Thanks for your many kind words last chapter. Again, I always read and appreciate them, even if I haven't responded yet.
I know that it's probably a shock for this to be up so soon after my abysmal updating for the past while, but here you are! The wonderful Trish Tavor wasn't able to beta this one, so if there are any errors, they're my own. Comments are always appreciated. :)
If things go as planned, there should be 2-3 more (really long) chapters. I may have to split the next one into two just because of the things I want to cover, but we are nearing the end. I'm planning to have this monster finished before 2016. Since my beta is away, I may not post them this week, but you can expect 2-3 more pretty quickly after that. Again, thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to continue reading this monster project, especially those who have been consistently reviewing. Believe me, I notice who you are, and I'm sending you each a million hugs; seriously, knowing that you enjoy it is the reason I haven't given up on this entirely over the past really rough months.
Happy holidays!
The Past - 1815
"I love poetry."
After finishing his note with a flourish, Killian sighed and scratched out the entire line of music. He threw the page aside, watching it flutter to the ground in the dim candlelight. Milah snickered audibly as he sat back in frustration, leaning against a stack of old discarded costumes. "Why?"
Her face lit up more brightly than the candle. Killian loved it when he saw that expression pass her face. It meant that he was in for a long, passionate speech.
"Well, it's like art and music, isn't it? It's like painting a picture with your words. You can almost see them dancing across the sky as you read them, not that I'm all that wonderful at reading. Poetry makes me want to be great at it, though. Then I could watch everything normal become brilliant, just like when I draw." The way her tongue caressed the words made Killian think that every word Milah spoke was poetry. She could paint the horizon with an image by just opening her mouth.
Milah's soft voice drifted away, and she continued drawing whatever she was working on with a far-off expression on her face.
That didn't fool Killian. He knew that she was just waiting for more prompting to continue.
"What made you think of that?" He asked, trying to push his infuriatingly monotonous double bass line out of his head.
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
Milah smirked. "Well, I suppose that I could tell you. I wrote you a poem. Or, rather, I made it up in my head. I wouldn't want to write it down because it would be too embarrassing; my cursive is terrible. Besides, I think poetry should be a fleeting thing - a brief impression - just like music. It should disappear afterwards and just leave you with a feeling of fullness."
Raising an eyebrow, Killian leaned forward. "Well, then, let's hear it."
Milah leaned forward as well. "You can't be angry at me."
Like a flame doused with water, Killian's excitement quickly disappeared.
He scowled. "Why?"
She smacked him lightly on the arm. "You haven't even heard it yet. You can't be angry."
"Why?!" He repeated more loudly.
"Because it's about your father and what you told me about him."
Killian stood up abruptly, gathering his sheets of paper and preparing to leave. "I don't want to hear a poem about my father. I don't even want to think about him again." He turned to her accusingly. "You know that!"
Milah folded her arms. "I honestly think you'll like it now that you've been warned."
Then, as was Milah's way, she ignored his attempts to leave entirely and started reciting.
"Long ago, I was wounded.
I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was-
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved." *
Partway through the poem, Killian had paused. Now he could only stare at her, astounded by how well Milah understood him. He'd barely told her anything about his father, and yet she understood his self-loathing and self-doubt. Beyond that, she'd comforted him in a way that he hadn't been for years.
Milah continued drawing as though nothing had happened, although the smirk pasted on her face meant that she had seen how much her words affected him. Killian couldn't quite decide whether to thank her or yell at her.
In the end, he settled for sitting back down and finishing his song.
The Present
"That was actually a good poem."
Hook glanced at her. "You look surprised. Did the other ones not meet your distinguished tastes?"
From his mischievous grin and his mocking emphasis on "distinguished", Emma had the feeling that he didn't think her taste in literature was actually all that great. Then again, he probably found modern American speech pathetically juvenile compared to the way people spoke two hundred years ago; no wonder he expected so little from the literature in her world.
Captain Hook, a literature snob. Shocking.
"No, they were good, but this was different. Simpler, maybe."
Killian nodded in agreement. "Aye. She had knack for creating unique things. In the best possible way, of course."
The Past - 1823
A month later, Killian was still having trouble grasping that Milah was actually with him. Every day that he woke up beside her, he was almost overwhelmed by the fact that she had chosen him: Milah, the most passionate, unique woman he had ever met. She was special in the best way, something that Killian had recognized from a young age. Every morning, he woke up before her and couldn't resist pressing a gentle kiss to her lips and laying next to her for a while as she slept, simply feeling grateful for being with her again.
When Milah woke up, she would kiss him, her eyes hazed with sleep but still soft and loving. It quickly turned into a routine that made each of their mornings together the perfect start to the day.
One morning, Milah woke up and glanced to her right, ready to plant a kiss on her lover's lips. It took her a moment to fully register that the mattress next to her was cold.
When Killian came in, whistling a jaunty tune from his navy days, Milah was sitting at their table with a sullen expression on her face. She didn't bother to even glance at him, instead attacking her breakfast with the vigour of someone who had been personally wronged by the contents of her plate.
"Good morning, love," he said, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek.
She dodged with a scowl. "Where were you?"
"We docked this morning," he replied, unfazed.
She took a sip of her wine. "You weren't on the ship."
Killian shook his head, smirking, before pulling something from his pockets and dropping it on Milah's lap. The item - a sketchbook - was soon followed by charcoal and paint.
"I know you weren't able to bring much of anything with you."
She stared at the items in silence, then opened the book and ran a dainty hand across a page. There was a sparkle in her eye, as though she was already seeing the possibilities of what she could create.
When she looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you."
The Present
Not for the first time, Emma wondered what Killian saw her. Everything she heard about Milah only reminded her of how much Killian had loved the woman, maybe to the point of "true love", if such a thing existed. If that was something they had, how could he ever have feelings for her? She knew without a doubt that she was completely unlike Milah. Emma didn't think she had an artistic bone in her body. In fact, she distinctly remembered almost failing art class in school. She also remembered being terrible in music class, with more than one teacher telling her that she was tone-deaf.
Then again, she reminded herself, this had been two hundred years ago. Maybe his tastes had changed. In fact, maybe it wasn't an accident that he was interested in someone unlike Milah. Maybe, even now, dating someone too similar to Milah would just be painful.
For once, she was able to push away the strange jealousy and insecurity gnawing at her insides when it came to Milah and just feel sadness for Killian and what he had lost. Unusually, Killian was too lost in the memories he was recounting to notice her mental shift.
The Past
Milah spent the entirety of the day on the deck, completely oblivious to the loading of supplies and general noise around her. Every once in a while, Killian would catch himself staring at her, watching the way her curls fell onto her shoulders or the way she bit her lip when she was particularly absorbed in her work. As the sun started to set, Milah still sat on the deck, almost oblivious to the loss of light. Wordlessly, Killian settled beside her with a bottle of rum, a lantern, and some paper of his own. Most of his men were at the local pubs or brothels, so the ship was unusually quiet.
It was odd to really write music again. Since the death of his brother, composing had been a struggle. Now, for the first time in a long time, he actually felt like he could create something worthwhile.
Both of them quickly lost track of time as they lost themselves in their work. Killian guessed that multiple hours had passed by the time Milah broke the silence.
"I have a gift for you too," she said abruptly, clearing her throat.
Killian fully expected to have a sketch thrown at him, so he was surprised when Milah began reciting.
"Many in aftertimes will say of you
'He loved her' – while of me what will they say?
Not that I loved you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
Of love and parting in exceeding pain.
Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you.
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath."**
Grey eyes turned to him expectantly, if slightly nervously. In the end, Killian had no words to show her just how much the poem had meant to him.
He simply kissed her.
The Present
Emma was beginning to regret asking for happy memories, particularly if it meant that she would just have to listen to stories of Killian and Milah kissing.
The Past
The next day, Milah insisted that he play his violin for her. It fell back into his hands as easily as embracing a former lover.
The Present
Emma couldn't help scoffing. "You consider that easy?"
The thought of ever being close to Neal again had been a terrible one when he first returned. Certainly, she had lingering feelings for him, but she didn't think things could ever go back to the way they were. A return to an intimate relationship with him seemed too painful.
Killian, however, seemed to have the opposite view.
"Of course. Esmeralda and I returned to each other multiple times."
She frowned, sitting up and propping her head on her hand so that she could face him. "I thought you said that she was in love with someone else?"
He shook his head. "She was, but it ended badly."
Emma struggled to remember the book. She seemed to remember just finding a summary on the internet rather than actually reading it for school. The Disney movie was much easier to remember. "Phoebus left her? Or died, or something?"
Killian shot her a perplexed look. "How do you know that name?"
The thought of having to explain the book or the concept of a movie, never mind possibly having to explain Killian's own presence - oh, God... or worse, his portrayal - in the fiction of her world seemed far too daunting to fully go into. Instead, she avoided the question entirely.
"I was actually right?" That would be a first, considering how wrong most adaptations in her world seemed to be.
He laughed. "Sorry, love, but no."
Emma was now thoroughly confused. "Then who was her lover?"
"A priest named Frollo. He gave up his place in the church for her, and his adopted son killed him in a jealous rage."
Well, that was unexpected. She seemed to remember Frollo being the villain.
"And Phoebus?"
Killian shook his head, a smirk on his face. "The man who owned the brothel where she worked. He tried to frame her for a murder when she spurned him, but Frollo saved her. When he died, she was heartbroken. I visited her multiple times after Milah's death when I went on various runs to my world for Pan."
That opened up a whole new set of questions, which caused Killian to quickly press on, clearly sick of the topic.
The Past
Soon, more traditions started. Killian would sometimes set Milah's poetry to music, much to her pleasure. He started to play his violin more, leading to many lively nights aboard the deck for the entire crew.
Milah's presence brought many unexpected things to the ship, but perhaps the most unexpected was Kraken.
The Present
Mid-yawn, Emma froze in surprise. "Like the sea monster?"
Killian chuckled. "No."
The Past
"A dog?!"
When he had first walked into his cabin, he'd done a double take. Even now, he kept expecting the little creature to disappear.
Milah pulled the fluffy little creature to her chest. "Not so loud. You're scaring him."
Then she planted a small kiss on its head, causing him to start wagging his tail.
"I'm scaring him? What the bloody hell is he doing in here?" Killian asked incredulously, although he did take his voice down several notches.
"I found him at the docks trying to steal our rations." Then she turned back to the dog and began speaking in a high-pitched cooing voice that Killian could barely believe was actually coming out of her mouth. "Clever little boy. You ran circles around Mullins, didn't you?"
Groaning, Killian closed his eyes briefly. "You're telling me that this little mongrel outsmarted one of my crew?"
He had always known that Mullins wasn't the sharpest, but he'd had more faith in him than that. Perhaps Mullins needed to be taught a lesson. Nothing too extreme, but something that would teach the fool a lesson or two about vigilance.
Milah laughed. "He was halfway through his dinner before Mullins noticed that half of the dried meat was missing."
Killian stared at the animal. He had huge, black eyes and a big black nose. His legs and belly were white, as was the area around his mouth and nose, extending up his forehead in a triangle. The rest of the animal was black, including velvety, floppy ears. He also had black spots on the white area surrounding his muzzle. The damn beast had freckles.
All at once, Milah's amused expression fell. "Mullins is a bully. I had to save this boy from being cut into pieces." She shot Killian a sharp look. "You should punish him."
The creature was still looking at him with his soft, innocent eyes. Before he knew it, Killian had walked over and started running a hand through its fur. The puppy's small tail started to thump rhythmically on Milah's lap.
"I'll definitely punish him. Sweating would work quite nicely, I think," Killian mused.
The Present
"Sweating?"
By now, Killian was apparently resigned to her ignorance about the workings of a ship. He barely batted an eye at the question.
"There are different forms. In this case, Mullins was surrounded at a mast by crewmen with needles who tried to jab at him while he tried to dodge. I told the men to go somewhat easy on him; I didn't want to bleed him out, just teach him a lesson."***
Emma was, of course, appalled. Fortunately, the absolute darkness of night in the forest did wonders to hide her reaction.
The Past
"Keelhauling would be better," Milah said vindictively.
Killian planted a kiss on her temple. "Mullins may be a stupid brute, but he's a useful stupid brute."
She pouted but didn't argue. She'd already seen Mullins's value in a fight; his ability to intimidate due to his size and ruthlessness did more to encourage surrender than his skill, but it did the trick nonetheless.
"If he's as bright as you say, we can keep him. However, I don't want to see any messes left on my ship-"
"You won't," Milah cut in, smiling from ear to ear.
The next day, Mullins was punished for his inattention. Afterwards, he had glared at the dog and declared that meeting him had been worse than meeting a kraken out at sea. From that day forward, the crew had referred to the pup as Kraken, and the name simply stuck. Killian soon became fond of the animal in spite of himself, even if the little thing did do his best to commandeer his and Milah's bed. He was extraordinarily clever and useful. He could perform simple tasks aboard the ship - Milah declared that he could do them better than Mullins - and even proved himself to be useful in fights once he was bigger. It helped that Milah, true to her word, cleaned up any messes made during Kraken's training. While Killian had initially planned to have nothing to do with the dog, he soon found himself invested in training him as well. It helped that the dog followed him around like a shadow, even assisting him in enforcing his orders with little nips and barks.
"Perhaps I should demote Owen and make you my first mate," Killian told Kraken one day.
The dog just wagged his tail. Killian could have sworn that he was smiling.
The Present
Somehow, Emma had never pictured animals to be part of Killian's past. The thought of him and the dog was oddly endearing, especially because he spoke of him so fondly.
Then, a thought occurred to her. "What happened to him?"
"He was shot down in Neverland by a Lost Boy," Killian said morosely.
She felt her stomach plunge. She'd hoped that Killian's dog could have died happily of old age even if his family couldn't, but apparently that was too much to ask.
"I tried to steal a dog from an animal shelter once as a kid," Emma said. "A rottweiler."
The memory spilled out without her even pausing to think about it. She had almost forgotten about the incident, but she'd somehow blurted it out anyway.
There was silence as Killian seemed to consider this.
"A good breed. Still, quite a large, aggressive dog for a little girl."
Emma heard the question behind his statement. After a moment's hesitation, she offered an explanation. She supposed that the best way to build trust back up after what had happened was to be vulnerable herself for once.
"I knew they were protective and loyal with a scary reputation. I wanted a friend who could keep me safe."
Killian shifted in the darkness beside her. "From?"
For the oddest moment, Emma was reminded of the occasional sleepover she'd had in her youth when they had played 'Truth'. Watching his silhouette in the dark and listening to his reactions rather than seeing them filled her with the somewhat bitter nostalgia that came with memories from her time in the system. She'd never really had many friends, and the poor girls who'd had her over - most likely due to a pity intervention by their mothers - probably got sick of playing 'Truth' very quickly. Playing a game with a human lie detector couldn't have been very fun, especially because Emma had always called them out on lying. In fairness, Emma was pretty sick of lies by that point. On the plus side, Emma was able to lie even if the other girls hadn't been able to. She'd been able to pretend that her parents died tragically rather than just leaving her on the side of a highway.
With Killian, Emma doubted that she could get away with lying as easily. He made an effort to understand her... and he was actually able to. He was interested in her answers, which was already a huge difference from adolescent sleepovers.
Some elements were the same, though. She'd felt safer at sleepovers than she normally did. She could pretend for a while that she was part of a family, especially because the parents of whatever girl was having her over tended to be quite nice, if stiff and polite. Then, there was the darkness shielding her as she and her 'friends' stayed up talking. When she couldn't see the faces of the other girls, she could pretend that they liked her. She felt safe in the dark with Killian, too. That would be something for 'Truth' if she played with those girls now; I went camping with Captain Hook in Fairytale land and wasn't afraid of him.
"Love?"
Emma realized that he was still waiting for an answer.
"Well, you know, to protect me from the bullies and people I didn't like: foster parents, the people who picked me up to take me to a new family or back to a group home, authority figures in general, other kids. Everyone, really."
"Aye, fair enough." His voice was soft.
She swallowed hard. "Anyhow, they caught me before I'd even figured out how to open the cage."
She still remembered seeing the huge dog, his head cocked to the side as she approached. He had sniffed her cautiously through the bars, then licked her, much to her childish delight. Softly, she had promised him that they were going to escape. Then, just as she was studying the lock, an employee had discovered her and angrily demanded to know where her parents were. Her foster mom had been furious when she got the phone call.
"So you figured out how to protect yourself," Killian said, matter-of-fact.
At the silence that met his observation, he hurriedly backtracked. "I apologize for the assumption."
"No, you're right," Emma said. "I did learn to protect myself." Although, she mused, maybe she hadn't learned it quite well enough; Neal had finished teaching her that lesson when he betrayed her.
Killian's form was very still in the darkness. She wondered what he was thinking.
"Anyway," she said, eager to move the subject away from her; she could only be vulnerable so long. "What else happened with you and Milah?"
The Past
While living with Milah was wonderful, not everything was fun and games. There were arguments of course, but even more threatening was their lifestyle. A pirate's life was a good one, but piracy inevitably involved violence.
It only took four months of Milah being onboard for Killian to see that more clearly than ever before. A threat to his own life hadn't particularly bothered him, but Milah was a different matter, particularly because she had a habit of running into trouble.
Battles had been a matter of contention between them since the first one Milah had been present for. On that occasion, Jacques and Killian had joined together to take down a particularly large naval ship, planning to split whatever treasures were on it. It was a simple maneuver that they had done successfully more than once. In this case, Killian had to admit that an alliance with Jacques was a great thing. He could use his tactical experience from the navy to a greater degree when there were two attacking ships in play. Their interests also aligned nicely; Jacques wanted treasure, and Killian wanted revenge on the crown and enough gold to keep his crew happy. It was a win-win situation with a fairly easy victory guaranteed.
With all of his planning, though, Killian had failed to foresee one thing. He had made the assumption that Milah would stay safely in their cabin. Unfortunately, he'd never considered it a point of a contention, which meant that her response took him totally by surprise.
"Absolutely not."
He stared, gobsmacked, as Milah grabbed a cutlass from the ship's supply of spare weapons.
"Milah." She ignored him. "Love." She lifted the blade, eyeing it with interest. "You've never" -he pulled her gently towards him, ignoring her attempts to wriggle free - "used a sword in your life-"
"It's simple. 'The pointy end goes in the other guy,'" she quoted, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Bloody hell, Milah. This isn't a joke!" He growled.
Her face turned stony. "You're right. It isn't. There's no way I'm letting you go out there without me."
Killian barked out a laugh. "You won't let me? I'm the captain of this ship-"
"You may be in charge of the ship, but you certainly aren't in charge of me-"
"-and I've been using a sword since I was a child. Not all of the naval sailors will have the same experience, but I guarantee that they'll have more experience than you. A handful at least will be formidable swordsmen." The thought filled Killian with excitement; he loved a challenge nearly as much as he loved revenge.
Milah glared. "All the more reason for me to help you."
Finally, she managed to pull out of his grasp and attempted to sidestep him, trying to wave her sword in a menacing manner. Rather than intimidating him, it just reminded him how inexperienced she was.
He ignored the sword and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him. "Do you think that they'll show you mercy? Of course they bloody won't. Letting you at them would be suicide."
She offered him a smile. "Suicide for them? I agree."
As much as Killian loved her, he had to admit that Milah could be infuriatingly stubborn. His jaw tightened, and he considered just throwing her over his shoulder and forcing her into his cabin. Then, his thoughts were interrupted as she ran a hand over his cheek.
"If it's suicide, it will be for a good cause: protecting you."
He shook his head, exasperated. "You won't be bloody protecting me. I'll be distracted out of my mind worrying about you."
At this, she paused, and Killian sensed that victory was near.
He was right. She stayed in the cabin for every battle for four months, although it was easy to sense her discontentment with this arrangement. Really, Killian should have known her well enough to expect her to do something rash.
Somehow, though, he was still surprised when she appeared on the deck, cutlass in hand, to face another group of pirates who were stupid enough to try to attack them.
Killian had been in the middle of a duel with the other captain when he'd noticed her, dark hair flying as she swung her sword like a lumberjack might swing an axe. He could see someone coming up behind her with a clear deadly intent, but Owen had fortunately seen and intervened. That was a stroke of luck for Milah, but not for Killian; the sight of Milah in danger was enough of a distraction for the other captain to land a significant cut on Killian's right arm.
Swearing, he switched his sword to his left hand, forcing himself to ignore the warm blood trickling down his other arm onto the deck of his ship. By the time Killian managed to dispatch the other captain, their remaining enemies had surrendered. Killian offered them a place on his ship for fighting valiantly. A handful took his offer. The rest were sent back to their ship, which Killian ordered his crew to set fire to. Normally, Killian would have done the same to the pirates who accepted his offer; he had no room on his ship for cowards. However, a quick glance around his ship revealed that his own crew had suffered more than its usual number of casualties, so he could offer some mercy for practicality's sake. After all, perhaps accepting his offer showed survival instinct and brains rather than cowardice. He valued loyalty more, but loyalty to another dead captain was useless.
He watched the burning ship disappear on the horizon and gave the usual threats to his new crewmembers. By that point, he was feeling quite dizzy, so he handed control over to Owen and fumed his way down to his cabin.
It took him some stumbling around to find a full rum bottle. He had just opened it and taken a long swig when Milah burst in.
"I told you that you need someone to protect you," she said, gesturing at his arm.
Killian shot her a murderous look. "And I told you that you being there would distract me! You almost died!"
He pried his jacket off with some difficulty, followed by his blood-soaked shirt. The whole process was accompanied by a plethora of swearing.
"Look at me!" Milah shouted, throwing out her arms. "I'm not the one who's bleeding."
"No, you're just the one who compromised the lives of multiple people through a selfish whim!" Killian said through gritted teeth as he prepared to pour rum on the gash.
Her response was drowned out by his expressive string of expletives as the alcohol ran over the fairly deep wound. By then, she was rummaging through a drawer for a needle and thread.
"What lives?" She repeated over the sound of various items hitting the sides of the drawer as she threw them around.
"Owen's, for one. He had to intervene before you were gutted. I'm certain that other members of my crew were likewise distracted trying to protect you." Killian briefly reminded himself to reward them suitably. Surely, Owen would have noticed anyone else who stepped up to protect Milah. "And, of course, you risked mine, but you already knew that."
That harsh accusation caused Milah's face to flush with anger. "Well, maybe if you'd bothered to teach me how to fight properly, you wouldn't have been distracted! But, no, you just send me down here to worry. That's not the way I work, Killian! I can't just sit around and do nothing!"
She punctuated her last word by slamming the drawer shut. She approached him, brandishing the needle threateningly.
"You could have asked," he shouted back.
Milah didn't respond. Instead, she grabbed the bottle from him and poured some rum on the needle, which she then threaded. After she knotted it, Killian tried to take it from her, but she smacked his hand away.
His breath hissed through his teeth as she pushed the needle through his skin.
"Rum," he grunted.
Milah picked up the bottle and shoved it at him. He took a few quick gulps before she resumed her stitching.
"Ugh," she muttered several stitches later.
She grabbed up his discarded shirt and wiped her red-stained hands and the new blood off of his arm. Then, she tossed it away and started rummaging through more drawers and cupboards.
"What are you doing?" Killian asked, voice strained.
"Getting rum."
He held up the bottle still in his left hand, his rings clinking against the glass. "I have some."
"I need my own," she snapped, finally finding another full bottle.
She poured some onto his arm again - prompting fresh swearing and cries of pain from Killian - before downing a good portion of the bottle herself.
A few stitches later, she started speaking. "Fine, it was stupid of me. But it was stupid of you too."
"Aye." The concession was easily pried from his lips when he noticed her wet eyes.
Silence fell, punctuated only by Killian's occasional reaction to the pain or the sound of gulping as both of them continued to make their way through the rum bottles.
"Done," Milah finally said, breaking the remaining string away from the knot she'd just tied.
She moved to wipe her hands again, but Killian grabbed her arm. As she turned to him, he gently guided her face towards his and captured her lips with his own. To his relief, she kissed him back.
She pulled away. "I should bandage it."
Killian waited until she had finished, then he pressed his lips to hers again. She kissed him harder this time, running still-bloody hands through his hair and over his face. Perhaps it was the pain, or the blood loss, or the copious amounts of rum he had consumed, but Killian found kissing her to be even more intoxicating than usual.
As they broke the kiss, panting, their foreheads pressed against each other, Killian made a promise. "I'll teach you how to fight if you'd like, love."
She smiled. "Good."
True to his word, Killian gave her a first lesson as soon as his right arm was mostly functional. If they were sparring, he would have just used his left hand, but he figured that it would easier to guide her through some of the movements and get them into her muscle memory.
He stood behind her, their bodies pressed together, and covered her right hand with his own. Then, he walked her through the basics at a slow pace that was as much to get his stiff arm used to working again as to cater to her low level.
"I didn't expect sword-fighting to be like this," Milah said, slightly breathless. Killian smirked; he knew that it wasn't from the sword movements. "If I'd known that learning would be this wonderful, I would have insisted that we do it much sooner."
"As would I," Killian replied, delighting in the small shiver that ran through her as he whispered in her ear.
In the end, the first lesson only lasted half an hour.
"Oh, sod it," Milah said, and turned her head to kiss him.
In the end, Milah became quite a skilled sword-fighter. And Killian had to admit that fighting their battles side by side was actually quite satisfying.
The Present
For a moment, Emma's mind wandered. Perhaps it was only because she was growing tired, but she couldn't help imagining the scene with one core difference; Killian was teaching her rather than Milah. She was the one feeling his warm body pressed against her back, feeling his strong arm guide hers. The other one would be around her waist or on her hip, she imagined, the cold metal of his hook bleeding through her clothes. Then she would be the one shivering at his voice and tilting her head at just the right angle to kiss him.
She pushed the thought away, once again relieved for the cover of darkness.
The Past
With her newfound skill, the two were able to have many less-than-legal adventures together. They traveled to far-off lands in search of pleasure and gold, battled their native kingdom one ship at a time, and destroyed anyone who dared to threaten them or Jacques. Killian's notoriety began to rise, as did the price on his head. Still, in spite of the rising danger, it was a time that made both Killian and Milah feel immortal. There were dangerous times and not-so-pleasant times, but the two of them found the happiness in each other that they had barely dared to dream of before.
They carried on that way for six years; Killian was twenty-nine when the beginning of the end of this period of happiness occurred. For such a long time with such vast happiness, it was amazing to Killian that everything could end with only two words:
"Arrest him."
Killian rose to his feet, sword already drawn on instinct. He was at a seedy pub near the docks, planning his newest heist with Jacques. It took him less than a second for Killian to put the pieces together. His "friend" was staring in a determined fashion into the amber liquid in front of him rather than joining Killian on his feet with his sword drawn. Briefly, Killian considered running the pirate through, but he had far more threatening matters to attend to. His eyes rapidly scanned the soldiers still pouring into the pub, mentally calculating his odds. Stomach sinking, Killian realized that there was no chance of victory, even with the few crew members that had accompanied him to the pub; in fact, a quick glance around showed him that they had disappeared. With a surge of anger, he realized that they were likely in on this little set-up too.
"The king wants you alive, if possible," one of the soldiers said, "but we won't hesitate to give him your head if you give us trouble."
At that piece of news, Killian briefly considered either killing himself or fighting and taking as many soldiers down with him as possible. Then he thought of Milah. If there was any chance at all that he could get out of this - no matter how slim - he had to take it for her.
Clenching his teeth, he dropped his sword to the ground with a clatter.
As one of the soldiers chained his wrists, another moved towards Jacques. The older pirate finally looked up to receive his gold and a slip of paper sealed with king's seal.
"Your pardon," the soldier said.
Ever the pirate, Jacques glanced it over, shoulders drooping in relief as he saw that it was legitimate.
Then he shrugged at Killian, who was now having his feet manacled. "Sorry, mate. T'ings were getting too risky. You know what they say; every man for 'imself."
Of course, Killian had a million responses to that - mostly involving expletives - but he was gagged before he could say them. As Killian was given a shove towards the door, all he could think of was Milah. He hoped that it wouldn't break her heart to hear that he was dead.
*By Louise Gluck. It's a more modern one, but I thought that Milah might write poetry that's a little bit rougher and more direct than flowery 19th-century language at a younger age.
**Credit to Christina Rossetti.
*** An actual pirate punishment.