The whiskey does not help her understand everything that is going on, not even a little. The next day, it does little more than the first. And by the third day, she has caught the eye of some regulars, though she never does more than drink.
Miss French continues to insist that Emma joins her at the house for meals - and insists that Emma refer to her as "Belle," and not "Miss French" anymore, and while it feels weird in her mouth the first few times, referring to the mayor's wife by her first name, the two of them are quick to form a companionship.
Between lunch and dinner, the two of them go for walks around the city, a city that, in another time, Emma had already come to know as her own. But, two hundred years in the past, Boston gives her a different kind of feel, like returning to your childhood home for the first time in years. It is familiar to her, in an eerie way, though entirely different than how she knows it to be.
Weirder still for her, however, is the dress. Belle tried to get her to try on long, bustled dresses over tight corsets, since her jeans and t-shirt would no longer be appropriate for the time. While the dresses made her incredibly uncomfortable, she took well to the corsets, which she wore over button-down shirts with floor-length shirts and knee-high boots, which for some reason she found more appealing than the dresses, even though she may not have looked as distinguished as Belle wished she had. But at least she blended in better than before.
About a week into their acquaintance, Belle uses the opportunity of the stroll to tell Emma about why this is when the house is connected to in time, something that Emma had not even considered to be important until then.
"My husband was a far different man when we met, a man which you might meet during your time here. But the ways that he might come across in this time, the person that he is here… I promise you, Miss Swan, he is not that person anymore. But in this time, he is not Mr. Gold, or even anyone like him. No, in this time, he is known as the Dark One, and is… well, he may not be the nicest man. He has done things that I am not proud of, that he is not proud of anymore, in our time." They take a moment's break, waiting to cross the street to the east side of town, towards the harbor, and Emma stays silent because she has no idea how to respond. Once they get to the other side of the road, Belle continues: "But the most important thing is that he cannot figure out that the two of us are connected to the future, that he is connected to the future. The man that we both know, Mayor Gold, he knows about the past, everything he was, all he has done. But who he is now, the - the thing that my husband used to be, he doesn't. And it would change him forever, for the worse, if he were to find out."
Belle stops, resting her hand on Emma's arm, and when she looks into her eyes, she can see the seriousness of the conversation mirrored in them.
"Emma, promise me you won't tell him - tell anyone - that you're from the future."
"Yes, Belle. Of course." She half-smiles at her companion. "I don't know that I could even if I wanted to."
This, finally, causes Belle to smile back. "Thank you," she whispers, and they're on their way again.
Their walk takes them down to the docks, a place that Emma spent so much time as a little girl, on the shoulders of her father. It is here that something catches her eye: a vessel, much like those her father loved, an old-fashioned military ship in perfect, pristine condition. But the man that stands aboard this ship, a tall, dark-haired man in a long leather jacket, draws her eyes towards him. He looks familiar, a face she has seen before, though even she can't say where at first. Belle must sense that the familiarity of him catches her off guard, and she stops beside her on the sidewalk, following Emma's eyes in the direction of the docks.
"Why do I know that man, Belle?" Emma asks, realizing that Belle stands besides her.
"Captain Jones, you mean?" Emma turns to her to find her smiling. "Given the only place he goes besides his ship is the same tavern you have been frequenting, I would assume that is why you recognize him."
Looking back at the man, she places him just there, usually at a table in the corner, keeping to himself - until the liquor kicks in, and then he becomes loud and rowdy, especially towards the dark-haired girl that he always had with him, with his love and affection for her. In the streets Emma worked, she would have hauled him off, thrown him in a cell for the night for a drunk and disorderly.
But these are not her streets, and she has no jurisdiction in nineteenth century Boston.
She has never seen him outside of the lightless tavern, and she realizes that this is why she did not immediately recognize him. Where in the tavern he is dark, mysterious, hidden, he seems to be a completely new person in the light of day, aboard his ship. His darkness is illuminated on the water, and even with the distance between them, she can make out his features better than she ever could by the firelight of the tavern.
He reminds her of a movie star, or a front-page model. If cameras existed, he would find himself behind them on a regular basis. Rugged, refined, in a James Dean sort of way, but still with the aura of a… well, of a pirate.
The next night in the tavern, she realizes that she cannot take her eyes off of him, a man that not two days ago she would not have even given a second glance to. But after seeing him in his glory, in the light of the sun, something about him draws her eyes to him, then draws her to him, walking across the tavern to the table where he sits with the dark-haired woman and a few other men, which Emma takes to be some of of his shipmates. As she approaches, the conversation slowly stops, and when she stops next to their table, the Captain is the only person still talking, though it stops when he realizes none of his mates are looking at him anymore.
When he turns to face her, she, too, stops in her tracks. She notices something here that she was unable to see from the distance of the dock: his piercing blue eyes, bright even in the lowlights of the fire. After a moment of silence between the whole party, he is the first to speak, his voice a low growl coated in a thick English accent:
"Aye, love, what can I do for ya?"
It is not until this point that Emma realizes that she has not yet thought about anything beyond approaching the table, and she has no response - well, she says something, but it comes out sounds more like, "Uh, I - uh, ba-ba-ba," and she purses her lips for a moment, before the dark-haired woman speaks, covering for her before she makes a complete fool of herself.
"I haven't seen you around these parts before, my dear. Until just a few days ago, at least. Are you new around here?" Her voice is soft, a whisper of the wind, not at all what Emma imagines from a woman that hangs out with men like Captain Jones; and when she smiles at her, Emma can't help but smile back.
"Yes, you could say, uh, that I'm from a different land entirely."
"Well, love, we know all about different lands 'round these parts." He sounds serious, but when she turns to face him, he flashes her a wicked smile, scratching the corner of his lip with his pinky, a movement that draws attention to the two large rings that adorn his hand. "Where is it that you're from?"
This is a question that catches Emma off guard, something that had not crossed her mind with her previous response. She tries to think of anywhere else that she knows as well as she does Boston, but there is nowhere, especially not places that even exist at this point in time. So she decides on the only other place she has been, somewhere that she knows just enough about to get by: "Philadelphia. Pennsylvania. Just a little down the coast from here."
"Aye, we've sailed in and out of there before. What part of the city?"
Before she even has a chance to answer, the woman reaches across the table and rests her hand on the Captain's, stealing his attention. "Killian, don't interrogate the poor girl. She's just trying to make conversation."
Emma smiles at her, but she is too caught up in the bright eyes of the Captain, who has taken her hand in his own, sliding his thumb against the back of her hand.
One of the shipmen seated beside the Captain must sense the awkwardness of the situation and speaks up, asking, "What's your name, Lassie?"
"Emma, sir. Emma Swan." She remembers the few lessons Belle has given her on mannerisms, and curtseys politely to the group of sailors.
"Well, Miss Swan," the Captain says, pulled out of his trance. "The pleasure is all ours."
"What brings you here to our little corner of the tavern?" the dark-haired woman asks. "I'm Milah, by the way, and this is Captain Jones." She pats the seat next to her, and Emma accepts the invitation.
"I - actually, I saw you earlier, down at the docks? And your - your ship, Captain, is glorious. Beautiful."
The Captain scratches the corner of his mouth with his pinky again, smiling across the table at her. "Aye, she is a beauty, isn't she? Pride of my damned life, the Jolly Roger."
Milah coughs, trying to get him to understand what he has just said wrong, but then she smiles at him again.
Captain Jones leans across the table towards Emma, resting on his forearms, a gleam in his eye that reminds Emma of criminals, proud of their misdeeds, and when he continues, she discovers why: "She used to be called The Jewel of the Realm, when she sailed under the King's banners and was captained by my brother. Until I seized it for my own, no longer sailing under the colors of a man who would purposefully send out countries to death and war."
Emma now puts it together, what brings them to this land with their gorgeous ship: pirates. Real life pirates, here in front of her, right in her city that is not her city. The thought sends a chill down her back, and she feels her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. In any other situation, like anything she had found herself in before, she would be able to pull a badge, take these criminals to where they belong like she was trained to do; but here, in this town two hundred years before her own, she wants to do nothing of the sort. In fact, the truth of this excites her, gives her something other than Belle in this time, and she can't help but smile across the table at her new companions.
"If you were to stop by the docks on the morrow, Miss Swan, we would be glad to give you a better tour than just eyeing her up from the lane," Milah says, but gives Emma no time to reply before changing the subject. "Now, what are you drinking, dear? Least we can do is buy some poison for our new friend."
"Whiskey, if you please," she replies. "And I'm afraid I will be unavailable tomorrow, but the next day, I will surely take you up on that offer."
But she does not get the chance. After spending the next day with Belle planning their next party, going about the town to hire chefs, orchestras, dressmakers, more work than Emma thought necessary for just one night, she finds herself back in the comforting darkness of the tavern. Something about it seems off at first, and halfway through her first whiskey, she realizes just what it is: the silence. Usually, the tavern is full of drunken, rowdy men, mostly sailors - pirates - but tonight, none of them are here.
She flags down the barmaid for another glass, and asks, "Do you know where the group of sailors is? From the Jolly Roger?"
The barmaid smiles at her, a tall, lean woman in a tight corset and a skirt that barely reaches her knees, with a bright red cloak as the staple, a woman that Emma had seen working the tavern before, but had not had the opportunity to speak with her yet, since she usually catered only to the pirates. Emma knows she has heard them use her name, but it takes her a moment to remember it: Ruby.
"You've taking a liking to the pirates, eh?" Emma feels the blood run to her face, thankful for the low lights of the tavern to save her from further embarrassment, but Ruby either does not notice it or ignores it, instead leaning across the bar towards her. "I heard someone talking about it this morning, that the Dark One came on to the ship to take his wife back."
"What - the Dark One? Was she - Milah was the Dark One's wife?"
Ruby's eyes go wide with the excitement of hot gossip. "Well, yeah!" Surprisingly enough, Ruby reminds Emma of a schoolgirl, specifically one of the ones that work in the coffee shop down the block from her apartment, always excited to tell her customers about the gossip of the day, from school, from the tabloids. "She was married to the Dark One, gave him a son, and then ran off to be with the Captain. But today, he - he was in this rage, they say, and ripped her heart from her chest, then chopped off his hand and let her die in his arms."
It takes Emma a moment to wrap her brain around everything Ruby just said to her - and so nonchalantly, as if none of it were out of the ordinary. But, even after the moment, she only seems to have one concern: "He - is he okay?"
"Captain Jones? He's a strong man, has been through a lot already. Losing his brother, losing everything but his ship and the people that followed him."
"But that - this is a big thing to happen, Ruby. Just because you've been through a lot doesn't mean that you won't fall apart one day."
"You know a lot about this stuff, don't you?" Ruby asks with a smirk, one that Emma can't help but return, just as the door slams open and lets in a burst of fall Boston air, something that hasn't changed over two hundred years, apparently - and with this comes the hulking body of Captain Jones, swaggering drunk through the door.
Emma has seen the likes of him before, and it was exactly what she was hoping would not happen, that he would try to drown himself out of his worries at the bottom of a bottle - and liquor seems to have more of an affect now than it does in the future.
Much to Emma's discontent, Captain Jones seems to have come looking for a fight. He takes a swing at the man who tries to pass him in the doorway, who thankfully sees it coming and ducks out of the way.
Emma feels her blood quicken at the sight of him, then the rush of adrenaline when she realizes his current state. She does not know where it comes from, her sudden need to make him better, but whatever the source, it causes her to fly off her bar stool to his aid, just as he takes another swing, and this time the man is not lucky enough to duck out of the way. In the quietness of the bar, Emma can hear the crack of Jones' fist against the man's face, who then flies backwards away from the table, his chair clattering against the stone floor - and then his body. She watches as he chooses another chair, momentarily holding it over his head before throwing it across the room, aiming not at a person, but at the wall - his goal not to hurt others as he is hurting, just to destroy.
It is not until now, when he holds the chair above his head, that Emma notices his wound, remembers what Ruby told her: the Dark One chopped off his hand, and it appears that in his place, someone had attached a hook.
Emma can do nothing but watch as he upends a table, spilling its contents upon the floor, a clattering of plates and shattering glass filling the bar.
The thing that surprises Emma the most about this whole situation is not the rage of the Captain, or his new Captain Hook-esque appendage; no, it is the reaction of the others in the bar. Every other bar fight Emma has witnessed had caused the bar to go up in figurative flames - and once, literal ones.
But here, in this situation, led by the heartbroken and raging drunk pirate captain, no one else in the bar seems to want to join in on the riot. Instead, by this point, all eyes are on him - and when he goes to make his next assault, he seems to realize this very thing. He takes a moment to look around the bar, his eyes wide, as if he has just realized what he was doing. When he finally meets hers, there is something oddly familiar about the gleam in them, and it is only after he passes out and is unconscious on the floor that Emma remembers just what that gleam means.