Coconuts in hand and hook, Killian returned to the clearing where the heroes rested after another long day on Neverland. It was the work of a moment to decide where he should take a seat. After all, the prince and princess were seated together, deep in soft conversation, as were Regina and Tink. Swan sat alone, staring pensively into the fire.
"May I?" he asked, nodding toward the log on which she sat.
Swan shrugged. "Suit yourself. Not sure I'm much company tonight, though."
Killian settled in and chuckled humorlessly. "It's rather difficult for anyone to be so in this infernal place."
She turned to look at him. "This is how you stayed alive for hundreds of years, isn't it," she asked, "by spending that time on Neverland?"
It wasn't a subject he preferred to dwell on, so he merely nodded.
"How did you survive it?" she asked. "I've been here, what? Two, three days? And I already feel like I'm crawling out of my skin."
Killian felt the compassion bubbling up. He knew that feeling all too well. This place bred hopelessness and amplified pain. "I simply put one foot in front of the other," he finally answered. "I kept my focus on my objective, refusing to dwell on the … oppressive … atmosphere of this place and the sadistic nature of its ruler."
"Easier said than done," she murmured, turning back toward the fire.
"Aye, but you have family, friends, those who care about you to help you through," he said. "Focus on that. If you must think ahead, focus on the moment your lad is returned to you, the moment you, all of us go home."
She turned and gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks," she said simply. "And…did you have that too? Did you have friends on this island?"
He was silent for a long time, not entirely sure how to answer the question. He'd had his crew, of course–at least those who weren't trapped in Echo Cave, killed by dreamshade or destroyed by Pan's sadistic games–but one could hardly call one's subordinates friends. And then there was Bae, but it's hard to call a lad who despises you for selling him out your friend.
He supposed if anyone fit the description, it would be Tink. He'd sought her out now and again when he needed a commiserating ear. They'd swapped stories of the misfortunes that had led them to this place and their less than pleasant encounters with Pan. He'd even spent a night here or there at her treehouse. But theirs was an acquaintance of convenience and mutual bitterness, rather than a true friendship.
If the truth were told, he hadn't felt the true pull of friendship with anyone in centuries–until he met Swan.
Of course, one rarely felt like an awkward lad fancying his first woman with a friend. One rarely felt his stomach swoop when she looked at him, his heart race when she gave him a rare smile, or electricity pulse through his system when their hands met.
It was best not to continue down that avenue of thought, Killian decided, turning away to grab one of the coconuts and pierce it with his hook. He handed it to her, basking in the grateful smile and simple "Thanks" she sent his way.
"I supposed perhaps Tink could be considered a friend," he said, finally answering her question.
Swan took a quick sip from the coconut. "So you think we can trust her? Really?"
"Aye," he answered. "She won't cross Pan unnecessarily–self preservation and all of that–but I'm also certain she will not betray us."
"Good enough for me at this point," Emma said with a quick nod.
They fell into silence for a moment, before she turned back toward him, tentatively laying a hand on his arm. (He tried fruitlessly to ignore the way that simple gesture inspired it all–the stomach swoop, the racing heart and the electricity, all rolled up into one.) "I'm really glad you're here with us, helping us."
He smiled. "As am I."
And suddenly, he realized it was true. Though he'd spent centuries trying to get off of this bloody island, right now there was nowhere he'd rather be.