I apologize (again) for the wait! I'll try to be better this week. :)
The Past
Connor had hit Lyanna.
It took only a few days for Killian to figure it out. The signs were subtle, but they were there nonetheless. He saw it in the way she flinched when Connor entered the room, or the way she stared at the ground and shrunk against the wall if her father's eyes darted in her direction, or the way her hand would fly reflexively to her face when there was a loud noise.
The discovery filled him with a simmering rage that he had rarely felt before.
"You promised to keep her safe," he hissed to Helena one evening when Connor was out and Lyanna was already asleep.
Helena looked at him levelly. "I said I'd keep her in one piece. There's only so much one can do against a madman."
Killian rolled his eyes in disgust and turned away.
After that, for the first time, he started planning his escape from his aunt and uncle. He could do it, he was certain. If he was patient and just put aside a few coins each day for himself after busking, then he could surely get away within the year and support himself and Lyanna. It would be difficult, certainly, but surely difficulty was better than the constant threat of his uncle's fist.
He began to play his violin for longer and longer each day to get as many coins as possible. It was because of his longer hours that he met Milah again.
Halfway through a piece, he glanced up at his audience to see a familiar pair of sharp grey eyes watching him. In fact, she looked familiar in many ways; her dark curls were still long and unkempt, her cheekbones were still sharp, her hands still graceful, her posture still tall and defiant... and yet, there were differences too. For one thing, she had breasts; a teenaged boy noticed such things. For another, when their eyes met, there was a look of notable relief on her face that a younger Milah would never have shown.
Killian put down his bow at the end of the phrase, despite the song being unfinished, and moved over to her.
"Milah? What are you doing here?" He asked in amazement.
"You play the violin," she observed, ignoring his question to stare at the old instrument in his hand. "I wondered why you bothered to drag it around with you when you never played. It's a pity, really; you might have kept us law-abiding citizens."
Killian raised an eyebrow. "And missed all of our fun?"
Tilting her head to the side in consideration, Milah finally shrugged. "Fair enough."
"So, what brings you here?" Killian tried again.
"May I hold it?" Milah asked, reaching out for the instrument.
"No," he replied. "Not until you answer my question."
Milah rolled her eyes and pouted, which was strangely attractive. "I ran away, of course."
She reached for the instrument, but Killian yanked it out of the way. "Why?"
"Because my uncle wants me to marry this horrible old spinster man," Milah complained with a shudder. "Scared of his own shadow, I swear, and twice my age at least."
"And you came here because...?"
"Well, for one thing, it's easy to hide in a city, and, for another..." Milah trailed off, looking strangely uncomfortable.
"Yes?" Killian prompted.
"I hoped that you and your family might still be here and that you might be able to help me hide," Milah confessed. "While living on the streets again doesn't particularly frighten me, I do have some concerns about what may happen to someone of my gender and age."
Killian sighed, rubbing his eye tiredly.
"If it's too much trouble..." Milah trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
"No, not at all. I was just trying to think of where you could go," Killian muttered. "Oof!"
Milah had thrown her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you."
Killian ended up taking her to his uncle's theatre. While it was often busy, there were some storage rooms where one could hide quite easily. Milah made herself quite comfortable there with little prompting.
The first night that she spent in the theatre had Killian awake most of the night. What would happen if Connor discovered her? Or what if the door was locked the next day and Milah starved?
The next day, Killian got up after only brief snatches of sleep to bring his friend food. Early morning sun was just beginning to inch along the cobblestones of the street when Killian reached the theatre. It smelled strongly of alcohol and vomit, but Killian simply wrinkled his nose and pressed onwards, sliding through the back door as quietly as he could. Several downward flights of stairs later, Killian reached Milah's storage room.
She was where he had left her, curled up in a pile of old costumes like a small animal in its den. In the dim light from his candle, Killian could just barely see her face. It looked much softer as she slept; awake, she always appeared to be bracing herself against the evils of the world. Now, she looked as innocent as Lyanna.
After a moment of observation, Killian dropped some food by her still form and turned to leave.
"You never let me hold the violin," Milah's voice cut in sleepily. "Do you have it with you now?"
Killian jumped slightly and turned to face his friend. She blinked up at him lazily, as though she were still too tired to throw in her usual casual aggression.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Killian whispered.
"Answer the bloody question," she muttered, burying her face further into the clothes until Killian could only see a tangle of curls.
"Why do you want to hold it?" Killian replied, perplexed.
Milah yawned and stretched, looking for all the world like an oversized barn cat.
"Because it's beautiful. I love the shape, and the wood looks so smooth. It's most beautiful when it's played, of course, but can't you just look at it and hear music? I want to see what it is about something so small that can create something so gorgeous. Holding it would be like holding living and breathing art in your hands," Milah said dreamily.
Killian raised his eyebrows doubtfully. "If you say so."
"You think I'm mad," Milah sighed.
"Not necessarily. You could just be drunk," Killian corrected with a smirk.
Milah's face fell into a pout.
"I'll bring you some dinner later, alright?" Killian promised.
He couldn't keep from grinning as he left. He'd forgotten how... different, Milah was.
That night, he came back to find Milah still on the same pile of clothes. The only difference was that now she was sitting cross-legged with a pencil in hand and a pile of crumpled papers on her lap. Her hair obscured most of what had captured her attention, but what he could see of her face revealed an expression of intense concentration.
"What are you doing?" He asked quietly to avoid frightening her.
It turned out that such manners were wasted; Milah didn't even look up.
"Drawing," she said absently.
Killian moved to look over her shoulder.
"That's amazing," he breathed.
Her drawing was of his violin, looking so life-like that Killian almost believed that he would be able to pick it up off of the page and play it.
"It would have been better if you'd let me hold it," Milah muttered.
"I didn't know that you you could draw," Killian commented, sitting beside her and passing her food.
Milah accepted it gratefully after absently wiping blackened fingers on her skirt. "Well, I didn't exactly have anything with which to draw when we were last together."
"You've always done it, then?"
His companion nodded distantly. "Oh, yes. I've wanted to be an artist for as long as I can remember. I feel almost as though I see things differently. Maybe it's only because I'm looking, but I swear that I see hundreds of colours and shadows where others would only see dozens. And where other people just see one scene, I see a million possible scenes based on the way the light could touch it. Light is so beautiful, isn't it? It changes absolutely everything. It can make the most dreary thing gorgeous, or the opposite, I suppose. I just see all of these amazing images and I just want to capture them forever so that people can see them the way I do."
Milah paused to glance up at Killian with some trepidation. Perhaps it was fear of judgment, or perhaps simply fear that came from disclosing something so personal. However, where the words might have sounded crazy coming from anyone else's mouth, they sounded natural coming from Milah's. Her grey eyes lit with a subtle passion that reminded Killian of the simmering energy of a thunderstorm.
"I think I understand," Killian finally replied. "It's a bit like music, only music lets you capture a moment only briefly before letting it go again. Still, the magnification of whatever the moment holds is the same."
Nodding appreciatively, Milah turned back to her sketch. "Do you want to be a musician, then?"
"No," Killian admitted. "Well... I'm unsure. You see, my mother did that, and she was brilliant. I would hate to just copy her and be some sort of a pale imitation. No, I don't think I'd want to perform for a living. It's far too personal. I do love composing, though. I wouldn't mind being a composer."
"Well, they're more or less the same," Milah argued.
"No, they're not. When you compose you leave the subject on the paper. When you perform, you have to live it. My mother was wonderful at living a million different lives as honestly as she lived her own, and that can be wonderful at times, but doing it all of the time? That would be wretched. No, I'd rather leave whatever I'm writing on a page, where I can just put it away and forget about it."
"I suppose," Milah acknowledged thoughtfully. "I've never really thought of that before."
The two teenagers descended into companionable silence, with only the soft sound of charcoal on paper in the background.
"Would you write me a song?" Asked Milah suddenly.
Killian looked at her in surprise. "About what?"
"Me, of course," Milah retorted. "We can do an artistic exchange."
"Sounds fascinating," Killian drawled sarcastically.
"I mean it! Our art is a tiny peek into our minds, and I'm curious to see how you see me. Besides, I need something to work on while I sit down here." She looked up from her paper pleadingly.
Killian considered her for a moment in amusement. "Alright, fine."
For the next two weeks, when Killian brought Milah meals, both would sit quietly and work on their own art. Milah insisted that neither of them see the other's work until it was finished, which meant that they sat back-to-back. The time would fly by, though, simply because their work would often be forgotten in favour of conversation. Images of their lives over the past years sprang up in the darkened storage room, and some of them even within Milah's pages of work.
"Would I be able to meet Lyanna?" Milah requested one evening after another of Killian's anecdotes about his cousin. "She sounds like a darling."
Killian considered the matter carefully - Lyanna rarely left the house - but finally agreed.
The next morning, Killian carried his cousin on his back to Milah's hiding spot. The closer they got to the storage room, the tighter Lyanna's grip grew around his neck.
"Oi, Lyanna! I can't breathe," protested Killian.
"I'm not so frightening, I promise," called Milah softly from down the hall.
Lyanna's grip tightened further, and Killian gave up all hope of breathing. When he finally placed his cousin on the ground, it was with great relief.
Killian had warned Milah that the little girl didn't speak, but nothing could have fully prepared her for Lyanna's timidity. Lyanna had agreed excitedly to meet Killian's friend, but, upon seeing her, she promptly hid herself behind Killian's legs. Milah shot Killian a look of horror, clearly thinking she'd done something wrong.
"Good evening," Milah said awkwardly.
When she received no response, she turned back to her sketching. Several minutes passed, in which Lyanna grew increasingly curious. Eventually, she prodded Killian forward so that she could see what Milah was doing, using her cousin like a human shield. Milah only moved once, when Lyanna accidentally touched a spot on Killian's back that was sore from his uncle's latest beating and he let out a quiet cry, but after a small frown of understanding, Milah moved back to her work.
Finally, with a gentle nudge, Killian moved his cousin in front of him.
"I'm not allowed to look," he explained.
Lyanna inched forward further to stare at the page, then at Killian, as though comparing the two images. Her terror began to melt away into wonder.
"Would you like to try?" Milah offered.
Lyanna hesitated and glanced at Killian, who nodded encouragingly.
By the end of an hour, Lyanna was not only used to Milah, she was also fearlessly curled up by her side, sketching with a small smile on her face. Killian resolved at that second to make time to draw with Lyanna instead of just reading to her or helping her with her writing.
"We should go now," Killian said eventually.
Lyanna held up her hand pleadingly.
"Five more minutes?" Killian guessed. "Sorry, love, but I think that if we wait too much longer your mother will miss us."
Lyanna hung her head but started to stand.
"Wait, Killian, I wanted to talk to you," Milah said quickly, moving away from the little girl after squeezing her shoulder lightly.
She pulled him aside and Killian raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"I don't want to embarrass you by bringing this up, but I just needed to ask you. Your uncle hurts you a lot, doesn't he?"
Killian immediately felt his face flush in humiliation and looked away.
"I don't need you to bare your soul to me or anything, but have you ever considered leaving? That poor little girl is terrified of her own shadow. I think that's a good reason to leave, if not for yourself."
"I have considered leaving," Killian replied, but trailed off. Unfortunately, much of the money he'd been saving had instead gone towards feeding Milah. That wasn't knowledge that he wanted to burden her with.
"And?" Milah prompted.
"And I'm still considering it," Killian told her from between a tightly clenched jaw.
Milah looked up at her friend sorrowfully. "I really think you should. No one deserves to be kicked around the way you two seem to be. Besides, maybe, if you did leave... we could leave together. We could go on adventures and take care of Lyanna and make beautiful art... it could be so wonderful!"
"It could," agreed Killian hesitantly. Of course, it was easy to dream about running off with his friend and his cousin, perhaps grabbing Ciarra and Liam on the way. It was tempting to imagine them all living together in a small house with a little garden, all working and providing an actual loving environment for Lyanna to grow up in. But, then again, neither of Lyanna's parents would take their departure well. The loss of income from Killian's departure combined with him stealing their daughter, even if their outrage would be from possessiveness rather than love, could be disastrous. Besides, they would need money, and they would need jobs. They might also need to grow up a little bit. It was easy to dream about running, but the logistics of it were less easy to figure out. Besides, Helena was growing increasingly possessive of Lyanna; even getting her outside for an hour had been difficult.
Milah sighed and turned back to Lyanna.
"I have a present for you," Milah told her. "I did it quite quickly, but I hope you like it."
Hesitantly, Lyanna took the page the young woman was offering and stared at it. After a moment, her mouth stretched into a shy grin. Killian quietly moved over to glance at it too: it was the perfect likeness of Lyanna.
His cousin gave Milah a quick hug before retreating to Killian. Milah smiled wistfully as she watched them leave.
That night, Lyanna gave Killian a present as well. He had just closed his eyes to sleep when a small hand poked him hesitantly in the arm. He opened his eyes just in time to have a page fall on his face.
"Is this your drawing?" He asked sleepily, moving to light a candle.
The Present
"Do you still have it? I didn't see it," Emma broke in.
"It's another of those items that I prefer to have with me," Killian explained, gently reaching into his pocket and extracting a small... bottle.
Emma looked at him disbelievingly.
"Pirate, love. I'd rather not have it get wet."
As he spoke, Killian gently pulled a yellowed, slightly tattered page from the bottle. It was folded neatly, and Killian handled it with the utmost care as he unfolded it to reveal the charcoal sketch.
Emma took his cue and took it from him with a very light touch. She couldn't suppress a laugh when she saw it, though. It was clearly Lyanna's attempt at a self-portrait with her cousin. For some reason, it wasn't what she'd expected. In fact, it looked like any young child's attempt at drawing. It was a strange thing to realize that a small, abused girl who lived hundreds of years ago wasn't so different from children now.
"She really captured you perfectly," Emma commented with a grin. A disproportionate stick figure with messy hair and a clean-shaven face grinned back at her lopsidedly.
"She certainly recognized 'devilishly handsome' when she saw it," Killian agreed.
"Yes. There's nothing more 'devilishly handsome' than a potato-shaped head," Emma teased.
Killian's smile slipped away.
"Oh, come on, I was joking," Emma complained.
"Oh, no, Swan. I was just thinking," Killian replied, putting his smile back on reflexively.
Emma studied him. "Alright. What next?"
The Past
"I've finished a masterpiece," Milah announced.
Killian looked up in surprise. They had fallen into a pleasant and familiar routine of working together, and the thought of it ending was strangely disappointing.
"Perhaps I should be the judge of whether it's truly a masterpiece," Killian suggested with a twinkle in his eye.
"Well, you shan't get to judge until you finish yours," Milah declared in a sing-song voice.
"Oh, I finished weeks ago," Killian said with a shrug, pulling out some papers from the bottom of his stack.
Milah chuckled at that.
"What?" Killian asked, thrown off guard.
"So did I!" Milah admitted.
A look of understanding passed between them, before Milah shoved a paper towards him. "Shall we trade?'
The sketch left Killian speechless. Of course, he had known that Milah was an extremely competent artist, so he'd known that it would be a high quality piece of art. Nevertheless, it still managed to surprise him. In the sketch, Killian stood playing the violin with a layered, almost dreamlike background of several scenes. He recognized stories that he'd recounted in their shapes, fading in and out of each other as though they were memories just passing by. Perhaps they were. He knew that Milah, of all people, would understand that music could tell stories. Most surprisingly, though, was how she'd drawn him. He looked absolutely lost in his own world, a small smile playing across his lips.
"I realized just now that it was actually ridiculously stupid for me to ask to trade; I can't read music," Milah laughed after a moment. "Of course, your writing is very fine, but I know nothing of the content."
"Milah, I believe you could make a living as an artist. This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen," Killian murmured, still engrossed in the images. His heart felt full at the thought of anyone creating anything something so wonderful and so personal for him. It was the greatest gift he had ever received, except for his violin.
Milah bit her lip and smiled. "I told you it was a masterpiece."
Killian could have stared at the picture for days, but Milah soon lost patience.
"Music! Now," she insisted, plopping his pages of notes unceremoniously on top of her sketch.
"Fine," Killian sighed. "I'm afraid that I wrote it for an instrument in addition to voice, so I'll only be able to give you the melody."
He took a deep breath and started to hum.
"Stop! Where are the words?" Milah interrupted.
"The vocal part is just humming," Killian replied, rolling his eyes.
He began again and Milah listened attentively, eyes sparkling.
"I love it," she announced. "I do believe that may be a masterpiece on its own, even without the instrument. I like the humming quite a lot, actually. It's quite mysterious, isn't it? Or intimate, or something."
Killian blushed slightly at her word choice-
The Present
Emma snorted.
Killian paused before slowly turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't believe that for one second."
"What? That I wrote music that someone valued?" Killian exclaimed in mock-outrage.
"No, that you could ever be that innocent!" Emma clarified, amused.
"Two hundred years is a long time, Swan," Killian smirked. "I would hope that I wasn't the same at fourteen or fifteen."
The Past
"I might have to think more about it to give it a better review," Milah finally decided. "I feel like I could hear it over and over again and still find something new."
"That's more to do with your mind than my music," Killian countered.
Milah shrugged, but a small grin spread across her face at the compliment.
"Killian?" She said hesitantly.
"Yes?"
Milah looked at the pages of music again, a small frown creasing her face. "Perhaps it's just my mind layering things onto the music again, but I swear that the song is full of longing as well. I long to see the sun again... I like it down here very much, of course, but do you think... might it be safe... could I go outside for a little bit, do you think? Surely I wouldn't run into my uncle just on a brief walk, would I?"
Killian frowned thoughtfully. "It's up to you. I think the chances are quite slim, though."
"Good."
Milah was dragging him upstairs by the hand before he could say anything else. The second she felt morning sunshine on her face, a radiant smile drifted lazily across her face.
"Come on," Milah said, yanking him towards the market.
It was the market's busiest hour, but Milah seemed thrilled to be around people again rather than bothered by their sheer numbers. After a moment, Milah turned to him with a wicked glint in her eye.
"Perhaps we should steal something, just for old time's sake," she suggested.
Killian wrinkled his forehead. "Why? I have money, and I can earn some more by playing."
"But stealing is fun," Milah countered.
"Not for the people being stolen from," Killian pointed out. Sure, doing something dangerous was thrilling and even satisfying if the merchant seemed like enough of a jerk, but his conscience (which sounded suspiciously like Liam) was firmly against stealing when it wasn't necessary.
Milah pouted, but perked up slightly when she saw a merchant selling jewelry. She slipped off without another word, leaving Killian to look around for a somewhat clear area for him to play his violin.
Of course, he saw something else entirely.
A man was pointing very obviously in Milah's direction, conversing seriously with several men around him.
For a moment, time seemed to still as Killian's stomach dropped. There was Milah, blissfully unaware of the situation as she admired the various wares of the jewelry merchant. Then, there were the men, now moving forward in a determined fashion.
"Milah!" Killian shouted in warning.
The noise of the market was so intense that Milah just barely heard her name. She lifted her head and glanced around. After a moment in which she saw neither Killian nor her uncle and his companions, she turned back to the jewelry with a shrug.
Killian began to shove his way through the crowds towards her, ignoring both angry shouts and the scent of unwashed human bodies. As he ran, all he could think about was how stupid they had been. Of course, if her uncle had tracked her to the city, the market would be the obvious place for him to wait for her to appear. Everyone went to the market at least occasionally, and it was well known that it was a wonderful place for any fugitive to hide in plain sight. However, if the hunter was patient enough and good enough at looking, that plan could backfire very quickly.
"Milah! Run!" Killian yelled again, once he was closer.
This time, Milah heard him. She turned and saw her uncle, and her face drained of all colour. Quickly, she turned and started to sprint away. Killian ran after her, but her uncle and his friends were closer, larger, and faster. There were too many people in his way, and no matter how much he pushed and yelled, the bodies just seemed to multiply. In the end, all he could do was watch as the men closed in around her, grabbed her in spite of her kicking and screaming, and started to pull her away. By the time he'd escaped the crowds, she was gone.