"Let's stop here, shall we?" Killian said tonelessly.
Emma scowled at the man as he moved next to the trunk of a particularly large tree. Part of her was relieved to stop. It had a been a long day and trudging through the woods for the past few hours after leaving Killian's ship had her feeling dead on her feet. Hook didn't say so, but Emma sensed that he was feeling the same way from his increasingly slower pace throughout the trek. To make matters worse, it had started raining about an hour ago and she was now soaked to the skin. She hadn't even had any conversation to distract her. Ever since catching her with his belongings, Killian had barely said a word. What he did say was said tightly, lacking his usual good humour. While Emma had initially wondered if he was just upset at the reminders from his past, she was now fairly certain that he was angry with her. Well, he was welcome to be angry. She'd just be angry right back.
Moving towards him without a word, Emma took off her sopping cloak and wrung out her hair, resolutely avoiding Killian's eyes.
"I'll take the first watch," Killian offered tiredly.
"Fine," Emma bit back, laying down on the mossy, damp forest floor and trying to ignore the raindrops leaking through the canopy of leaves over her head onto her face. The roots poking into her back weren't particularly comfortable either.
Emma felt Killian's eyes on her. "You're going to be cold without your cloak, Swan," Killian said after a moment.
"It's soaking wet," Emma snapped.
The pirate didn't reply, clearly deciding that this was not an argument he wanted to have at the moment. Instead, he sighed and moved to the edge of the relatively sheltered area under the tree and sat as still as a statue, staring into the darkness.
Once he was still, Emma huddled further into herself, attempting to hold back shivers and calm her breathing enough to slip into sleep. God knows that she was tired enough. However, what with the discomfort and thoughts of everything that could go wrong with their plan to return to the present, sleep was frustratingly elusive.
Ten minutes with increasingly violent shivering passed.
"Swan?" Hook called softly.
Emma just scowled and buried her face in her arm.
Suddenly, Killian began to shift around. Emma heard a hiss of pain and a quiet curse, and then suddenly something warm and heavy was draped over her. Before she could respond, Hook had moved back to his previous position, now holding his knees to his chest for warmth.
Emma opened her mouth to protest (who did he think he was, attempting to take care of her when he was clearly angry at her?) but found herself distracted. The coat was warm and soft and smelled pleasantly like Killian. If he wanted to give it up, that was his own problem. In fact, he deserved it for being such an irritable ass.
However, Emma still found herself unable to sleep. Now she was distracted by guilt and couldn't help studying the pirate's still silhouette. He looked much more vulnerable than she had ever really seen him. It was one thing for him to be missing his coat, but his posture itself was far more sunken than usual. His chin rested on his knees as though he was too tired to hold his head up, and now he was shivering lightly. With a sigh of her own, Emma curled one last time into the comfort of the warm coat that smelled of the ocean and spice and something unmistakably clean and Killian, fully intending to give it back to its owner, when she felt something wet on the inside of the coat.
She would have assumed that it was just rain, but it felt oddly warm and more wet than the slight dampness of the rest of the coat. Hesitantly, Emma brought her fingers to her nose and froze, smelling the unmistakable metallic scent of blood.
"Hook, you're hurt," Emma said, sitting up abruptly.
Killian jumped slightly. "Swan, I thought you were asleep."
She was already moving towards him, the coat wrapped around her still like a blanket. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably now as she looked at the past few hours in a new light. Perhaps his silence didn't have anything to do with anger at all. Maybe it was pain that had caused his tense silence, and she'd just misread it.
"Stop avoiding the question. What happened? Why didn't you say anything?"
"Calm down, love. It's barely a scratch," Killian replied.
"Where?" Emma demanded, kneeling down beside him.
"I've taken care of it. Just go back to sleep," he brushed her off gently.
"Where?" Emma snarled.
Even in the dim light, she could see Killian rolling his eyes, but he gingerly lifted up his shirt to reveal his right side.
"Just a scratch and a cracked rib, I'd wager," he said.
Emma leaned down to examine it. She couldn't see much from the first rays of sun struggling to shine past the clouds, but she could see that he'd tied some fabric loosely around himself. Hesitantly, Emma brushed her fingertips against it.
"It's already bled through. I think it's more than a scratch," she hissed.
"It'll stop eventually. If it doesn't stop by morning, I should have a needle and thread in one of my pockets so that I can close it up," Killian mumbled. He sounded exhausted.
"Hook! It's been hours. You need to do it now," she said urgently.
"While I'm flattered by your concern, love, I think I may need better light to attempt it," he replied, looking around pointedly.
"Are you kidding me?" Emma exclaimed, her insides twisting with worry. "Well, you should at least lie down or lean against something."
Without waiting for permission, she grabbed his arm and started to pull him to his feet, causing him to emit a low groan between clenched teeth.
"I can stand on my own, lass," he said tersely, pulling his arm away from hers as he moved slowly towards the tree trunk to lean against it. As soon as he was seated again, breathing hard, Emma reached down to examine the cut once again.
"Damn, I wish I had a flashlight."
"A what?" He asked, genuinely confused as he swatted her hand away.
"Flashlight! You know, like a... torch, but you just press a button and the light comes on?" Emma said hurriedly.
"Ah, yes, I believe I'm familiar with those devices. I'd just not heard the name. Rather a strange name, really," he muttered to himself, squeezing his right arm tightly against the bandaged area with a slight groan.
"Do you need help?" Emma asked awkwardly, realizing that this was one time when a left hand would probably have been helpful.
Hook just glared at her, which made her irritated once again.
"So, how did this even happen?" She asked.
"Well, you know how it is. Sharp objects come in contact with skin, the skin breaks-"
"By 'sharp object', I'm assuming you mean sword? Belonging to...?" Emma cut in, choosing to ignore his smartass remarks.
"No one of consequence. Just a few men eager to challenge my position. I'm confident that they won't be doing that again," Hook said, a hard edge to his voice. "Are you going to sleep, love? If not, I think I-"
"You should have told me," she said angrily. "We could've stopped earlier-"
"As I said, Swan, I took care of it. Besides, it should be of little consequence to you."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Emma shouted.
Killian raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, as I understand it, you are returning to New York. I'll ensure that you return to the present, and, after that, my state of well-being is hardly your concern as I doubt we will meet again."
"You aren't seriously going with that, are you?" Emma said, bristling as she read between the lines. Did he honestly believe that she valued his well-being only for his usefulness to her?
"You certainly didn't need something else to worry about," Killian added as if she hadn't spoken. His concerned expression in the dim light said it all; she was still an open book to him. He could tell how much the uncertainty of the future was bothering her.
"Yeah, because I wouldn't have worried if you'd dropped dead from blood loss or anything," she muttered.
"Well, there would be no point in worrying at that point, love. Death is rather irreversible and worrying about it is a bloody waste of energy," Killian groaned, readjusting his arm over the makeshift bandage.
Emma scowled at him, but her mind had suddenly leapt back to the Jolly Roger, to cupboards and drawers packed with mementos to lost loved ones. She supposed that if anyone had learned lessons about the irreversibility of death, it would be Killian. The contrast between his pragmatism and her parents views, for example, was significant. Her parents were people who believed that death was never permanent, and, for them, perhaps that was true. It was also true for Rumplestiltskin, which must have been especially horrible for Killian. Apparently, powers of resurrection were selective and not always just.
As usual, Killian saw right through her sudden emotional shift.
"Something wrong, love?" He looked at her searchingly.
It was at that moment that Emma came to a conclusion with startling clarity. "Were you going to tell me before you saw me with that picture?" Emma asked suddenly.
Killian opened his mouth to respond, but then paused, scratching behind his ear uncomfortably. "I suppose that it did slip my mind after that..."
"So you were mad at me." It wasn't a question.
"I apologize. It was childish on my part, but I wasn't in the mood for conversation. You deserved to know that I had sustained injury, but I needed some time to myself," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes.
Emma felt a small twinge of guilt. "You didn't want me to talk to you about... what I'd found?"
"I avoid backstory at all costs, Swan," Killian sighed.
In a sense, Emma could understand it. She'd had her share of unpleasant memories. They sat in a tiny shadowed corner of her mind that allowed her to mostly forget them and function on a day to day basis. That corner was the place where she kept the hurt of being abandoned by her parents and later Neal, the hurt of never being wanted, and the anger towards the people in the system who had never provided the love craved by a lonely little girl. As long as they stayed in that corner, the grief was minimal, but the second she pulled them to the surface again, the pain was always as strong as before. People had a tendency to claim that time healed all wounds, but Emma had learned that time did no such thing. Time just taught you to live with the burden of grief.
"Did you talk about it with Milah?" The question popped out before Emma could stop it, seemingly from thin air.
Killian glanced at her in surprise, but recovered quickly. "Well, there wasn't too much to tell Milah. She was already familiar with a great deal of it."
Emma tilted her head in thought. "Wait, so... are you saying that you met before she married Rumplestiltskin?"
"Aye, we knew each other some time before," Killian confirmed, looking faraway.
A million questions flooded Emma's mind at once, half-blinding her. She wanted nothing more than to just let them all flood out, regardless of their coherence, but she knew she had to handle the situation carefully.
"So, no backstory. Never? Not with anyone? Not even someone you won't see much of in the future?" Emma prompted.
Killian chuckled quietly. "Swan, subtlety was never your strong point. There was a reason I wished to avoid the subject earlier; if you wish to know, I doubt that I can deny you anything." There was a hint of something almost wistful or resigned in his words.
"Well, Captain, I would love to be your first," Emma said teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Killian grinned in spite of himself at her wording.
"What would you like to know?"
Emma bit her lip in consideration, faces and names and letters and music all blurring together.
"Your parents," she said finally. "Who were they?"
Killian closed his eyes, and soon enough his deep, smooth voice was painting the air with pictures and faces long forgotten by the world for well onto two hundred years.
The next chapter is going to focus on my own version of Hook's parents. I'll try to get it up quickly! Thanks again for reading. :)