Author's Note Just to warn you in advance, this chapter is rated M. I'd like to thank the wonderful, ineffable, delightful beyond words miscreantrose and lala-kate, for holding my hand and offering encouragement and tips for writing this scene. Thank you so much, ladies!

She should get to bed, she knows. She's bid goodnight to Killian already, leaving the remains of their dinner together to be cleaned up tomorrow. He had been right—it had felt amazing to be able to eat real food, bread and salted fish and, God, real wine, after so many weeks of surviving on nuts and berries and whatever they managed to catch. It was strange, she thought now, what she considered to be luxury in this world. The meal she and Killian had shared was meager enough for the servants at Downton to turn their nose up at it—Mary smiles as she imagines Carson's reaction to such a feast—but being in the Enchanted Forest has changed her, has taught her not to take a single thing for granted—especially him.

She smiles, her lips still tingling from the soft kiss they shared before she left him, the wine on their lips mixed with the taste of him. Her eyes are growing heavy with tiredness, but she lingers on the deck a moment, watching the rolling waves below and the dark clouds coming in quickly over the horizon.

A storm is brewing, but Killian had told her that there was nothing to fear, that he and the Jolly Roger had weathered far worse in the past. He had not steered Mary wrong so far, so she was inclined to believe him. If Killian told her that they would be safe, then safe they would be. She has no reason to fear.

Until she turns the corner on the way back to her small cabin just as lightning illuminates the darkened sky above her, and sees Rumpelstiltskin before her eyes.

Mary's scream tears from her throat almost before she knows she has opened her mouth. He leers at her, sitting cross-legged on a barrel beneath the mainsail as if waiting for her. She staggers backwards, one hand covering her mouth, wanting to cry out for Killian, but she cannot form the words. Her breathing has gone ragged, her eyes as wide as saucers. She wants to run, every fiber of her being is screaming at her to run, because he's here and she's alone and unprotected and oh God, this is where he killed Milah, right here on this deck, and here she is, so breakable and vulnerable alone here with him and her heart is unprotected and so is Killian's and if the Dark One gets to him he'll—

"Evening, dearie! I do hope you're still planning on keeping your end of our deal," he purrs, as if she has not just screamed so loudly that Killian must be on his way by now, he has to be...

But if Killian is on his way, then they'll both be prime targets for the Dark One's wrath. God, Killian, please just this once, stay where you are…

She needs his help, wants it more than anything, but she cannot ask for it. Helpless, paralyzed by fear, she nods. "Yes…" she whispers before trying to raise her voice. "We…" All that comes out is a weak whisper, and as the Dark One chuckles in that way that chills the blood in her veins, Mary finds herself wondering if it is his magic or her panic that is keeping her from calling out for help.

"Ah-ah-ah, dearie, not so loud. The pirate doesn't need to know I was ever here, does he?"

"I think my scream might have already alerted him," Mary hisses, proud that she can still offer up a comeback, weak as it is, in the face of her fear. "Of course I'm still going to keep my end of the bargain. You've made it quite clear that I have no choice in the matter. We're on our way to find the magic beans right now. Killian—I mean, the Captain has an idea of where they might be. You just have to give us a little more time."

Something flashes in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes, and Mary feels sick. "I have to, do I? And are you giving the orders now, missie?"

"No, that's not what I—"

"And now you want more time? I have already given you far more time than you deserve!"

"Please, I—"

"Shall I give you a taste of what your pirate might face if you fail me, hmm? Since threatening him seems to be the only way to send you a message these days!"

In one swift movement he leaps from his perch, crosses the deck to her, and plunges his hand into Mary's chest.

All of the air rushes from Mary's lungs. Pain like she has never experienced before sears through her, starting at her heart and radiating outwards, making her stagger forward, but Rumpelstiltskin's grip on her keeps her from sinking to her knees. With one sharp tug, he frees his hand from her chest entirely, taking her heart along with it. Mary stares at it, still gasping in pain, tears streaking down her face as she watches her heart literally beat in someone else's hand. It is a deep red, glowing slightly as it pulses between his fingers. The pain seems to fade as she stands there, studying it, a chilling numbness overtaking her until she feels nothing at all. She is hollow, empty, heartless. All the times in her life she's told people she had no heart, had wished it were true so she didn't have to feel so much…her terrible wish has finally come true. She is the heartless Mary Crawley, and she can no longer feel anything.

Until he squeezes her heart again.

She gasps sharply, the pain back and worse than before. This is how Milah died, she knows now. This is how he killed her. This is how he will murder Killian, if she fails him. How he might, if he feels like it, kill her right now.

"Such a pretty heart," he muses, his voice like velvet and nails on a chalkboard all at once. "A bit of darkness here and there, but less than there was when we first met, I think. It would be such a shame if this heart were to fall into the…wrong hands, wouldn't it?"

"Rumpelstiltskin," she wheezes. "Please…"

In the next instant she feels his hand pushing into her flesh again, replacing her heart where it belongs, although she already knows it will never beat quite the same way again. "There," he said, giving it one final squeeze before pushing Mary away from him. She clutches at her intact chest and tries to catch her breath, although something tells her that it is impossible. "You're in luck, Lady Mary. I find myself feeling rather generous today. I shall give you a little more time…but not much."

She cannot answer him.

"Tick tock dearie!" he shouts, his words echoing through the night, seeming to drown out even the rumbles of thunder overhead and the crashing of the waves against the ship.

And then he is gone.

Mary wastes no time. As soon as he vanishes, without even a puff of smoke to announce his departure (which chills her even more than his usual antics) she is moving, rushing down the steps and back into Killian's cabin, still sobbing, tripping over her own two feet, moving as fast as she can to get away from the deck just in case the Dark One changes his mind and decides that he isn't through with her just yet…

Without even bothering to knock, she bursts into the captain's quarters just as the storm breaks and the sky opens above them.

He whirls around, clearly caught off-guard by her sudden entrance. Mary freezes in the doorway for only a moment, realizing that Killian is no longer wearing a shirt. His tanned torso is clad only in the series of braces that keep his hook attached to his wrist, and she can see every muscle, every scar that is usually kept hidden from her. There is a particularly nasty one over his heart, and her own hand flies to her chest, wondering if she, too, has been forever marked by the Dark One in that way. Beneath her clothes she feels only smooth flesh, but she cannot shake her fears all the same.

"Love, what's the matter?" he asks as thunder roars overhead.

She chokes out a sob, feeling herself crumbling to pieces in front of him. "He was here."

Instantly his gaze hardens, ice coming back into those blue eyes of his. There is no need for Killian to ask who 'he' is—he just knows, instinctively. "What?" he demands, crossing the room to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She jerks instinctively from his touch, but he holds her still, his eyes pleading with her to talk to him. "The Dark One was here?" His eyes search hers, and she knows he's reliving Milah again as he grips her arms tightly, reassuring himself that this is real, that she's here. "Mary, what—"

"You didn't hear us?" she demands, her entire form shaking now. "You didn't hear me scream?"

"I didn't hear anything, love! If I had, do you think I would have left you to face him on your own? He bewitched me, enchanted the ship, something. He didn't want me to be able to get to you. He didn't want me to know he was ever here. Damn it, love, I'm so sorry…"

"He was here," she sobs again and again, collapsing against his chest. He doesn't even hesitate before his arms wrap around her, bringing her against him and cradling her there, softly shushing her as he strokes her dark hair. "He was here. I saw him!"

"I know you did, love. I believe you. I promise."

"He had my heart!"

Killian freezes. Her head is pressed against his chest, and she swears that she hears its gentle rhythm slow down for a moment as he stiffens in her embrace. She clings to him, suddenly afraid that he will pull away, that the moment his touch leaves her she will remember how it felt to stand there with her heart beating in Rumpelstiltskin's hand. "He…he what?" Killian asks. His voice is ragged, and Mary hates herself for knowingly dragging up these demons from his past, but the damage has been done.

"He ripped my heart from my chest. He stood with it there in his hand. And then he put it back," she whispers, her voice muffled by leather and flesh. Because he wanted to teach me a lesson. Because it's what he'll do to you if I don't find those magic beans, and probably to me as well. Because he knows I can't lose you.

"That explains it then." His voice thrums against her ear, sounding detached.

"Explains what?"

"A moment ago, before you came in…I felt…I felt a pain. In my heart." He doesn't say more, only holds her tighter, his mind suddenly frantic about what this might mean. When he had seen Milah's heart taken before his eyes, he had felt a pang in his own chest…but nothing compared to the way he had felt when Mary's heart was threatened.

"I should have known," he hisses, cursing himself. He tries to release his hold on Mary, but she clings to him, wrapping one hand underneath the straps of his brace to keep him tethered to her. "I should have come to find you the moment I…damn it, Mary, I'm sorry." His voice is dangerous now, and Mary knows he's hating himself for not being able to come to her aid. It's the same way she hates herself, every day, for dragging him down into this with her, for willfully endangering the man she—

"What can I do?"

"Just stay here," Mary whispers desperately. "Please, just stay with me, don't leave me again…" Her heart is hammering wildly against her ribs, the beat different now, altered from the Dark One's touch, and she wonders if Killian's also beat the same after he had it ripped from him. "Please, just stay…"

His only response is to wrap his arms around her tighter, relaxing his head into the crook of her neck and breathing her in deeply, trying to reassure himself that she truly is all right. "I'm sorry," he tells her again and again, his voice muffled and sounding almost choked up. "I'm so sorry…"

Mary can't help but wonder if his words are meant for her, or for the woman he couldn't save so long ago aboard this same ship.

What have I done?

They stay like that until her tears subside, until her pounding heart has settled down somewhat. Killian's skin seems to be searing beneath her touch, but then he's always warm, so warm that on cold nights in the forest she often leaves her own makeshift bed in favor of his arms. She leans up to find that his blue eyes are watching her, so full of emotion it almost takes her breath away once again.

"Mary."

That's all it takes. All it takes before their lips meet in a kiss that is full of apologies and forgiveness, of hope and darkness and regret and things they cannot name. Her hands tangle in his dark hair as her mouth opens beneath his touch, pulling him closer, ever closer, and yet still not close enough. She kisses him as if the world is ending, because in so many ways, it is, or at least it will be. The way she sees it, her adventures with Killian Jones will only end one of two ways: either she will fail, and one or both of them will die. Or else she will succeed, and be forced to return home to Downton, and be lost to them forever.

It isn't fair, none of it is. It can't be how their story ends. But it's the way it has to be. Each second that bring them closer to the magic beans is one second closer to separation, and all Mary wants to do is stop time.

Maybe together, they can manage to stop it for a little while longer.

He lets out a soft noise against her mouth, and it seems to travel straight through her as she deepens the kiss. His hands are running through her hair, which has fallen from its braid and now hangs freely down her back. Mary feels as if her skin as been set alight, and yet she doesn't pull away until her lungs scream for air. She gives her body what it needs and then dives back down again, lost in the waves of his kisses as waves batter the Jolly Roger.

"I couldn't feel," she gasps, their kisses becoming more and more desperate and consuming. Her fingers wander his bare back, over the brace and down to the flesh below. They traverse the map of scars across his body, long, thin ones that must come from a whip and others that she cannot name, souvenirs from his piracy days that will stay with him his entire life. His grip on her tightens in response, his teeth sinking gently into her bottom lip until she cries out softly. The curve of his hook rests against her hip, and Mary feels as if something has finally fallen into place. She has spent so much time pushing him away, trying to keep them both safe by distancing herself from him. It is what she knows how to do, what she is good at—driving people off one by one until she's left alone, where she cannot get hurt except on her own terms. But Killian…she has let him see her at her most vulnerable point. She has tried pushing him away, and she cannot do it anymore. She only wants to pull him closer.

"I couldn't feel anything. I never want to feel that way again. Killian, I need you…please…" Her lips have left his by now, traveling down his stubbled jaw to his exposed collarbone. She has never felt like this before, not with Matthew and certainly not with Pamuk, and she wonders if it has anything to do with the terrifying encounter she's just had. Her lips taste salt and sweat on his skin, and he grips her as if she's the only thing holding him together. "Mary," he whispers, his voice ragged once again but for a wildly different reason now. "Love…are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Suddenly a change seems to come over Killian. His face lights up with something Mary can only describe as hope as he captures her lips in a searing kiss. Her hands leave his shoulders and travel to the laces of her bodice, fumbling with the knots, cursing softly. At Downton Abbey she'd had Anna to help her, but her corsets had never seemed this complicated.

"Let me," his voice sends tingles across her skin as he grazes his teeth along her earlobe. Her legs are trembling as he kisses her neck and runs his hook along the laces of her bodice, finding the knot easily. A single tug with the hook and it comes undone, allowing Mary to unlace it on her own. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment at her ineptness, but her desire for him is more overwhelming. Suddenly she feels as inexperienced as she had the night the Turkish diplomat knocked on her bedroom door, but she pushes her doubts away. This is not Pamuk, who was selfish and took advantage of her. This is not Matthew, as inexperienced as she but still blind to her biggest mistake, her deepest secret. This is Killian, her Killian. And she has nothing to fear.

Her bodice falls forgotten to the floor, leaving her in her skirt and a chemise that suddenly feels paper-thin. She presses herself against him, reaching for the strap of his brace, but his hand catches hold of her wrist and holds her still. "Not yet,love," he pleads. "I'm not…I'm not ready for you to see that yet. Here." He kisses her forehead and releases his grip on her hand, reaching for his hook. A few turns and a click and it falls to the floor, leaving only the cuff behind on his wrist. Apparently, there are some scars he's still not ready for her to see.

They do not speak the words out loud, because the night is dark and the storm is wild and there's no telling who might be listening. Fingers trace over scars both real and unreal, breathing quickens, the past comes back to haunt and is sent away again. One by one, their clothes are discarded, until there is nothing separating them. Killian lifts her into his arms as if she weighs nothing at all, carrying her to the bed and laying her on sheets that, although modest, feel more luxurious to her than all the fine linens of the world. This is his home, and he's using it to send her back to her home. She forgets how to breathe as he braces himself over her, kissing down her body, worshiping every inch of her the way she's always dreamed someone would. He takes his time, lips skating over her collarbone and breasts, mapping out her body in case he never gets another chance to—even though in Mary's mind, she has already decided that this will not just be a one-time thing if she can help it. He kisses her reverently, using lips and teeth and tongue to bring her teetering to the edge and back, murmuring to her that she is beautiful, perfect, a bloody siren (And Mary has to admit this might be the endearment she likes the best). He kisses her until she has forgotten everything else but him and her and the ship, until the heart that is once again in her chest beats only for him.

His lips find hers again, scruff burning her cheeks in the most wonderful way, before pulling away to look at her. "Mary," he says, panting for breath just as she is, blue eyes darkened with desire and longing. "I…"

She takes his face in her hands, stroking her thumbs over his skin. "I know."

And as he enters her , it is as if Mary Crawley and Killian Jones have both finally come home.