The first thing Killian notices when he awakes is his headache, worse than any he has woken with before, which makes everything hurt, a pulsing pain through his whole body.
The second thing he notices is that he is not alone, that his head rests in someone's lap - in a woman's lap.
For a short, heartbreaking moment, he thinks it is Milah, and that everything that he remembers was a dream - but given his headache, and the sunlight rippling off her bright, blonde hair, he knows he must be wrong, and like a knife to the heart, he realizes that this means all his memories are correct: the Dark One, Milah, his hand.
He raises his arm to where he can see it without rattling around his pounding brain, and sees the evidence that he didn't want, the void that the Dark One left in his life, taking his hand from him.
Trying to sit up without disturbing his companion, he pushes himself onto his elbows, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of repressing the pain in his head and all over his body, but the stabbing shock up his arm is too much and he falls back onto the bed, landing with a thump on the mattress, his head back on the woman's lap.
She wakes with a gasp, then breathes a soft "fuck" after her head hits the wall behind her. He arches his back to look at her, to learn who his savior is, though it turns out to be someone far from what he expected: Emma Swan, the woman from the pub that they had just met a few days prior, is sitting above him, her bright green eyes shining down at him.
"This is far from the way that I am used to waking up with women, you know, love," he mumbles, pushing himself off his back again, only slower this time. Emma must see he is struggling, and she helps him, pushing him up gently off of her leg.
Something in her wants to be surprised by the forwardness of Captain Jones, given that he just lost the woman he loved the day before, but his words awake something inside her, a fire deep in her core, and thought the flame is small, she still does not fail to feel it tremble within her.
"What do you remember from yesterday?" Emma asks softly, helping him turn to sit beside her on the bed.
"I'm assuming you are not asking about…" He lets his voice trail off, but holds up his stump of an arm for emphasis.
Emma smiles at him sweetly. "No, I assume you remember all of that. But what happened after that? What do you remember, because I figure it gets a little blurry in there somewhere."
He tilts his head back, resting it against the wall behind them. "The doc patched me up, wrapped up the hole he left in my arm, but the one in my heart was something only I could heal." His voice is low, a soft growl. "I told the crew to leave me, to do whatever they had to do to find somewhere to be for the night, but to leave me alone with my ship. And then… I drank. I sat here and drank, but could not handle the memories of her, so I went to the deck, where it only hurt more. I know I left the ship, but the last I can remember, I was wandering the streets of Boston, bottle in hand. I reckon that was where you found me, Miss Swan?"
"Not quite, Captain - "
He reaches over and stops her with a hand on her arm. "Please, love. My name is Killian, especially now that we have spent the night together."
She knows he is only trying to ruffle her feathers with his charm, but damned if it doesn't work.
"Well, Killian," she continues, trying her best to hide just how much he is affecting her. "You came into the tavern ready to start a fight, but you didn't last very long after that."
"And you, uh, strong-armed me back to the Roger all by yourself then, Swan?" Eyebrows raised, he flashes her a devilish smile.
"Do you not think I could?"
"I've learned to never doubt a woman who carries a weapon." At first, she is confused as to how he knows - until she follows his eyes to the desk, where she placed her weapon the night before so it would not bother her as she slept against the wall. "But that does not mean that I cannot question her. How did we get back to the ship, Swan?"
"The sheriff helped me, actually," she says, and she feels his quiet chuckle before she hears it.
"The one person in this town that may have more knowledge of women than I," he comments, a slight smile on his face. "Just my luck that you would be charmed by him before I get my chance at you."
"And what if I find myself immune to both of your charms, Jones?"
"I have come to think that may be impossible, love," he says as he pushes himself to his feet, choosing this moment to undo the buttons of his grey vest. Emma knows what he is trying to do, trying to get her to keep her eyes on his as he strips in front of her, but this still does not help stop her from doing just that.
She eyes the patch of dark hair that covers his chest, leading down to his equally hairy stomach, and disappears under the top of his tight leather pants. When he turns around to ruffle through the closet, her eyes follow the rippling of his back muscles, the perfect way they all move together as he pages through the closet, pulling a bright red vest from a hanger and pulling it onto his body, first what is left of his stump-arm, then his good arm.
He turns back towards her before she can regain her composure, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, and smiles at her. "Aye, that's exactly what I thought."
Now it is Emma's turn to jump to her feet. "Well, Jones, I really must be going. You are to visit the doctor again, correct? Make sure he patches up your arm well enough?"
He stands inches in front of her, pinning her against the bed, smiling up at her over his eyelashes. "We could stay here and see to other matters, too."
As charmed as she is by him, she knows that even with the note Graham delivered, Belle must be worried about her - and Belle matters more to her than a sharp-witted pirate. She pushes him out of her way, hands on his bare chest, re-holsters her revolver, and turns to the door, but stops when she feels his hand on her arm.
"Will you come back and check on me, Swan?" His smile is still sly, but she sees something in his eyes: worry? fear? and she can't help but smile back at him.
"Yes, Captain Jones. I'll be back." She rests her hand on his, still on her arm, for just a moment, then turns away from him, leaving him in the cabin.
"Emma! We were worried about you!" Belle is quick to greet her when she returns to the house, making her way to the kitchen to curb the hunger she didn't realize she had until the walk home.
"Didn't you get my note? From the sheriff?"
"Yes, of course, he dropped it off last night, but you said so little in the note that I couldn't help but worry about you!"
Emma smiles at her friend, spreading jelly over a warm piece of toast. "That was exactly why I sent the note in the first place, Belle," she says with a laugh.
"You made some impression on that man, Emma."
At first, her mind goes to Killian, the flirtatious pirate who had not left her thoughts the whole walk home, but there is no way that Belle would know of any of that.
Belle must not sense her momentary distraction, for she just continues. "I have never seen Graham turn down one of the girls for a dinner date in all the years I have known him, but I saw it for myself last night, with my own two eyes."
"He - Graham?"
"Well, of course, Graham. Who did you think I was talking about?"
"I thought - " She pops the last of her toast into her mouth, then turns to the door. "Of course you were talking about Graham. Who else would it be?"
She gives Belle no time to reply, leaving her in the kitchen as she bounds up the stairs and into her room.
She does not know where her current energy stems from; just this morning, she was inches away from the arms of a beautiful spectacle of a pirate - so why is she suddenly running towards the arms of a sheriff that, unlike Killian, she had spoken to for the first time just the night before.
Her hair is a mess, but running a wet comb through it makes it somewhat manageable, falling in soft curls to her shoulders. But where her hair was an easy fix, her clothing is not - everything needs to be washed, and she does not want to wait for that. She finds another similar shirt in the closet, this time a dark blue as opposed to white, but it suits her. A new skirt, however, is a different story. They are not a regular in Belle's wardrobe, for she is inclined to bright colors, showy dresses. But she finds one in the back of a closet, a bright white very unlike anything she is used to wearing, with a little more of a bustle than she likes, but it will have to do.
There is a soft knock on her door as she laces up her boots, and the door is opened to reveal Belle, smiling at her from behind a tray of fruit.
"And where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I have to go, uh, talk to someone," she says, taking an apple off the tray, then checking her hair in the mirror again.
"You don't have to lie to me, Emma. I've seen enough people struck with the graceful charm of Graham Humphrey. I know what it does to a girl."
She takes another bite of her apple, trying to hide her blush behind it.
"You don't have to be embarrassed. He definitely is a striking gentleman, and there is nothing wrong with spending time in his company."
Emma sets her apple down on the dresser, leaning in towards Belle. "I've heard of his reputation. That's not - I don't normally go after men like him back home, you know? But he's - there's something about him, about this place, that makes me feel… different. Do you know what I mean?"
Belle smiles at her. "I know exactly what you mean. Just be safe, okay, Emma? Remember, there are things we have back home for situations like this that… may not be as safe here."
"Are you giving me the talk?" Emma asks, returning her smile.
"Just be safe."
Emma pats her hip where her revolver is tucked away, knowing that's not what Belle is talking about, but she hopes she appreciates the joke. "I'm always safe."