Cold wind blows in from the east, smelling of salt and pine. Orange light sparkles on the surface of the harbor, broken by the waves. Sunrise on the seas might be one of the loveliest sights he's ever seen. Far better than greeting the morning in the infirmary, in his opinion. Swan had asked that he stay, so he stayed. That was that. Her palpable shock every morning, that he was there, keeping vigil, ensuring she was still alive and breathing, that memory would remain in his mind. He could pretend he wasn't affected by the shy smile that would wash away the shock and pretend it didn't warm what was left of his heart. He doesn't care to examine the simplicity too closely. He's fond of the Swan girl, he'll admit that. But that doesn't explain the wealth of emotion she's able to drag out of him, simply by existing. For a man who spent centuries fueled by nothing more than grief, pain and rage, it's jarring. It's bloody unnerving.
Now, as he performs his daily checks of his ship, Killian's mind reels over the events of the day before. The lad, how he looked to his sister. That was how Killian had minded his brother all those years. Those words, 'she's all I have,' Killian remembers, hell, he's haunted by pleading those words with the demon Pan, clutching Liam's body. Bloody hell, he used to not care! Before he met Swan, he didn't care about any of this! Hell! When he met her and explained the realities of the curse, what it did to those under its thrall, he hadn't even cared then! The innocents along the way were stepping stones on the path to revenge, nothing more. Hook never cared what happened to anyone, so long as he achieved what he wanted or needed. Hell, before he met her, he viewed Swan the same way. Now, gods help him, he genuinely cares about the suffering of the people in this town. Something about Swan's inherent goodness seems to be infecting him, he's sure of it. Either that, or he's beginning to resurrect whatever remains of the man of honor he once was. Both possibilities should concern him far more than they do, as either one would prevent him from obtaining his revenge.
Killian hears quiet singing as he rises up on deck and pauses for a moment, sighing. "I thought I told you to take it easy, Swan," he mutters to himself. The tune of the song gradually begins to register in his mind. His heart pounds. His mind reels back to years before, a rat's nest of a tavern and a lovely young woman singing.
"I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue/ And it's hey, to the starboard, heave ho!/ Look out, lad, a mermaid be waiting for you/ In mysterious fathoms below/ Mysterious fathoms below". The voice is different. Younger, quieter, but still lovely and the tune still carries. His stomach drops as he remembers how that particular tale of his past ended. He swore to Poseidon he wouldn't betray Ursula, not after she spared his ship from the rocks. The lass held up her end of the bargain, delivering to him the squid ink stolen from her father's vault. And yet, when the sea king reclaimed the ink, Hook stole the one thing Ursula had left of her mother, her singing voice. He acted out of spite in the name of his revenge, trying to hurt Poseidon, but truly hurt Ursula. Even then, as he did it, he couldn't look her in the eye. Her words echo in his ears. "How could you? You said you had a code. You said you'd never steal my voice." His own response follows, that it was before her father stole his one chance at revenge. Ursula's voice is still locked in a shell in a vault in his cabin, where it's been ever since. Following that night, he and his crew encountered some of the mightiest storms of their lives. Five men went overboard and drowned before they could be tossed a line. The Jolly nearly capsized a dozen different times. All because he'd decided to harm someone who'd caused him no harm.
Killian wrenches himself away from his memories, eyes catching on Swan's golden hair. Gods, he won't repeat the same mistakes. He won't hurt Swan the way he hurt Ursula. The way he hurt so many others. He refuses to hurt her. Swan won't be just another innocent he tramples in his quest for revenge. She flings the cleaning water over the side of the ship and turns, tilting her head and frowning slightly.
"You okay, Captain?"
Killian blinks, slightly shaking himself and realizing he's been rooted to the spot, halfway through the hatch. Her quiet concern is almost as jarring as the song and the memories attached. "Aye, lass, I'm fine." He pulls a perfunctory smile to his face that he knows she doesn't believe. She doesn't prod any further, simply nodding and moving to return the mop to its place. "Thought I told you to take it easy, though."
"I am," Swan answers cheerfully. Her eyes dart away from his, though.
"Do you know what that phrase means, lass?"
Swan scowls at the slightly condescending tone of his voice. "Yes, I do, Captain."
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, not in the mood for a fight. "It means," he grasps her shoulder and steers her to a barrel, pushing lightly to get her to sit, "to sit your bloody arse down, and rest while you recover. Standing must hurt like hell, aye?" Her green eyes dart away from his, staring down at the deck. "Swan," he warns.
"Maybe. But I'm fine, I promise!" She sullenly mutters before protesting quickly.
As much as he believes that promise… "Swan, I didn't mention anything yesterday, while I apparently should have. But now I am. What's this about?" Her brow furrows in confusion as her head tilts to the side. So he clarifies. "Pushing yourself well before you're sufficiently recovered. It's only going to make those injuries worse, lass."
Swan shrugs, eyes on the planks of the deck. "Don't wanna be useless."
"You're far from it," Killian answers immediately, without a single thought.
"Useless people get left behind."
He sighs, recognizing the truth in her words. So, for the rest of the day, he has her assisting on whatever small tasks don't involve too much movement. He teaches her a few knots that anyone on board a ship should know. She fumbles her first few attempts, tilting her head and leaning closer to him to observe and mirror his movements before finally inching through slowly, but correctly. He can't help his own smile that matches hers as she beams with pride.
The prince comes by the docks in the afternoon. His smile is a match for his daughter's as he identifies her sitting on a crate, the large tome of fairy tales across her lap. Swan glances up at the sound of Killian welcoming the prince aboard, quirks the corner of her mouth up in a smile, then returns to her reading. Dave nods to Killian, who returns the gesture, before stepping alongside his daughter.
"Something in there you wanna talk about, kiddo?"
She shrugs without glancing up. "Not finding anything yet, and I'm kinda running low on ideas. Unless we wanna figure out who Frederick is here in this world and set you, Katherine, Mary Margaret and him up on the most unspeakably awkward double-date ever." While Killian doesn't follow the idea of a double-date, he recognizes the far-too-innocent smile and batting eyelashes being directed at David and chuckles. Both legs swing, her toes brushing the deck from where she sits on the barrel. David coughs awkwardly.
"Not how it works, kiddo."
"Oh, so my true love will do the trick, but you won't make a move towards yours."
Dave sighs while Killian chuckles. "Think the lad from last night is your true love?" he teases. Swan shoots him a glare from over the book, merely causing him to laugh more. David's eyes shoot back and forth between the two of them. Both of them make it too fun.
"A boy? What boy?"
Swan's head drops back with a groan before perking up with a smirk. Gods help the prince, he knows that look. She flicks her hair over her shoulder in a move all women seem to know. "A boy whose name I don't even know? How mysterious. How romantic," she sighs dramatically, swooning with a hand over her chest. "Floppy hair and a motorcycle. Just makes my little girly brain turn to mush." She bats her eyelashes before rolling her eyes with a scoff and turning back to the book in her lap. David sputters. His face starts splotching red.
"A motorcycle? A boy with a motorcycle?! He's-"
"Way too old for me? Yeah, I know. Not gonna get involved with an older guy, so just quit freaking out." Swan sighs, rolling her eyes again. "All I did was offer him directions to Granny's. Like the good Captain could tell you." She meets his eyes pointedly. Killian shrugs and continues laughing. The prince makes it too fun. "You probably saw him there."
"Brown hair? Leather jacket?" David asks. Swan nods. "I'm gonna kill him."
"Calm down. Don't go all Papa Bear on him." Swan doesn't seem to notice the shocked, pleased expression on the prince's face at the casual words. Killian doesn't disregard it. "He realized I was fourteen, and he backed the hell off. Couldn't get out of here fast enough. You know Jones is just messing with you." Killian shrugs unapologetically. David turns a glare on him that he continues to laugh at. After the last few days of so much stress, he needs a good laugh. And if it's at the prince's expense, all the better. Swan turns back to the book, flicking through the same few pages.
"So Frederick, that's actually not a bad plan…" she mutters, chewing her lip in thought before looking up at her father. "What was he, back in that world? Y'know, before he got turned to gold?"
"A knight."
Swan's nose crinkles. Her brow furrows in confusion. "A knight?" David nods, almost proudly. Swan turns to Killian. "But you have guns." Killian nods slowly, not grasping how she made that jump, one of his brows completing the slow climb to his hairline, eyes darting to meet David's. The prince is similarly confused. "How do you live in a world with both knights and guns?" Both men's eyes dart between each other and the clearly confused girl sitting on a barrel before them. "How did guns not make knights obsolete? How strong is armor or how weak are guns if knights weren't made obsolete?"
He never considered that, and obviously neither did the prince. Rather than admit to his lack of consideration on the topic, he turns a question back on Swan. "Why do you say that?" Killian asks.
"'Cuz that's what happened in this world, Captain." She sighs, shakes her head and shrugs. "Whatever. Point is, Katherine was brought into the fold as a roadblock to you and Snow White getting back together and being happy." Something in her voice sounds distant. Detached. This isn't about uniting her parents. If that were the case, she'd be referring to David and Snow White as Dad and Mom. This is about the devastating blow it would represent to the curse, even more so than anyone else's happy ending Swan has restored. The prince seems to catch onto it as well, something shifting in the man's eyes. A desperate pain instead of detached perception. Swan seems oblivious to the realizations from both men as she continues. "Bringing Frederick back into the mix would get Katherine out of the way, and also happy. Everybody wins if we can find Frederick." So she's back to throwing herself headfirst into the curse. There's that spark in her eyes, one he's beginning to recognize that she has a plan and she'll see it through to the end. She finally has a new angle from which to attack the curse. If nothing else had, her dedication and persistence certainly garnered his respect.
"I'm not sure who he is in this world, kiddo. But we'll find him." David's grin is almost an exact match for his daughter's, with the same dimple in his left cheek and the same light radiating from both. After a few hours of planning, debating the possibility of Regina matching previous job skills from the Enchanted Forest when assigning roles here in Storybrooke, and considering any way to find the man whose false identity they don't know, David departs and Swan sees him off.
A cool breeze from the sea flicks the pages of Swan's book, landing on one displaying a familiar image. After centuries, he'd recognize the shores of Neverland anywhere, though it had been a bloody long time since he'd seen daylight there. Not since the first time. A hero's journey, he'd been deluded enough to designate it. And that's what the image shows. Him and his brother, dressed in their naval uniforms, swords drawn. The sight of Liam's face, even in an illustration, punches him in the chest.
Words he can scarcely discern for a moment crawl across the page. Dark ink, scratching out his brother's demands of the demon child Pan, and the demon's reply. "Dreamshade? It's the deadliest plant on the island. Your king really is ruthless." Captain Jones, stalwart in his belief in the king, protested, claiming it was medicine. Peter Pan, with an unchanged expression, replied, "It's doom. Why fight a messy battle when you can kill an entire army with the sap of one plant?"
Leftenant Jones whispered, concerned to his Captain. "Is it possible he would turn poison on our enemies?"
"Don't be so gullible." Captain Jones dismissed his brother's trepidation with stubborn certainty. "The boy is playing games with us, and I'm quickly tiring of them. Come. We should keep moving." The brothers Jones turned to the imposing jungle to commence their search for the sought-after plant.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Pan said with a cheerful wave from the shoreline.
Killian knows, based on the accuracy of the book in other respects, if he were to turn the pages, he'd find his argument with Liam. His unease at the sight of black vines covered in thorns, dripping black sap hardly looking like medicine. His brother's shocked disbelief that the leftenant would believe the word of a boy over their king. Killian's questioning of why the boy would lie about the nature of a plant when he revealed to both strangers the path that led to it. Liam's outrage over the thought Killian would believe the king would send the pride of the Royal Navy to fetch poison. And the way it ended.
Drawn by some compulsion he doesn't care to label, certain the word 'masochism' will be part of it, Killian does indeed turn the page. Thankfully, this one is without an illustration. "If this is a poison, it won't just end the war. It will obliterate an entire race!" Leftenant Jones pleaded with his brother.
"What do you know of any of this? I am your brother and your Captain. You will listen to me." Captain Jones declared.
"No. I'll fight my enemies, but I'll fight fair."
"Then allow me to disabuse you of that notion." Captain Jones scoffed. With a swipe of his saber, he cut loose a branch of dreamshade, ignoring his brother's protests. Killian watched as Liam undid his shirtsleeve, cutting into the flesh of his forearm with the dark plant. He winced as his brother dragged the thorn down the line of his veins. For a moment, the brothers stared between each other and Liam's arm. Seemingly vindicated, Captain Jones said, "You see? Perfectly fine. I told you, our king would never lie to us. Now, let's collect our specimens and get off this…" The veins of his arm turning black against his skin, revealing the progress as the poison spread throughout his body, Liam Jones fell to the ground.
Killian forcibly shakes off the memories, dragged up by the words in the storybook. He turns to the page before. When he finally feels as though he can speak, he turns to the lass. "Swan?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Have you read this?" He's seen her read this book cover to cover more times than he's counted. The damn thing hardly ever leaves her side. Of course it hasn't, and for bloody good reason. The bloody thing has been assisting her through breaking the curse.
"The book?" she asks, her voice clearly confused. She glances over his shoulder, to the page on display. "Oh," she says gently in realization. His muscles are tense. Something about this being written out for anyone to read…something about the thought of her reading something so… "No. Not this part."
He turns to her, scrutinizing her face, his eyes darting between hers. Something she's done so many times to him, a behavior she recognizes, as she stands still and allows his scrutiny. "I haven't read that part," she repeats calmly. No lies.
"Why?" Killian asks in a whisper, his voice shaking. Not only the memories of that fateful trip to Neverland, but the vulnerability he feels at now knowing there's an account of it, written out for anyone to read. He feels exposed.
"You didn't read the binder." Five simple words should not have such an impact on him. But they do. Killian hadn't realized that neglecting to read the wealth of information the Dark One compiled over the course of Emma Swan's life had actually managed to earn her respect. But he recognizes it in her tone and expression. She'd deliberately shown him the same courtesy that he unintentionally showed her. He clears his throat against the emotion as he snaps the leather-bound tome shut and hands it to her. She bids him good night as she turns to go below deck. He hears the door to her cabin shut softly as he watches the waves roll gently in the harbor under increasingly-familiar stars.
Her words from the day before run through his mind as the sun goes down. 'I wouldn't sell yourself short. Seems your memory's better than you let on.' She said as much weeks ago. Suspecting the Crocodile might remember something. For some reason, though, the words don't spark a reaction in him. Perhaps it's a matter of pride. He doesn't want to admit that he's missed signs right in front of his face that the Crocodile has been awake. Signs a young girl didn't neglect. How poor has his reconnaissance been if he managed to miss something so obvious? However, he knows that is far from a complete answer. His desire to kill the bastard is tempered, but not by reluctance to act with the uncertainty that Rumplestiltskin remembers. Rather, it's tempered by a fear that, should he fail and die in the attempt, something he's always acknowledged is a distinct possibility, the Crocodile would in turn harm Swan. Not only would he be unable to protect her, but he would bring harm on her. The possibility that he would die in his attempt for revenge never scared him. Killian had nothing left to live for, all except for his single purpose of revenge. He used to welcome the thought. Part of him still does. The possibility of dying a failure was never something he cared about. While in a world of magic, the Dark One is immortal. Revenge against the monster, killing the unkillable, when viewed objectively was futile. In this world, however, the bastard will die, and that will be the end of him. The memory of what resulted last time he performed reconnaissance has him reluctant to repeat it and investigate for himself.
So he remains on deck after nightfall, watching the stars blink overhead.
Pacing and muttering wrench him from his already-uneasy sleep. Boards creak underfoot in the cabin adjacent to his own. Frowning, Killian sits up, scrubbing a hand down his face in the darkness. What the bloody hell is she doing awake at this hour? And as much as it must hurt, what the bloody hell has her pacing so?
Rising from his cot and smothering a yawn, having slept dressed in his shirtsleeves and pants like he has every night since Swan came aboard, Killian lightly pads to Swan's door and knocks gently. Instantly, the pacing halts. He hears her draw in a sudden, frightened gasp. A jolt carries through the enchantment of the Jolly. It feels like fear and reassurance. Swan opens the door slowly, a nervous expression on her face. Tear tracks run down her cheeks. Her eyes are blood-shot and swollen as they dart anywhere but him. Her face is pale. Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Swan steps back from the doorway.
Sitting on the desk, he notices the bag they'd fetched from the apothecary–pharmacy, in this world, he corrects–the day before and a box that Swan had attempted to be discreet about. Something she hadn't wanted him to see or know about. He doesn't know what it is, only that it seems to be the cause of her distress.
"Swan, what's wrong?" Her breath hitches and she shakes her head. Biting down on her lip, she stares at the ground. Something's bloody wrong. "Swan, what is this?" He asks gently, pointing to the box. Her eyes follow the direction of his finger, shooting wide. What little color her face had regained fades instantly. She draws even further in on herself. The sight clenches his heart.
Unsure whether or not to approach her, he steps closer to the desk, tilting the opened box so he can read it. Something lightly rattles around inside as he does. A pregnancy test. His brow furrows in confusion, still staring at the grains in the wood. Pregnancy… Confusion keeps the realization at bay. Why would she…?
"I haven't…Since, everything, I haven't…" Swan bites down on her lip, keeping the words back. She pulls her arms more tightly around herself, holding herself rigid and still. Her eyes remain on the floorboards. Her breathing hitches with the sobs she's struggling to stifle. "I haven't had my period since it happened," she finally whispers, her voice broken.
A cold feeling washes through him. She thought she'd been left with something far more permanent than trauma and scars. Killian watches, stunned and frozen, as her shaking hands purposefully avoid brushing anywhere near her stomach.
He has no idea how to help her. "Do you wish to be alone right now?" he asks quietly. After what she's been through, he certainly won't force his company on her. As much as he wishes to help, to ease her pain, likely the company of a man in a small, confined space will be counterproductive to that goal.
Frantically, for the first time since he entered, her eyes level his. Those eyes. This girl is lost. She's terrified. More scared than he's ever seen her, including when she thought he was going to kill her. She shakes her head just as frantically, her braid flopping over her shoulder.
"Do you want me to stay?"
"Please?" she whispers silently. He nods. Lightly, he sits in the chair. Swan continues pacing, arms wrapped tight around her middle, hands frantically running up and down her forearms. Neither speaks for a few moments in which the only sounds are the creaking of floorboards under Swan's feet and the faint sound of the waves crashing on shore.
He doesn't want to imagine the sort of thoughts and memories Swan must be facing right now. All he can think of is to try and draw her out of them. Before she drowns in them. So he asks the first thing he can think of. "Can you tell me how this works, sweetheart?" Killian asks quietly, the endearment slipping without thought.
"It's, uh, I don't really know how. Just pee on the stick inside the box and it tells if you're pregnant. There's, uh, some hormone that only exists in pregnant women, and the stick turns positive if it senses that." Her voice shakes as she reaches for something emotionless, an objective explanation that doesn't require her to reveal how terrified she is of a positive result. "I think they're pretty accurate. They're supposed to be, at least. It, uh, it takes a few minutes."
He imagines the anticipation, the wait, should represent an exciting time for expectant mothers. But expectant mothers aren't tiny little slips of girls. Expectant mothers aren't conceiving from something so horrific. Not for the first time, he regrets not castrating the bastard.
Swan finally sits on the cot, pulling her knees to her chest and winding her arms snugly around her legs. "Am I a bad person?" she whispers plaintively.
"No." Killian answers firmly, without hesitation. How the bloody hell she could ask such a daft question is beyond him. Though he knows better than to let on at the moment, just how ridiculous he finds the notion. A lass who has gone as far as risking life and limb, repeatedly, all in the name of helping others…
"You don't even know why," she protests.
"I don't have to," he answers. Swan cocks her head to the side in question. Killian sighs. "Let me tell you something about bad people, Swan. Bad people don't care whether or not something makes them bad. A bad person's sole concern is whether or not they get what they want, and damn the rest. The ones who concern themselves with whether or not they're bad, those are the good people." He shrugs. "Perhaps, they're good people doing something bad. If you want something so black-and-white."
"Is it wrong if I hope it's negative?"
"No," he answers, just as firmly but much more gently.
They both sit in silence for a few more moments, before Swan shoots to her feet as if electrocuted. She resumes pacing back and forth across the cabin, hands running through her hair, tousling tendrils out of her braid.
"Swan?" Killian interjects gently.
Wild, terrified eyes meet his. "What am I gonna do if it's positive?" Her voice cracks as she returns to pacing. Words begin to tumble from her mouth, frantic and steadily climbing in pitch. "I don't know how to be a mom. Heck, I don't even know how to be a grown-up! I, I can't be what a kid needs! I'm sure as hell not abandoning a kid to the same fucking system that screwed me over! And I'll have to leave, or I don't know. Where am I gonna go? I, I gotta," her voice hitches. Her chest heaves with sobs she's trying desperately to stifle.
"Swan, slow down. Whatever the results are, you will not be alone." His words seem to reach Swan in her panic as her breathing slows and steadies out. She drops once again onto the cot, this time crossing her legs in front of her. Her fingers toy with a hole in the gray cotton of her trousers.
Killian wonders if answers might alleviate some of the panic she feels. He gathers a deep, fortifying breath and casts his mind back to something he hasn't allowed himself to consider in centuries, signs and behaviors he hasn't thought of since. "Have you been vomiting at all and hiding it?"
Swan glances up, her eyes confused as she shakes her head.
"Have you been nauseous?" Her brow furrows for a moment.
"Thought it was just…everything just hurt. After." Her arms wrap protectively around her stomach, tugging at the ends of her sleeves rather than holes in her trousers. "Then I thought it was not eating properly. Then I thought it was seasickness." He sighs. It could be. She hasn't put on weight, still painfully thin and stretched.
"Have you been tired? Sore?"
She shrugs. "Thought it was because of the alley." The stark reminder strikes him hard.
"Overly emotional?" He suggests.
She shrugs. "Kinda, I guess. I don't know. I'm fourteen, of course I am." Her brow furrows, directing her frown to the floorboards for a moment. "How do you…?" Swan's voice trails off in question.
"You learn a great many things when you get to be as old as I am, Swan." He winks with a grin. He'll allow her to derive her own conclusions from that. Her eyes flick to his arm, more specifically, the tattoo. Of bloody course, perceptive lass that she is, she immediately draws the right one. Her eyes widen as her face falls.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. Killian sighs. His thoughts remain with the lass in front of him, and not the lover and unborn child he failed to protect. Thinking of the two of them is far too painful. "That it happened. And…for bringing it up."
"Happened long before you were born. You didn't bring it up. I did." Killian answers in a monotone voice. He directs his hand roughly through his hair. "How long do these tests typically take, before you have results? A few minutes, you said?" That lost, overwhelmed terror returns in full force to Swan's eyes, now staring at the narrow box on the desk. It's enough to make him regret saying anything.
"It should be done now," she answers silently. By degrees, she draws herself to full height, squaring her shoulders and gritting her jaw as if preparing for battle. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides. Drawing in a deep breath, she takes up the box and shakes out a small stick he can barely see into her shaking, waiting hand. A relieved, almost manic laugh answers his unspoken question. She sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut in relief.
"Thank God," she whispers. Her cheeks and ears slowly pink. "I, I'm sorry to…" she gestures around the cabin, "to like, dump all that on you. I just…" Her eyes are directed at the ground. Killian sighs gently and rises to his feet. Shouldering every problem herself and feeling as though she's a burden when help comes, also a feeling he's quite familiar with.
"No need to apologize, Swan. Just get some rest, aye?" She nods, tucking the stick back inside of the box and the box inside of her bag.
"Sorry I woke you up," she mutters.
"Like I said, love, light sleeper. No need to apologize for that." He smiles gently, even though Swan doesn't raise her gaze from the box in her hands. Not that he thinks Swan will slit his throat in his sleep, but old habits die hard.
"Good night, Captain." He nods his answer and returns to his quarters. Killian hears light snores echoing through the thin walls not long after and sighs. At least she found some rest. His own mind reels through memories that he's spent so long stomping down that it's routine.
Milah had been with child. That's why she stayed behind that night, that fateful night at the tavern in her home port. He remembers laying his cheek against the soft skin of her growing belly. She…her laugh was a warm chuckle, he thinks. Killian frowns when he can't call the sound to mind. Her eyes would sparkle warmly as she watched him speaking to the babe inside her. She had only just started showing, something easily concealed beneath a leather vest.
After several moments spent reminiscing, he frowns in confusion. These memories never failed to bring blinding, crippling pain, hence the reason he prevented himself from dwelling on them. Now, however, there's no pain. There's sadness, but the sheer weight of it, the crushing weight that has invariably accompanied these memories… He doesn't know the reason why the pain is gone. He has his suspicions that the reason is snoring on the other side of a very thin wall. Time certainly never healed those wounds. Killian allows the Jolly and the waves to rock him to sleep, finally finding rest.
The next morning, after he's completed his rounds, he's sharpening his hook on deck, waiting for Swan to emerge from the washing quarters. He'd promised her nothing and no one would go below deck while she was down there. He'd handed her a loaded pistol to ensure that would be the case. Since then, when she's using those quarters, he's above deck. Once again, it seems, the emotionally wrought and vulnerable conversation had under the cover of darkness isn't to be mentioned in the light of day. Just as well. He knows bloody well he's the wrong person to have had that conversation with Swan. But she needed someone, and he was the only one there, once again.
The sheriff's strange vehicle drives down to the boathouse and stops, where the sheriff emerges and approaches his ship. Killian follows the man's reluctant steps with a weary eye. It's the look of a man bearing bad news, about to perform some duty that he clearly doesn't want to.
"Permission to come aboard?" He calls out. The sheriff adjusts the star on his chest.
"Aye, granted." Killian frowns in confusion as the sheriff comes aboard. "I thought Swan was on medical leave for at least another week." The man nods, an uneasy look on his face.
"She is. I need to speak with you both in a more official capacity."
He hears her footsteps climbing through the hatch before he sees her. "Graham?" Swan asks, a slightly confused smile on her face, quirking a brow in question. "Good morning? Something up?"
"Yes." He sighs, clears his throat, and scratches a hand over the thick stubble on his cheeks. "Does the name Rachel Kroeger mean anything to you?" Swan's face pales before immediately going blank and stony. She flinches slightly, eyes darting for escape. For some bloody reason, she still seems to think throwing herself into the waves is a viable option. If someone causes that sort of fear in her, he'll kill them. Killian's hand reaches for his sword.
"The social worker assigned to my case," she answers mechanically.
"An evil piece of sewage?" Killian asks through his teeth. Swan shakes her head.
"Turns out, Regina's weapon of choice is now calling Social Services." There's something unpleasant in the sheriff's tone, spitting out the Evil Queen's name. His hand brushes over his chest, seemingly unconsciously. As though reassuring himself that his heart is still there. "It didn't work for Nicholas and Ava Zimmer, so she thinks it'll work for you. She called Social Services. They got in contact with Ms. Kroeger, who in turn contacted me."
Swan's narrowed eyes flick in his direction. "And what exactly did Regina tell them?"
"A suspected kidnapping, evidently." He suggests lightly, but intentionally pushing for information. Swan and Killian refuse to even glance at each other as the sheriff continues. "The fact that the description of the alleged kidnapper matches witness descriptions of the primary suspect in Clint Nelson's murder…" The sheriff's narrowed eyes look in Hook's direction. He keeps his smirk internal. But no, nothing will ever make him feel shame for that. Especially after last night. The sheriff, seeming to draw his conclusion, sighs. "Please, do yourself a favor and don't admit anything to me." Killian nods. "The murder itself occured well outside of my jurisdiction and I won't extradite you without a full confession. Not that I think they could draw up extradition papers for someone from the Enchanted Forest. As far as I'm concerned, it could have been anyone, so please, do not admit anything."
"And what did you tell Ms. Kroeger?" Swan asks uneasily. "Did you mention Jones?"
"Concerned about being found here with me?" Killian teases.
His tone or his words must have been harsher than he intended, or she must be more on-edge than he realized, because Swan flinches. "I get found here, and you will end up in jail for kidnapping. Doesn't matter that I want to be here. I'm a kid. It doesn't matter what I want. They don't care what I want. They'll throw me to whatever wolves will take me and to hell with what I say on the matter. You'll end up arrested! And since Graham knew I was with you and didn't do anything, he'll end up in trouble and unable to help you. So yeah, Captain, I am concerned." He balks in shock for a moment at the anger in her tone. He'd only been teasing the princess about being found with a pirate. He didn't realize the concern was, not for her reputation as it would have been in the Enchanted Forest, but for his safety. His and the sheriff's.
"No, I didn't say anything about him."
"Good." Swan chews her lip for a moment. "Did she just call you, or…?"
"She's on her way from Boston. Should be here in a few hours."
Swan squares her shoulders, that same glint in her eyes when she has a plan. "Then you're gonna report a runaway. Tell them I'm just a runaway. Nothing more. I'm not here with anyone. I'm on my own."
"You're going to cave to the Queen's demands?" Hook balks.
Swan shakes her head. "Absolutely not. She wants me out of town, and she'll get that for a few days. I'll leave with Ms. Kroeger, 'cuz I don't have a whole lot of say in the matter," her tone darkens. "But, I'll be workin' my way back here." She brightens, turning a determined smile on both men. "Shouldn't take me more than a few days. Then, I'll be back to raising hell for the Evil Queen. In the meantime, gotta roll with the punches, I guess."
"So you're leaving, albeit temporarily, to appease Regina?" Hook repeats. He's torn. What kind of pirate would he be if he willingly appeased a bloody queen? Then again, what kind of man would he be if he allowed harm to come to Swan by continuing to antagonize Regina? Perhaps Swan leaving town temporarily would be the safest thing for her.
You could always kill the bloody Evil Queen, he thinks to himself. You gave your word no innocents would be caught in the crossfire of your revenge against the Crocodile. However, Regina is hardly an innocent bystander. She needs to know the threat to kill her, should she harm Swan, is far from idle.
The second anyone lays a hand on Swan, they're no longer innocent.
"No. There's no appeasing crocodiles."
He recognizes it's purely a turn of phrase, one that exists both in this world and the Enchanted Forest, but it leaves his mind racing. With the wealth of information that the Dark One had on Emma, he easily could be involved in this. If the Crocodile is trying to send Swan away…
"Why not employ the same trick twice?" Killian failed to notice David striding up the gangplank. The sheriff turns in confusion. Swan watches with stony wariness. Killian cants his head, waiting for the prince's meaning. "The Zimmer kids didn't enter the system because you found their father." Swan's wide, green eyes blink, but she remains silent. Both Killian and the sheriff understand where the prince is going now, and it seems like a brilliant plan, albeit far from perfect.
"Well, you'd definitely pass a paternity test," the sheriff suggests slowly. "But there are going to be questions that you'll have to answer," he warns. There's a light in the prince's eyes, something not even dimmed by the possible roadblock. Naturally the man's excited. He's one step closer to reuniting his family, getting his daughter back. The daughter in question seems almost uncharacteristically silent and stoic, standing back and tugging at her sleeves nervously.
"What kind of questions?"
"Where you've been the last fourteen years," the sheriff suggests.
"In a coma after an accident." The prince answers simply.
"Whether or not you knew about your daughter," the sheriff continues prodding.
"I was in a coma. That could explain that, right?" His brow furrows. "Or does that throw her mother under the bus? Does that put everything, all the responsibility, on her mother?"
"Who her mother is," the sheriff suggests without addressing the prince's concerns. The prince opens his mouth to answer, before the sheriff's hand shoots up, silencing him. "And why Mary Margaret won't remember giving birth fourteen years ago, nor will she remember ever being with you." The prince's shoulders fall slightly, but that light doesn't dim yet.
"Why you're physically only about twice her age, meaning you became a father at about fifteen, maybe sixteen," Killian points out, catching onto the sheriff's line of questioning. The prince's shoulders stiffen as he seems to bristle.
"Now just wait a-"
"Not to mention the question of whether or not you're prepared for Regina to know that Prince Charming is wide awake and knows exactly who he is. Such an action could produce unforeseen consequences. When last we spoke on the matter, you seemed to believe that pretending otherwise and maintaining the illusion was the safest option for both your wife and daughter."
"That was before Regina put a knife in Emma's chest. That was before I knew Regina was sending a puppet to beat the shit out of Emma." David hisses. Swan flinches, pulling inward at the reminder. David sighs, eyes meeting the planks of the deck and his anger deflating at Swan's unease. "At this point, who knows what the safest bet would be for either Snow or Emma. She hasn't physically attacked Mary Margaret." Yet, Killian adds internally.
"There are still going to be more questions, now that Regina has gotten Social Services involved," the sheriff interjects, breaking the glares between the prince and the pirate.
"Like what?" David asks through his teeth.
"Why your newborn daughter was discovered on the side of the road and who the lad was who found her," Killian points out, not unkindly. He's aware of the impact that information will have on the prince. The anger seems to deflate from David's stance, and he diverts desperate eyes to his daughter. Swan winces, looking anywhere but at David. Killian cringes himself, not having thought through Swan's own wishes of whether or not that information should be revealed. He's briefly surprised, having assumed his words would be a reminder of unpleasant information rather than a revelation.
"You were found on the side of the road?" His voice quavers with the question. Swan nods silently, eyes on the deck. "That must have been where you came through to this world. We, ah, we didn't really know where…" he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess it could have been anywhere. Could have been somewhere far worse. Wait, who found you?"
Swan shrugs. "Little boy, seven years old. Never found a name or anything." She glances up, a lost look in her eyes as she meets Killian's. Seeking reassurance, though reassurance for what, he doesn't know. He offers a small smile and a nod anyways. Swan heaves a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and turns back to the hatch, saying, "Wait here."
A few moments later, she returns with a familiar thick, black binder clutched to her chest. With all the enthusiasm of a man approaching the gallows, she sets the binder on a crate and opens to the first page, revealing the newspaper article. The prince follows her. From the distance, Killian watches as the devastation on his face is replaced with recognition, then immediately with anger and betrayal.
"That's Pinocchio." His voice is strangled with his anger. Swan's uneasy eyes dart to Killian's in question. He shrugs minutely in answer to her silent question. He doesn't know. She turns to the sheriff, who only offers the same. "His father, Geppetto, built the wardrobe that sent you to this world. Him, and Blue…they said it could only take one." The prince clenches his still-bandaged fist, then seems to think better of it, still glaring at the binder. "I could have gone through with you. I could have spared you from this. From all of this!" Swan jumps back a few steps, shoulders pulling inward on herself.
Killian knows he can only really understand a fraction of David's anger. He himself wants to spare Swan any more pain. To know that, had the woodcarver and fairy not betrayed their sovereigns, her father could have spared her from it all must be devastating. That being said, the further Swan shrinks in on herself, the greater the urge to punch the prince becomes.
"Shouting now won't help anything or anyone," Killian states quietly.
The prince turns his harsh glare on him. "My family! What the hell would you know about it?" Killian grits his teeth, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue, having been so painfully reminded of what became of his own family. His only answer is to deliberately look to Swan, now silently edging her way towards the gangplank, hair concealing her face, then back at the prince. David follows his gaze and pales. "Emma, kiddo, I'm sorry. I'm, oh my God…" he stares at the sky for some kind of divine wisdom.
"Had someone not gone through with me at all, that article would read about someone finding a dead baby on the side of the road." Something about Swan's cavalier tone at the mention of her own death disturbs all three men. "So, it's better Pinnochio went through and got away from the curse than no one else going through."
"Whose is this, anyway?" David asks.
"Gold," Emma mutters at the same time Killian grits out, "the bloody Crocodile."
"This is what you meant? Back in the hospital?" Emma nods. "Is this…?"
"Goes up to about a week before Jones found me." She states tonelessly, picking the binder back up and holding it close to her chest before David can examine it much further, much like holding cards. Based on the prince's expression, he clearly wishes to read through the bloody thing cover to cover. She returns it below deck then climbs back up through the hatch with her bag on her shoulder and a gray, knit cap on her head.
"Graham, you've got a runaway to report." Swan states simply.
"So that's it? You're just doing as Regina says? Letting her win?"
Swan scoffs. "Letting her win would be leaving to never come back. I've got reasons to come back. Captain, you and I have an understanding. I'm breaking the curse. What I've seen, no one in town deserves to deal with the curse any longer. And hey," she shrugs, abandoning the tone and demeanor of a queen and adopting that of a child, "after everything, I'm not letting that bitch win. I'll be back. Just need a few days to catch a bus." She turns to the sheriff. "You know where Ms. Kroeger is sending me?"
"The girl's home in Boston that Ava Zimmer would have been placed in," the sheriff answers, the heel of his hand still pressing into his sternum. Swan looks momentarily surprised, and Killian quickly grasps why, even if she won't say it. It's evidently an incredibly short list of people that will take her, that will allow her shelter. To find somewhere that would accept her with such ease must be surprising.
Killian's brow furrows as he vaguely recalls the maps he's seen of this world. "Boston has a harbor, yes?" He turns to Swan as he asks. She nods slowly, frowning in confusion herself. He grins. "Good. See if you can get to the docks. I'll meet you there."
"You'd really do that?" she asks quietly, a growing hope in her voice.
"Aye. If you like, I can teach you how to sail on the way back," he offers. The excitement sparking in her eyes makes him smile. Her own smile grows to match, with that dimple in her left cheek that he's missed.
"You serious?" Killian smiles and winks in answer.
"Give the Jolly a chance to stretch her legs."
Her eyes widen in surprise as David begins to protest. "What does that mean, you'll meet her there?" It's incredibly obvious what it means, so the objection is what? The dirty pirate returning the princess to Storybrooke, as if he wasn't the one to bloody bring her here in the first place? Being alone with her, as if he hasn't already spent weeks alone with her?
"Your Highness," Killian sighs, "you've already trusted me with her safety thus far." David mutters something under his breath that sounds akin to 'not like I had a whole lot of choice in the matter.' Rather than his standard response when being interrupted, which would be a swift punch in the face at minimum, Killian simply nods his acknowledgement. The prince has a point. He didn't have much say in Swan's safety being entrusted to a pirate. He hasn't had much say in his own daughter's life. Killian sighs, knowing the injustice of that isn't his fault and continues. "And I can assure you, the journey from Boston is a fraction of that from Texas." The prince blinks in shock, eyes darting between Swan and Killian. Swan nods with a shrug. "No harm will come to the lass while she's in my charge." And he will bloody honor that this time. "Besides," he continues, cutting off the prince's objection, "isn't this way better? The devil you know? It's perhaps a few hours of sailing from here to Boston. I can meet her within a day, be back either that very evening or the following morning. This doesn't leave her subject to the whims of anyone she may encounter along the way."
"Except for a pirate," David mutters darkly.
Swan rolls her eyes and groans at the objection. "Either you trust him or not." Her tone airs Killian's own annoyance. He blinks in surprise, though perhaps he shouldn't. "I do." Both David and Killian balk in shock at the direct words. Killian's honored in a way he never knew he could be. "Fact is, he's never laid a hand on me."
"Ever does, he's losing the hand," the prince grumbles, trying desperately to disregard the fact that his daughter's put her trust in a pirate. Killian nods, acknowledging the threat. There was a time, not long ago, where any man foolish enough to threaten him–and on the deck of his own ship, no less–would be instantly put to death. However, the fact that the threat comes in the name of Swan's safety stays his hand. And the fact that Swan's statement, that he's never laid a hand on her, isn't entirely true. Something that leaves his stomach churning with regret, despite Swan's forgiveness.
"Point is, I'll be fine. If I'm with Jones, I'll be fine." Her absolute confidence stuns both Killian and David. He'd call it childlike, but he knows from Emma Swan it's anything but. A fact that makes it all the more precious.
"Why not the straightforward solution? One that doesn't involve Emma leaving." David suggests.
"Are you suggesting we kill the Kroeger woman and Regina, mate? Didn't know you had it in you." Hook asks. His tone suggests he's discussing the weather. David balks. Probably not, then. It's not as if her father stepping up and claiming paternity is the simple solution, either. As both Killian and the sheriff demonstrated. The sheriff stares in silence. Swan returns her focus to the deck.
"Forgot for a second that you were a pirate, Hook."
Hook bares his teeth in a grin. "I never pretended otherwise." Swan releases a stifled laugh.
"We're not killing the social worker." David states plainly, voice filled with growing anger. "We're not killing innocent people." Hook scoffs. The prince glowers. "She's someone outside of all of this. She's innocent in this!"
"Innocent?! She's bloody complicit! Perhaps not in the curse or in Regina's machinations, but in the abuse Swan has suffered since becoming one of her charges, the Kroeger woman is bloody complicit!"
"Please, stop." Swan interjects before David can raise another objection. Perhaps, based on the look on the prince's face, it would have been something questioning what gave Killian the right. "We've got a plan, one that doesn't end in Ms. Kroeger's death. I say we see that one through. For God's sake, if I'm stuck going into the system, then I'm gonna make the choice! It's my freaking life, that makes it my call!" She sighs, anger deflating. "She's definitely coming here, then?" The sheriff nods. "You can't, like, be the one to take me 'out of Storybrooke'?" Swan crooks the index and middle finger of both hands in air quotes around the words. The sheriff shakes his head.
"I can't leave town. No one who was cursed can. It's like hitting a barrier."
"You tried?" David asks.
"Not me. One of the men whose hearts…" This time, the sheriff has to beat a fist into his sternum. Killian wonders momentarily if something feels disagreeable for the man, having his heart returned, or if the difference after so many years is simply jarring and requires more adjustment than a few days can provide. "He tried and totaled his car in the attempt. He's fine. Couldn't leave town though."
"I wasn't cursed. I can come and go at will," Killian states.
Swan nods, chewing her lip in thought for a moment. She squares her shoulders, draws in a deep breath, then approaches the gangplank. "I'll see you in Boston, Captain?" There's far more uncertainty in that question than he likes. Though he completely understands why. Her eyes search his face, darting back and forth between his eyes.
"Of course, Swan." He steps forward, bending slightly to be eye-level with her. "If I can't stop them from taking you away, then you can be damned sure I will get you back." Her eyes are wide as they search his. They only grow wider when she detects nothing but the truth and not a hint of hesitation. "Boston Harbor, Swan."
She nods, turns on her heel, and walks down the gangplank, followed by the sheriff.
"Hook," David begins at his shoulder. He turns to look the prince in the eye.
Anticipating being berated by the prince, Killian heads him off. "Your Highness, one day you will end up having to acknowledge that you're not the only one who cares about her, and that that's a good thing."
David sighs profoundly. "She's my daughter."
"I've never tried to be her father."
"That's not what I'm saying. What I'm asking is," the prince sighs, seeming to have difficulty with the words as they both watch Swan slide into the sheriff's metal carriage, and watch them both drive away. "What I'm asking is that you take care of her. Everything that has happened to her is devastating. If anything more happened…"
Killian nods.
"I guess, in the meantime, I'll try and figure out who Frederick is. At least faces mostly look the same here, so it shouldn't be too hard," the prince sighs. It seems as good a plan as any, continuing the plan Swan started. "Can I ask you about something?" Killian meets the prince's eye and nods. "You said Emma handled reuniting with her father better than you did. How do you know?"
He releases a mighty sigh and pulls a tired grin to his face that he doesn't feel. One that doesn't reach his eyes. One he knows won't reassure the prince in the least. "Well, mate, you're still alive." David descends down the gangplank uneasily after that.
A tempting thought enters his mind. While Swan is gone, he can go after the Crocodile. There's no need to fear the repercussions of his actions impacting Swan while she's in Boston. He can accomplish what he came here for. He can kill the bloody Crocodile and be done with all of it. He can be done with caring about this pissant town and its bloody problems. He's a bloody pirate!
For a moment, he considers what that would be like, acting on the impulse to kill the bloody Crocodile now. He's pleased with the thought, but where would that leave him afterwards? What would he do after the Crocodile is dead? Would he continue aiding Swan in breaking the curse? Would he explore the opportunities afforded to him in this world? Would he honor his word to Swan and return her to Storybrooke from Boston?
Does Rumplestiltskin, for certain, remember who he is? That was the whole bloody point of bringing Swan here in the first place. It should have been incredibly simple. Leave Swan to her own devices to break the curse, and when it's said and done, kill himself a Crocodile. But he can't do that. He can't, and won't, leave her to her own devices. Left to her own devices, she'll bloody get herself killed.
With that horrifying thought, Killian jerks his head. The Crocodile's death will simply have to wait. Best not to leave Swan alone for too long. May the gods help him, he cares about the lass. Somehow, he earned something so rare and precious as her trust. He won't lose it that easily. Certainly won't take it for granted, with as much as he knows he doesn't deserve it. He told her he'd meet her in Boston, and that's where he'll bloody be, Simple as that.
He plots a course moving south down the coast. The maps he managed to pilfer from the Dark One once again prove bloody useful. While he's preparing to set sail, and untying the lines mooring him to the docks, he spots the Evil Queen on the docks, the cool breeze fluttering her short hair. At the sight of her, Killian feels his blood boil.
"Your Majesty, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Killian bites out.
"What's wrong, Hook? Did the big bad Evil Queen take away your new toy?" She simpers with a pout that leaves his skin crawling. Her blood-red lips curl into a smirk. "I just came by to ensure Graham did his job."
"He's no longer at your beck and call, catering to your every sadistic whim, is he?" There's a warning flash behind Regina's brown eyes. Killian rolls his eyes, feigning nonchalance that he doesn't feel. "When did your weapon of choice become the bureaucracy of the American government?"
"When it turned out that the 'far more accurate description' of your…relationship with Emma Swan was kidnapping." Her expression shifts from smug and victorious to mock-sympathetic. "You were hurting her by bringing her here. You put ideas in that little girl's head. She's in danger in this town. The poor girl's been through enough in her short life."
"Your Majesty, I strongly advise you never come after Emma Swan again."
Her lips curl back into a smirk. "Or what, Hook?" He examines her form more carefully and smirks as he spots her right hand curled in a specific way, denoting she's concealing a pistol. It deters him from putting his hook through her neck, but leaves him an opening.
"Don't trust your guard to protect you anymore, Regina?"
There's the slightest shift in her expression, informing him he's right.
"I don't need protection."
"Oh, Your Majesty, if you ever come after the Swan girl again, you will." Killian ascends the gangplank, raises the anchor, and sets sail. The Jolly hums, answering his command as he sails south. Sailing, something that used to purge his demons, fails to do just that. Swan isn't here, and the worried hum from the Jolly knows it. Mother hen, indeed. It further stokes his anger. A few hours later, as he's docking in the Inner Harbor, he's struck with an eerie feeling in his gut. It's the same feeling he had the night City Hall caught fire, and the night Swan restored the hearts from the Evil Queen's crypt. Something is bloody wrong.
He docks his ship, resolves matters quickly with the harbormaster, and departs. All through the streets of this bloody massive port city, he stalks up and down, searching for any sign of Swan. All the while, he has the same feeling growing in his gut. Dread, fear, anxiety. Something is bloody wrong!