grandmother's knitting beneath his fingers is of little comfort. He's not sure anything can save him now.
The room is tidy as ever, the way the Captain always leaves it when he departs the ship. Smee's eyes dart around nervously as he considers his options. Something small. He turns right and moves toward the shadowy shelves in the corner where the Captain keeps trinkets and trophies from past conquests. Smee swallows. After a lifetime of not being allowed to touch the Captain's things without permission, it feels surreal to be looking through his effects, and despite the urgency of the situation, he still takes care not to disturb the items too much as his hand hovers over each in turn. Most he passes over. He needs something that belongs to him, not a stolen piece of memorabilia. At last his gaze falls upon a carved wooden box, and he flips the lid, feeling a modest surge of triumph at the sight of the gloved fake hand the Captain wears in lieu of his hook when circumstances call for less notoriety. Smee snatches it up, closes the box, and dashes back to the deck.
The Queen raises an eyebrow, her expression almost incredulous when she sees what he's brought back. "Interesting choice," she comments dryly. "Very well. Hold it tight." She produces another tiny vial, this one full of a light blue liquid, which she uncorks and sprinkles on the attachment. The liquid vanishes magically as it strikes the black leather. "This is a locator potion," she explains. "It causes an object to return to its rightful owner. You can't cast spells in the Land Without Magic, but an item that's already enchanted should still work there."
No sooner has she spoken when Smee feels the hand begin to pull away, and he gasps.
"Don't lose it," she snaps. "We can't have you wasting time bumbling around trying to find him on your own."
He nods hurriedly and tucks the hand into one of his inner coat pockets, buttoning it closed to secure it. "What if he won't come? There aren't many who could subdue the Captain if it comes to swords," he points out, his words laced with anxiety.
The Queen sneers. "Fortunately for you, I've considered that as well." She pulls out one final bottle and waves her hand over it. The clear liquid inside briefly glows a bright purple. "A sleeping curse," she says. "Whoever drinks it will fall into an eternal sleep, and believe me, they won't have pleasant dreams." She chuckles darkly. "If he won't cooperate, put it in his food or drink. He has to take it willingly. The magic won't work if you force it down his throat. If you have to use it, I don't care what happens to his body. Just bring me the stone."
Smee stares at the bottle uneasily, nodding his understanding as she hands it and one of the two magic beans over. "A-and if I succeed?" he asks, sealing them in a small purse.
"Then I won't kill you," she says through bared teeth. "Now go." She stalks over to the starboard rail with the remaining bean in her palm. Her other hand makes a flinging motion, and it soars away and drops into the ocean at a distance from the ship. The seas open up into a swirling, luminous torrent which funnels to the depths below, the sudden disturbance in the waters causing the Jolly to rock precariously in her moor.
Every man rushes to the side to get a better look. "Roberts!" Smee bellows to the quartermaster, tugging his hat down tighter on his head, "If we don't return in three days, you have permission to take the ship and go." He squints at the distance between them and the stormy portal. "How am I supposed to get out there?" he asks the Queen.
Her wine-colored lips curl into a saccharine smile. "Allow me."
His scream dissolves on the wind as her magic abruptly propels him over the side of the ship, hurtling him through the air in a long arc, arms and legs flailing, toward a new world and an uncertain fate.
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Killian and Henry return from the costume shop and resume their swordplay instruction in the basement with a good hour to spare before Emma returns. They hear her steps overhead a little after four, and moments later she calls down from the basement door that there are cookies in the kitchen if they're hungry and she's going to get dressed for the ball. The door shuts softly, and her footsteps disappear upstairs.
Henry turns to Killian. "I should go put my costume on and get my stuff together," he says eagerly. "Avery and his mom are coming at five."
Killian nods, leaning his blade back against his shoulder and dipping into a little bow with a grin. "Very well, young master. Dismissed." He chuckles as the boy clamors up the stairs in a jumble of wind-milling limbs.
Killian retrieves his scabbard and sheaths his cutlass with a sigh, supposing that he ought to follow Emma and Henry's example and change clothes as well. He considers his costume where it lies in a protective bag on the sofa. He can allow himself one evening of diversion in order to keep his word to Walsh's friend. But tomorrow, he resolves, scooping up the clothes and heading for the bathroom, tomorrow he finds a way to destroy the stone.
He has to admit, he doesn't mind the brown coat. It's not nearly as heavy as his everyday one, and the finery of it – the silky, quilted material, the cottony black lining that matches the waistcoat, the stamped detail in the little metal buttons – reminds him of a different time. A time when Liam was alive. A time when they were young and optimistic. The bathroom mirror reflects his bittersweet smile as he scrutinizes his appearance and brushes the hair out of his eyes. Killian breathes a sigh, reaching for his belt and double-checking the attached pouches, determined not to let the Sea Star out of his sight.
On a whim, he pulls out the compass, grimacing at the dented cover and the ugly crack in the glass. Much to his disappointment, the needle remains still, no matter which way he turns, and his jaw tightens with frustration. Worthless. When he returns to the Enchanted Forest, he'll have a freshly broken heart and still no way to find the Dark One's dagger. He sets the compass aside on the sink counter. Perhaps, he thinks sourly, the Fates intend to keep him spinning his wheels for another few decades.
When he arrives in the kitchen, he finds Henry wearing the knight costume and munching on what he assumes is one of the aforementioned cookies. The lad's green eyes light up when he sees the brown coat, and he pauses mid-chew. "That looks really cool. You make a good prince."
Killian grins and gives a flourishing bow, arms extended on either side. "Why thank you, Sir Henry. You make a very noble knight."
Emma's son giggles and goes back to working on his cookie, a round biscuit dotted with chunks of chocolate. He points toward a plate on the counter which holds a dozen more. "These are my favorite," he says through a mouthful. "You gotta try one."
The cookie is soft and sweet and truly indulgent, and Killian is licking a chocolate smear off his thumb when Emma's voice rings out from the staircase.
"Henry, where are you?"
"Kitchen!"
"I need help with this thing." They hear her pick her way down the stairs and then bustle through the living room. She halts abruptly as she rounds the corner, her eyes growing huge when they land on Killian.
Killian stares back in wonder. It's as though Emma Swan is an angel revealed, and, Gods, she's the most beautiful thing he thinks he's ever seen, a divine vision in a diaphanous silvery ball gown. Her tightly-draped bodice is held up with narrow straps that leave most of her exquisite neck, shoulders, and décolleté bare, the V-shaped neckline allowing a modest glimpse of the tops of her breasts. Silver flowers and wispy, gossamer feathers accent the bodice and wind around her bare upper arms, and a full, floor-length skirt blooms out from her tiny waist. Her hair is coifed in a loose bun at the back of her head with a few gentle waves left next to her face, and a jeweled band of matching silver flowers and sparkling crystals is nestled amongst her gold locks.
She blinks at him with long, dark lashes, and her ruby-red lips part in surprise as she takes an involuntary step back, the shimmery, almost gauzy fabric of her skirt rustling softly and telegraphing the movement of her hips.
Killian shakes himself out of his stupor, his face a mask of wistful veneration. "You look stunning, Swan," he says quietly.
Emma rotates her head slightly to the side, her eyes flitting up and down his ensemble. "You… look…"
He smirks, despite the hint of color that appears in his cheeks. "I know." He chuckles when she rolls her eyes – angel though she might be, Emma Swan is still Emma Swan.
"Do you like it, Mom?" Henry asks. "We made him a prince for Halloween!"
Emma narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Who's 'we'?"
Her son has the decency to look a tad guilty. "I took him to see Mr. Castro while you were gone."
"Henry…"
"I know, I know…" Henry grumbles. "I didn't tell you I was going somewhere. But I had Killian with me, and we were fine!"
She shifts her hard look to Killian and arcs an eyebrow in silent reprimand.
"I assure you, Swan," he says, regarding her calmly, "Nothing will ever happen to the boy while he's in my charge."
The solemnity of his pledge seems to surprise and mollify her. She opens her mouth as if to say something and then clamps her lips shut. "No more secret outings," she declares sternly.
Henry grins. "Done."
Emma sighs and reaches behind her back, arching awkwardly. "Now come help me with this zipper."
It's Henry's turn to roll his eyes, but he obligingly trots over as if he's well accustomed to this responsibility. She turns for him, and they can see that the back of her dress is incompletely fastened. Emma tries to watch over her shoulder as Henry locates the tiny metal tab in question and gives it a tug. It slides upward all of an inch before he runs into resistance and the zipper refuses to move any higher. Henry tries harder with a grunt. "Ugh. It's stuck." They watch him make a few more attempts, to no avail. He steps back. "What do we do?"
"Um… here." Emma walks over the dining table and rifles through her purse, producing a tiny jar which she hands him. "Pull it back down a little ways and put some lip balm on the teeth," she instructs him. "Just don't use too much, and try not to get any on the dress."
Henry eyes the jar dubiously, but shrugs. "'Kay." He dips his thumb and index finger into the jar and follows her instructions, smearing the waxy substance on both sides of the zipper. His freezes as he goes to reach for the tab again, shooting a look at his hand. "Uh, hang on." He looks at Killian. "You try. My fingers are all slippery," he says, abandoning the jar on the counter and moving toward the sink.
"Uh…" Killian clears his throat, eyeing the expanse of creamy skin running from the nape of Emma's neck down to the middle of her back. She catches his gaze out of the corner of her eye and turns salmon, but she doesn't object and quickly turns her head away. He steps forward, taking care not to snag the tip of his hook on the fabric of her dress as he uses it to carefully brace the bottom of the zipper. His fingers close around the tab, and his mouth runs dry when his eyes trace the light scattering of freckles on her back down past her shoulder blades to the top edge of her corset, the delicate eyelet lace detailing taunting him into wondering what the rest of it looks like. Even with the applied balm, there's a fair amount of resistance, but he manages to slowly coax the zipper tab to the top. Emma shivers as he exhales upon her neck, gooseflesh rising on her shoulders, and he wonders, not for the first time, whether it's good or bad that she seems as affected by him as he is by her.
Killian steps back quickly. "Um, there."
She turns back toward him, looking childishly shy as she tucks one of her curls behind her ear, and he smiles despite the pressure in his chest.
"Perfect," he murmurs.
She fusses over an imaginary wrinkle in her gown. "It's, um, it's supposed to be a princess dress," she says. "As in The Swan Princess." She raises her eyebrows at his lack of reaction. "The story? Is that not an actual person in the Enchanted Forest?"
"Not that I'm aware of," he says. "Henry, I thought you said Halloween was about dressing as someone you're not."
Henry dries his hands on the dishtowel. "Yeah? So?"
The corner of Killian's mouth turns upward softly. "Your mother seems to have missed the objective."
She rolls her eyes, but the heat in her cheeks is telling. "I'm no princess."
He chuckles. "I wouldn't be so sure, love." He sacrifices caution in the name of good form and reaches for her hand, his thumb drifting across her knuckles as he raises it to his lips. His eyes return to her face when he straightens, and his heart accelerates at her breathless, albeit embarrassed, expression.
A jarring series of loud knocks lands on the front door.
"Avery's here!" Henry crows, scooting toward the front of the house.
Emma lets him by before gathering her skirts and following. "Why is he using the knocker?"
Henry turns the bolt back and throws open the door.
Killian nearly catches the toe of his boot on the edge of the rug when he registers the familiar wide-eyed face at the threshold. He squints. "Smee?!"
Standing on Emma's stoop, a realm away from where he should be, William Smee looks up, his eyebrows disappearing up past the edge of his hat and relief washing over his features. "Captain!"
Emma stiffens, looking back at Killian with confusion. He carefully side-steps her, and Henry moves to let him through, the boy's neck craned upward as he looks excitedly back and forth between the two pirates standing at his front door.
Killian gapes at his first mate. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"I came to find you and bring you home, Sir," Smee replies, clutching his gloved hands in front of his chest.
"Killian?"
The small sound of Emma's voice causes him to turn. She comes forward and rests a protective hand on Henry's shoulder, her eyes filled with caution and disbelief.
Killian gestures. "Swan, this is Mr. Smee."
Smee's rounded jaw goes slack at the sight of Emma in her ball gown, and he gazes at her, entranced, for several seconds before remembering himself and hurriedly tugging his cap off to reveal the rarely-seen brown curls beneath. "Milady," he says with an awkward little bow.
"Uh, hi." Emma shoots Killian a questioning glance, and he manages the shadow of a reassuring smile. The autumn chill blows in through the open door, and she shivers visibly, her eyes flitting critically between the two men before she makes up her mind and beckons with her hand.
Killian steps back. "Come in," he instructs Smee gruffly, his voice low, "And on your best behavior."
"Yes, Sir." The shorter man shuffles inside, his hat still clutched in his hands. He looks around with interest and awe as Killian shuts the door behind him.
Questions and conflicting emotions battle for dominance in Killian's mind as he secures the lock and clears his throat. "These are my friends," he explains. "The Lady Emma Swan and her son, Henry. They have been kind enough to be my hosts."
Smee gives another hasty dip of his head.
"You're from the Enchanted Forest too?" Henry asks, lips parted in a fascinated grin as he studies Smee's heavy brown wool coat with weather-beaten leather trim and matching gloves. "You're Killian's first mate, right?"
The lad's casual use of Killian's first name bewilders Smee, and the man blinks dumbly at Henry for a second before he nods.
Killian pinches the bridge of his nose. "How is it that you're here, Mr. Smee?" he asks impatiently.
Smee's bright blue eyes hold more nervousness than usual, and he licks his lips. "The—the Evil Queen, Sir. She came to the Jolly."
Fear and bile rise in Killian's throat. It's as he suspected then – the witch is seeking him and the stone. He silently curses his continued presence in Emma and Henry's home, especially as Emma's shaken expression floods him with guilt.
"She said you stole the Sea Star from her and escaped here, to the Land Without Magic," Smee stammers. "So I… I made a deal with her."
A storm flashes across Killian's brow. "You what?" he barks.
Smee flinches. "We had to try to get you back, Sir. The crew needs its captain."
Killian runs his hand down over his face. "What kind of deal?" he asks more quietly, voice edged with dread.
Smee fidgets in a way that promises ill news. "I convinced her I could get the stone back for her if she'd give me a way to find you."
Killian narrows his eyes, thoughts racing. "She gave you a bean."
"Two," Smee corrects eagerly. "One to get home. And this." He fumbles with one of his coat pockets and produces Killian's fake hand.
Killian frowns at the unexpected sight.
"She enchanted it to find you," Smee explains.
Emma gasps and Henry utters a delighted "Whoa…" as Smee releases the prosthetic and it floats eerily toward Killian. Killian snatches it out of the air with a huff, the magic dissipating and gravity giving the hand its normal weight as soon as he touches it.
"Is that your hand?!" Henry asks with delighted disgust.
Killian gives it to him to inspect. "Merely an attachment," he answers distractedly. He fixes his first mate with a skeptical look. "Not that I don't applaud your sentiment, Mr. Smee, but what exactly do you expect to happen when we return?"
Smee fidgets. "I thought you might give the stone back and perhaps she'd— "
"No."
"B-but Captain—"
"No," he grinds out, doing his best to keep his temper in check in Emma and Henry's presence. "Do you know what she wants with it?"
Smee stares blankly. "Sir?"
"She needs it for a curse that will kill all of Snow White's people," he growls. "That stone is worth thousands of lives, Smee. I may be a pirate, but I will not be complicit in such a plot."
The blood drains from the other man's face, his silence heavy with new understanding.
Killian sighs, and his eyes sweep the floor as he falls into thought.
"We have some time," Smee volunteers meekly. "I'm sure you can figure something out."
Killian looks up. "How much time?"
Smee drops his gaze to the cap he's still subconsciously wringing in his hands. "She didn't say exactly, but I told Roberts he could sail the Jolly out of Longbourn if we didn't return in three days."
Killian considers this. Three days. If he's learned something in all his years of adventuring, it's that time is as valuable a resource as anything. Three days to come up with a plan. He glances at Emma and Henry. Three days to say goodbye. He swallows, trying to harden his heart against the tidal wave of melancholy that crashes upon it.
His eyes meet Emma's. "We need to destroy the Sea Star as soon as possible."
She blinks rapidly as she stares back at him, looking lost.
"Emma," he murmurs. "Please."
His use of her first name seems to ground her, and he can see the disbelief fade from her eyes as she steels herself. "I… I know someone," she suggests with a grim nod. "He has a machine shop on Long Island. If the stone is as fragile as Hal says, a hydraulic press should crush it to dust. I can make a call."
They watch as she retreats to get her phone. "Quite a nice place you've found," Smee comments nervously.
"Aye," Killian answers, throwing Henry a small appreciative smile. "Henry and his mother have shown me far more hospitality than I deserve."
"Where is the Sea Star now, Captain?"
"Where a good pirate keeps all his most valuable treasures, Mr. Smee." Killian reaches beneath his coat and produces the leather purse that holds the stone, displaying it briefly before tucking it back away. "On his person."
Smee nods, his eye lingering on Killian's unfamiliar attire. "And why the change in clothes?"
Killian sighs, having nearly forgotten about the party. "There's a ball tonight," he explains. "Today is a holiday in this world where it's traditional to dress in costume." His brow wrinkles as he considers what to do with his wayward crew member. "I'm afraid I have to leave you on your own this evening. I've agreed to escort a friend of Emma's to the festivities."
"What do I do while you're gone?"
"Um…" Henry glances around, "Stay here." He runs over and grabs the controller for the big black screen where he plays games. "Watch TV." He presses a button, and the glass blazes to life with images of a car racing down a seaside road accompanied by dramatic music. "C'mere." He flops himself down on the sofa.
Smee stares agog at the moving picture for a long moment before anxiously looking to Killian for a permissive nod before he follows Henry obediently to the living room, his round eyes fixed once more on the TV screen as he lowers himself onto the seat. Henry leans over and shows him the controller, his little finger pointing at various buttons while he proceeds to talk the befuddled pirate through the concepts of "volume" and "channels."
Killian leaves them to it, turning away and wandering to the kitchen where Emma is on the phone with her friend. She faces away from him, her eyes focused out the back window while she feigns cheerfulness for with the man on the other end. "I'm so sorry for the late notice," she says, "But you know how kids are. Henry didn't say anything about this project until today, and it's due next week." She pauses, listening. "It's just a bunch of stuff from around the house. Some old Legos, a baseball, a big sparkly paperweight, a bag of marshmallows." She opens a drawer full of knickknacks and surveys the contents. "A phone book, a padlock." She nods at something the man says. "Yeah, we just want to crush stuff and get it on video so he can show it to his class and talk about how different materials behave under pressure. If you can run the machine for us, we'll do the clean-up and everything. Whole thing should take an hour, tops." She glances over her shoulder and makes eye contact with Killian. "Tomorrow afternoon? That'd be great!" she gushes. "Thanks so much. We owe you." She chuckles. "Okay. We'll see you then. Bye."
Emma ends her call with sigh, her lighthearted mask falling away. "Tomorrow at two," she reports, weariness creeping its way back into her voice.
Killian nods gratefully. "Thank you."
The worry in her eyes is obvious as she draws closer. "I hope you know what you're doing," she says softly.
He forces a little smile and nods again, though he knows she sees his own concern. "I'll think of something, Swan," he murmurs back. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving."
The corner of her mouth curves weakly. She tips her head toward Smee and Henry. "What do we do with him? Do you want to skip the ball and stay with him?"
Killian shakes his head. "I gave my word to Walsh's friend, and it's bad form to disappoint a lady," he says. "Smee will be fine. Is it alright if he stays here while we're gone?"
Emma's brow furrows with reservation. "Is it alright if we leave a pirate who doesn't know the first thing about the modern world unsupervised in my home?"
"He'll behave," Killian says calmly. "As unimpressive as he looks, he's fairly clever and very loyal. He'll do as I tell him. He won't disturb your things." He smirks. "I have a feeling your… TV?" he glances at her for confirmation, "I think the TV will be more than enough to occupy him."
She snorts, relaxing a fraction. "With 500 channels, it better." A thought occurs, and she raises her voice. "Henry, make sure he knows not to order anything off of pay-per-view."
Henry's brown head bobs and he juts a thumbs-up in the air in acknowledgement as he continues to teach Smee the finer points of channel surfing.
She gives Killian the side-eye. "You'll explain the other basics to him before we go?"
He hums agreeably. "Of course."
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He's really a pirate. And now there's a second pirate in her home. And a murderous evil queen awaiting their return to the Enchanted Forest. And she's about to head out to a party wearing a ball gown fit for a Disney princess. None of it should make sense. None of it bears any resemblance to the thing she calls her life. And yet…
Emma climbs back up the stairs, skirts bunched in her hands, in order to finish gathering her things. She fishes a pair of silver, open-toed pumps out of her closet and sits on the edge of her mattress, pulling her dress up so she can see her feet as she slips her shoes on.
Her eyes stare, unseeing, at her footwear. She has no idea how she's supposed to react to what's happening – to Smee's arrival, to the proof that Killian's story is real, to the revelation that other worlds and magic and True Love exist, to the idea that Killian is being pursued by an Evil Queen, to the fact that in less than three days he'll be out of their lives (her life) forever. When she'd agreed to let him come home with her and Henry, she'd never planned on letting him stay more than a day or two. But now? Now the idea of saying goodbye and watching him set off to brave a dangerous future makes her feel as though her bustier has been cinched so tight that she can barely get enough air.
Emma gives herself a little shake and swipes the moisture at her nose away with a finger before climbing to her feet. With a sniffle, she scoops her little silver clutch and a heavy cloak up off a side chair and heads back downstairs.
She can hear echoing voices as Killian gives Smee a crash course on plumbing in the first floor bathroom.
"But where does the water come from?"
"Bloody hell if I know, Smee. I've only been here two days."
Killian's exasperated tone causes her to fold her lips together and suppress a dry laugh. She still isn't completely sure why she trusts the man enough to let another perfect stranger stay in her home based on his word alone. It sounds incredibly reckless, but, as he shuttles Smee back out of the bathroom and gives her another reassuring nod, she knows – she can feel in her gut – that it isn't. And that's just it, she thinks, smiling warmly at him when he explains her "no swords in the house" policy to his first mate and takes Smee's weapon downstairs – when it comes to Killian Jones, Captain Hook, the gentleman pirate who somehow sees the chinks in her armor and yet makes her feel strong, none of the rules that have governed her universe up until now seem to apply.
The doorbell announces the arrival of Avery and his mother. Emma indulges the brunette soccer mom in some girlish squealing over her ball gown and a little small talk about their boys until Killian emerges from the basement and comes to bid Henry a good night. Avery's mother shoots Emma an intrigued look, but Emma merely gives the barest shake of her head and mouths "Friend" with a tight smile as Killian stands beside her and watches Henry put on his shoes.
"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" Henry asks him anxiously, pulling his costume's chain mail-like hood over his head and hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder.
Killian flashes a quiet grin. "I expect so. Good luck gathering your spoils."
"Thanks." Henry salutes with his sword before following his friends down the steps. "Mom!" his voice rings out through the open door, "Walsh is here! In a limo!"
Emma takes a deep breath and glances at Killian before going to retrieve her phone from the kitchen.
Killian, in turn, fixes Smee with a flinty look. "Nothing but propriety, Mr. Smee. I expect the Lady to be pleased with the state of her home when we return. Am I clear?"
"Y-yes, Sir." Smee nods submissively, clearly accustomed to taking orders.
Emma looks up at them as she tucks her phone into her clutch, and sympathy plucks at her heartstrings at the sight of the shorter man's overwhelmed expression. She quickly takes stock of her kitchen and pours a glass of milk, stashing her clutch under her arm so her other hand can snag the cookie plate off the counter.
"In case you're hungry," she says, returning to the living room just as Smee settles back on the sofa. She sets the items on the coffee table in front of him. "Sorry it's not much, but we have to run."
Smee's eyes grow wide at her unexpected gesture. "Thank you," he manages.
She gives him a little smile.
"Emma?"
They look up to see Walsh standing in the open doorway, a dark green top hat on his head and one hand poised to knock.
Emma straightens and forces herself to sound upbeat as she waves him inside. "Hi."
Walsh removes the hat, his lips parted in awe. "Wow." He closes the door behind him, his eyes fixed on her. "You look amazing."
Emma colors and comes forward to greet him. He grasps her hands and kisses her on the cheek before standing back to take in her dress. "This is like something out of a fairy tale," he chuckles.
"Aye."
Walsh looks up to see Killian standing off to the side, and his brows pinch as he notes Killian's change in clothes. "Hi," he says. "You're not going as a pirate?"
Killian shrugs, gesturing for Smee to pass him his prosthetic hand from the coffee table. "Henry thought this would be more appropriate for the occasion," he replies, twisting off his hook. He slips it into one of his belt pouches and clicks the hand into his brace while Walsh gawks. Killian raises his left arm and smiles glibly. "Your friend would probably prefer a dance partner with two hands, anyway."
"Oh. Um, right." Walsh leans over to get a better look at Smee. "Hello."
Smee gives a hesitant little wave, looking unsure if he should speak.
"This is…" Emma bites her lip, realizing she'd rather not take the time right now to explain to Walsh that she's got Mr. Smee in her living room because Killian is the real Captain Hook. "I'm sorry," she tells Smee, "I don't think I got your first name."
Smee blinks, caught off-guard by the question. "Oh. It's William, Ma'am," he answers almost bashfully.
"William," Emma repeats to Walsh. "He's a friend of Killian's."
Walsh looks one part surprised, one part pleased. "You found a friend of Killian's?"
Emma smiles nervously. "It's, uh, it's a long story. But he's also going to stay here a few days until we can make arrangements to get them both, um," she licks her lips, "home."
There's a beat of silence before Killian clears his throat. "So, what are you dressed as, mate?" he asks Walsh politely.
Emma's boyfriend turns and unfurls his arms grandly, showing off his dark green coat, pinstriped dark green paints, emerald waistcoat, and black bowtie. "Behold the great and powerful Oz!" he booms. His face falls at Killian's blank expression. "You know? The Wizard?"
Killian feigns recognition admirably. "Ah! Of course."
Emma suppresses an amused grin while she dons her cloak, but she catches Killian's eye over her shoulder as Walsh leads her out the door, and her dimples flash when he gives her a wink and a little shrug.
Per Henry's report, a polished black limousine idles in the street, and a uniformed driver appears when they step outside. Emma arches an eyebrow at Walsh as he leads her down the front steps. "Wow, you really went all out," she remarks.
"Well, I figured the Camry might not cut it for a fancy ball," he replies cheerfully. "Besides, I know the guy who owns the company."
The driver swings the rear door open for them, and they catch a glimpse of bubblegum pink tulle. Linda peeks out and waves, her long hair framing her face in straw-colored ringlets. "Hi!" She gathers her voluminous skirts and shifts over a bit to afford Emma more room to maneuver through the door. "Oh Emma, you look gorgeous!"
Emma settles into a seat, feeling a little silly as she tries to smooth down the cumbersome layers of fabric around her legs. "Thanks. So do you." She glances between Linda and Walsh, who climbs in and slides into the spot next to her. "So we've got Glinda the Good Witch and The Wizard? Was I supposed to bring the ruby slippers?"
Linda gives a little laugh. "I swear we didn't plan it this way. Apparently we just have the same taste in movies." She does a double-take as Killian brings up the rear and climbs through the vehicle door. "Oh Killian! What happened to your pirate costume?"
"Apologies, milady," Killian says, distracted as he takes in the cabin of the limousine, "Emma's boy thought it a bit… tired. I hope you won't mind being escorted by an equally charming prince."
She laughs genially. "Not at all. You look very handsome."
"Why thank you, lass. Might I say you look lovely." He sets down at the end of the long, L-shaped bench, and the driver shuts the door.
"See?" Walsh asks Emma, leaning over to interlace his fingers with hers and press a quick kiss to the back of her hand. "We're going to have a great time."
Emma puts on an apprehensive smile and nods, turning to chat politely with Linda about her costume while Walsh continues to hold her hand and Killian pointedly diverts his gaze out the window.
ˆ˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜ˆ
The splendor of the Woolworth is something to behold, and even Emma seems in awe of the towering decorated ceilings, intricate stone carvings, and detailed bronze work that contribute to the grandeur. Killian cranes his head to examine the glittering mosaics above their heads as they wait for an elevator to carry them upstairs to the ballroom.
Linda, now sporting a comically tall pink and silver crown ringed with stars in addition to the billowing dress with exaggerated puffed sleeves, sighs rapturously as she clutches his arm. "Isn't it fantastic?"
"Splendid," he agrees. "I've never seen the like."
The ballroom is a wide open space with a large circular floor of inlaid wood surrounded by pairs of narrow pillars that bear up lattices in a scrolling vine motif. Impressive, heavy-looking gold and crystal chandeliers hang overhead, and two large trees in pots stand on either side, each gleaming with small white lights as though host to a thousand fireflies.
Roughly a hundred people mill about in a wide variety of elaborate costumes, and Killian is both amused and chagrined to learn that there are many more persons from his world who are known here as fictional characters. Some of the costumes and portrayals are more accurate than others, to be sure, and it's all he can do not to whirl around on a man dressed in a long red coat, breeches, and a flamboyantly plumed hat whom they overhear introducing himself in a horribly, growly accent as the dreaded Captain Hook. Emma bites her lip and shoots Killian a look, her eyes laughing at his indignant scowl.
Dinner is served at round tables laid with fine china that dot the room's perimeter, and the meal – savory root vegetables, roast chicken, and mutton steak paired with fine wine and rounded out with a custard called crème brûlée – is worthy of a royal banquet. Walsh and Linda get into an enthusiastic discussion about their favorite old movies while Emma remains less talkative than usual. Whenever Linda queries Killian on unfamiliar subjects, however, she steps in, deflecting the question or interjecting her own opinion and then answering his grateful smile with a nearly imperceptible blush or a small grin hidden behind her wine glass.
Dancing commences after dinner, with music provided by a live orchestra and a pair of excellent singers whose handheld batons somehow amplify their voices above the din. Linda proves to be a fine dancer and pleasant enough company, but even as he circles the dance floor with her and encourages her bubbly chatter, Killian finds himself keeping tabs on Emma and Walsh.
He has to admit, grudgingly, that whatever his perceived faults, Emma's beau is undeniably attentive and courteous. Killian watches the two of them talk and move together in time to the music, and he sighs. Walsh may not be very interesting, but the man clearly has the potential to be a fine husband, and Killian should take comfort in that, he thinks – the knowledge that if and when she accepts the proposal, Emma will have what she deserves: a smile to greet her when she comes home, a father for her son, and a strong pair of arms to keep her warm at night. His stomach clenches, and he swallows. And as for himself? He'll return with Smee to the Enchanted Forest and resume his quest, and the world will be as it should once again.
"Folks, our night is drawing to a close," one of the singers announces late in the evening. "On behalf of the Healthy Imaginations Book Campaign, we'd like to thank you for spending your evening with us and for your generous donations. As many of you know, it's tradition for our next-to-last dance be an homage to the much-loved movie Enchanted, which was filmed in this very ballroom. So gentlemen, please find a lady you did not accompany this evening, and join us for the King and Queen's Waltz."
Walsh and Emma approach, with Walsh stepping forward to offer Linda his hand. He grins. "Shall we?"
Linda's cheeks are rosy. "Of course, Ozzie."
Emma steps back as they walk off, one hand gripping her elbow self-consciously. The glow of the dimmed chandeliers and the slightly blue overhead lamps plays over her like moonlight, and between the way it makes her blonde hair appear almost silvery white, the gleam of her flawless skin, and the luster of her dress, she shines ethereally like a fairy.
Killian licks his lips, unsure if he can bear to hold her again only to have to let her go. Just one dance, a voice inside him murmurs.One last time. He's going to miss her painfully either way; he might as well let himself have this. He extends his arm. "Grant me the honor, Swan?"
Emma's lashes flutter, her eyes falling on his outstretched fingers, and she hesitates before gingerly setting her hand in his and allowing him to escort her out to the floor without a word. It isn't until she slips into his arms that she finally dares to look up at him, and he knows immediately by her expression that she feels it too: Trepidation. Anticipation. Sadness.
He can't bear to see her sad. Killian gives her a soft, encouraging smile. "Trust this old pirate, Princess?"
Some of the weight lifts from his heart when the corners of her eyes hint at a crinkle and she gives a little nod.
You're in my arms
And all the world is calm
The music playing on for only two
So close together
And when I'm with you
So close to feeling alive
They begin to move and she follows faultlessly tonight, a natural extension of him as they fall in line with the other dancers and he rotates them around the floor. It feels like perfection, this point in time – soft music, magical lighting, and an angel in his arms staring up at him like she somehow knows him and yet cares for him all the same. He knows he doesn't deserve any of it – doesn't deserve her, doesn't deserve this dance – but he feels compelled to relish it nonetheless. Comes of being a pirate, he supposes.
He spins her delicately in time to the music, her skirts swirling around her feet as she moves with the grace of a leaf whirling lazily to the earth. "Beautiful," he breathes, and his chest aches with the truth of it. Emma returns to his embrace, her enormous eyes filled with wonder and uncertainty, and she silently searches him while the music swells into the chorus and his steps grow bolder.
So close to reaching
That famous happy end
Almost believing
This one's not pretend
And now you're beside me
And look how far we've come
So far we are, so close
Killian's heart stutters at the glint of wetness that suddenly appears in her eyes. "Swan?"
She blinks rapidly, embarrassment failing to hide her now down-trodden expression, and he ignores the song's triumphant, sweeping interlude and keeps their steps small, pulling her close so that she can tuck her cheek in the crook of his neck.
"It's alright, love" he whispers in her ear, hugging her to his chest. "It's going to be alright. You'll find your happy ending."
His words make her shudder, and she clings to him like a frightened child, tipping her head forward until her nose rests on his shoulder. Killian closes his eyes against the sting of his own emotions, turning his face to bury his nose in her hair. He breathes her in and savors the softness of her golden tresses beneath his skin, suddenly determined to fill his senses with Emma Swan and bottle this memory as one to both give him life and kill him slowly.
They rock in each others' arms until he feels her take a couple of steadying breaths, and she pulls back at last and gives him a watery smile.
Oh how could I face the faceless days
If I should lose you now
Killian falls back into wider steps as showering tinkles from a harp and swelling bass notes lead into the chorus again. He spins her a few more times to distract her (and himself) before the music slows to the penultimate dramatic pause and they draw to a standstill, staring at one another like opposing statues.
So close, so close
And still so far
They rotate around each other as the song ends, the gentle notes of a piano leading the orchestra into its last few chords before all of it falls away to leave the silvery tone of a solitary violin stretching into the night. Though her hand remains in his, it's a feat of will to pull away from her for the closing bow. Killian straightens and presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles, trying to ignore how bereft he feels now that his moment with her is over. "Perfect, Swan," he tells her quietly. "As I knew you would be."
"You two have fun?" Walsh calls good-naturedly, walking up with Linda on his arm. He frowns when he sees Emma's slightly red-rimmed eyes. "Honey? Is everything okay?"
Emma clears her throat and gives a little laugh. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess. My head is starting to hurt." She affects a grimace. "And my feet may never forgive me."
"Do you want to sit out the last dance?" Linda asks, looking sympathetic.
"I can go get our things," Walsh offers.
Killian holds up his fake hand in order to stay him. "No, mate, I'm happy to do it if you don't mind entertaining my partner for the last dance," he says, motioning in Linda's direction.
Walsh, a little puzzled but agreeable as ever, takes Linda's hand and angles them toward the dance floor just as the band plays the opening notes of the final song. "Are you sure?"
"Quite." Killian backs away in the direction of the coat check with a bob of his head and a forced chuckle. He turns away from them in time to hide his crestfallen smile. "I haven't any dance left in me either."
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The evening alone passes quickly for Smee. Despite the Evil Queen's possession of his heart, the difficult mission hanging over his head, and the lack of alcohol, company, or familiar surroundings, he enjoys himself immensely, nestled amongst the comfortable cushions of Emma's sofa with a plate of the most delightfully sweet biscuits next to one hand and the extraordinary TV controller in the other. Truly a land of miracles, this Land Without Magic – confounding and overwhelming but filled with the most remarkable comforts. Take this object in front of him, for example – a box that shows moving pictures as a source of endless entertainment and information. He's seen many things traveling the realms at the Captain's elbow, but he could not have ever imagined such a thing.
He experiments with the little buttons on the controller the way the boy, Henry, showed him. Taking each numbered channel in succession, he finds dramatic stories, funny stories, a series of channels devoted to people arguing over current events, and several programs about various animals in the wilderness. The shows are frequently punctuated by fascinating interruptions – brief advertisements for things this realm has to offer, like clothing and cleaning implements and food made just for dogs and horseless carriages and beer. His mouth waters at the tempting images of the latter, and he wonders if the Captain's generous lady friend would be able to help him obtain any before their departure.
And then he comes upon a channel calling itself the Food Network – program after program about this world's edible delights and the chefs who prepare them. Smee puts the controller down, enthralled. For the rest of the evening, he watches persistently cheerful people demonstrate how to transform basic ingredients into delicious-looking creations that he suspects taste better than anything that's yet to pass his lips, and he sighs at one point, lamenting this tantalizing world of food that he's likely never to experience.
There are sounds at the front door a little after eleven, and Smee cranes around in his seat. The beautiful Lady Swan keys the door open and enters first, followed by her suitor, Walsh, and the Captain. The Lady appears tired, the Captain's expression is similarly drawn.
Walsh greets him as he helps the Lady remove her cloak. "Hey there, William."
"Uh, hello." Smee looks at the Captain. "Have a nice time, Sir?"
Captain Hook straightens and dons a brittle smile. "It went well enough."
"Unfortunately, Emma's got a headache," Walsh explains. They watch as she leans on a hand against the wall and shucks her slippers off into the corner with an audible groan of relief. "Do you want something, honey? Aspirin maybe?"
"Perhaps a hot cocoa with cinnamon before bed would be good for what ails you, Swan," the Captain suggests, switching his fake hand back out for his hook.
Her look up at him is tinted with pleasant surprise before she smiles sheepishly and chuffs. "I don't suppose either would hurt," she admits ruefully. "Does everyone want some?"
There are affirmative sounds all around, and Smee jumps to his feet eagerly and trails the party to the kitchen.
"Want some help?" Walsh loosens the bow at his throat.
She reaches for a tea kettle. "No, I've got this," she says, running water into it. "But the aspirin's upstairs in the medicine cabinet. Do you mind?"
"Sure." He grins and heads away.
She waits until he's out of earshot before giving the Captain the side-eye. "So what are you going to do after we destroy the Sea Star tomorrow?" she asks quietly, hoisting her full kettle onto the stove and activating the flame.
Smee looks up sharply, panic striking him like a hammer as he realizes how quickly the clock is ticking on his mission to retrieve the Sea Star for the Queen. "T-tomorrow?" he sputters.
"Aye," Captain Hook confirms grimly. "At two o'clock. Emma has a friend who has a…" He falters.
"A hydraulic press," she supplies. "It'll get the job done. What then?" Worry paints her face as she meets his eye. "This woman, this…"
"Evil Queen."
"Right. Her." The lines on Lady Swan's brow deepen. "You said she already tried to kill you for stealing the stone. What's she going to do when you show up and she finds out it's gone?"
He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. "We're not going to show up."
She squints. "What?"
"What?!" They both turn to see to see Smee aghast, his slightly rum-ruddy complexion turning pale. He shrinks under their dual stares, the Captain's reproving frown in particular causing him to close his mouth and appear contrite. "Sorry, Sir. I – I just don't understand what you mean."
"Emma!" Walsh's slightly muffled voice comes from the top of the stairs. "Where is the aspirin exactly?"
The Lady heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes. "Be there in a second!" she yells back. She focuses back on the Captain with an expectant look.
"We have a magic bean that will take us anywhere," he points out in a low voice. "We don't have to go back to the Jolly."
"But Sir! The ship –"
"Will be fine without us," he says firmly. "Roberts will take control in two more days and take her back out to sea. He's from the Southern Isles. If we use the bean to transport us there, we can lie low far out of the Evil Queen's reach and rejoin the Jolly the next time he brings her into port." He turns back to the Lady, the side of his mouth twitching with a half-hearted grin. "Our world is a big place. It'll be easy enough to steer clear of Misthaven for a while. Pirates don't survive without learning well how to avoid our enemies."
She considers this, taking a deep breath. "I guess it's not the worst plan ever," she acquiesces. "We can talk more about it in the morning." She points to a knob on the stove. "Can you shut this off when the water boils? Just turn it counter-clockwise as far as it will go." The side of her mouth quirks into a somber little smile when the Captain nods, and she trudges upstairs.
Sweat beads on Smee's brow. Between the infinitesimally small chance of saving the Sea Star from destruction and now the revelation that the Captain does not intend to return them to the Jolly where the Queen awaits them, the success of his mission hangs perilously in the balance. He thinks of the sleeping potion burning a hole in his pocket and swallows. He's not sure there's any choice left in the matter. Perhaps falling into an eternal sleep, even with bad dreams, is a better fate than whatever the Evil Queen would otherwise have had in store for the Captain. After all, the whole of the Enchanted Forest knows of Snow White and how she survived such a curse. Perhaps it's a mercy, he thinks mournfully, the best of the terrible options afforded them.
The Captain fidgets restlessly before moving to pull four mugs down from a cabinet, having clearly acclimated to the Lady's home. The kettle whistles as he sets them on the counter, and he carefully turns the knob as instructed. The flame shrinks down to nothing, and satisfaction ghosts his lips at this newfound ability to control fire with such precision.
"This is quite the realm," Smee comments, hoping his words don't sound as jittery as he feels.
"Indeed." Captain Hook's face is solemn. "If circumstances were different, I wouldn't have minded staying to explore it." He shakes his head and turns to another cabinet, retrieving a large jar of brown powder and a small metal spice tin. "Sadly, that's doesn't appear to be in the cards for us, Mr. Smee."
His guilt feels like a lead noose as Smee glances at the cups and uses the counter to cover his movements. "No, Sir," he says, carefully fingering the Queen's glass vial out of the purse in his coat.
The Captain sighs and locates a spoon in a drawer. He combines equal amounts of powder and hot water in each mug and stirs, the most enticing aroma blooming from the rich brown liquid that forms. Setting the spoon aside, he lifts the nearest cup to his lips, gently blowing away the top layer of steam before risking a taste. A crease forms on his brow, and he eyes the drink with resignation. "It really is better with whipped cream and cinnamon," he mutters, setting it down and turning away to pull open the door to the tall metal cabinet in the corner.
Smee doesn't dare breathe as his hand darts out and dumps the contents of the vial into the Captain's cup. His stomach churns at the sight of the liquid disappearing beneath the surface of the cocoa. Gods forgive him. Footsteps behind him herald the return of the Captain's friends, and he straightens awkwardly just as the Lady Swan enters, Walsh in tow.
She sees the Captain studying the contents of the glowing box and looks amused. "What are you looking for?"
"The whipped cream, love." He bobs and weaves a bit, turning his attention to the items housed on the inside of the door.
Her eyes fall on the cups. "You made the cocoa?" she asked, sounding impressed.
The Captain glances at her over his shoulder smugly. "I'm a quick study," he replies.
"Hmph. Let's see." She smiles, swipes his mug off the counter, and raises it to her lips.
"No!" Smee's scream comes a split-second too late.
The Captain's friend swallows and goes pale, gasping for air as her pretty features are stricken in a silent cry. The mug falls out of her hand and spills onto the countertop, her eyes roll back in her head, and the Captain only barely manages to catch her when she slumps to the floor.
So Close (Jon McLaughlin)
You're in my arms
And all the world is calm
The music playing on for only two
So close together
And when I'm with you
So close to feeling alive
A life goes by
Romantic dreams must die
So I bid my goodbye
And never knew
So close, was waiting
Waiting here with you
And now, forever, I know
All that I wanted
To hold you so close
So close to reaching
That famous happy end
Almost believing
This one's not pretend
And now you're beside me
And look how far we've come
So far we are, so close
Oh how could I face the faceless days
If I should lose you now
We're so close to reaching
That famous happy end
Almost believing
This one's not pretend
Let's go on dreaming
For we know we are
So close, so close
And still so far
