Ever since the Swan girl came aboard, the Jolly's enchantment has felt at peace in a way she hasn't since Liam was still captain. The lass questioning the 'buzzing' had left him confused for a moment. His crew had never mentioned anything about a feeling. Hell, Milah never mentioned anything. Killian had always detected it, even as a fresh-faced lieutenant. When he had asked his brother, Liam pulled him aside with a conspiratorial wink, mentioning the Jewel of the Realm was enchanted.
'She's a lady, little brother. And ladies pick and choose to whom to reveal their secrets.' Liam explained with a clap on his shoulder and a smug, knowing grin. Killian hardly wanted to consider what it must signify, that the Jolly chose to reveal herself to Emma. He wrote it off as the young Savior's dormant light magic calling out to the ship and the ship echoing back. It was far from a sufficient explanation, but he didn't have any desire to ponder further. He didn't want to think why the Jolly was so at peace with her on board, taking the young Savior in like a mother hen.
Her shy, soft-spoken questions had endeared her to him. The unconscious way she flinched away from the possible fallout and braced herself caused him to see red. Who the bloody hell would make this girl terrified of asking questions? They were thought-out and suggested a fascination with the sea and sailing. She'd make a hell of a pirate indeed. She seemed to possess an inquisitive mind and gave him rapt attention. Moreover, he took immense pride in answering. The Jolly Roger is his pride and joy. Of course, he had no problem answering questions about her. Hell, the Jolly seemed to preen with Swan's genuine interest. Conceivably that had something to do with the peace coming from the Jolly Roger.
Besides, the lass kept him on his toes far too much to consider too thoroughly on much else. Arrested twice within the first two days of docking! There had been a look in her eyes, lost and overwhelmed by painful memories of her past as they departed from the station. Something in that look drew out the need to offer some measure of comfort and reassurance to the girl. He hadn't lied when he said it. It was practically tradition, all but a rite of passage. A man's first shore leave after Neverland, he often overindulged in the pleasures that the hopeless island made him believe lost forever. As Captain, he assumed responsibility. Some of the more illustrious stories, like Fitz fighting an entire pub tooth and bloody nail, or the outrageous bar tab Smee had managed to accumulate then fail to pay brought out that quiet, shy giggle from the girl.
Killian had absolutely no interest in considering why that sound soothed his soul. It wasn't until Fitz voiced it that the explanation registered. Sunshine. A rather fitting moniker for the young Savior. Light seems to simply radiate from the girl, sometimes soft and gentle like a candle, sometimes roaring like fire and brighter than the sun.
Some part of him wants to reach out to that light. He wants that light to remain in his life. But he knows he can't. Letting that light in will only turn him away from his revenge. Either he turns his back on avenging Milah and accepts this little ball of sunshine. Or he drags her down into the darkness with him and snuffs out that light. He can't stomach the thought of snuffing out her light, and he can't conceive of a life where he turns away from his revenge. It's a good thing she declared she's free to go once she breaks the curse. Sever the attachment as soon as possible. So close to his goal and he's faltering in his resolve. Killian won't alter his course, but he can't bear the thought of her light going out because of him.
If the Crocodile has his way, that light will be snuffed out. The terrible possibility floods him with overwhelming fear as he anxiously paces the deck. He visualizes, all too vividly, Milah's offer of a deal to her ex-husband. The bean for their lives. And the bloody bastard killed her anyway. Ripped her heart out while I was restrained helpless to the mast. Crushed it to dust. I didn't get the chance to tell her I loved her one last time. And then he cut off my hand, thinking it contained the bean. Phantom pain shoots up his arm.
Gods, he'll do the same to Swan. Or worse. His fear morphs into anger as he paces. How bloody foolish could she be? She made a deal with him, in exchange for what? The lass doesn't even comprehend what she agreed to surrender! The bastard could demand any favor of her, no matter how vile! And if she refuses, then the Ashley lass loses her babe and he'll kill Emma. He sighs, scrubbing a hand down the scruff of his jaw. Gods above know that the lass losing her child, feeling like she failed the girl, will affect Emma worse.
The Jolly hums out what feels like a no. "You know I'm right," he mutters. She hums in response something that feels like 'I wasn't talking to you'. Gods, that feeling hasn't struck him since Liam was still Captain. It rocks him back a step as he recalls Emma's conversation with the Jolly.
His anger turns inward. You should have been there. You shouldn't have gone off keeping an eye out for the Dark One. You should have been watching her back, deterring her from doing something so reckless. Why the hell weren't you there? What was so bloody important? Oh yeah, you were investigating through the woods, foolishly attempting to acquire whatever the Dark One's hiding. Because you weren't there, she took action.
The darker parts of his mind sneer at him. What the hell do you care? Why do you care? She should mean absolutely nothing to you! The Savior represents a means to an end, nothing more! Hell, you should have entertained the Evil Queen's offer and ripped the girl's beating heart from her chest! When the Dark One demands she kill you or further betray you, you'll regret not killing her. His mind's eye presents to him an image of the girl locked in the brig as a solution. You've done far worse for far less than treachery to this degree. You know what he'll demand she do. It's the safest thing you can do. Self-preservation. You're a survivor, Killian, you always have been. And yet, you've a loose cannon who owes a debt to the Dark One sleeping peacefully as a kitten right next door.
He's sorely tempted for a moment and conflicted in the next. For some damn reason, he can't stomach the thought. That lost and overwhelmed look in her eyes, just before they shuttered when the sheriff clapped her in irons. Gods help him, he's gone soft for the lass, but he never wants to see that look again. He sure as hell never wants to cause that look, one so overwhelmed by pain until she went numb and emotionless.
Bloody hell, she's already almost burned down the Jolly Roger on accident! Who's to say she doesn't do it on purpose next time? She owes the Crocodile a favor. The Queen demanded her heart, the Crocodile will demand yours. The second he regains his memories, he'll try to kill you before you kill him. And now, he has a weapon on board your ship.
Hook clenches his fist and pictures another solution. His hook through her neck. In his mind's eye, he witnesses it in visceral detail. It's all he can do to prevent himself from heaving the contents of his stomach over the side of the ship. The appalling thought of her dead, especially by his hand, sends a cold feeling through him. Gods, he doesn't want her dead! Doesn't want to think of a world without her. Certainly doesn't want to think too closely about what that feeling definitely means.
He shakes off the thought. Emma Swan is not a weapon.
The Savior is true love incarnate. Love is a fearsome weapon. One the Dark One knows how to wield. Hook stalks towards the hatch, reaching out to open it before he hesitates. He turns on his heel and stalks the length of the deck again.
She's just a child who doesn't understand what she's done. As Captain, you have a responsibility to those on board. Swan is on board your ship and in your charge. It is your responsibility to keep her safe.
Killian sighs again. She had done something incredibly dangerous and had to understand just how much so, lest she repeat the action. He sent her to bed before he could express something he'd regret. Whatever would have been said or done would have been done in the heat of anger, instantly regretted, and impossible to come back from. While looking at her, he was struggling to keep his fear-fueled temper in check. There's not a doubt in his mind that he would have lashed out at her in some way had he not sent her out of his sight. But he needs her to recognize just how big of a risk she took.
"Not tonight," he mutters to himself, continuing to pace. He's far too tired to address the situation tonight. And besides, the girl needs some rest. The buzz in response disagrees with him, prompting him to action. "You're not going to stop until I speak to her, are you?" This hum is affirmative. "You can stop being my bloody conscience," he mutters. Killian sighs and knocks on Swan's door.
"Swan?" As the door creaks open, the girl shoots to her feet. Standing at attention like a crewman awaiting orders. Her eyes are flicking around for an escape and a weapon though, he recognizes that cornered, desperate look in her green eyes. The same instincts he praised a few days before–Gods, it's only been a few days, it feels like so much longer–now tear at something in his gut. She's still just as afraid as she was then. Probably more so, and not without reason, his mind adds unhelpfully.
Scourge of the seven seas, feared and ruthless pirate that he is, he's taken pride in the fact that wherever he goes, he inspires fear. Despite that, he doesn't want this girl to fear him. The knowledge and continued confirmation that she does guts him. Every time she ducks away from the anticipated fallout of her questions, every time her quiet lovely singing goes silent, every time she hunches her proud shoulders inward and tries to hide, his heart sinks. Another realization strikes him. The reason she's often been nothing short of polite, calling him 'sir', the pleases and thank yous. She's terrified of setting him off. He hates the knowledge. Because she won't be able to fulfill her destiny if she's scared shitless. Because it will only make the intervening time on the ship more uncomfortable. He tells himself. Not because he never wants her to look at him again the way she had when he found her at the wooden castle on the beach. Not because he never wants her to flee him in terror the way she did then, betrayal screaming in her fiery green eyes. Most certainly not because she reminds him, almost painfully, of his younger self. And she has since he pinned her to the wall in the alley and heard her stomach growl in hunger.
Bloody hell, the alley. Remorse floods through him with his actions. Seizing her by the arm, threatening her, putting his hook to her throat, pinning her to the wall. She'd been trembling, despite her bold words. A bit like she is now, he thinks. Good, she should be, the darkest parts of his mind sneer.
"Sir?" Emma asks tentatively. Her green eyes are wide as she observes his every move. He realizes he's been standing silently, blocking her only escape route, and only further unnerving the young lass. Those green eyes dart to the window, actually considering pitching herself through the narrow window into the waves a viable escape route. That realization is what finally prompts his question.
"Swan, are you afraid of me?" he asks softly.
"No, sir," Swan answers far too quickly. She's still surveying the room for a weapon.
He sighs. A hole in his chest makes the feeling painful. "Swan," Killian starts and cuts off. He doesn't know how to continue. He's uncertain which words will suffice and he's hesitant to fully explain himself.
"I'm sorry. I know it seems like I betrayed you. I didn't mean to. I didn't know how else to make him tear up Ashley's contract. And I know you hate me-" she stammers out, holding both hands in front of her defensively.
He cuts off her words, pulling her forward and wrapping his arms around her on an instinct he doesn't care to look at too closely. Internally, his mind reels. What the bloody hell are you doing? Why are you holding her? She goes stiff, freezing in place. "I don't hate you. Gods, Emma, I don't hate you. And I know you didn't betray me." With those words, her tense muscles relax. She winds her arms around his waist, clinging tight, and tucks her head in his chest. He doesn't want to think about how her warmth seeps into him.
"I was too much of a coward to tell you." Her voice is muffled against his shirt.
He shakes his head, then realizes she can't see him. "No, Swan."
"I was scared out of my mind. Still am, if I'm being honest." He sighs.
He remembers Liam's words from so many years before and quotes him verbatim. "Knowing fear makes you human. It's your actions that distinguish the brave from the cowards. Now, the coward allows fear to terrify him into inaction. The brave, in spite of their fear, take up arms and continue to fight." Swan pulls back just enough to search his face, her eyes darting between his. He smiles slightly. "Not my words, but they're fitting."
"Whose are they?" she asks quietly.
"A captain I once knew," Killian answers simply. He can see the questions swirling behind her eyes, begging to be asked. He also recognizes the only reason she doesn't is because of their agreement, to not poke and prod at each other's old wounds. Killian sees all too clearly in his mind her expression of shock and awe as he told her that her past was her own. Had he not known any better, he would have dubbed what he perceived appreciation and respect for not reading the binder. They agreed to not poke and prod, but that doesn't mean they can't share if they wish. He closes his eyes. Gods, he's never wanted to talk about Liam to anyone. His memory has been too sacred to discuss. Not with those men of his crew who still remembered Captain Jones of the Royal Navy. Not even with Milah, with whom he shared very little of his past before he became a pirate. So why the bloody hell does he want to tell Swan?
I owe his memory more than that, he concludes. "He was my captain, but he was first and foremost my brother." Her eyes widen, then flick quickly to his arm, where he remembers she's seen the tattoo. Black vines with black thorns wrapped around his bicep, with Liam's name. Both tattoos manifest how I failed the two people I've ever loved.
I want to remember how they lived. "His name was Liam. After my first battle in the Royal Navy, he told me that. I was terrified, but I fought anyway. Fumbled the cannon-shot and ran after it in the chaos on deck as it skittered around." He chuckles slightly at the memory. "My sword was shaking in my hand as we prepared to board the enemy ship. But I fought. Liam pulled me aside after the smoke cleared. He knew I was scared out of my bloody wits. Terrified to face battle for the first time. And scared as hell that made me a bloody coward."
"He sounds like a good leader," she whispers.
"He was. And a good man. A far better man than I." Her arms squeeze around his waist at his admission. He stares at the far wall in surprise as Emma hugs him tighter. Killian doesn't know why the hell he feels acceptance from the girl and he doesn't want to imagine why he cares about acceptance from her. But it warms him.
"Now, tell me the truth. This curse has you terrified, yes?"
Emma shrugs but nods. "Well yeah. I mean, it kinda takes everything I thought I knew, dumps it on its head. Fairy tales are real, and I'm here to bring back the happy endings." She shrugs again, eyes darting away. "And I don't really know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. The only plan I really have is to try and bring back the happy endings that the curse took away. I don't know, I think maybe I can weaken the curse that way? Die a death by a thousand cuts? That sort of thing." She shrugs her shoulders and darts her eyes around the room at the suggestion.
She's a child, and you dumped the weight of the world on her shoulders. You utter fucking sod. You wanker. You bloody bastard. You never spared a single thought to the amount of pressure you were putting on a child. His self-loathing dies down a touch to consider the Swan girl. Killian feels a touch of pride in the girl and more than a bit of respect. For all she has no clue what to do, she hasn't buckled yet. The lass has shouldered the weight of the world and the weight of her destiny, and she hasn't buckled under yet. I doubt she will buckle. She hasn't tried running from her destiny.
Just from you, and not without reason, his never-silent self-loathing adds.
"I wish I could advise you how to proceed." He tells her with a regretful sigh. "Though that does sound like a bloody brilliant plan." Her eyes go wide in surprise but sparkle at the praise. The left corner of her mouth turns up slightly, revealing that little dimple. "Savior," he tacks on with an eyebrow raise, just to witness the annoyance spark a flame in her eyes and the slight scowl.
She drops her arms and takes a step back. "Okay! Okay already! I've accepted that I'm the freaking Savior and that I'm here to break the curse! Can you please quit calling me that already? It's pretentious! And annoying!" He chuckles at her annoyance, only deepening her scowl. "What's it gonna take to get you to quit calling me that?"
"Sorry, Savior, but it's who you are." He answers with a grin. A cursory glance down wipes the smile from his face. Standing out starkly on the blue shirt is a stain of violent red, almost black in the low light of the cabin. "Swan, what happened?"
All emotion flees the girl's face. "Ashley was in labor when I found her," she answers too promptly, too stiffly. Killian tilts his head a bit, narrowing his eyes at the stain. He knows very little about childbirth, so he's unsure the amount of bloodshed involved. But the way Emma refuses to meet his eyes seals it. For her apparent superhuman ability to detect lies, she's terrible at telling them herself. All his years of experience have offered him a bit of similar talent. The words themselves aren't a lie. It's the delivery that's off and informs him there's something more. She's hiding something more.
Something else she didn't tell you. The darker parts of him, the ones Hook has never hesitated to follow, want to demand answers. If she's hiding the reason behind blood on her shirt, then she's hiding something else. Perhaps it's whatever the Dark One demanded of her. This secret could jeopardize his quest for vengeance against the Crocodile. Should she refuse to answer, lock her in the brig for insubordination. The self-loathing that's been rearing its head all night determines the reason she won't explain further is her fear of him. She's terrified of him. And he's given her very little reason not to dread his volatile reaction. The part of him that remembers, and remains, a young enslaved deckhand speaks out. He remembers hiding injuries from Liam, worried about the consequences for his brother, should he get involved. He remembers fearing that things would only get worse if his brother were to intervene. Emma reminds him too damn much of that boy.
"Swan, did someone hurt you?" He asks far too direct a question for her to lie or evade. Emma squirms a bit. "Swan, please don't lie to me." She bites down on her lip, staring at the floor, saying nothing. What little he can see of her eyes is torn, and he knows he's right. He remembers Liam's words. "Swan, I can't help you if you don't tell me." And he should recall his own reaction.
That ultimately causes her to pull away. Fire lights in her eyes. "Like telling ever makes it better," she shoots out. Her eyes instantly pop out, white against the dark, terrified of her emotional outburst. Arms pulled tight around herself, bracing for a blow, she chews on her lip before continuing with a pasted-on smile he doesn't accept for a second. "It's nothing, really. I'm fine."
He sighs wearily, hand running through his dishevelled hair, plopping down in the desk chair as Emma perches on the edge of the bed. If Liam's not disgusted and appalled by what I became in his absence, then he's laughing his arse off in the heavens, watching me receive a taste of my own bloody medicine.
"Sir, can I ask you something, though? About this morning?" He frowns a bit in thought but nods. "Do the words 'willing to fight for what she wants' mean anything to you?" Emma asks tentatively.
Killian sighs and nods. "Aye. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. It's something of a code I've lived by since I was a lad." His mouth turns up in a faint smile. "Another life lesson I learned from my brother." Killian turns back to Swan, watching her chew her lip in thought. "Why do you ask?"
"Did you, umm, ever by chance say that to Mr. Gold?" Her question walks on eggshells.
"Aye," Killian answers simply. Something compels him to explain further. "Milah," Emma's eyes widen a touch but she remains silent. "When I met her, she was married. Bound to a coward, Rumplestiltskin. He crippled himself to flee battle in the Second Ogres War and hobbled home to his wife in their humble village. For years after that, she stayed with him, bound more by loyalty to her son than to her pathetic husband. I met her one night in a tavern. She had a fire about her, a free spirit. Something not meant to be caged on land. My crew and I weren't in port long. At the end of that week, she came to me. Begged me to take her away from a life lashed to the village coward. To preserve her reputation, I made it look like a kidnapping. And I proposed a test. Rumplestiltskin came to the docks and came aboard, begging me to return his wife, to allow her to go free. As if I could have held a woman like her hostage," he scoffs at the ridiculous notion.
"For my test, I offered certain suggestions." He notes the lack of comprehension in the girl's eyes, so elaborates. "He said I have his wife. I replied I've had many a man's wife. He said she had responsibilities and a son to return home to. So, I told him I have a ship full of men who need companionship." The flinch she can't quite hide informs him just how bad an idea it was to make that understanding. Stupid fucking bastard, you had to remind her of that? "No such thing truly occurred, you understand?" She nods, actually meeting his eyes and he continues. "But heavily implying such, I allowed the man a chance to fight. He didn't fight the ogres, but I offered him a chance to confront one man to preserve his family. I dropped a sword on deck in front of him, and he refused to pick it up. Rumplestiltskin refused to fight for his wife and son, and I told him that. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets." Killian expels a sigh. "Even believing his wife was at the mercy of violent, evil, disgusting pirates, he walked away without even attempting to fight for her."
Emma nods slowly, chewing on her lip in thought. "Why do you ask?" Killian asks.
"Do you think Gold might remember something?"
Her soft-spoken question floors him. Strikes him like a punch in the gut. Ignites energy coursing through him, shaking and burning through his limbs, compelling him to action. Lights a fire underneath him. Wait! Slow down!
"What brought you to that conclusion?" His voice is strained.
Emma shrugs. "When you mentioned 'willing to fight for what she wants' this morning, he kinda, well, his face changed. He was pissed, but this was a different kind of pissed, y'know? Not like he was pissed about Ashley stealing a contract or about you praising her for hitting him. But like he was pissed about that." He nods vaguely. He does know. So she witnessed it too. "Then there was his reaction to the Jolly Roger. Most folks stare at her like she's awesome, cuz, well, she is." They both seem to feel the Jolly's preening. "Gold, though. He stared at her like she was where he lost everything. He was pissed. I guess you were still below deck completing your rounds when he came up." He nods as she continues. "Then there's the fact that he remembered the Dark One's deal with Ella, and it carried over when Ella became Ashley. He knew enough to try and collect on it."
Her shoulders hunch in slightly and her face closes off as she points to the desk behind him. "Then there's the fact that Gold remembered I'd be important enough to take note of." She spits her words out and Killian nods in consideration.
He holds up a finger. "Wait here," he tells her, returning briefly to his cabin and grabbing the scroll from his desk. He returns and hands it over to the girl. She frowns, unrolling it. "I never did show you this, did I?" She shakes her head, still frowning at the parchment.
"This isn't your handwriting, so whose is it?"
"When have you seen my handwriting?" Gods, did she read my logs? My journals? Did she go through my cabin? Where in the hell would she have recognized my handwriting? What else does she know?
"Sheriff's station, whatever forms he had you fill out." She shrugs. "I was looking around because I was bor…was being a thorough observer and a very diligent Savior," she amends, mouth turning up in an endearing smile. "Yep, uh-huh, just Savior-ing," she nods to herself seriously. He laughs aloud at the fumble. Gods, she's adorable. He quickly stomps down the thought. "So, whose handwriting is it?"
"Take a guess."
"Gold's?" Killian nods. She fully unfurls the scroll, eyes widening comically. "But it's like two feet long!" He nods again. "And his writing's like this big!" Emma's voice starts growing shrill. She holds up her hand, thumb and forefinger indicating the size, held all but pinching together. "And it's just my name!" Killian nods again. "Why the hell is it just my name? It's freaking creepy!" Emma tosses the scroll away from her, shuddering involuntarily. He can't hold back a chortle at the dramatic display. "Why are you laughing at me? You'd be creeped out too if it was your name!"
"I apologize, lass." He composes himself, then continues. "I discovered that in his cell back in the Enchanted Forest. Come to think of it, the one the young Miss Boyd is partially responsible for constraining him in." Maybe best not to mention renegotiating the contract, he thinks. "The ink it's written in could have been used for him to escape. Instead, you were his priority."
"How the hell did he know my name in the first place?" she whispers.
Killian sighs. "Your parents. Had to be. The curse was cast the day of your birth, and names traditionally aren't known to anyone but the parents until a few days later." Killian chooses to leave out how that tradition came about as a result of the number of newborns not surviving past the first few days.
A few facts he'd considered disconnected come together in his mind. "The Dark One was the one who told them it'd be twenty-eight years."
Emma nods. "Yeah, you mentioned you didn't wanna go along with his timeline."
"The thing is, the Dark One doesn't do anything for free." Emma ducks her head, no longer meeting his eyes. "Especially prophecy. Now, most likely, the price he extracted for that prophecy was your name."
"Does he actually have a thing with names? Do they grant him power over a person?"
Killian shakes his head. "I sincerely doubt it. Back in the Enchanted Forest, if such a thing were the case, I doubt he would have hesitated to utilize it to kill me." Killian shrugs. As if the potential for death by the Dark One's magic is of little concern. "Besides, this is the Land without Magic. He doesn't have power here."
She doesn't seem to listen to his reassurance, though. "That's another thing," she whispers. "The 'Gold might have his memories' thing." Killian cocks his head, a little lost as to how her mind jumped. Don't bother speculating, mate. You'll never understand how a woman's mind works. "How he wouldn't have hesitated to kill you. Gold seems to hate you as much as you hate him. And he shouldn't."
His anger flares and he glares at the girl. "Oh, aye?"
"That's not how I meant that." She rushes out. "Obviously, Rumplestiltskin hates you as much as you hate him. And obviously you both have your reasons. But to Mr. Gold, the creepy cursed pawnbroker, you should just be some stranger from out of town." Her quick and astute explanation takes the wind right out of his sails. "You should be a complete stranger to him. And no one hates a complete stranger that much at first sight. At the sheriff's station that first day, he looked like he wanted to kill you just as bad as you wanna kill him."
Her words turn over in his head. She's got a point.
If you rush this, if you squander this, you'll lose your revenge. Should you kill the Crocodile when he doesn't remember you, all on Swan's speculation, you'll never get the chance again. And it won't be bloody worth it. If he indeed recognizes you, do you think he'd hesitate to kill you? He's reserved as he answers her.
"Much obliged for your observations, Miss Swan. I'll keep an eye on the situation."
"Yes sir."
He stands and turns back to the door, then remembers his intended purpose for coming down here in the first place. Bloody hell, good job, you git. He sits back down and faces Swan head-on. "Swan, I actually had a purpose in coming down here." She quirks a brow at that. "I need you to understand just why making deals with him is so dangerous." She nods solemnly, so he continues.
"This morning, you were right when you said nothing good happens. You need to know how badly things can go." He sighs. "I told you how Milah and I met. We were together for a few years. We traveled the realms, and I showed her the world." He sees Emma's eyes sparkle at the romantic notion and smiles.
"One day, we returned to her home port. We were returning for her son. My men and I went to a tavern while Milah chose to remain behind on the ship. She'd been feeling poorly that day." His voice catches in his throat and he clears it. "While leaving the tavern, a man stumbled into our path. I'll admit, I mocked him. And he turned to reveal he was not only the man I mocked on my ship while challenging before, not only the man whose wife ran away with me, but also now the Dark One." He clenches his fist and stares at the boards of the floor.
"I later learned he became the Dark One when his son was drafted into the Ogres War. The lad wasn't much older than you. Desperate for numbers, more accurately cannon fodder, as they were, children were drafted at fourteen." Emma's gasp is muted. "He became a bloody demon and put a stop to the Ogres War all to spare his son from that fate." Killian spits the admission out. Bae told him that in confidence. He hates the feeling of violating that confidence, but it's outweighed by the need to make Swan understand. It's far outweighed by his fear of what will happen if she doesn't understand.
"The Dark One challenged me to a duel. When he asked Milah's fate, I lied. Told him she died long ago. He threatened to kill my entire crew if I didn't show up at dawn. So I did. He took my sword, saying that killing a man with his own sword was too good to pass up. Unlike him, when offered a blade, I picked it up and fought. We dueled, despite his use of magic. He had his hand in my chest, ready to rip out my heart, when Milah's voice rang out. She shouted for us to stop."
"When you say rip out your heart," Emma develops her question carefully.
"I mean those who use magic back in the Enchanted Forest have the ability to rip out a heart, while it still beats. They enchant it in the process. Ripping it out doesn't necessarily kill you. Not right away it doesn't have to, at least."
"What else could be done with it?"
"Control. You hold a person's heart, you hold their free will in the palm of your hand." He sees Emma shiver and he slightly regrets his harsh tone. "Anyway, Milah cut off the fight. As it so happened, the Dark One had been searching for a magic bean. He wanted a portal to get to this land. Baelfire, his son, had run here. Rumplestiltskin chose to hold on to the power of the darkness rather than his word to his son to leave it behind for a land without magic. Rumplestiltskin's way of getting that bean turned out to be Mr. Smee."
"Mr. Smee?" Emma cocks her head.
"Is he in this land's telling of Peter Pan as well?" She nods. "I suppose it's no more favorable a view of him than it is of me." She shakes her head a few times and he smirks. "Aye, Smee. He had a penchant for finding rare and valuable objects. He'd found a bean, and Milah had found and captured him. All without my knowing about it," he interjects into his story with a laugh.
The laugh and the slight levity with it die with his following words. "Milah told him she had Smee and the bean, then held up his hat as proof. She offered him a trade, the bean for our lives. He agreed and removed his hand from my chest. She assisted me back to the ship and we showed him the bean as proof. We thought we were safe and had his agreement. Then he started talking to his ex-wife. She told him she never loved him." His heart constricts and his voice fails him a few times, trying to manage the following words.
Emma's arms are around his shoulders in a heartbeat, clinging tight, tucking her head against him. There's a new catch in his throat for an entirely different reason now. Touched deeply, he can't produce words at the lass offering him comfort. The dark-hearted pirate in him wants to sneer and force her away, but he can't persuade himself to do it. He coughs to clear his throat and continues, knowing he has to. Knowing that if he doesn't, she won't appreciate just how much danger she's in. She won't understand exactly how reckless her actions were. That if he doesn't make her understand, this sweet girl offering acceptance and comfort without reservation to a villain like him will suffer and die.
"With a flick of his wrist, he bound me to the mast with the rigging. He froze the crew in place. And he plunged his hand into Milah's chest and ripped out her beating heart." Emma's arms squeeze tighter. "I managed to rip free and caught her as she fell to the deck. He crushed her heart to dust and she died in my arms." His voice breaks again and he finds himself clinging to Swan.
After a moment, he clears his throat. "He cut off my hand, refusing to end my life. He thought the bean was tucked away in my left hand. And I took a piece of the rigging that had confined me to the mast," he holds it up in demonstration. "This hook, in point of fact, and I plunged it into his chest. He laughed." His voice is more hostile than it has been in the entire retelling as he finishes. "Even demons can be killed, and I promised myself I would find a way." Killian gathers a deep breath.
He runs his hand through her silky curls to ground himself in the present. "Swan, I don't tell you that as justification for my revenge. Vengeance is the last thing on my mind right now." They both balk at his words. And he realizes they're true. Which sends him reeling. His life's purpose for centuries, the reason he remained alive, and it's not on his mind as he explains the reason behind it?!
How the bloody hell are those words true? Because may the gods strike me down, they are! When the hell did her well-being become more important to me than revenge? Have I ever prioritized my revenge over her well-being? Will I? Why the bloody hell do I care so much about this little slip of a girl? When did I start caring? He stomps down the questions. He knows he isn't capable of handling where the answers will lead at the moment and needs Emma to grasp his purpose for revealing his past more.
"I tell you that because you need to understand exactly how dangerous that man is." He sighs wearily. "Rumplestiltskin is not a man. He's a bloody demon. Whatever he demands of you will not be good. If you're frightened, you should be. What you did was incredibly dangerous."
She squares her shoulders and draws herself up to her full height. For once, he can catch a glimpse of the kind of queen the young Savior will make one day. And a hell of a queen she'll be. He stomps down that thought as well. Attached to that thought is the desire to witness it come to fruition paired with the knowledge that his revenge is a suicide mission and he won't live long enough. "That's all the more reason I had to do it." She answers. Emma sounds confident enough, no longer like an errant child. Her voice is resolute when it isn't tinged with terror at his reaction. If it wasn't so infuriating, he'd be proud.
"I couldn't let Ashley deal with him on her own."
"Lass, the fact that the deal existed means she already did."
"She must have changed her mind! Or not really known what Gold wanted. Hell, when he gave me the job, he just said it was a precious object. I'm willing to bet that's what he told Ella she'd be giving away for her deal when she made it." Killian sighs and nods, conceding the point. He wouldn't put such trickery past the Dark One.
Killian casts his mind back to what Smee told him when he first arrived in Storybrooke. During his rambling explanation, he mentioned that Mr. Gold was the type to handle matters such as these on his own. I believe the phrase Smee used was 'take the law into his own hands' in regards to involving the police. So why the hell would the Crocodile ask Swan's help?
"Why did he give you the job anyway?" He has a sneaking suspicion he knows. Whether or not the Crocodile knows Emma's the Savior, and thus her calling to restore happy endings like Ella's, he's not a fool. It's not terribly vexing to put together the recognizable pattern of 'Emma comes to town, things change' and conclude that Emma is the one responsible. But why he would think that might qualify the lass to find someone, Killian has no idea. All traces of royal grace gone, she plops back down on the bunk.
"Maybe it was because she was on the run. I've got experience with it," she chuckles softly without humor. "Takes one to get inside the head of one. He said it's cuz I had a penchant for finding people." She shrugs. "Guess he's got a bit of a point." She wraps her arms around herself, bracing herself again. Emma chews on her bottom lip, then meets his eyes. "A few times in the past, when I would run away, I would try finding my parents or the boy who found me on the side of the road at birth. I would go to the diner the boy brought me to and try to find anyone who was there that day. I tried finding anyone who may have been working that day, any regular customers, anything. Never got anywhere."
She sighs. "I just, I wanted answers, y'know? It's not like I popped out of nowhere suddenly into existence." She chuckles quietly. "Or, at least, that wasn't a possibility before I found out about the curse." Her hand brushes over a white-knit blanket lined with purple ribbon and her name embroidered in a purple thread at the corner. Purple, he remarks, a royal hue for the young princess. She pulls the blanket into her lap, clinging tight. "I was found in this. It's the only thing I had from them. My parents, I mean. It's, well, someone had to put work into making it. Someone wanted me, at some point. Someone was happy I was coming into the world at some point, happy enough to make this. And I wanted to know why that changed." Her voice tears at his heart. That lost look in her eyes reminds him of the look he's seen in the mirror. It shifts, though, lighting from the inside. "Guess I know now," she meets his eyes with the first sparks of hope he's seen in her. Pure, undiluted hope shines in her. Sunshine.
She clears her throat, shakes her head, and shutters that look. Some of her light still shines through her thick defenses, though. "So, Gold seemed to think that meant I had some sort of talent for finding people. Also, he let me find out what the merchandise was on my own, seemed to think it would grant me proper motivation." Killian nods his understanding. "Looking for my family is the reason I was in Portland," she whispers. Her eyes shoot wide as she realizes what she just mentioned. Emma immediately clamps her mouth shut, staring down at the floor.
"Portland?" He asks quietly, gently. He doesn't want to poke and prod. She was prickly on the drive to Texas and silent on the trip to Maine. Now, her silence on the second leg of their journey comes down to sleeping for most of it. But she barely spoke while she was awake and when she did, she was reticent to discuss herself.
"It's where I met Neal," she whispers, eyes on the ground and gripping the swan necklace in her fist. He noticed it before, and as much as he wanted to ask, knew better. "You shared yours. I guess I can share mine. He was, uh, well." She shrugs, then starts again. "I ran to Maine to try and find answers, wound up in Portland. When I got caught, I got placed in a crappy foster home. Not Nelson crappy," she clarifies quickly, "just the normal crappy. Where kids are a government paycheck and a burden at the same time. I wasn't there too long before I decided to run away. I was staking out a car, jimmied the lock and got it started. Same trick, by the way, of a rock and a screwdriver. I get about halfway down the block when this guy pops up in the backseat, says 'Impressive, but you could have just asked for the keys'. And he's got this really cute smile but I damn near jump out of my skin. I swerve into the other lane, run a stop sign," Emma cuts off her speech. She seems to read his lack of comprehension. "I was disobeying traffic laws a hell of a lot worse than what you saw," she amends and he nods.
"So a cop pulls me over. I'm thinking I'm gonna be arrested, cuz I just stole this guy's car. I mean, he's been flirting with me, and he's charming and cute, but I'm in the process of stealing his car. Instead, he jumps in the front seat, switches out the screwdriver for the keys, and lies to the cop. Says I'm his girlfriend, it's his car, and he's teaching me how to drive stick. Women drivers, am I right?" She shrugs. She's not been shrugging out of uncertainty, he realizes. She keeps trying to shrug off the tense set of her shoulders. "Anyway, the cop lets us go with a warning and I realize I just stole a stolen car."
"He asks me out, and we go on a date. We break into a carnival that was all set up after hours, and we sit on the swing ride all lit up and we talk. He's older and cute and charming," Emma shrugs again. Killian, knowing how a man thinks, balks a bit at the word older. Just how much older? Emma's still a child, so just how much older was this bastard? Exactly how did he take advantage of her? Her mouth is smiling but her eyes have him bracing for the pain. He recalls her words that 'the stealing-a-car thing would be prodding at the deepest of mine' and has a feeling he knows where this is going.
"We stuck together for about a month and a half after that. We scammed convenience stores and picked pockets. He showed me some ideas for how to survive on the streets. We would bum our way into motel rooms for the night when we could and sleep in the car when we couldn't." In the car? Killian visualizes the tight, cramped space of the two cars he's been in and envisions sleeping in them. It'd be a snug, intimate fit, he concludes. "We were Bonnie and Clyde," she shrugs, then takes in his completely bewildered expression. He's glad it's confused and not expressing the growing disgust he feels with this Neal bastard. "And you have no idea who they are, do you?" He shakes his head. "Right, different world, you wouldn't. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, they were bank robbers and so totally in love with each other. Ride or die," she says with a sad smile that again doesn't reach her eyes. "Never would have betrayed each other."
"What happened to them?" He asks the easier question, cutting through some of the tension he can see settling like storm clouds around the girl.
"They got caught. Took about a hundred thirty shots total from Texas and Louisiana state police. Died together and in love with each other." Her answer has that shroud hanging over her again. "Neal, well one day he suggests we drop the whole Bonnie and Clyde act. Says we should go legit. Settle down somewhere that isn't Portland or the surrounding suburbs. He tells me to close my eyes and pick, and I chose Tallahassee." She smiles vaguely. "Florida. South of here. Everything there's near a beach, I hear." Her tone is wistful.
"Next day, he finds a wanted poster. Turns out, he had stolen a bunch of watches before we met from his old job. Valued about twenty thousand dollars worth. He got caught before he could fence them, so he stashed 'em in a locker at the train station. Neal comes back, frantically packing, saying he's gotta go to Canada and he's gotta go alone." She shrugs and bites her lip, trying to keep her voice steady. "I, well, I didn't want him to leave me. I didn't want to be alone. I loved him." She bites out a self-deprecating laugh that tears at Killian's heart and soul. Gods, she's too young to be this jaded about love. On instinct once again, he moves to Swan's side and pulls her into his arms, trying to offer her the same comfort she granted him.
"So, stupid me, I suggest 'why don't I go get them? No one's looking for me'. It'd be perfect. I could pick up the watches, and we could fence them, then have the money to go legit. So off I go to the train station." Even now, she tries pulling on some bravado, tries to disguise the pain. "I get the watches without a hitch. Neal gives me one so we have something to sell when we get there if we need to, then he takes the rest to go fence them." Her voice is quiet and small as she continues. "And that's the last time I saw him."
Killian stiffens but doesn't interrupt, knowing she'll clam up if he does. In his mind, he pictures a faceless corpse lying in an alley. He imagines the man being attacked and robbed for either the money or the watches. He sees Emma crying over the faceless corpse, begging him to wake up, to come back to her, to not leave her. "We've got a time and a place to meet. I'm there, and it's about twenty minutes past and he hasn't shown up." Her shaky sigh, he thinks, confirms his thoughts. Swan's next words hit like a punch in the gut. "A cop does, though. Says someone called in an anonymous tip, told 'em to check the footage at the station, told 'em where to find me. And stupid me, I'm holding the evidence right there." She sighs. "Two months for possession of stolen goods. The judge was pretty lenient."
Gods above. Bloody buggering fucking hell! Her face is tucked into his chest so she can't see the rage burning across his. Bloody fucking hell! As bad as he thought this tale could go, it's somehow worse. The bastard betrayed her. Should Killian ever find Neal, he'll kill the fucking shit-stain. Love was all too rare in this girl's life, and the one time she believed she found it, he'd betrayed her so deeply. Some undeserving piece of vermin had her heart, and he betrayed her to suffer for his crime. That rat bastard took advantage of this sweet, amazing girl.
Not unlike what you're plotting to do, his self-loathing adds. It's a bucket of cold water to his rage. A weight sinks in his gut as he realizes exactly how accurate that statement is. Killian can't even offer any internal logic to justify his actions or his motives. The darkest parts of his mind, where Hook has always thrived, suffer no qualms with using the lass. But even the darkest parts of him recognize the truth of his plan is to use her. Somehow, the utter indifference makes Killian feel worse.
Concern yourself with your own mind later. Right now, she needs someone, and you're the only one here.
"I thought he loved me. Thought he loved me as much as I loved him." The words, mumbled against his chest cut him to the quick. Emma's shoulders are trembling as she clings to him. Her hands are clenched in fists around his shirt. He can hear the silent hitches in her breath and feels a wet patch growing on his shirt. Gently, he strokes her hair and lets her cry herself out.
She learned how to cry that silently somewhere, his mind mutters, because he's not torn up enough by this girl and her past. He wants to tell her that the predatory bastard doesn't deserve her and never did. Certainly doesn't deserve her tears. Never deserved a moment of her time, even.
"When I, uh, when I got out," she continues, her voice unsteady and watery. "Well, I mean, they're not gonna send a thirteen-year-old out onto the streets. I'd be right back behind bars if they did. So they sent me to the only place that would take me, and he never let me forget it." Leaden weight sinking in his gut, the understanding hits. She buries her face back into his chest and he strokes his hand through her hair. Slowly, her shoulders settle and her breathing steadies. His words echo in his ears.
Maybe you don't get returned to the place you just escaped, but you roll the dice on getting sent somewhere worse, yes? Or you accept the chance that no one would take you at all, isn't that right, Swan? Bloody hell. How could he be that much of a bastard? Swan's vague descriptions tell him he still doesn't know the full extent of what she suffered at Nelson's hand.
Killian knows better than to ask. Swan doesn't seem inclined to divulge. He then casts his eyes around seeking a way to relieve the heavy tension that's settled. He spots the mountain of blankets that were disturbed when she rose from the bed.
"Swan, just how many blankets did you manage to pilfer?" He asks with a smile.
She pulls back from his chest. Green eyes puffy and rimmed with red, tear tracks down her cheeks, tears clinging to her long, downy lashes. She flinches for a moment, then relaxes as she registers his tone and smile. "No one was using them!" She shoots defensively, but that small smile is tugging at her mouth.
"That's not a number, lass."
"Fine, you want me to count them?" She actually turns and counts the damn things. He's biting his lip to keep from laughing. Blush pinking her cheeks, eyes on her lap, she turns back to him. "Six," she mumbles.
"Sorry, didn't catch that." He leans his ear in.
"What, with your old man ears?" She laughs quietly.
"Oi! I think you mean experienced!" He laughs with her.
"Fine. Six, you old dinosaur," she says through her laughter.
"That's Captain to you, Swan," he says mock-sternly. It's bloody ridiculous. He's flogged men for much less. That statement alone could have had any man of his crew scurrying belowdecks in an instant. But she giggles. That sound makes him feel the best he has all bloody day. She cuts off with a deep yawn. He stands with a gentle smile. "Now, get some rest, love. It's been a long day, and likely tomorrow will be longer." She nods.
"G'night, Cap'n," she mumbles sleepily, cocooning under the blankets, eyes closing the moment her head hits the pillow. His heart is warmed by the show of trust from the purest, most distrustful soul he's ever met.
He returns to his cabin, feeling both as if he's shed a considerable burden and terrified of taking on a new one. He won't pretend he doesn't care about Swan. He won't pretend to not want what's best for her. But gods, her deal with the Dark One has him fucking terrified.
All he can see when he closes his eyes is Swan, the Crocodile with his gleeful smile and his fist in her chest. Swan, gasping for breath and clutching her chest as her heart glows bright red, more brilliant than the sun, in the Crocodile's fist. The evil, twisted bastard squeezing slowly, turning Swan's gasps for breath into breathless cries of pain as she hits the ground. And finally, that brilliant red pulsing light of life fading as the organ crushes like an overripe fruit, turning to dust in the Crocodile's hand. The cruel delight in the Crocodile's eyes at having snuffed out the light as he watches the gritty powder of what was Swan's heart drift away. Dust in the wind. What was once brilliant glowing red now the color of gunpowder and smoke. Her green eyes losing the spark of life, as they turn glassy and dull. Her fidgety, ever-moving body going still in death. Her last breath leaving her body deflated.
Twice in the night, he paces by her cabin and pokes his head in to check on the Swan girl. It's a bizarre impulse, but he bloody needs to know she's alive more than he needs to breathe. The same impulse or instinct he felt to protect her when the Queen threatened her. The same impulse that had him put his hook through that bastard's neck. He sees her snoring, safe as a kitten, star-fished out under the mountain of blankets. Her hair lies tousled in a white-gold cloud around her head. One curl falls across her nose and open mouth, floating up with every breath she takes. He walks away, but finds himself pacing the narrow hall from his quarters to the galley and back again. Those same images are still plaguing his mind. The second time he pokes in his head, half of the blankets are twisted around her limbs. She's sprawled out on her side clinging to her baby blanket, and that curl is still fluttering over her mouth and nose. It figures that, even in her sleep, she fidgets around.
Hearing her light snores through the thin walls and feeling the enchantment of the Jolly at peace, knowing she's safe next door, allows Killian to settle and sleep. For the first time in a long time, he finds rest in the hours before the break of dawn.