Mary's feet ache, but she does not dare complain about them. Killian has been leading her on a grueling trek since the decision to take the Jolly Roger and attempt to infiltrate Regina's castle, and Mary knows that there is no time to waste. She has lost count of the number of times she's stumbled, exhaustion threatening to take over, and Killian has caught her, pulling her by his side and supporting her until she felt strong enough to walk on her own again. They are both weary, but Killian has promised that they can rest once they locate his ship…although Mary has begun to wonder just how feasible this new venture of theirs is. Is Killian's plan truly to walk along the coast until, by chance, they happen upon the Jolly? Although they have not seen hide nor hair of Rumpelstiltskin for days, it seems like the Dark One is watching over them constantly, a lingering reminder of promises that must be kept…no matter what the cost.
"Killian," Mary says, her voice gentle, "are you sure—"
"She'll be here," he insists, his tone more gruff than she has heard him in a while. "The ship is magic, lass. She has a mind of her own. Made of enchanted wood. I myself don't even know all that she's capable of. But she's never let me down before, and she won't let you down either, love. Of that I am sure."
His voice is so tender as he speaks of the ship that Mary's pace slows, and she studies him for a moment. Her heart aches in a way that she cannot quite name. Killian Jones is a man who has lost so much—his brother, his position, the woman he loved. But through it all, one thing has remained: The Jolly Roger. He's as desperate as she is to find it…but until now Mary never stopped to consider that his reasons might be different than hers.
They walk several more hours, and dusk is falling by the time Killian suddenly stops in his tracks. Mary smacks into him from behind and stumbles, but his rough hand is in hers in an instant, helping her up and squeezing tight. They have left the woods behind now, a dark horizon of trees and secrets behind them, and now Mary's nose is full of the briny scent of saltwater. "There," Killian says, pointing. "There she is."
The Jolly Roger is anchored not too far off shore, and a small rowboat waits at the shoreline to take them aboard. "I told you she'd come through for us," Killian whispers, and Mary swears that his voice is choked with tears. "We found her."
"She found us, looks more like," Mary says. On impulse, she leans up and kisses his cheek, his rough stubble scratching at her chapped lips. "Is your crew on board?"
He shakes his head. "No, they won't be. But the two of us can sail her. I've made do with less before, and you're a sharp learner, love. We'll be fine."
"Well, then there's no time to waste."
But Mary makes no move to leave yet. The look on Killian's face stops her. She watches as he takes in the sight of his ship, his blue eyes wide with what might be love, or awe. "Did you ever think you'd see her again?" she asks him quietly.
"I don't know what I thought, love."
He needs another moment, Mary knows. She squeezes his hand once again. "It's all right," she reassures him. "I…I know what it's like to lose one's home."