Stahlop

Killian thinks he’s dealing with the nightmares as well as he can. A warm wench helps sometimes, a willing cunt to distract him from his regrets and his memories long enough to get a few hours of sleep. It takes a great deal of rum other nights, until he falls into a drunken stupor. And then there are days when he channels the dark tide of his emotions into battle, imagining Pan’s misery in each stomach and throat he slices.

But when the nightmares begin to attack during the day, Killian knows he must do something. Something drastic. 

In truth, William Smee is not good for much. He is a shite navigator, a terrible cook, and he’s never motivated anyone to do something they didn’t already want to do. There were plenty of decades in Neverland where Killian couldn’t stand the sight of him, blaming Smee for sending him to Neverland and the fool’s errand of thinking he could discover how to kill the crocodile among the secrets of the island. But once Smee’s true loyalty is earned, it is ironclad. And he has a certain slimy, slippery nature that allows him to imagine and find creative solutions to problems. 

Two years after their return from Neverland and three months after Killian’s nightmares begin attacking him during the day, Smee comes to him, red cap literally in hand, and says, in that quiet, scheming way of his, that he’s perhaps found a solution to the Captain’s conundrum. 

It had gotten bad enough that Killian doesn’t even feign confusion or offense. He simply gestures for Smee to close the door to his cabin, sit down, and tell him more. 

It seems that Killian Jones, dreaded pirate Captain Hook, is not the only man of power and danger to have similar… issues. There are others - only rumor, of course - and they have all been directed to a certain wench in a certain whorehouse in Misthaven. 

“A wench? A whore?” Killian scoffs. He’s tried whores before, and though they might work for a night, for a time, they haven’t seemed to make a difference for months now, and he’s almost given up purchasing them, as the fucking now brings no greater relief than his own hand can bring about. 

Smee doesn’t hesitate. “I do not know what makes her special, Captain, nor how she lets herself be taken, but I am told that she helped a general march back into battle and even a prince whose throne had been seized.”

A general. A prince. Certainly that cunt of hers is good enough for Captain Hook. 

They make their way to Misthaven with the morning tide, and arrive within the week. Once ashore, Smee speaks to the right people and the next night Killian had a meeting arranged with the mysterious wench of Misthaven. He knocks on the door of a small home, giving his best arrogant sneer to the hulking man standing guard outside, and enters when a feminine voice says from within, “You may enter.”

The home is small, but neat and well-furnished. Killian takes in a four-post bed against one wall, the merrily crackling fireplace, a chimney cabinet beside it, a staircase against one wall, and a desk with an upholstered chair behind it, in brightest red. 

Sitting in the chair, facing him, is a woman. And she doesn’t resemble any whore that Killian has ever met before. 

She is pretty, but not in a way that overtly displays her wares. She utilizes no rouge, her blonde hair is half pulled back with a simple ribbon, and her dress is plain and surprisingly modest. The woman looks up from the papers at her desk, a quill in her hand, and she surveys him with sharp green eyes. When her gaze meets his, he feels a jolt he hadn’t experienced when he first looked at her. 

There is more to this woman than first meets the eye. Something clever in the tilt of her lips and a wisdom in the corner of her eyes that seems beyond her years.

Her eyes slowly look him over, from the dark-haired top of his head to the polished boots at his feet. Her pretty pink lips twist slightly and her gaze returns to the parchments on the desk. 

“No,” she says simply, without passion. 

Killian freezes, confused. 

The wench says nothing else and begins to write on a parchment. Killian lifts a foot, prepared to cross the room and speak to her, when she says something again, this time without looking at him. 

“I said no. I do not like to repeat myself, Captain.”

It has been a very long time since anyone had the privilege and intimacy of calling Killian by his given name. The last one was Milah, her of the red lips and proud brow, who captured his heart with her zest for life and broke it with her death. Since her, he’s only been called by his title. He’s heard it said with obedience from his crew, sarcasm from Pan, scorn from law keepers, hushed awe from children, and flirtatious innuendo from wenches and whores. 

But never has he heard it said with such dispassion, as though the title given to him by Liam’s death and forged over the centuries means absolutely nothing. 

Something slithers down Killian’s spine and settles in the pit of his stomach. Something strange. 

Killian draws up to his full height and lets his voice deepen to the command of a pirate captain. 

“I have come all this way to seek your aid, whore, and you treat me with such impertinence?”

She pauses, quill still aloft, and a slight crease appears between her downcast eyes. 

“I do not work with arrogant men. You are beyond my help.”

His mouth opens to refute her words - he is not arrogant, he is accomplished, but she keeps speaking as though he were incapable of talking. Or unworthy. 

“And you are the impertinent one, Captain. You take up my time and enter my home, just to speak to me with that disrespectful tone? I do not abide arrogance or impertinence.” Her gaze finally meets his again and a single eyebrow rises. “I will not waste my time with a creature so hopeless.”

The feeling in the depths of his stomach grows and, strangely, it is connected to his groin. His cock stirs in a most unsettling way. 

Against the nature that’s been cultivated in him for many long years, Killian stands at attention, clasping his elbow behind his back and lowering his chin to something less haughty. He softens his tone when he speaks, prepared to do almost anything to stop the nightmares. 

“A thousand apologies, Madam. I beg your forgiveness.”

The woman’s expression doesn’t change, but she sets down her quill and examines him further. 

“Do you really, Captain?”

Killian clears his throat. This emotion he can place. Nerves. 

“Pardon?”

“Beg my forgiveness?”

Killian hesitates, still not understanding. The woman releases a long-suffering sigh and her pretty eyes return to her work once more. 

“Beg my forgiveness and I shall consider being your patron.”

He’s never heard a whore refer to herself in such a way, but through the confusion of her words, he knows, with clarity, that this is his one chance to know peace. 

He releases a slow breath and drops to his knees.

The ground is hard and unyielding beneath him. Killian disguises the wince on his face. Captain Hook does not show weakness. 

“Please forgive me, Madam. I was rude and impertinent and did not treat you with the respect to which you are due. Please allow me the opportunity to make things right.”

She finally sets down her quill and rises from her chair and steps around her desk to lean against it, arms crossed. She is shorter than he expected, though not shorter than average. But her presence fills the space with the power of a man twice her height. He watches as she surveys him once more. 

“I will consider giving you that opportunity, Captain.” She sits on the edge of her desk and her long skirts swish at the ankles of sturdy brown leather boots with a thick heel. He is staring at her feet when she says, “Remove your clothes. Let me see if you have anything of interest to me.”

Now Killian is on sturdier ground. He braces his hand on the ground to help him stand again and the woman tsks quietly, drawing his attention. 

“You’ll stay on the floor, Captain. That is where filthy pirates belong.”

That knot in his stomach grows, and though it is an uncomfortable knot, it is strangely a pleasant one as well. Killian wrestles with the contrary emotions as he makes quick work of his clothing, until he is naked save his hook, brace, and shoulder harness, kneeling on the clean wooden floor of a strange whore’s home. 

“Arms behind your back again,” she says quietly. He obeys. “And knees apart. No hiding anything from me, Captain.” 

On his knees, legs spread apart, there is no hiding the manhood swelling up in interest beneath the woman’s dispassionate gaze. If he were waiting for a look of interest or excitement, for her to lick her lips or wink, he suspects he would be waiting for so long his knees would give out. 

“How else would you have me apologize, Madam?” he asks lasciviously, licking his own lips and winking at her. He wonders what color of curls cover her cunny and whether she will scream and moan as he makes her fall apart. 

She frowns. 

“Mistress.”

Killian blinks.

“You shall address me as Mistress.” 

He has a vivid memory of the wife of the captain who purchased his and Liam’s freedom as children. She insisted that they call him Mistress, but she was as cruel a master as her husband. Killian once again swallows in discomfort. 

The woman slides off of the desk, stepping down with elf-soft feet, and crosses to him. For the first time, she touches him, placing two fingers under his lowered chin so that he looks up straight into her eyes. 

“You’ve had a mistress before.” It isn’t a question, but a sure statement of fact. 

“Aye.”

“And a master?”

Killian’s breath catches in his throat. He thinks of that captain. He thinks of Pan and his twisted games. 

“More than one.”

“They did not treat you well, I think.” Her eyes trace his face and then her fingers leave his chin and one strokes down the bridge of his nose, as though he were a pet. 

He stays silent, trying to disguise the truth of her words in his expression. 

“This does not work if you are not honest with me, Captain. Did your masters and mistress treat you well?”

He gauges the trustworthiness of this strange woman, of this demanding whore. Finally, he shakes his head. 

“No.”

He is well used to being naked in front of beautiful women, but never so exposed. 

Killian swallows hard against the lump in his throat, one that usually precludes the daytime nightmares. He blinks rapidly, unsure if he is fighting the visions or tears. 

He hasn’t cried since Milah died. 

Before any tears can form, she touches him again. Her small palms cup his cheeks and, in tandem, her thumbs glide up and down his cheekbones. 

“No. They didn’t.” She wonders what truths she sees in his eyes. “They hurt you.”

For the first time since he entered her home, the wench’s face softens and something sparks within Killian’s spirit. He wants her to look at him like this again. He never wants her to stop looking at him like this. 

“You were forcibly bonded. Against your will.”

Again, she asks no question. And this time Killian gives her no answer. She watches him another moment before she speaks. 

“Those who call me Mistress do so of their own free will. I do not force anyone to submit to my commands.”

Killian’s knees are beginning to ache, but the woman’s light green eyes are holding him in place and seducing him with something he’s never before heard of. 

“I am a demanding Mistress. I do not abide disobedience. Those who defy me are punished. But those who please me are rewarded.”

Killian’s voice is gruff as he pushes past the lump in his throat. “I am no longer any man’s slave or puppet. I am my own man and I command my own destiny.”

She sighs gently and her hands leave his cheeks. Killian wishes he could take his words back. 

“And how are you faring in your freedom, Captain?”

She lets the question linger, and though Killian glares up at her, he knows that she knows how difficult he’s found freedom. He isn’t sure how, but she knows. Fury fills him with a familiar slurry, hot and thick, and now that she is no longer touching him, he can snatch his trousers off the floor and begin to dress himself. He cannot look at her as he stands and steps into his leathers, securing them with familiar tugs. 

The woman watches him with a lack of expression as he finishes dressing and tugs on his boots. Once he is clothed, she gestures toward the door. 

“Best wishes, Captain.”

He doesn’t look back. 

At least not that day. 

Three weeks later he knocks on her door in the dead of night, eyes red and itchy with lack of sleep, the sound of screaming echoing in his ears even though he is wide awake. He knocks and knocks and pounds and pounds until his knuckles begin to bleed and then he switches to his hook. 

Finally the door flings open and the blonde woman glares at him with sleep-dulled eyes, a shawl clutched under her chin with one hand and the other hand holding a dagger to his throat. 

“I was sleeping. What the hell is your problem?!” she thunders. The woman is wearing a simple white nightgown and she is shorter tonight, without her heeled boots. She blinks and her eyes clear with understanding. 

“Captain.”

“Mistress,” he pleads. He hasn’t said that word since he was sixteen years old. He had thought that it would feel bitter on his tongue, but it comes out so easily here, now, sleep-deprived in the middle of the night. He is not a man who begs, but he is ready to beg. 

Her shoulders square. “You have decided to give up your freedom to me?”

No. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he says, without the words or lack of pride to explain why. 

Finally the dagger at his throat lowers. “I do not deal with new clients without my guard present. Return in the afternoon-”

“Sunrise, please,” he interrupts, not even sure he can last that long. 

She frowns. “Afternoon, Captain. Come this afternoon and I will teach you what it means to obey me. We’ll see if that won’t help you with your sleep.”

The door closes in his face. 

-/-

The very minute that the sun begins it’s trajectory down from the heights of midday, Killian is at her door, freshly washed but eyes still dry and aching. The same man is there, someone he now identifies as her guard, and as soon as he spots Killian he knocks twice at the door. 

Killian hears her voice from the other side and, at the man’s nod, he opens the door. 

Today, the woman is perched on the edge of her desk. 

“Strip.”

He strips. 

“On your knees, legs apart.”

Unlike that first day, his manhood is not rising to attention. It rests flaccid between his legs, as exhausted as the rest of him, and there is a knot of something he now identifies as shame building in his stomach. 

“Eyes on the floor.”

He stares at a stain in the wood. 

Her voice is calm and unaffected and though he can hear her step off the desk, he keeps his eyes down. 

“When I ask you a question, the proper response is Yes, Mistress or No, Mistress. Do you understand?”

Killian swallows. “Yes, Mistress.”

“There will be times when I tell you to do something that you find upsetting or distasteful. I do these things for your greater good. When I give these commands, your response is Yes, Mistress. Do you understand?”

He hesitates. 

“What… what would you ask me to do?”

Her feet come into his field of vision, back in her sturdy brown heeled boots. Two fingers lightly touch under his chin and it takes the barest of pressure for him to look up into her eyes. 

“You have been hurt by your previous owners, Captain. I would seek to heal you from these afflictions. My methods are unorthodox, but sound. And they require complete obedience.” His groin finally stirs and she notices with a small twist of her lips. 

“I think part of you likes that idea already.” It stirs again and he can feel the appendage beginning to swell.

The woman leans further forward, giving him a brief view of the swell of her breasts below her dress’s collar, before her lips are at his ear, whispering quietly and huskily. 

“I think part of you is a very, very good boy.”

Killian’s cock is now at full attention and her mouth is fully smirking as she looks at it. He’s not sure if he should be proud or ashamed and so he feels both churning inside of him. 

She steps away and begins to slowly circle him, speaking in a clipped, businesslike way. 

“If I take you on as a client, then you are mine, Captain.” He barely has time to consider why she is still speculating about his place as her client when he’s come begging at her door before she’s continued talking. 

“Mine to command.”

He wets his lips, uncertain. 

“Mine to punish.”

His throat is dry. 

“Mine to please.”

His cock bobs, seeking her warm body. 

“And mine to protect.”

Killian freezes at that one, surprised. She notices his shift in attitude and stops behind him to lightly lay her hand on his shoulder. 

“I protect what is mine. No lasting harm will come to you under my care and all that I do is for your betterment.”

He tries to take a deep breath, but his chest has seized up. Her hand traces from one shoulder to another and then leaves as she keeps circling him. 

“There is also a fee per session, to be paid when you arrive. And every time you walk through my door, you strip and kneel like this, to remind yourself that you are mine.” She stops in front of him this time. “Do you understand these terms, Captain?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Her fingers grasp him by the chin and she roughly moves his head from side to side and up and down, as though examining livestock at market. There is a crease in her brow.

“I think you have potential, Captain.” The crease deepens. “But I am still tired from the way that you woke me up in the middle of the night.” She grips him tighter and pulls upwards until he stands. With her heels on and his shoes removed, he is only just looking down on her. And yet the way she glares at him, he feels as though he is still on the floor.

“Have you ever been flogged?”

His entire body seizes up at the question. Over the years and centuries, Killian has learned how to disguise his true emotions. And yet this wench has managed to break through them all in the course of only a few minutes together. He winces as the memories flood through him and her hand moves from his chin to his cheek, stroking softly.

“Tell me,” she says quietly, although she already knows the answer.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I thought so.” She nods. “Then I shan’t do so today. But you still must be punished for rousing me in the middle of the night.” Her soft fingertips shift to the scratch of her nails before her touch leaves his face.

“Chest on the bed. Feet on the ground. Backside in the air.”

Killian crosses the room, feeling her keen green gaze on his back as he assumes the position she has ordered. He feels uncertain, off-kilter, as though on the edge of something he does not quite understand. But the way that his heart is racing and his blood is singing tells him that obeying her, no matter how foolish he feels, will lead to somewhere better than he can get on his own. 

Her linens are soft and plush and, at first, he rests hand and hook on the bedspread before, with one last look at her, he slides both forward until his arse sticks out in a most submissive way. 

His body tenses as a variety of flashbacks strike him. 

The captain with a flogger in hand. 

His wife with a belt. 

And Pan, smirk on his too-young demon face, as he removes himself from his trousers and prepares to take Killian in exchange for some protection for Killian’s men. 

The jumble of thoughts all disappear when the woman’s hand lands on his brace, holding it in place while the other one twists his hook and releases the catch. 

“Next time, remove this with the rest of your clothes,” she whispers, setting it on a small cabinet beside the bed. Killian bites his lip against the protestation that arises, but he wisely remains quiet. 

When she returns to him, the woman stands behind him and lightly scratches two lines down his back, ending by resting her hands on his hips. 

“This time I shall use my hands. We’ll work our way up to the flogger.”

Before he can question her, the woman’s hand leaves his hip and comes down firmly on one arsecheek, causing him to jerk up in surprise at the crack of flesh on flesh. Killian looks over his shoulder at her, but the woman is unperturbed. 

“Back on the bed, Captain.”

He hesitates long enough that she presses one hand between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to obey. 

“If you are unable to stay still and stay quiet for something as simple as a spanking, then there is absolutely nothing I can do for you, Captain. I might as well send you back to your ship now.”

Killian clenches his jaw and forces his torso back down on the bed and tries to will his body to relax. There are just too many memories racing through his mind, every single one insisting that he throw this woman across the room and race from her home post-haste.

He is Captain Hook.

He is the scourge of the sea, a dastardly man of great notoriety.

He does not bend over for some wench to abuse him with her bare hand.

A gentle finger swirls patterns on one buttock and he takes a deep, shuddering breath as he attempts to keep still.

He is Captain Hook.

He has faced must worse than a wench and her hand.

“There you are, Captain.” Her voice is breathy and melodic. Killian focuses on that sound as an anchor, setting everything else aside. “Stay bent over and stay still.” The finger moves to the other cheek. “Hmmmmmm. I might like having you as mine.”

His cock begins to rise again, pressed against the side of her mattress. Despite his claims to be his own man, to not allow himself to again be controlled by another, his body is reacting to her words of possession. It must be his vanity, his desire to be admired and placed on a pedestal.

“You strike me as a learned man, Captain. Do you know how to count past twenty?”

The first response, that he bloody well knows how to count beyond his fingers and toes, is bit back and he chokes out, “Yes, Mistress.”

Two thumbs dig into his buttocks and rub firm circles into the muscle. “We’ll keep that in mind another day. For now, let’s stop at twenty.” Her hands leave his backside. “Be a good boy and count them for me, Captain, so that I do not lose track.”

Smack.

The strike hurts his pride more than it hurts his flesh. Killian unclenches his jaw enough to grunt, “One.”

“Louder.”

Smack.

“Two.”

After the first several, when her hand strikes a place that has already been abused, Killian’s flesh finally begins to smart, a feeling both unfamiliar and disgustingly comforting. He loathes being here like this, once again submitting to physical harm and personal degradation.

And yet…

And yet the wench’s bed is soft and fragrant and between strikes the woman’s fingers circle the tender flesh. Once he’s endured the first ten slaps, her tone changes.

“Such a pretty pink ass, Captain.”

“Should I use a strap or a paddle next time? Which one will make you moan for me?”

“You want me to be your Mistress, don’t you? Being such a good boy, taking your punishment and being willing to learn.” She leans closer to his ear with these words, after he’s endured nineteen strikes to his backside. Her breath tickles his ear and her tone sends a shiver down his spine.

“Prove to me that you want me, Captain. Show me that you’re willing to be mine, to let me own every part of you. If you beg for me well enough, I’ll consider being your Mistress.”

The bed shifts and she hits him one final time. Though he doesn’t understand it, Killian’s bollocks are heavy and his cock is aching against the mattress.

“Twenty!” he shouts, unsure if he was still under orders to count the spankings. And then Killian lets out a torrent of begs, pleas, and petitions, some of which, he is quite sure, make absolutely no sense.

He is just about to promise her a share of the profits made on the Jolly Roger over the next six months when both of her hands grasp his hips and she squeezes firmly.

“Such a silver tongue on you, Captain.” She encourages him to roll over until his back is on the bed and his feet are still on the ground, now with her between his legs and his cock straight up in the air, desperately seeking attention. Her lips twitch for the brief moment she looks at it, then her eyes are back on his face.

“I wonder what I could get you to say,” she muses. Her lips curl into a smirk and a single finger touches his parted lips. “Or how I could get you to be quiet.”

Killian groans and, without thinking about it, he reaches down and grips her hip. It’s slender, but strong, and his fingers dig into her flesh and with a flash he imagines holding her this way as he fucks her. He groans again. 

The sound turns into a whimper as the wench grasps him by both wrists and forces them above his head, her body flush against his on the bed, bosoms within reach of his mouth as she looks down on him with an expression of annoyance and amusement. 

She tuts and Killian’s cock twitches. 

“You have not earned the privilege of touching me, Captain,” she chastises. “You are a dirty, filthy pirate, and you have not yet proven yourself worthy.”

Killian bites back another whimper. 

He wants to bugger her arse until she submits. 

He wants to fall to his knees and prove himself worthy. 

“I- I’m sorry, Mistress,” he apologizes. His cock is throbbing between them. She stands up again, relieving the pressure, and he tries not to whimper.

“There we are.” Her eyes flick up to the arms still above his head. “Be a good boy and stay still.”

Killian clenches his jaw and keeps as still as possible. He watches her, waiting for her next command, and finally - finally - her face softens and she gives him a truly beautiful smile. Something unfurls in his chest, like the feeling of sipping on a fine bottle of liquor he’s purloined from royalty. Killian releases the breath he’s been holding and her smile broadens, making her eyes squint and her nose wrinkle.

“So the Captain can obey orders,” she says. Her voice is like music. She reaches into a pocket of her simple brown frock and extracts two small vials that clink together in her hand. She uncorks them both and places the one with purple liquid in one hand and the one with green liquid in the other.

“If I am to be your mistress, you shall swear fealty to me.” She lifts up the vial with purple liquid. “Drink this and you are mine, Captain. Every part of your body belongs to me. As I said, you are mine to pleasure or deny, indulge or punish. And always to protect.” She brings the vial to his lips, which part by instinct, and she watches him carefully, allowing him to make this choice.

“I am yours, Mistress,” he says, the words slipping out with surprising ease. And her eyes flash with that same surprise before they light up with satisfaction - a satisfaction he’s sure he shall be seeking as long as he’s in her service. She tips the vial and pours the potion into his mouth, drinking the green one at the same time.

Killian feels a strange rush as the potion works its way through his system. His vision fogs over and he can feel sensation on every exposed patch of skin. His cock, in particular, feels as though something warm and soft is resting upon it. He shudders and groans. He has never felt more aroused in his bloody life.

“You are mine, Captain,” she says huskily. Killian’s vision clears and his bollocks draw up tight to his body, desperate for release. The woman reaches down and guides his hand to his cock, her hand around his, her eyes locked onto his.

“You’ve been so good. You can let go now, Captain.”

With a roar, Killian erupts across his stomach, releasing rope after rope until he feels that he has been utterly drained, boneless, and all of his muscles give out. The woman’s hand is still wrapped around his, at the base of his limp cock, and when he forces his eyes to open again, she is giving him that blessed look again. His eyes cut to her hand and he imagines her touching him directly.

She releases him one finger at a time, digits coated in his release, and for a single instant he thinks she is going to lick them clean. Then she changes the trajectory of her movement and brings her fingers to his slack mouth.

“You were so eager to touch me, Captain.” She wriggles her fingers. “This is your chance.”

He is not sure who he has become, but Killian Jones’s tongue darts out and he tastes his own spend from the demanding wench’s hand. He licks her clean, slowly and methodically, watching her watching him the entire time. She withdraws her hand once she is satisfied and walks away smartly. His heart clenches until she returns with a washcloth in her hand and begins to gently clean his stomach, legs, and eventually his cock. He cannot hold back a sound of satisfaction.

When she is done, the woman steps away.

“Into the bed with you. Under the covers.”

Killian has to force his muscles to obey, each one exhausted from several nights without sleep and the intense experience of being spanked and pleasured by this woman. Eventually, he manages to draw his weary limbs onto the bed and beneath the blankets. He rests on one side, anticipating that she shall join him. But first she draws a set of heavy curtains around each window, until only the low fire in the fireplace is casting any light. She comes up to the bed and observes him with her hands at her hips.

“You can sleep now, Captain. Close your eyes and rest.”

His eyes are so bloody heavy but this doesn’t seem right. He opens his mouth to protest even as his eyes fall shut.

“No arguments.” The blankets are adjusted around him and Killian finds himself sinking deeper into the plush mattress, into the soft pillow. “Sleep.”

Killian’s mouth just manages to murmur, “Yes, Mistress,” before sleep claims him.

When he awakes, the fire has burned out. Killian reaches out, but the bed is empty. Cold. He looks around, but the woman is nowhere to be seen. After a minute, he rolls out of the bed and pads across the room to peer behind a curtain.

Early morning light.

He slept for half a day and a whole night.

Without any nightmares.

There is still no sign of the woman. Killian pulls on his clothes with sleep-heavy limbs and it is only when his hand touches the door that he hears a sound from above, and then the door at the top of the corner stairs creaks open and the woman appears wearing the same white nightgown as when he woke her the day before.

She must have private quarters above. Killian is struck with curiosity.

“How did you sleep, Captain?” she asks, voice thick with sleep.

Killian bows his head. “Very well, Mistress. I believe I have you to thank for that.” When he looks up again, he’s treated to one of her smiles. Warmth blooms in his chest.

“I’ll have time for you again in three days. In the evening,” she says, smile melting off of her face. “I will you see then, Captain.”

She closes the door behind her and Killian hesitates, wondering if there is anything more to do. But there isn’t. He’s been given his orders and the only thing he has to do is obey.

Him. Captain Hook. Obey. Who would have believed it?

Killian smiles to himself as he steps through her door.

His Mistress believed it, didn’t she?

Tagging folks who might be interested - Let me know if you want on or off this list!

@anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7

@jrob64 @soniccat @motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@beckettj @teamhook

I opened us up this year on July 2 with the first of two contributions I prepared for this final event. The Arena was a short and - kinda, maybe, not so much overall, but def by the end - sweet werewolf oneshot with breathtaking artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 5, @exhaustedpirate posted a not-so-short and extra sexy werewolf fic, In Your Moonlit Eyes, with wonderful artwork by @thejollyroger-writer.

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 7, @whatevenisthisbloganymore posted the first chapter of a fae fic, Where Idle Feet Wander. Princess Emma of the EF finds herself in the Fae lands and needs help to return home. The first ch was fantastic and I can't wait to see where the journey takes us!

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On July 9, @jrob64 posted the first chapter of her ghost hunter Killian fic, Ghosted, with artwork provided by yours truly, manips of Neal and Liam courtesy of @motherkatereloyshipper! Now complete with five chapters, Joni took us on QUITE a spooky ride!! Don't read before going to bed at night!!!

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On July 13, @grimmswan updated both of her fics from last year, Dracula in Storybrooke and Love Bites (But So Do I). Both of these fics are SO MUCH FUN and we are getting very close to their conclusions!!

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On July 14 @anmylica posted an update to last years fic, Fly With the Black Swan, her alternate telling of the Dark Swan arc. Now three chs in, this is an absolutely beautiful tale so far and I can't wait for more of it!!! Artwork by @zaharadessert

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On July 15, @theartofdreaming1 posted original artwork for the event featuring mermaid Emma!!! Absolutely beautiful work brought me to tears!!

On July 17, @mie779 posted an alternative take on episode 3x17 The Jolly Roger featuring merman Killian!! Don't Kiss and Tail, a fantastic and utterly delightful what if fic!!! Lovely banner by @iamstartraveller776.

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On July 17, @goforlaunchcee updated last year's fic, Smoke and Mirrors, with absolutely perfect artwork by @piinfeathers!! A ghost/witch story, it's an absolute HOOT and I'm always so happy when she updates!! Now up to ch7.

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On July 19, @snowbellewells posted the first of her two offerings for this year's event, On Wings of Storm, with magnificent artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !!! A beautiful one shot that left me in tears of joy!!

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On July 25, @laianely posted the first chapter of her crime mystery No Rest for the Immortals with artwork by @captainswan-kellie (x) and herself (x). A murder mystery featuring vampire Killian, I am BESIDE myself every time she updates. Now on ch7.

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On July 27, @xarandomdreamx posted the first chapter of her fic, The Kiss of Life with beautiful artwork provided by @motherkatereloyshipper!! Ohhh, she killed me sharing snippets on discord and the whole chapter did not disappoint!!!! Cannot wait for more of this!!!

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On Aug 4, I posted my second fic for the event, Return to Me, again with stunning artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !! Since the whole purpose of this event was to bump up the number of werewolf and vampire CS fics, and I'd already posted a werewolf fic this year, I came up with a fic that I thought the original Dracula was kinda about. Turns out that I was very wrong. But anyway, it was a lot of fun to write.

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On Aug 6, @belovedcreation posted the first chapter of an epic werewolf fic, Can I Be Your Werewolf? featuring lovely artwork from @mie779!! 33 chapters that she just finished posting TODAY, it was an awesome ride from start to finish!!!

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On Aug 8, @everything-person shared with us a smorgasbord of ideas that she came up with, but real life intervened and she wasn't able to write full fics for them. HOWEVER, she did make art for them all and shared a snippet of where she wanted to go with each one. Each one was absolutely fantastic and I hope there will come a day when she is able to write the fics and share them with us!!

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On Aug 10, @jonesfandomfanatic posted the first two chs of her fic, Into the Parallel. Now on ch6 of 7, this is an incredible time travel/realm jumper fic that I am absolutely in love with!!!

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On Aug 16, @exhaustedpirate posted her second fic of the event, Haunted By the Ghost of You, again with beautiful artwork by @thejollyroger-writer. The first chapter was lovely and heartbreaking in equal measure and I cannot wait to see the happy ending she has promised me will happen. Someday...

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On Aug 21, @snowbellewells submitted her second fic of the event, For All Life and For All Time, this fic actually inspired by Dracula. The first of three chs is currently up and I cannot wait to see more of it!!!

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On Aug 22, @hollyethecurious posted the first chapter of Once Upon a Grimm, her incredible fic using the lore and some storylines of the TV series Grimm featuring Once characters. @eastwesthomeisbest provided the gorgeous artwork!! We are now two chs in and I can already tell, we are in for a really fun ride!!!

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On Aug 24, @wyntereyez posted a second fic to her series Bats In the Belfry. This year's fic, Wool of Bat and Tongue of Dog is a MC and a fantastic follow-up to A Little Batty from last year!!! Artwork by @jrob64 .

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On Aug 25, @cocohook38 posted her artwork for last years fic by @iamstartraveller776 To Cleave Destiny. We only have the first ch of the fic posted, but it's amazing already and Jules artwork just gives me chills!!!

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On Aug 26, @eastwesthomeisbest posted a series of manips of Emma Dressed in Blood. Literally took my breath away!!! Gorgeously creepy!!!

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On Aug 29, @zaharadessert posted the Prologue of her fic, Forget Me Not, with a lovely moodboard made by @exhaustedpirate . This first chapter sets up quite a mystery and I can't wait to see where she goes with this!!!

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On Aug 30, @deckerstarblanche posted the final chapter of last year's fic, An Offer She Can't Refuse, with artwork by @undercaffinatednightmare. A super sexy Omegaverse fic, I was soooo thrilled she came back to give CS the happy ending they deserve!!!

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Our last fic of the event, Scattered Earth (Mortua Terra), posted just yesterday. Real life intruded and kept @dykelilypage from finishing her fic until last week, but I told her that if she could get it in before I posted the roundup, I'd still include it, and boy did she deliver!!! The fic was absolutely incredible!!! Supernatural investigative reporters Emma Swan and Killian Jones team up to solve a mystery. Utterly perfect artwork done by @eastwesthomeisbest

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Well, that's it, y'all!! Our FINAL CSSNS has come to an end!!

Everyone take a moment, take a deep breath, and join me in expressing your appreciation to all the participants this year and over the last six for giving us such PHENOMENAL, INCREDIBLE, FANTASTIC supernatural stories!!! There are still many fics from past years that the authors are still active in fandom and plan on continuing whenever they get a chance. And to that end, this blog is not going anywhere. Whenever an update to a fic posts, I'll be right here to read, flail, and reblog.

Until then, y'all!!!

Ten years later

Alice sat up in bed and beckoned her sons into her bedroom. “El Dorado, Killian. Tell me what it was like?”

“Oh Ma, I wish you could have seen the Temple. It was pure gold… in fact from what I saw it seemed that everything was golden. But to see an Incan Temple in real life and not just in books and films, it was quite something, Ma.”

Liam, who'd been standing listening to Killian telling his tale of his first adventure, shared a smile with their mother. Killian was no longer the clumsy boy but was finding his way to be a very handsome young man. “I bet those pretty blue eyes of yours helped charm your way to seeking the treasure we were after, little brother.”

Killian turned to face his older brother. “I think you'll find its younger brother, thank you very much. And aye… it certainly helped me charm the local lasses giving me what I want,” he said, winking.

Their mam moaned weakly at their antics. “Killian, there are some things a mother doesn't need to hear.”

Killian kissed his mum's cheek. “It's alright, Ma… I only meant I used my polite manners to ask where the entrance to the temple was. All the rest I did on my own.”

Alice nodded slightly before asking her sons to let her rest some more.

After they left the room, Liam turned up Killian. “So did you really leave the local lasses intact of their virtue?”

“Bloody hell no! They were practically throwing themselves at me. What was I really to do, say no and leave willing ladies unsatisfied. I'm far more of a gentleman than that.”

Liam patted his brother on the back. “You know, Killian, one day you'll meet a girl you'll want to settle down with. When that day comes, you'll fight for every moment with her because a man unwilling to fight deserves what he gets. No matter what happens in these Travels of yours, Killian, never forget that.”

“Aye, Liam,” he nodded, a solemn feeling fell in the depths of his heart and settled there. Unexplained but profound.

“Anyways,” Liam said, shaking them both from that moment. “Where did you put the artifact?”

“It's right here in this pouch I was given by one of the Incan ladies. She said it had magical properties. Apparently, it will lighten any heavy loads, protect anything from damage and expand to fit large items in.” Killian produced a gold sovereign ring from the black leather bag, then slipped the bag into his coat pocket. He handed the ring to Liam.

“That sounds very useful indeed,” Liam muttered, slightly distracted by the artifact he'd just been handed. He couldn't quite believe he was holding an actual piece of Incan gold from a legendary city. One that was literally so lost to this world it had become mythological.

Logically he knew this was their life. Killian may not remember their father, but Liam did. He remembered how in awe he was when Brennan came back from his Travels with artifacts from long lost times and worlds. He also remembered how broken his mam was after his father didn't come back one time, seemingly lost in time somewhere. This was now a concern he had for Killian. Afterall, who knew what untold creatures there were in these places.

📖 📚 📖 📚 📖

As Emma picked her way through the luscious, bright green wooded area she and August had found themselves in, she heard a group of young girls giggling to themselves. Having been around enough chambermaids she guessed they were talking about a boy. That thought was soon wiped from her mind as she, followed closely by her Watcher, came out of the forest. In front of her stood the most glorious golden township.

“Oh, my word, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Emma whispered.

“I'm quite certain your parents would have something to say about that given the lovely castle you live in,” August replied with a chuckle.

Emma swatted him across the chest good naturedly. “I'm sure when they see this even, they would agree. After all this is the mythical city of El Dorado and that is a fucking golden temple. Now let's get on with what we're here to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” August pulled out two stools out of his satchels. He handed one to Emma.

“Thanks.” Out of her own satchel she took out her sketch pad and immediately started making notes of the colors she could see and what noises she could hear. Emma then began to sketch.

Next to Emma, August was writing his story of their trip to the lost Incan city.

At almost the same time, both Emma and August were brought out of their creative zone when a very good-looking man came rushing towards them. Emma almost dropped her pencil as she stared at him, slack jawed and wide eyed. He was so handsome, she guessed he could be about her age… perhaps a little older. His hair was messed up from the way he'd been running. But despite this, there was something odd about the young man that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Was it his clothes? His hair style? She couldn't quite place it.Her thoughts were interrupted by August nudging her. Emma shook herself to stop herself from staring, looked at him quizzically, then back in the direction of the stranger.

The man stopped briefly and smirked at the blonde beauty. She really was the most gorgeous girl he'd ever seen. He looked directly into her sea green eyes before winking at her and running off again.

“Did you just see that, August?”

“I did indeed, Your Highness. That man was not from around here…”

Belle put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, while a grim-faced Killian rubbed his hands up and down Emma’s biceps in an attempt to soothe her. Will said bluntly what they were all thinking. “The bloody bastard thinks you’re his and wants to drag you to hell with him?”

Emma looked up at Killian, tears shining in her eyes. “Can he do that? Is it possible?”

“No, Love,” he assured her. “Those movies where you see people being pulled kicking and screaming to the Underworld aren’t factual. He may keep haunting you, but he can’t physically take you somewhere against your will.” He looked at Belle and Will. “I think we’ve all had enough for today. I’m going to walk Emma back to her apartment.”

“We’ll clear things away here while you do that, won’t we, Belle?” Will stated.

She nodded her agreement and rose from her chair, moving to where Emma was slowly standing up, too. Taking her hands, Belle said, “Try not to worry about anything, Emma. These guys are good at what they do and I have no doubt that, in time, they’ll be able to get Neal to move on.” Then she wrapped her arms around the other woman in a warm hug.

“Thanks,” Emma murmured, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. When Belle released her, she turned to Will and said, “And thank you, Will.”

“Yer welcome,” he replied, giving her a quick hug, too. “Like Belle said, don’t you worry ‘bout that git. Me and Kil, we’ll take care of him once and for all. Ain’t that right, Kil?”

“Aye,” Killian said softly, intertwining his fingers with Emma’s. “All you have to do is trust us and give us some time.”

Emma sighed. “I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’m ready to get back to my boring, ghost-free life.”

Killian kept hold of her hand to lead her out of the room. Once they left his apartment, they meandered to her door, neither in a hurry to get there. Coming to a halt, he turned and faced her. “Are you going to be alright?”

She shrugged ever so slightly. “Until he’s gone, I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder and thinking I hear something. This whole ordeal has made me paranoid and I hate it.”

Nodding in understanding, he said, “I know, and I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“You’re doing all you can and I truly appreciate it. I guess it pays to have a ghost hunter as a friend, huh?” she said, managing to give him a small smile.

He took a step closer, reaching up to brush some hair over her shoulder. “As I said before, I’m here for you, Emma - day or night. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need me, okay?”

“You might regret that offer.”

“Never. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t ready to follow up on it.”

Her lips ticked up in another hint of a smile, then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Killian.”

Holding her tightly, he rested his cheek against her silky hair. Having Emma Swan in his arms was something he had longed to do, so he decided to take advantage of the opportunity, despite how much he hated the circumstances.

After several long, comforting moments, Emma pulled away, looking up to give him one more grateful smile, before turning and going into her apartment. Killian stood staring at the closed door for a while, breathing a prayer that she would have a long period of respite from the imbecile who had made her life miserable for far too long.

*********

Belle and Will were ready to walk out the door when he returned to his apartment. He bid them goodbye, taking note of how Will slung his arm across Belle’s shoulders as they walked down the hallway.

He knew from experience that going straight to bed following a lengthy review of everything they collected during an all-nighter, wouldn’t result in him being able to fall asleep. Instead, he went through his regular routine of getting something to eat, taking a long, hot shower, and making himself comfortable in loose sleep pants and a well-worn T-shirt. Then he settled into bed on his side, flipping through the pages of a magazine he kept on his nightstand.

His eyelids were just starting to droop, when he felt a familiar sensation. “Liam? Are you there?” he called out.

Sure enough, the apparition of his brother appeared in front of him. “Aye, little brother. I’m here.”

Killian opted to ignore the moniker that irritated him so much. “I was just about to go to sleep. We had an all-nighter at Emma’s apartment last night. Her ex-boyfriend provided us with a lot of stuff to analyze. He’s definitely haunting her, and get this - from what we deciphered, he’s determined to take her with him into the afterlife.”

Liam chuckled. “He hasn’t figured out it isn’t possible, huh?”

“He’s still an idiot,” Killian sighed. “And I hate the effect he’s having on her. Hated it while he was alive and hate it now that he’s…”

“Dead,” Liam finished for him. “You can say the word, you know. It’s not going to bother me. I’m well aware of my state of being.”

“I know, but I’d rather not think of you like that.”

“Killian,” Liam began, and Killian knew what his brother was about to say was serious. He rarely addressed him by his given name. It was almost always ‘Killy’ or ‘little brother’. “You know the day is going to come when I’m no longer with you. I’m going to have to…”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Killian interrupted.

“Well, it’s going to happen, whether you want to face it or not. May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you afraid of me moving on?”

“I’m not afraid,” Killian said indignantly. “I just…I don’t want to be left all alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone. You have Will and that lovely lass, Belle…”

“Friends aren’t the same as family.”

“What about Emma?”

“What about her?” Killian hedged.

“If you were to marry her, she would be your family.”

Killian flopped back onto his pillow, hands over his face. “Not this again,” he said, voice muffled. “Why are you so insistent I ask her out?”

“Because I want to know you’re happy before I move on.”

“I’m not unhappy with my life,” Killian defended.

“I never thought my brother would grow up to be a coward,” Liam said.

Killian whipped his hands away from his face and sat up. “I’m not a coward! I have good reasons for not asking her out.”

“Excuses, you mean. You forget that I saw how upset you were every time she went out with someone, and how it tore you apart when she started seriously dating that guy, Neal. She’s a beautiful, fetching woman. Do you think she’s going to remain available until you finally get up the nerve to ask her out yourself?”

Killian didn’t answer, his head bowed and jaw ticking.

“Listen, little brother, I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I love you and only want the best for you. I don’t want to move on without knowing you’re going to be okay.”

“Then don’t move on.”

“Is that one of your excuses for not asking Emma out? You’re afraid I’ll move on?”

Killian looked up at his brother’s translucent form. “That’s your unfinished business, isn’t it? Making sure I have someone here to love so I won’t be alone. That’s why you‘ve pushed me so hard to ask Emma out.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Liam said, his voice fading as it always did before he disappeared. “You might not want me to go, but you need to live your life among the living, not hanging on to me. Think about that. I’ll see you soon, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Despite having gone through his established routine, it still took Killian a couple of hours to fall asleep after Liam left, his words ringing in Killian’s ears.

********

For the next three days and nights, there was no paranormal activity, allowing Emma to have restful sleep. Ruby informed her that the crime lords’ house of cards came tumbling down, and included a prominent judge, who was discovered to have planted a guard in the prison to take Neal out. There were several arrests and it appeared that Neal’s death helped put numerous dangerous people behind bars.

Emma began to hope that Neal’s unfinished business was to see justice done to those who were responsible for his death, and then he moved on. She informed Killian about everything that had happened, enabling him to join her in hoping her encounters with Neal were over.

Everything was beginning to feel almost back to normal, when the nightmares began again. Two nights of feeling as if she was being suffocated left her anxious and exhausted. After the second night, she texted Killian.

E: I thought the nightmares were over, but they came back. I had them for the last two nights.

His response was almost instantaneous.

K: We can do another all-nighter and try to talk to him again, if that’s alright with you.

E: I’ll do anything to get him to leave me alone.

Killian and Will set up the equipment again and were able to capture more light anomalies, evidence of an apparition in Emma’s bedroom and more words on the spirit box which sounded like he kept repeating ‘you’re…mine.’ Killian tried for over an hour to get the spirit to answer questions on the flux, to no avail.

When Emma sent another text stating that nothing changed, Killian and Will set up and ran the equipment for a third time a few nights later. When they arrived at Emma’s apartment to prepare everything, Killian was taken aback at her appearance. Her complexion was sallow, her hair limp and lifeless. Her usually sparkling eyes were sunken and dull, and she told Killian and Will she had taken sick days the last two evenings because she didn’t have the energy to work.

In the midst of them setting up, Emma left to use the bathroom. “I hate to say it, boss, but she looks bad,” Will whispered.

“Aye, she does. We’ve got to get Neal to move on before he completely wears her down.”

“D’ya think that’s what he’s tryin’ to do? Keep comin’ to her in her nightmares to drain her life force, like ghosts sometimes drain batteries?”

Killian’s eyes shot up to meet his assistant’s. “Bloody hell! I think you could be right, Will. I think his intention might be trying to make her so sick she dies, so he can take her with him!”

“Just like he said he’s gonna do,” Will spat disgustedly. “Are ya gonna tell her?”

Killian pondered the question, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t think so. She’s almost ready to break as it is. Knowing our theory about what he’s trying to do might just send her over the edge. We’ve got to give it our best shot tonight to get him to move on. If we’re not successful…”

“We have to be,” Will said decisively.

That night, it was nearly two AM before Emma finally fell into a fitful sleep. Killian was ready with the flux response device as soon as signs of Neal’s appearance were seen and heard through their monitors.

He entered her bedroom, his heart nearly shattering when he saw how she was thrashing about in her sleep, a look of desperate fright on her face. Setting the device on the nightstand with hands that were trembling with rage, he once again knelt beside the bed and began asking questions.

“Are you Neal Cassidy?”

There was a long pause. Just when he thought he wasn’t going to get an answer, the green light glowed.

“Do you know you are dead?” Green light.

“Do you know how you died?” Green light.

“Do you still have unfinished business?” Green light.

“Once you’ve completed your unfinished business, will you move on to your eternal home?”

He waited several minutes before asking the question again. As soon as he did, the green light flicked on.

“Is your unfinished business getting justice for your death?” Red light.

“Is it saying goodbye to your loved ones?” Red light.

Killian drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, unwilling to ask the next question for fear of the answer he thought he might get.

“Is it…causing Emma to die?” After several tense moments, the green light lit up.

He cursed under his breath. How was he supposed to talk a spirit out of such an insane idea?

Tasting bile in his mouth, he swallowed hard, then asked, “Do you love Emma?” The response was immediate - a green light.

“Don’t you want her to have a long, happy life?” No response.

He decided to rephrase the question. “Would you rather have her die and be with you than go on living?” Green light.

Sick, selfish bastard.

Killian was done asking questions. He needed to somehow persuade Neal to move on.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, and Emma told me she is, too. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the men who caused your death have been arrested and are going to be held accountable. The whole crime ring is toppling and they won’t be able to kill anyone else like they killed you.”

“It’s time for you to move on, Neal. Your plan to take Emma with you won’t work. Look at her.” He gestured to where she lay wrestling on the bed. “All you’re doing is causing her to be exhausted and miserable. She doesn’t want to die…”

His breath was stolen away, as what felt like a cold blast of air passed through him. The room went completely still and he realized Emma was no longer struggling or whimpering. He stood and looked down at her, then sat beside her on the bed, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face. “Sleep now, Swan,” he whispered.

He was tucking the sheets around her, when Will cracked open the door and stuck his head in. “I think he’s gone, boss,” he said softly. “All the instrument readings are normal again. Should I pack up, or continue to monitor?”

“Let’s keep monitoring for another hour or so, just to see if he comes back. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Will nodded and closed the door with a soft click. Killian looked down at Emma again, surprised to see her eyes open. Her hand snuck out from under the sheet and gripped his wrist. “Please don’t leave me,” she rasped.

“We think Neal may have moved on.”

“I heard, but I still don’t want to be alone.”

“We’ll stay the rest of the night,” he assured her. “We’ll be out in the living…”

“No,” she interrupted, beginning to sit up. “Stay here with me. Please, Killian.”

Her pleading nearly undid him. He cupped her cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. “Alright, Love, relax. I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

She laid back down, but didn’t let go of his wrist or close her eyes. “Killian?” she said, her voice smaller than he had ever heard it.

“Aye?”

“Will…will you hold me?”

He blinked, absorbing what she was asking of him. Then he quickly toed off his shoes and laid down beside her on top of the covers. Without hesitation, she moved into his open arms, tucking herself tightly against his chest.

He slid one arm underneath her and wrapped both around her rigid form, murmuring reassuring words into her hair. It took several minutes, but he finally felt the tension begin to recede and heard her breathing deepen and even out.

Will peeked in again. “Do ya want me to turn off the video camera, Kil?”

Killian didn’t turn to look at him. “You can leave it on,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ll stay awake and keep an eye on things. You can sleep if you want.”

“Thanks, Will.”

Then, holding the woman who held his heart, he took Will up on his offer.

*********

Emma awoke slowly the next morning, her foggy brain trying to figure out what felt different. When she tried to move and wasn’t immediately able to, she began to panic, pushing at the solid body in front of her.

“It’s okay, Swan. It’s okay,” a deep voice soothed. At the same time she felt the arms around her loosen.

As soon as it registered that it was Killian, she exhaled his name in relief, then said, “You stayed.”

“Aye, Love. Will packed up the equipment and left a couple of hours ago. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

She pulled away to look at him. “Thank you. I haven’t slept that well since Neal...”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian interrupted, making no move to let go of her and get out of bed.

She rested her cheek against his chest again. “Do you…do you think he’s really gone?”

“I told him to move on and that’s when I thought I felt him leave, which the equipment verified. Whether he’s gone for good, though - only time will tell.”

Emma sighed deeply and sat up, running her hands through her unruly hair. “Were you able to communicate with him at all? With that spirit box or flux capacitor thing?”

Killian swung around to sit on the side of the bed, chuckling. “I think you have my show mixed up with ‘Back to the Future’, Swan.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was his turn to sigh. “He did respond to quite a few questions I asked using the flux response device.”

When he didn’t continue, she said, “Are you going to tell me now, or will we watch it on the video later?”

“Um…” Killian stalled, trying to decide which option would cause Emma less pain. He felt her hand on his back and turned to look at her over his shoulder.

“Killian, what aren’t you telling me?”

Shifting on the bed to face her, he forced himself to meet her eyes. “I found out his unfinished business.”

“Which is…?”

His gaze shifted to where her hand rested on the bed. Taking it in his own, he concentrated on their linked fingers. “He’s…he’s, uh, planning to somehow cause you to die, so he can take you with him into the afterlife.”

“What the actual FUCK?” Emma exploded, gripping his hand so hard, he winced in pain. “He…he can’t…can he really do that?”

“It’s unlikely…”

“But not impossible?”

“Look how exhausted you are because of the nightmares. You haven’t even been able to work the last couple of days. Exhaustion can lead to serious illness, so while it’s improbable, it’s not entirely impossible.”

He watched her carefully as she digested what he said. Then she looked at him with glassy eyes and said flatly, “He’s not gone.”

“Emma…”

“No, Killian. I know he’s not gone. He wouldn’t give up that easily. You witnessed firsthand how persistent he was after I broke up with him. He’s obsessed with me, and being dead obviously hasn’t changed that. How am I gonna get away from him? Telling him to move on hasn’t worked…”

“Me telling him may not have worked, but you telling him you don’t want to die might,” Killian said thoughtfully.

“How am I supposed to do that when he only comes to me while I’m sleeping?”

Killian ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I wish I had an answer for that. I’ll talk to Belle and Will about it today. Maybe together, we’ll come up with an idea.” Slowly, he stood to his feet. “I should probably go home. Will was going to crash at my place for a few hours, then we were going to review what we collected. Do you want to be there when we do?”

Emma chewed on her thumbnail, pondering. “No,” she decided. “You already told me about his plan. Hearing it once was enough.”

“I understand completely.” He studied her for several moments. “Are you going to be okay?”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “I think so, at least for today. Now that I got some sleep, I should be able to go back to work this afternoon.”

“Alright, then.” He picked up his shoes and moved to the doorway, turning to give her a smile. After he opened the door and stepped through, he heard her call his name. Poking his head back in the room, he asked, “Aye?”

“Thank you for staying with me last night. I just really didn’t want to be alone.”

“It was no hardship at all, believe me. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you figure out anything. Thanks again, Killian. For everything.”

“My pleasure, Love.”

*********

When he entered his apartment, he could hear voices coming from his office. He tossed his shoes in the living room, went into the kitchen to start the coffee maker, then walked down the hall.

He stopped short just before he went through the doorway, catching Will’s words.

“...was wondering if ya might, uh, might be interested in goin’ out with me.”

Killian took a step backward to be sure he wouldn’t be spotted and ruin the moment. There was a short pause, during which he held his breath, hoping that, no matter what Belle’s answer was, Will’s heart wouldn’t get broken.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask,” she said.

“Are ya sayin’ yes?” Will asked, and Killian could hear the nervous hopefulness in his friend’s voice.

“Yes, I’m saying yes,” Belle said with a giggle. “I would love to go out with you, Will.”

“It’s about bloody time,” Killian said, entering the room to see the couple embracing. They turned around to look at him, both with wide smiles on their faces.

“Were you eavesdroppin’ on us, boss?” Will asked. He tried to sound indignant, but was too happy to be successful.

“Technically, it’s my apartment, so I’m entitled to listen to anything going on here.”

“I’m not sure that’s an actual rule,” Will grumbled good-naturedly.

“My home, my rules,” Killian grinned.

“Will tells me you got a lot of responses on the flux overnight,” Belle said, effectively changing the subject.

Killian dropped down into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Aye. Has he told you any of Cassidy’s responses?”

“No, we were just cueing up the video to watch it when you came in.”

“Got sidetracked, huh?” Killian teased.

Belle and Will’s faces both reddened. “Maybe we should talk about how ya spent the night in Emma’s bed,” Will said.

“What?” Belle exclaimed, whipping her head around to look at Killian. “How did that happen?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “After the apparition left, she asked me to stay because she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted me to hold her and the only way I could do that was to lay in bed with her, but all we did was sleep.”

Belle gave him an understanding look. “Poor Emma. Will told me you think Neal’s spirit may have moved on. What do you think? Is he gone for good?”

“Sadly, Emma doesn’t think so, and neither do I. The guy wouldn’t take no for an answer when she broke it off with him, and now that we’ve learned what his plan is, we’re sure he’s not going to give up easily.”

“What’s his plan?” Belle asked.

“Let’s watch the video and you’ll find out,” Killian said, swiveling in his seat to face the monitor.

She nodded and tapped the space bar to wake the computer up, while Will took his place behind her chair. She clicked the play button and they saw Emma’s bedroom on the screen.

“This is just before her nightmare started,” Will said. “We should see evidence of that asshole’s ghost entering the room pretty soon. Pardon my language, Belle.”

“There’s no need to apologize. In this case, I completely agree with that assessment.”

They focused their attention back on the screen, and within a couple of minutes, saw a streak of light appear in the left side of the room. It seemed to pass through Emma’s sleeping form on the bed and they heard her let out a soft cry.

“You’ll see me come in soon,” Killian said.

Sure enough, Emma’s bedroom door opened and he entered with the flux response device. The three of them watched in silence as the exchange between Killian and the apparition took place.

When it ended, Belle paused the video and turned to look at the men, a look of incredulity on her face. “He has no regard for her life or what she wants? And he claims to love her? I think calling him an asshole is being far too kind!”

“Agreed,” Killian said.

“You truly don’t think he’s gone, boss?” Will asked.

“No,” Killian sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “I probably just pissed him off, so he left. I think Emma is going to have to be the one who tells him to move on, but he’s only there when she’s asleep. She can’t talk to him then because in her nightmares, she feels like she’s tied up and gagged. I told her I would ask the two of you if you have any ideas.”

They contemplated for several moments before Will declared, “That’s a head-scratcher. I’ll have to give it some thought, after I get some sleep.”

“I’ll think about it, too,” Belle said. “I just came over this morning to see the new material from last night. I’ve been editing and putting together what we have so far. This is going to be the longest episode we’ve ever had. We might have to split it in two.”

“I hope we won’t have much more to add to it,” Killian grumbled. “I want this to be over, for Emma’s sake.”

*********

Once Belle and Will left, Killian went through his regular routine, but had trouble falling asleep. He was sure it was because he slept for a few hours at Emma’s, added to the fact that he had so much on his mind.

He didn’t have a clue how to solve the problem of getting Neal to leave. Even if Emma was able to talk to him, that didn’t guarantee he would heed her plea. After all, he didn’t listen while he was alive, when she told him to leave her alone.

Killian finally dozed off on his couch late in the afternoon, waking up just after ten PM. After fixing himself a sandwich, he grabbed a beer and wandered back to his office to review some of the footage they had collected, hoping to find something they missed that might spark an idea.

An hour later, he was in the midst of repeatedly replaying the video from the previous night, when a scream caused him to jump, knocking over the nearly empty beer at his elbow. He quickly righted it before it spilled over his equipment, then got to his feet. “Emma,” he gasped, once his brain registered what he just heard.

He took off running through the apartment and was halfway out the front door, before realizing he needed the key for Emma’s apartment. Spinning around, he skidded into the kitchen, yanked open his junk drawer and began digging through it.

“Fuck!” he cursed, flinging miscellaneous items onto the counter as he searched frantically. Finally locating the key, he dashed out the door and over to Emma’s apartment. As he fumbled with getting the key into the lock, he heard another scream.

Once he got the door open, he ran to her bedroom to find her splayed out on the bed, her head agitatedly rolling from side-to-side, arms and legs thrashing about. She was choking out moans that were heartbreaking to hear.

Killian had purposely kept himself from touching her while they were recording, knowing it could awaken her and ruin chances of getting usable information. This time, however, he ached to bring her out of the nightmare that seemed to be causing her so much pain.

He shouted, “Swan! Emma! Wake up, Love!” then sat on the bed, grabbing both of her shoulders.

As soon as he touched her, a strange sensation that felt like a slight electrical current passed over him and his eyes slammed shut. When he tentatively opened them a few moments later, he was shocked to find himself in an alternate reality. He was able to see things fairly clearly, but it was like looking through a textured glass. Everything looked slightly distorted, as if he was in a Salvador Dali painting.

As the shock began to wane, he looked around and spotted Emma standing mutely in front of him. She was facing away from him, but he could tell by her slumped form, she was debilitated. He called out to her, but she showed no signs of hearing him. He moved until he was facing her. She stared blankly off into space and he realized she was in a trance, unable to respond.

Then he heard someone speaking, chanting something over and over. Concentrating harder, Killian was able to make out the words.

You’re mine, Ems.

You belong to me.

I’m taking you with me.

You’ll be happier with me.

Just let go of your sad, lonely life and come with me.

Neal Cassidy, the selfish son of a bitch, was holding Emma captive in her nightmare, trying to coerce her to end her life and join him.

Killian became enraged. “Emma!” he hollered, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. “Don’t listen to him! Wake up and come back to me!”

Suddenly, Neal’s apparition appeared over Emma’s shoulder, teeth bared and eyes blazing. “You can’t have her!” he screamed maniacally. “She’s coming with me! She’s MINE!”

“Leave her alone!” Killian replied. Judging by Neal’s reaction, he realized that, unlike Emma, Neal could hear him. “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to come with you? She has a life and wants to keep living it!”

“I don’t give a fuck what she wants! I want her and I’ll have her!”

“Stop torturing her, you sick bastard! You’re dead! Move on!”

With a primal screech, Neal came at Killian, circled around him, then flew off and disappeared, trailing a string of expletives behind him.

Silence descended and Killian blinked, finding himself once again in Emma’s bedroom, still grasping her shoulders. Her body was unmoving, but her eyes remained tightly closed, giving her face a pinched, pained expression.

“Swan,” he said, gently shaking her. “You can open your eyes now. Your nightmare is over.”

Slowly, her face relaxed and, at last, she was looking at him. Then, she was in his arms.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he crooned, as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I’ve got you, Love.”

“Wh- how…oh, how are you here?” she asked, voice breaking with emotion.

He buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I heard you scream, so I used my key to come in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here,” she cried.

Killian pulled her into his lap so he could hold her more tightly. Her sobs gradually lessened and her body sagged against him. “I…I can’t take this much longer,” she whispered.

“I know, but you have to stay strong. We’re going to get this figured out, I swear.”

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Because he’s twisted and demented. I told him you want to keep living your life, but he said he doesn’t care what you want…”

She pulled back to look at him. “He talked to you? You mean through that flux thingy?”

Killian could feel the heat creeping into his face. This wasn’t the way he planned to tell her. He was hoping to have time to prepare her before he told her about his experience.

Reaching up to rub a finger behind his ear, he explained haltingly, “I, um, when I came into your bedroom, you were thrashing about on the bed. I tried to calm you by putting my hands on your shoulders. When I touched you, I was…I was drawn into your nightmare somehow. I could see you and talk to you, but in your dream, you were in some sort of…trance. It was like you were frozen. You couldn’t respond to me.”

He paused and swallowed hard at the look of absolute shock on her face. Her mouth hung open, her breathing labored. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Neal…he…his spirit…was there. We could see and hear each other. He was…he kept trying to get you to go with him. He was completely unhinged. When I told him to leave you alone and move on, he screamed and vanished, but I…I’m sure he’s not going to give up.”

“You…you were in my nightmare? How the hell were you able to do that?”

“I don’t really know,” he confessed. “I…I’ve always had a…an ability to sense paranormal activity. Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse, but maybe that has something to do with it. I’ve never been able to be immersed into a dream like that before, though.” What he was thinking, but wasn’t going to say, was that his emotional connection to Emma might have something to do with it.

She heaved a sigh and rested her head against his chest. “Why did I ever get involved with that idiot? I have such terrible taste in men.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right one yet.”

“Well, when I do, I can just imagine how it’s going to go. ‘I’ll marry you, but oh, by the way, I’m being haunted by my jackass ex-boyfriend, so there’s that’.”

He chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. “At least you still have your sense of humor, Swan.”

Suddenly, she sat up straight. “Wait a minute. If you were able to get into my dream, couldn’t you do it again and figure out a way to break me out of that trance? Maybe that’s why he keeps hanging around - because I haven’t been able to respond to him. If I can, I’ll tell him there’s no way I’m going with him.”

Killian pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation. “I suppose it’s worth a try. I wonder if Cassidy is somehow causing you to fall into a trance to make brainwashing you easier. Perhaps if I’m here with you from the very beginning of your nightmare, I can prevent that from happening.”

“You would be willing to do that?”

“Of course, Emma. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. I would have to stay here overnight, though. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You stayed last night and were a perfect gentleman.”

“Well, I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned.

She laughed, then sobered a bit. “The thing is, I don’t have a nightmare every night. I’m sure Neal is the source of them and if he doesn’t show up, I might get a good night’s sleep.”

“I understand. With your permission, I’ll plan on being here every night until we have a chance to test our theory.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“I am,” he assured her. “The way he took off, I really don’t think he’ll be back any more tonight, though.”

She nodded and climbed off his lap. “I’ll let you go home and get some sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.”

Killian stood up, turning to face her. Unable to help himself, he cupped her chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll plan to be here tomorrow night. If you need me before then, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay. Thanks, Killian,” she said. “You’re such a good friend.”

He fought to keep the smile on his face, deflated that she obviously only thought of him as a friend. “Goodnight, Emma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once he got back to his apartment, he went through his nightly routine and went to bed, where he lay wide awake, thinking about all that transpired at Emma’s. He had just decided to take his mind off of it by going into the living room to watch TV, when he heard the familiar sound of Liam’s voice.

“Greetings, little brother.”

“It’s pretty late for a visit from you,” Killian commented, sitting up in bed.

“Sometimes I pop in to see if you’re awake.”

“You mean there are times I miss visits from you because I’m asleep?”

“I always come back the next day. Why are you awake tonight?”

Killian pushed a hand through his hair. “Something really strange happened tonight and I’m trying to make sense of it.”

Liam’s apparition moved closer, but didn’t touch Killian. In the past, if he came in contact with his brother, it caused an uncomfortably cold chill. “You look very shaken. Can you tell me about it?”

“Last night, Will and I were doing another all-nighter at Emma’s…”

“That wanker’s ghost is still giving her trouble, then?”

“Aye, but I was finally able to get some answers from him on the flux response device last night. Basically, he admitted that he wants Emma to die so he can take her with him.”

“That’s nigh impossible, isn’t it?”

“He’s causing her to have nightmares and she’s utterly exhausted. You should see her, Liam. She’s still beautiful, but him haunting her is wearing her out physically, mentally and emotionally. She had to take a couple of days off work because she has no energy. If this keeps up, I’m afraid she’s going to end up becoming very ill.”

“Which could lead to…”

“Please don’t say it,” Killian interrupted. “I don’t even want to think that way. Anyway, I tried to tell him he needs to move on and I felt his spirit leave the room. When Emma woke up, she asked me to stay with her.”

“Don’t tell me you refused, little brother.”

“Of course I didn’t. She needed me, so I stayed the rest of the night. And before you ask, yes, I was in her bed, and no, nothing happened, except that we both got a good night’s sleep.”

“Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have insisted on you being such a gentleman.”

“Do you wan’t to hear the rest of the story, or not?” Killian asked peevishly. “You’re never here very long and if you keep interrupting, I won’t be able to tell you everything.”

“Sorry,” Liam said, making a circling motion with his finger. “ Continue.”

“I told Emma about Neal’s plan. She was understandably upset, but being the brave lass she is, she carried on with her day and so did I.” He ran both hands through the sides of his hair again, tugging slightly on the ends. “Then around eleven tonight, I was doing some work in my office when I heard a scream coming from Emma’s apartment. I ran over there and let myself in. She was in the midst of a nightmare, and when I grabbed hold of her to try to wake her up, I was pulled into it.”

“Into what?”

“Her nightmare. I could see her, but she couldn’t see or hear me. She appeared to be in a trance-like state. Neal was there and he could see and hear me. The two of us had a bit of a row and he took off in a rage.”

“He moved on?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’s a stubborn S.O.B. and he’s determined not to move on without Emma.”

“That was the strange occurrence you mentioned?”

“That was part of it. I told Emma what happened, which came as a shock to her, of course. Then she had an idea. She wants me to try to get into her dream again, to break her out of the trance somehow. That would give her a chance to convince Neal to move on.”

“Will you be able to do it? Get into her dream again, I mean.”

“I don’t even know how I did it tonight. I guess touching her had something to do with it, combined with my abilities with paranormal phenomena. I’m hoping being with her from the onset of her nightmare will allow me to keep her from being put into a trance.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Liam asked. “Do you have a plan B?”

Killian shrugged. “Not really. Shouting at her and snapping my fingers in front of her face didn’t have any effect on her.”

“Perhaps you could try a true love’s kiss.”

“You’re hilarious, Liam. And also not very helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. True love’s kiss is supposed to be strong enough to break any curse.”

“Yeah, in fairy tales. In case you’ve forgotten, this is real life,” Killian grumbled.

“I guess I’ve been dead too long to remember what real life is like.”

Killian looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, brother.I was only joking. Think about what I said and tuck it in your pocket for a backup plan.”

Liam’s voice was fading fast and Killian knew his time with his brother was coming to an end. “I’ll try it if I’m desperate enough. Thanks for your help, Liam. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t need me. You’re smart enough to figure it out by yourself. I have to go, Killy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Liam.”

Then he was alone in his bedroom again, thoughts swirling even more than before his brother’s appearance. Giving up on trying to go to sleep, he tossed back the covers and went out to the kitchen. After getting a glass of water, he settled on the couch and flipped on the TV.

He had just selected a crime drama show to watch, when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His brow furrowed, wondering who would be texting him this late. Picking it up, he saw a notification from Emma.

E: You asleep?

Quickly, he typed a reply.

K: No, I can’t turn off my brain.

E: Lol. Me neither.

K: Do you want to talk?

E: Maybe. Do you mind if I come over?

K: Not at all.

He had just gotten the door unlocked, when there was a light tapping on the other side. He pulled it open to reveal Emma, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly. “Are you sure you don’t mind? It is nearly 1:30 in the morning.”

“I’m sure. I was getting ready to watch a show. Do you want to watch it, or would you rather talk?”

She shrugged. “I’m not really in the mood for television.”

He picked up the remote and hit the power button to turn it off. “Can I get you something to drink, or a snack, or both?”

“Water would be great. Do you have any Cheez-its?”

“I always have Cheez-its, because a certain neighbor of mine is obsessed with them.”

As he turned to head into the kitchen, he heard her call after him, “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.”

He returned moments later to find her sitting with her back against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out in front of her. He handed her the water, set the box of snack crackers on the coffee table, then sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

She moaned as he pulled her bare feet into his lap and began massaging them. On the odd occasion when she worked an afternoon shift at the hotel and later they shared a pizza over a movie, he found that she adored foot massages. As he rubbed and kneaded every part of her delicate feet and ankles, she purred like a contented cat, proclaiming his hands to be magic. He loved giving her those moments of pleasure and longed to use his magic hands on other parts of her enticing body.

She took a drink of water, set the bottle down and picked up the box of Cheez-its. Popping a couple into her mouth, she offered him the box, but he shook his head. “Suit yourself,” she said. “More for me.”

The room was quiet for several minutes, save the crunching sounds Emma was making.

“Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

“You just did.”

“Haha, funny guy. Earlier tonight, you said you’ve always had a gift for sensing paranormal activity. How did you figure out you could do that?”

“When I was a young lad, my mother found me talking to someone she couldn’t see. She thought I had made up an imaginary friend, and didn’t think much of it. Small children do that, you know. But one day I asked her why our neighbor, Mr. Shaw, always looked so sad, didn’t bring us sweets anymore, and entered our flat through the wall. I was shocked when she said he had passed away, because I could clearly see him.”

“Did she figure out that you were seeing a ghost?”

“I’m not sure, but I do know after that, whenever she heard me talking to someone whom she couldn’t see, she would ask who it was. Several times, it was a person who recently died. Sometimes she would see me staring off into space and ask if I could see someone. She never made a big deal of it, just treated it like it was a normal thing. When she passed, I saw her soul leave her body and drift upwards. By that time, I had realized my ability wasn’t normal, and at that moment, I was very glad I had it. That way I could tell my brother Liam she went to Heaven.”

Emma leaned forward to rub his shoulder. “That must have been very special, but also terrifying.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“If you can see ghosts, why do you have to use all of that equipment?”

One hand moved from massaging her feet, to scratch behind his ear. “It seems that I can only see them if I have a close connection to them. Mr. Shaw, our babysitter Mrs. Lucas, Mum, Liam…”

“How long ago did Liam die?” she asked solemnly.

“He was killed six years ago.”

“So his spirit appeared to you after he, um, passed away?”

Killian nodded, his eyes not meeting hers.

“Did you get to see his spirit move on to Heaven, too? Like you did your mother’s?”

He began massaging her feet again as he contemplated how to answer. He had never told anyone about being able to see and speak to his brother’s spirit, but now that he’d told Emma this much…well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“He, uh, he hasn’t moved on yet.”

She sat up a little straighter. “How do you know that?”

“Because,” he began, then looked up to make eye contact with her, “he still comes to see me.”

Her eyes widened. “He does?” She started looking around the room, “Is he here right now?”

“No,” he chuckled, a bit relieved she seemed to take it so well. “He drops in sporadically, but can never stay long.”

“Why not?”

“I think it takes a lot of his paranormal energy to appear and talk to me and…”

“He talks to you, too? Do you have to use your equipment to hear him?”

“No, I did originally buy it to communicate with him, but he was able to figure out a way to actually talk to me. I think he somehow channels his energy to do that, so it gets sapped quickly.”

“The fact he hasn’t moved on means he has unfinished business, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Killian dropped his eyes once again, rubbing his thumb along the arch of her foot. “He’s always been my protector. He won’t move on until he knows I’m happy,” he answered, a bit vaguely.

“You seem happy to me.”

He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I have friends and a job I really enjoy, so I’m content.”

“Being content isn’t the same as being happy,” Emma pointed out.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he agreed. “But it’s not as if I’m unhappy.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready for him to move on?” she asked quietly.

He tried to think of an answer that didn’t make him out to be incredibly selfish. “After Mum died, Liam was my only family. Our father deserted us when I was a baby and we never saw him again. After I lost Liam, I was a mess. I moved to the United States because I thought getting away from where I experienced so much sadness would help. It did, to a certain degree, but when Liam started making appearances, I guess I became somewhat dependent on him again. I just…I don’t want to be by myself.”

“But you have people who care about you, Killian. You have Will, Belle…”

“You?”

She smiled. “Yes, me. I think this whole experience with Neal has made us closer, don’t you?”

“Well, nothing draws people together better than trying to get someone’s ex-boyfriend’s ghost to move on,” he quipped.

They fell quiet for a while as she munched more Cheez-its and he continued lightly rubbing her feet. “Can I ask you something else?” she finally said. “And don’t say I already did.”

He laughed. “Sure.”

“I don’t claim to know everything you do all the time. I try not to be a nosy neighbor, but it seems like you never…go out with anyone. On a date.”

The tips of his ears felt like they were burning. “I, uh, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the chipped red polish on her toe nails.

“I mean, I bet you could have just about any woman you want,” she added.

His heart began hammering so hard, he was sure she could hear it. “Why do you say that?” he blurted out.

“You’re a great listener, very sweet and helpful, easy on the eyes…and you give great foot massages. What’s not to love?”

Her choice of that phrase made him swallow hard. “Perhaps, like you, I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Or… maybe I just haven’t worked up the nerve to ask her out.”

Her brows rose. “Sounds like you already have someone in mind.”

He sucked in a breath, knowing what he said next would inevitably change their relationship. He simply didn’t know if it would be for better or worse. Shifting on the couch so he could fully face her, he looked her in the eyes and said, “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

*********

Thanks for reading! The CSSNS24 event already has numerous fantastic stories and pieces of artwork. Be sure to check out all of them!

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When it dissipates and her feet land on uneven cobblestones, his face appears before hers again; however, she notes that the shock has disappeared and been replaced by a careful coolness. Emma’s magic probes for his on instinct, to grasp it as tightly as she is holding on to his hand and hook, but she finds him locked away again.

She retreats inside of herself and hopes that her disappointment does not show.

The displeasure is short-lived, as it’s quickly overshadowed by the cacophony of noises and smells all around her. Emma blinks at the bright light of the sun reflecting off of the sea, a stark contrast to the constant shadows of the Dark Castle. Once her eyes adjust, she takes in the crush of bodies, wearing a rainbow of dull colors, and more variety than she’s seen since she was a child, having grown so used to the sameness of the Black Knights.

All the people move through and around one another in a slurry of dizzying chaos. They shout and cry out and laugh in her mother tongue and in languages familiar and unfamiliar. There is a small child playing with a spinning top nearby and an old crone sitting on a step darning some socks. The scent of humans, most of them unwashed, fills her nostrils and mingles with the smell of saltwater and seaweed and the fish being thrown from a ship to a wagon nearby.

Emma does not know if she wants to throw up or faint or twirl in delight.

Her knees get a little weak and Killian’s arm is around her in an instant.

“Emma?” he asks anxiously, holding her up, and she is both thankful for his aid and hating displaying another sign of weakness.

“I’m fine,” she grits, trying to force her legs to hold her up. Another look at the crowd and she has to squeeze her eyes shut, dropping his hook to place her hand at her temple. “It is nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” he growls. Emma opens her eyes long enough to catch him looking around for some sign of Regina or another evil fiend ready to ruin their plans. Emma shakes her head, unseen by him, and reaches out with her magic, hoping that it will say what she cannot.

It does.

Killian’s magic curls around her defensively and it helps her to block out the bedlam around her. Emma closes her eyes again and the world fades away even more, his magical protection growing even stronger. In an instant, the commotion disappears and all Emma hears is blessed silence. The sound of her well-loved companion since she was a girl.

“I am sorry, I should have realized this would be overwhelming,” he murmurs, his voice the only thing she can hear. Emma closes her eyes and trusts in Killian to lead her through the multitude of people, his arm strong around her as they weave through the crowd until her feet leave the cobblestones and the heels of her boots click on the wood of a gangplank.

“Just another two steps,” Killian says softly, now directly behind her, and once the sound of the wood beneath her changes, she takes a deep breath and luxuriates in the cool sea breeze that clears both her senses and her mind.

Emma reaches out with her magic to thank Killian for his assistance, but finds that it has quite changed. His protection has been replaced by something like lightning, something like agony, and Emma draws her magic back before she can be similarly affected and her eyes fly open, expecting to see them being attacked.

In an instant, the sounds of the crowd return to her ears, but Emma’s eyes are trained forward, to the length of the ship that they are currently standing on, and to the gentleman now approaching them with a red cap in his hand. Emma’s anxiety is still at the surface, but she finds that it is manageable for the moment.

“Your Highness?” he asks. When she gives him an uncertain nod, the man bows deeply and quite ungracefully, clearly not used to such signs of subjugation to royalty, and Emma composes her features to look flattered, not embarrassed. The man’s eyes turn to Killian behind her when he rises and Emma senses a mixture of nervousness and excitement in him. “Captain. It is good to see you, sir.”

“I trust you’ve been caring for my ship, Mister Smee?” Killian says by way of greeting. Emma expects him to walk away from her and begin some kind of inspection or something, but he stays behind her, perhaps like he’s hiding, perhaps like he’s worried about her - she’s not sure which one might be true.

“Aye, Captain. Of course,” Smee says quickly.

“Then let us be on our way,” the Dark One snaps. His arm reaches around Emma to hold out a rolled-up parchment to the man. “Follow the map.”

Smee takes the map and turns smartly to give orders to the crew members scattered across the deck. Emma watches them for a minute, needing to focus on anything but the swarm of people she knows are moving and swaying right behind her on the docks, but when Killian doesn’t move either, her curiosity gets the better of her. Emma turns and forces her gaze to focus on his face and not the people behind him.

“Are you alright?”

His clenching jaw and eyes that will not meet hers tells one story. “I am fine,” he says in a clipped tone, attempting to tell a different story.

“You are not,” Emma insists.

Killian places his hand on her shoulder and leads her forward, bidding her to step into the bowels of the ship through an open hatch. Emma obeys him, still concerned about his obvious discomfort, and descends the ladder. She’s thankful that she found a pair of trousers in the wardrobe this morning, something that had not been present the other days, and though the leather feels strange against skin that is used to stockings and skirts, the mobility will serve her well on this journey.

The hatch and the ladder lead to a private cabin, neat and tidy and every surface gleaming with fresh polish. A narrow bunk is made up beneath a stained glass window, and Emma turns in place to take in the wardrobe, cushioned bench beneath another stained glass window, desk, and table with two chairs. Not a large space, but a clean one, and it has more of a feel of history and love than any of the rooms she found in the Dark Castle.

“This is your cabin,” Emma says. It is not a question.

“Aye.” Killian’s jaw is still twitching, but whatever is bothering him is behind the wall he’s erected around his magic. “Yours for our journey, love.”

Emma startles. Even if his body is tense and his magic is barricaded away, it does not take a clever person to recognize the longing in his eyes. Why would he want her to have this space?

“I couldn’t.”

“Dark Ones do not sleep.”

She had noticed that he never ate with her but figured it was some quirk of his or that perhaps he preferred to eat alone - or maybe just had terrible table manners. But now Emma suspects that he does not eat either. No food, no sleep, no rest or refreshment for his weary soul.

Emma’s fingers twitch to grasp his hand again and she buries them in the fabric of her cloak. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she says simply, feeling as though it is not nearly enough.

Killian quickly excuses himself and Emma takes a few minutes to observe her new private quarters. The Dark One had given her leave to explore every inch of the Dark Castle and she figures it must now extend to his ship and the room he’s told her she can use as her own. Emma’s fingertips graze the crisp white sheets of the bed, the soft wood of the wardrobe, the worn spines of books, and the lines of a woman’s face drawn in charcoal, hung on one wall.

When she’s finished her perusal, Emma adjusts the tie on her cloak and returns to the deck.

Thankfully, in the time that she’s examined the captain’s quarters, the ship has left shore far behind, along with the scents and sounds that had so affected her. Another breath of the sea air makes Emma feel quite refreshed and prepared to face the day. She moves her exploration to the world of the ship above deck, trying to take everything in and catalog the questions she has about seafaring. She pays special attention to make sure she is not in the way and not injured by her own poor attention, eventually retreating to the stern of the ship after she has completed two laps around the deck.

Killian is already there, staring back at the shore line with an inscrutable expression. 

“A fine ship you have, Captain,” Emma says lightly, observing him out of the corner of her eye. He winces, as though pained, and Emma takes hold of the ship and wonders why the compliment was so poorly received. 

They stand in silence for a long time, watching the village slowly disappear. Eventually, Emma’s stomach gives an audible roar and Killian looks over at her again. 

He waves a hand in the air. “Food is all set out for you, love. Go to the cabin and eat to your heart’s content.”

“Will you join me?” she asks quietly, hopefully. Killian shakes his head. Emma prepares to step away but at the last moment her feet refuse to budge. “Will you please tell me what is wrong?”

It must be the strength of her voice that catches him off-guard. She has been content to obey him, trust his wisdom, not question him. But now he is obviously in pain and it is causing her pain. Emma locks her knees and waits for him to evade her question again. 

“Nothing is wrong.”

She waits some more. 

“If you will not go eat I will assume-”

“We need more than my healthy body to make good on our deal, Killian,” Emma says stubbornly. “We need some measure of trust and honesty. If you will not tell me what is wrong then I cannot help.”

His cool blue eyes burn into hers, his magic locked away along with his vulnerability. Eventually, her stomach growls again, she raises a defiant brow, and he sighs. 

“You cannot help. Long ago I cast enchantments on my ship to make it torturous for the Dark One to step foot on her.”

It takes a moment for Emma to catch the full meaning of his words. Why would he want to keep himself from his own ship? But then she remembers that Killian was not always the Dark One, that Rumplestiltskin bore the name and the magic first, and Killian killed him. He has not explained why and how he murdered his predecessor. 

“You wanted to keep Rumpelstiltskin away.”

“Aye.” Killian ducks his head. “The last time he was on the Jolly he killed the woman I loved.”

Emma pictures Rumpelstiltskin, the creature of her nightmares, appearing in the middle of the gleaming deck of Killian’s ship, ripping a woman from Killian’s arms, and murdering her in cold blood.

“Is that why you killed him? To avenge her death?” Tentatively, Emma lays a hand on the sleeve of the thick leather coat she has not seen him wear since the night they met. It is warm from the sun and soft under her fingers.

Killian nods, eyes still on the deck. He does not brush off her hand as she had expected. She contemplates this new revelation, about a man who loves so deeply he will go face-to-face with the greatest force of evil and darkness in the realm in order to make someone pay for their crimes. A lucky woman to have been the recipient of a love so strong.

“You cannot reverse the enchantments?”

He pulls away from her touch to lay a hand on the polished wood of the rail. “Not without destroying her and that would hurt worse than the pain she inflicts on me.”

Curious, Emma’s magic nudges against his own, asking to feel what he feels. The barricade remains up, keeping her out, and her nudge turns into a push, then a shove, then a swift kick that nearly knocks her back when he suddenly releases the floodgates.

Emma doubles over in pain. Every muscle feels as though it is being run through by lightning, all of her nerve endings open and exposed, her whole body both energized and exhausted at the same time. Emma gasps at the torturous agony, and at the sound his magic shoves her out again and locks her away from it. She sags against the rail and, panting heavily, looks up at Killian with wide eyes.

“Is that what you’ve been feeling? Since the moment you stepped foot on the ship?”

His eyes are trained on the shoreline, focused, cold, and he nods shortly. A muscle in his jaw twitches. Emma wonders that he can even move with the way that the Jolly Roger is causing him so much suffering.

“You need to go,” she gasps. “Killian, you cannot stay here any longer. How can you even stay here?”

His response is quiet. “We made a deal. I must protect you and get you to your parents.”

“But Killian, you must-” she begins weakly, and she draws back when he straightens to his full height and glares down at her. 

“We are on my ship and I am the one tasked with your safekeeping, Your Highness. If you continue to be insolent I shall have to devise a punishment.” The way that wickedness gleams in his eyes makes her fearful of what sort of punishment the Dark One would inflict upon her. 

He grasps her elbow and pulls her closer. “Time to eat, Princess.” His sing-song voice sends chills down her spine. The Dark One begins to shove her away from him, toward the waiting feast in his quarters, and in desperation Emma places her hand on his bare wrist, trying to stop him or stall him or calm him or get the darkness to leave him the hell alone. 

In an instant, the obstruction between his magic and hers disappears and she can feel the calm quietness of nothing. The bliss of stillness. It is similar to the way he made the noise of the docks disappear just a few hours ago when she had been so dreadfully overwhelmed. The maniacal glint in his eyes is extinguished like a flame in the wind and in its place is naked relief.

“Bloody hell,” he grunts, stumbling for a moment, and when she stumbles with him, she loses her grip on his hand and the white-hot agony returns. Emma grasps his hand in hers by instinct and the calmness returns.

Their fingers now intertwined, Killian stares at her incredulously. “What did you do?”

Emma shakes her head and feels how the rest of her body is shaking too. “I didn’t do anything.”

Testing a theory, Killian releases her hand and he must have put protections back in place because she cannot feel his pain, but she can see it plain as day; a tense jaw and a furrow in his brow. Without thinking about it, Emma lifts her hand and smooths her fingers over the rough stubble on his jaw. His face goes slack and a groan escapes his throat. Killian’s hook presses against the back of her hand, keeping her in place. 

“Does that feel better?” Emma whispers, though the answer is obvious. 

Killian groans again, the sound almost obscene. She watches his serene expression for several minutes, his face calm, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his face. The sea breeze picks up and the smile gets larger, broader. Emma wonders at the last time he had been able to enjoy being aboard his ship. 

All of the sudden, his eyes fly open and Killian looks at her in a panic. “Is this draining for you? Does it hurt to protect me in this way?”

The thought hasn’t even occurred to Emma. She pokes at her magic and tries to put the feeling into words. “No,” she says slowly. “No, it feels like a spring or a fountain. Like the magic just keeps bubbling up. Actually,” Emma grins shyly. “Actually, it sort of tickles.”

“Tickles?”

Killian laughs at the idea and she can feel the way the sound makes his neck vibrate. “Although,” Emma adds, purposely taking his right hand in hers before pulling back her right hand from his jaw. “My arm was starting to get tired.”

He laughs again and moves his hand so their fingers are intertwined. “I can’t believe you- well, I never thought I could-” Killian sighs and looks at her, half-exasperated and half-delighted. “If you would be willing to shield me with your magic, then I just might make it through this journey without being a complete arse.”

When her stomach growls a third time, he does manage to convince her to have a luncheon in the Captain’s Quarters. And she manages to convince him to join her for the meal. As she eats her fill, they discover that skin-to-skin touch is necessary for her protection to have any effect. The experiment to have her focus on covering him with her magic without touching him is a total disaster - it ends with her feeling a headache develop from the concentration required - and she finishes her luncheon with her left palm over his hand on the table while licking the remnants of frosting off of her right fingers. 

“One more experiment, darling?” Killian asks in a rough voice, eyes on her mouth. She nods, not knowing why her heart is suddenly racing, and when he pulls her to her feet she barely notices the food disappear. 

Killian’s mouth is on hers and in the haze of his slow, leisurely kisses, stealing her breath and curling her toes, she can feel how he lets go of her hand so only their mouths are touching. The way he keeps going tells her that the kiss is enough to satisfy his need for her protection, and when he pulls away from her mouth, he immediately burrows his face in the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. 

“Imagine the relief I would feel if I spent all night with my cock buried in your quim,” he quietly moans. His warm breath and lewd words make heat rush between her thighs. Emma buries her fingers in his hair and bites her lower lip to hold back her gasp. The fire is back, blazing over both of them, and with the bed only a few feet away, it feels like it is taunting her with her lack of sexual knowledge. 

Carefully, Emma douses his fire and encourages him to pull away from her, while keeping her fingers in his hair. She licks her lips and forces herself to meet his eyes, to face the passion that is still gleaming there, barely restrained by her magic. “Have you decided that I am healthy enough?” she asks nervously. “Should we- should we try to work on my end of the deal?”

What fire she hadn’t managed to douse with her magic goes away at her words and his eyes look contrite. Instantly he pulls back from her arms, then hisses in pain as the ship’s enchantment catches him off-guard. Emma grasps his hand and he comes back to himself, blinking from the onslaught of so many different emotions.

“No,” he snaps, making her flinch. He shakes his head and says it softer. “No, no darling. I should not have said that. The darkness is determined for us to fuck and is hardly interested in my being a gentleman about it.”

Emma squeezes his hand, trying to swallow her shyness. “And you? What do you want?”

She wants to hear him say that he wants her. She feels that he does, she assumes that he must, and even if it is only his loneliness calling out to hers, she’s not sure if she cares. It seems like enough to her. He feels like enough to her - feeling safer in his protection than she’s been since a child, despite the darkness that makes his emotions erratic. Emma attempts to hide the vulnerability of her question and make her face neutral.

Killian steps closer to her again and flicks some of her hair off her shoulder with his hook. His expression is soft again, fond, and when he meets her eyes her stomach leaps in her chest.

“I want you healthy. Being in a limited space is no excuse to not walk as I instructed, Princess. If you are amenable, I would like to show you around my ship.”

Emma weaves their fingers together and offers him a smile. “Lead the way, Captain.”

-/-

Killian hadn’t thought it would be possible, but he does, in fact, grow tired of holding Princess Emma’s hand. Not emotionally, of course - since the moment he saw her in the forest he’s been craving her touch, to hold her and be held. But physically, needing to keep his skin pressed to her skin does get a little cumbersome. Eventually, he understands what she means about the magic tickling, as he feels a prickling under his skin where they are touching one another. Her fingers keep shifting and twitching to stay in a comfortable position, and he finds himself longing for them both to be naked so he might discover a multitude of ways that she might comfort him with her magic and her body.

Fool that he is, he let one of those ways slip and the little lamb shrank away in fright.

Somehow, he’s ended up with his head on her lap as they sit beneath the stars, the crew giving them a wide berth. Her fingers lightly scratch his neck, play with his ear, toy with his hair. If a Dark One could sleep, Killian would have long ago passed out beneath her gentle touch. He is practically purring in her lap, and though the darkness growls at him for his submissiveness, he tells the darkness to kindly bugger off and keeps his eyes closed in delight.

Killian takes a refreshing breath of the sea air and smiles. The last time he was this content on the Jolly was centuries ago, when Milah was alive and they would sleep on the deck on fair nights, her desperate to feel the freedom of the open air and him desperate to feel her near. Being here, now, with Emma, feeling that same peace at sea mingled with the terrifying feeling of falling in love - it is bittersweet. 

He never thought he would be capable of letting go of his first love, his Milah. Revenge over her death consumed him, and once it was accomplished, the hole left behind was somehow even deeper than before. Three years he’s hidden in the Dark Castle, appearing only when summoned and even then he has turned down most deals, keeping the darkness at bay by giving it his loneliness to gnaw on. 

But Emma has given him purpose. Something to be a part of. He has no illusions that he will be a cherished member of the noble house of Snow White, but he does hope he will be allowed to spend time with the child, the heir. He will want to channel his years of hard-won wisdom into them, to create something better, more pure than himself. 

The darkness wants to corrupt Emma and corrupt the child. Killian will fight tooth and nail to keep that from happening. 

Emma shifts and he can hear the gentle hitch in breathing that indicates she’s yawned. Again. Killian twists slightly so that he can look at her. Her palm cups his jaw and her thumb runs along his cheek. 

“You need to go to bed, love.”

“I’m fine,” she insists without any real conviction. This is her third yawn in ten minutes. Killian raises a brow and she rolls her eyes. “I just don’t want you to suffer.”

He is not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry at her words. When was the last time someone cared about the suffering of Captain Hook or the Dark One?

Not unkindly, he says, “My suffering will be bearable if I know there will be an end to it when you awake.” Bracing himself to feel his ship’s protective enchantment, Killian disengages from her touch and stands up, relieved when she takes his offered hand and rises as well. He escorts her across the deck to the hatch to his quarters and kisses the back of her hand. 

“Sleep well, Emma,” he says, not sure if he is attempting to be seductive, flirtatious, or friendly, and in the jumble, likely sounding evil. He makes to let go of her hand, hating the new pain it now causes, when she grips him tighter. 

“Stay,” she says quietly, shocking the hell out of him. 

“Pardon?” he asks, not sure that he heard her correctly.

“Stay.” This time her voice is louder, firmer, more commanding. A taste of the royal who’s never been given the opportunity to rule. “I will not be able to sleep if I know that you are distressed. It costs me nothing to help you. So…” She looks at him through her lashes and Killian wonders if she understands the power she holds over him at this moment. “Stay.”

The darkness has been pushing him to do this very same thing since the night she stepped her delicate, bleeding feet into his castle. To lie with her, to take her, to claim her for himself and for the darkness alike. How simple it would be to seduce her. Child’s play, truly. A woman fresh and ripe for the picking, gorgeous and gentle, one who has already made a vow to bear his child, who knows what that entails.

It would be so easy.

Too easy.

Killian is shaking his head before the words form on his lips and Emma’s eyebrow rises in a teasing arc. “Killian,” she says, now with a smirk on her lips, and he is awestruck at her fortitude to smirk before the Dark One while inviting him to her bed. “We are to be married in a few weeks’ time. Surely your delicate pirate sensibilities will not be too scarred if we share a bed together.”

Without warning, his feet leave the ground and Killian is caught up in a plume of milky white magic, his stomach lurching at the surprise transportation in the instant before his feet land again and he blinks at the lantern-lit Captain’s Quarters. He blinks at Emma as well, who is no longer wearing traveling clothes, but is wrapped in a simple white nightgown, lace at her shoulders and ankles. Her smooth, creamy flesh is on display, miles of skin visible along her arms and above her breasts, the nightgown cut to accentuate her beauty. 

Her hand is still in his and he watches her, waiting to see what she will do next. 

“Do you know what you are doing, Princess?” he gruffs, holding on to his control by a thread. Every moment he stands still is another moment of torture, but another moment of triumph over the darkness. 

“I am attempting a seduction but I admit I am woefully untrained in such matters.” She looks at him through her eyelashes again. His heart stutters in his chest. 

Against his will, Killian’s fingers untangle from hers, but rather than leave her as is right and proper, the pads of his fingers trace up the soft skin of her arm until his hand can gently wrap around her neck, the darkness wanting to pull her forward, the gentleman wanting to keep her at arm’s length. 

Killian lets the darkness take control. Just a bit. Just for a bit. Allows the darkness to kiss the light, swallowing her moans and growing hungrier with every gasp. He tastes the skin of her neck, pure and pale, and he only just manages to keep himself from marking it. The crew already know she is his, there is no need to claim her this way, but he wants to and from the little whimpers she lets out when his teeth graze her sensitive skin, she wants it too. 

From the start, Killian’s intention had been to wait to take her, to wait until their wedding night. Royalty seems fussy about such things, and even the darkness had conceded that a bastard would not be well-received on the throne. 

But their wedding is only a few weeks away. A few weeks that would mean no difference when considering nine months. And the thought of taking her in his cabin, on the Captain’s bunk, pleases both the darkness and the pirate. 

He holds her closer as his lips return to her own, and then, with his hand still clutching the nape of her neck, he pulls away so she might breathe and he might think. 

“No human law yet binds us together, darling. You are under no obligation. We can wait to consummate our deal on the night of our wedding.”

“I- I know,” she stutters, eyes dazed and unfocused, and Killian attempts to wall off his fire a bit so she might be able to think as well. “But I-”

For an instant, through the magic that bobs and weaves closer and then further from one another, he senses the vulnerability of her. She does not crave passion, she craves companionship. Emma had liked his lying on her lap as much as he had. But she tucks that behind the ramparts again before he can do more than notice it. 

“I think I would like to know what to expect.” She takes a deep breath, her eyes now focused, her mouth a straight line. “On our wedding night,” she explains. 

“Ah.”

Her magic retreats further, concealing herself from him, her face carefully blank, her body tense even as her hands playfully grasp the lapels of his coat and she circles her thumbs on the soft leather. 

“Regina…” she licks her lips, “threatened me about what to expect. She told me it hurts terribly. But she must have thought I have forgotten my parents and their love, because I cannot believe that my father could be so cruel.”

His anger flares against Regina and her torture. Emma’s sparse description of the man that Regina had intended her to marry had made Killian’s vision black out at the thought of anyone raising a hand to the princess he was already planning to claim for himself. Standing before him in her nightdress in his beloved Captain’s Quarters, he’s struck by her bravery, to be willing to face something she likens to torture in order to save her parents and reclaim her kingdom. 

The darkness wants to exploit her fear and Killian just manages to get the upper hand. His thumb runs soothing lines along the side of her neck and he endeavors to keep his voice light. 

“I can show you, if you’d like. All the ways a man and a woman can fit together.” She stops breathing. “The pleasure to be wrung from your body. The exquisite bliss of two bodies joined as one, rising and falling and going mad with need.”

He opens his magic to her and engulfs her with the fire, lets it cover her and burn her to a crisp. Emma’s eyes flutter closed, lost in this pleasure the same way she had been lost in pain when he let her feel how the Jolly Roger hurts him so. 

Emma and his ship are much the same, now that he thinks about it. Fortified against the darkness, protected and beautiful and safe. He should stay away. 

And yet there is nothing he craves more. 

With her eyes closed, Emma nods her head, and it is enough for Killian to finally give in. He gives in to the fire, to the temptation, to the darkness. His kisses get more desperate and demanding and Emma pants against his mouth, trying to keep up. Her lack of experience is not a hindrance, not for a man who knows what he wants, not for a creature that luxuriates in corruption. 

His hand leaves the back of her neck, ready to bare her to his gaze, but she moves first, tugging at his lapels until she can slide the heavy coat off his back. Now her hands, small but strong, dig into his shoulder blades for a minute before gliding around and unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt. 

Delighted by her boldness, Killian pulls away to look at her looking at him. She must be confused by his response, because her magic retreats further away and she frowns. “Is this not-?”

Careful to keep their skin touching, Killian runs his hand down her arm and covers her fingers with his own. “You are welcome to touch me however you like, darling.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Really get into it.”

Emma’s terse mouth twitches before she refocuses on her task of sliding off his clothes until he is bare above the waist. He trusts in her to maintain skin contact - though the idea of a little torture with his pleasure is not altogether unappealing - and lets his arms drop to his sides as her fingertips graze the slopes and planes of his torso. 

“You are quite… furry,” she observes. Emma traces patterns in his chest hair, following the natural line of the hair one moment, going against the grain the next. If her protective magic almost tickled before, it outright tickles now, and Killian restrains a laugh, fearing it would scare her off. 

One hand anchors at his waist while the other one smooths across the leather of the harness holding his brace and hook in place. Her brow furrows. “Are you-?” Emma’s eyes leave his chest and meet his. “Do you leave this on all the time?” He nods and her touch immediately leaves the leather and returns to his chest, almost like she’s embarrassed or scared.

Killian tries not to impede her exploration as he draws his hand to his hook and carefully detaches it from the brace. His fingers fumble with the buckles he hasn’t released in months, preferring to use magic to keep himself clean, having no need for sleep, not wanting to be reminded of the scarred flesh beneath his hook.

Both of Emma’s hands land on his waist as she watches him remove the harness and Killian watches her. He lets the leather straps drop to the ground behind him with a dull thunk. He expects her eyes to go right to his shortened left arm, to examine the ugly scars, but instead they dart to his right arm, and he makes to move it away from her but she is too fast for him.

Emma grips his forearm with both hands and runs her thumb gently along the lines of the dagger-pierced heart and the scroll with his lover’s name. Getting the tattoo had been the first moment he felt anything at all after Milah’s death, the first moment he had felt anything but the terrible numbness of loss. The gentle tickle of Emma’s magic across his skin makes him want to cry or laugh, or pull his arm away.

“Milah,” Emma reads aloud. Killian can feel her gaze on his face but he keeps his eyes on the tattoo and her fingers. “The woman you loved? The one you killed Rumpelstiltskin for?”

His jaw tenses and it takes everything inside of him to stand still when the darkness is screaming at him to shove her away, chain her up, and roughly take her. Anything to keep the princess from exposing the wounded parts of himself that have been festering for centuries. All he can say is, “Aye.” Killian lets the storm of his hatred - at Rumpelstiltskin, at himself, at the bloody Dark One - rise all around him, cutting him off from Emma’s view, but she taps at it in that gentle way that reminds him of a whisper of a kiss.

Her eyes are still on his face. Her fingers are still caressing his tattoo.

Killian’s hand forms into a fist, clutching at nothing at all, when she leans forward and presses her soft lips to the skin of his wrist, right over the faded red heart.

The water washes away. When he lets her in, her light magic curls around his dark magic and Killian releases a shaky breath.

He takes hold of the back of her neck once more and draws her mouth to his, tasting the sweetness she has just offered him. This kiss is softer. Her magic is keeping the darkness at bay. It’s helping him keep his mind clear as he lifts her in his arms, holding her as he did the night he pulled her from Regina’s clutches, and lays her on the firm mattress of the bunk. 

“No matter what that woman told you,” Killian grunts, toeing off his shoes before stretching out beside her, “it does not have to hurt.” He cups her face in his hand, wanting her to look at him and see the honesty in his eyes. Her magic will tell her the truth. 

When it does, some of her fear fades away. 

Killian’s hand slowly trails down her neck, past her collarbones, and he runs his palm over the swell of a breast. Emma gasps, eyes fluttering closed, and he drags his fingers across the peak until a nipple pebbles up. 

“So responsive, darling,” he mutters. His hand moves to do the same to the other breast and he gazes fondly at the pair of them, so delectable. Killian nibbles a tip through the fabric with the barest of pressure and Emma hisses. 

“You said it does not have to hurt,” she complains without any real heat behind it. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

She does not hesitate before she breathes, “No,” and he does not hesitate before he gently bites down on her second nipple. The fabric grows wet beneath his mouth as he goes back and forth between the two, licking and nibbling and brushing with the coarse hairs on his cheek, drawing out Emma’s little noises of pleasure as he does so. After a few minutes, Killian bunches up the fabric of her nightgown and she lets out a shuddering sigh before her hand lifts and the garment disappears in a puff of stark-white smoke.

Now that she is bare to his gaze, Killian takes in the prize that he has secured. The darkness would have been happy with access to any throne, to any symbol of power that could be manipulated and corrupted. But Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven, with her elven features, golden hair, soft skin, and rounded breasts and hips, is a prize that the man wants to claim as well. Killian skims his fingertips across her flesh, tracing the dips and the swells, lingering for a moment at a place where he had seen a particularly nasty bruise the night she first disrobed to prove the abuse she had faced.

The bruise is gone, leaving only a memory, a swell of anger that Emma encourages him to push away.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, observing him with a little fear. Obviously she had not expected the rise of fury. “Did I do something?”

Killian shakes his head and leans forward to kiss at the spot, right below her ribcage, her body more full than a few days ago but still needing more fat, more muscle. “You are perfect, darling,” he murmurs into her skin. He kisses the spot a second time, feeling her shudder beneath him, and trails his kisses lower until he’s settled on his stomach between her thighs, which automatically open to him. She might not know what to do, but her body knows how to respond to his.

He bends her knees to encourage her to open further to his gaze, examining the folds and delighting in the glistening of wetness that coats them. Her thighs push weakly against his hand and his stump, a futile attempt to hide herself from him, but he holds firm and the darkness lets out a growl that she would even think of covering up again. He tuts in annoyance and meets her eyes. The green has been swallowed up by black, straining to see in the dim light, overcome by all of these new sensations. Killian knows his smirk is quite wicked, and when he lets his fire cross over to her magic, she meets it with some of her own.

“I want to look at you,” he explains. Killian shifts his hand so he can run his thumb along the seam of her, parting the folds and revelling in how warm and wet she is. His thumb dips lower and he groans at the way she’s leaking in excitement, drawing the moisture up so he can run a soft circle around her sensitive nub. “Bloody hell, is this all for me? Is the princess so eager to be taken by the Dark One?”

Her hips jerk beneath him and she whimpers. Emma’s moved beyond words and he hasn’t yet decided if he wants to force her to speak or just enjoy how she is giving herself over to sensation.

“Have you touched yourself before, Emma? All alone in your room?”

“Y-y-yes,” she stutters. He seems to have found a good rhythm on her nub as her legs relax again and that fire burns higher, eager to scorch the earth. Killian lays his head on her knee and draws her hand down to her center.

“Show me. I want to see how a princess pleasures herself.”

He expects her to hesitate and try to cover herself again, but the fire must be too much. Emma’s fingertips dip lower and draw more moisture up to her hidden pearl and she flicks against it with practiced movements. He grows even harder at the sight, not sure how much longer he can keep the darkness at bay and make sure he proves Regina wrong - he will not hurt her.

She is barreling toward her peak, her thigh quivering beneath his cheek, and he licks his lips to taste her scent from the air. 

“Hold yourself open,” he says harshly, and when she uses her other hand to part her folds so he can better see her pink softness beneath her blonde curls, he moves his hand back to her and slides a finger into her warm, wet cunt. “Good girl,” he coos. 

Emma lets out a cry and he is ravenous for more. Killian glides his digit in and out of her moist channel, memorizing how she feels, how she grips him, and slides a second finger in as she gasps, “Yes!”

“Does this hurt?”

Her breathy laugh makes her clench around his fingers. “It feels so good,” Emma sighs. 

He leaves his fingers deep inside of her, barely moving, and grunts, “Touch yourself again, darling.” Her movements had stopped in the surprise of his entrance. “Let me watch you fall. Let me feel you clench around me.”

A few more brushes of her fingertips at her bundle of nerves and she shouts her release, along with his name, and her snug channel grips around his fingers. Killian watches her face as she reaches her bliss. She is flushed and gorgeous, awash in her pleasure, unashamed - or maybe unaware - of his gaze upon her.

Her cunt is still quivering when he removes his fingers and surges forward to run his tongue along her, from the puckered muscle at the base all the way up to where her fingers are still pressing against the bundle of nerves. They move away when he sucks at it with pursed lips and Emma groans loudly, wantonly, when he kisses her sloppily and laps up her sweet release.

It seems to take Emma a minute to realize what is going on. His tongue is working patterns into her swollen flesh when she gasps, “What are you doing?” It is not a question of concern, but rather surprise, and Killian nips at the skin near her hip  before looking up at her in amusement. Her eyes are wild now, frenzied, and the way her chest is heaving makes her breasts tremble enticingly. 

“Tasting you, my sweet. I want you soft and relaxed when I fuck you.” Killian carefully inserts his fingers into her once again and finds her bud with the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh,” she groans, still not seeming to quite understand, but not exactly arguing with him. Her body is soft and pliant from her first orgasm, meaning that she is mostly still as he carefully stretches her with his fingers and works over her folds with his tongue. Occasionally she jerks or shifts or moans and he catalogs each one so that he might better pleasure her. If her first peak came fast and hard, the second one builds slowly, deliciously, and when she finally explodes, shaking beneath him and spasming around his questing fingers, he grins in triumph.

She is so warm and soft and relaxed. He gives her a final kiss right below her thatch of blonde curls and adjusts himself between her thighs, magicking away his trousers impatiently. Once his manhood is released from its confines, he nudges against her center, trying to coat himself in her essence.

Emma’s eyes flutter open at the new way he’s touching her. She adjusts automatically, welcoming him into the cradle of her thighs as he teases himself with her heat, but she surveys him wearily.

“Are you ready, darling?”

“Ready?” she asks sleepily. Her magic is no longer blazing, just a sated, cared-for creature curled up in exhaustion, and it seems immune to his own fire.

Killian chuckles and Emma blinks into more awareness. “Ready for me to enter you.”

“Oh.” He nudges against her with more urgency and now her eyes are wide open again. “Oh!”

“Just relax,” he soothes. Killian lines himself up and surveys her face. “Relax, Emma, and this will not hurt.”

With his hand and wrist holding Emma in place, he waits for her to push him away and beg to back out of their deal, but she does not. Instead, she takes a deep breath and nods, eyes surveying him right back, and when he slides himself into the heaven of her cunt, she grits her teeth as her channel grips him like a fist. 

“Breathe.”

She lets out her breath and he waits for her body to adjust, his fingertips trailing along the line of her jaw and then cupping one of her breasts just to feel how it fits so perfectly in his palm. He begins to gently rock against her and after a minute she relaxes enough for him to take her with slow and steady thrusts. 

“Bloody hell,” Killian grunts. Emma’s eyes, which had closed as she concentrated on relaxing, fly open again. With his cock in the first cunt he’s had in years, Killian knows he will not last long. But that will be for the best, to give her a taste of what it means to take him in, to satisfy him without making her overly sore. 

“You are going to regret making this deal, Princess.” Emma’s brow furrows in confusion. The darkness wants to taunt her as he takes her. “Perhaps you thought that I would only make you come to my bed to seal our marriage and make a child.” Killian picks up the pace and his eyes are rolling in the back of his head with pleasure, his next words a growl. “But you were mistaken. So very wrong. Because now that I have had a taste of this perfect cunt, I shall be having you any damn time I please.”

The darkness waits for her to cry in fear. Instead, her hands land on his backside and she shifts in his grasp, helping him to slide more deeply inside of her, and when he meets her eyes he sees a glint in them that is wholly unexpected. 

“Is that a promise?” Emma asks with a lazy grin. 

He explodes inside of her a moment later, filling her with his seed, adding his release to the wetness he had coaxed from her body already. She watches him the whole time - he can feel her gaze even when his eyes slam shut in bliss - and when his fire dies down to a spark, she wraps her magic around him the same way her legs and arms wrap around his spent body. 

She is embracing him. The Dark One. She is holding him tight and comforting him like he is a man, not a monster. 

Emma’s breathing begins to even out and he carefully untangles their limbs from one another so that he can stretch out beside her. Killian is careful to remember that their skin must be touching to ward off the Jolly Roger’s defenses. He nudges against her feet as he conjures a warm, wet washcloth and gently swipes it between her thighs. Emma nearly coos in pleasure and she turns toward him as though he were the sun, not the night. 

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, almost shyly. 

She nods before opening her eyes again. “A little sore.”

“But not hurt?” Killian clarifies, knowing the darkness hopes she is. Emma shakes her head and he pulls the blanket over her with magic. “When did you last bleed?” he asks. The darkness is curious. 

“I do not bleed regularly.” Her face flushes a bit. He wonders if that would have been normal for her body or if it is a reaction to Regina’s torture and the stress and malnutrition it included. Either way it is not her fault, and Killian finds himself hoping that tonight did not make a child. 

Perhaps because she still needs to get stronger. 

Perhaps because he wants to do it again. Soon. 

Either way, he makes a weak attempt to leave, but his heart is not in it. He lets Emma fall asleep and he settles in to protect her. Except there is nothing to protect her from. Not on his ship. Except perhaps the darkness that she’s already been exposed to. And it is too late for that. 

There is nothing for him but to watch her, admire her. Wonder what she had been thinking as he pleasured her and then used her body for his own pleasure. Does she want to join together again as much as he does? Should he try to make her fall apart while he is inside her next time, so she can milk him dry? Is that better for conception?

Is that better for her to see his love for her? 

The darkness inside of him reels at this idea. He spent centuries working on avenging Milah’s murder, fucking the occasional woman but always wishing she were his Milah. 

Tonight though, his thoughts had only been of Emma. Of her pleasure and her sweet taste, her walls gripping him tight. 

She’s given him more than something to be a part of. She’s given him someone to love. To protect and defend, not only because of their deal, but because of that good man he buried inside of himself long ago. 

Killian spends the whole night watching Princess Emma sleep. Watching and thinking. Wrestling with the darkness, which now regrets making this deal in the first place. Scolding the darkness so it remembers that Killian needs to care for Emma and support her goals, not tear her apart. That is the only way that he can place his child on the throne. The battle against the darkness that wants to corrupt the child will be a fight for another day. 

Emma tosses and turns in her sleep. Sometimes Killian holds her close and sometimes he touches her with just a hand on her shoulder or thigh or, for an hour, the place where he can still picture a vivid purple bruise. 

Shortly after sunlight seeps through the stained glass windows of the cabin, Emma stirs from her place in his arms. She had settled on her side over an hour ago and Killian had taken the opportunity to tuck her against his body, resting his hand on her stomach and burying his nose in her curls. When she starts to move, he smiles against her shoulder and pulls her just a little closer.

Her entire body freezes up and his heart sinks lower than his stomach.

Emma scrambles away from him as fast as she can, clutching the bedsheets and letting out a squeak of fear. The sound is even more awful than the magic of the Jolly Roger hitting him full-force again, made worse by the hours and hours of protection that Emma had provided. Emma’s body is shaking on the other side of his bed, shivering in cold or fear or both, and though it breaks his heart to see, Killian grits his teeth in preparation to be told that last night was a mistake.

He conjures up two blankets. The first is a thick one that settles across her back and the second is a thinner one to rest on his lap from where he sat up, wanting to keep her from having to see his naked body if that would bring her harm as well.

A pale hand appears from beneath her blankets and grips the dark fabric of the one he summoned. After a moment, her trembling voice asks, “Killian?”

Killian sits up higher in curiosity. “I am right here, darling.”

Emma sits up and turns, seeming to not notice how both blankets fall to her lap and reveal her breasts to his gaze. He barely notices as well, focused as he is on her expression, which is not hostile as he had expected, but slack with relief.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Her voice is barely above a whisper. She blinks, seemingly coming to herself. “I thought…”

She trails off and does not share what she had thought, but he reaches across the distance between them to place his wrist to her back, both to give himself relief from his ship’s enchantments and to test the waters and see if his touch is still welcome. She leans against him and his heart works its way back up into his chest.

She makes no effort to explain further, but now Killian is intrigued. “What did you think?” he asks. Her face turns a little pink and he presses her further. “You can tell me.”

Emma lets her magic open to him and he reaches out to caress the panic that had awoken at his initial touch. She leans into that as well, reassuring him that he is not the problem.

“I always had a fear that I would wake up to one of the Black Knights in my bed.” Emma meets his eyes and he imagines she sees murder flare up in them. “Regina would encourage them to beat me and starve me but never to touch me like that. She wanted me to be just damaged enough to suit her purposes. But I was afraid that one day a Black Knight would take a chance and slip me a sleeping potion or just overpower me and…”

She cannot say anymore and Killian cannot hear anymore. He pulls her into his arms and holds her as tightly as he can, trying desperately to keep himself from immediately leaving her side so he might kill Regina and her Black Knights, one by fucking one.

“You thought your worst nightmare had come true.”

Emma nods into his chest. He cannot really reassure her since he knows that he is going to become her worst nightmare, her greatest regret. Instead, he can give in to the darkness. 

“When we rescue your parents and begin to fight Regina in earnest, I am going to kill every single Knight that held you captive. I swear it.”

She chuckles wetly against his chest. “You cannot swear that.”

Killian pulls back so she might see the sincerity in his expression. “I swear on your name, love. I swear that those who hurt you or made you afraid shall all pay for their crimes.”

Her face is truly puzzled. “Why? Why would you promise that? That was not part of our deal.”

There is no explanation he can give that will make sense. Because the simple explanation is that he loves her and it drives him mad that she was tortured for so many years. The darkness taunts him that she would never care for a monster like him. So he says something else. Something close enough to the truth that he hopes her ability to spot lies will overlook it. 

“Because now every offense to you is an offense to me.” He gives her an evil smirk and the darkness shares with him images of Black Knights bleeding at his feet and Regina begging for mercy. “And I believe that you are overdue the opportunity to have your revenge.”

Tagging folks who might be interested - Let me know if you want on or off this list!

@anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7

@jrob64 @soniccat @motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

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She’d had all night to mull over the thought of it, but couldn’t make any sense of what Jefferson was implying. Would a tether make it impossible to get Killian to move on? Or would it mean if he moved on, she’d die in the process?

Jefferson shrugged. 

Wonderful.

Emma groaned, scrolling through three more articles that didn’t yield any new information. According to everything she read, Killian Jones had simply disappeared without a trace. Maybe he’d  made some shady business deals. Police were stumped. His body was never found.

There were no leads, no solid theories, and the articles all seemed to go a sensationalist route. Each ridiculous theory more outrageous than the last. 

“It seems that maybe the spell connected the two of you in a way that made Killian visible to you,” Belle supplied. “The magic created a tether, but it doesn’t seem to be horribly nefarious or anything like that.”

“Maybe we should look at a few more books,” Emma said. “See if we can break the tether just in case it is something nefarious.”

“And this is why you shouldn’t mess with powers you can’t understand,” Jefferson stated smugly.

“Shut up,” Emma grumbled. 

“You’re not helping,” Belle scolded Jefferson. “And we’re partially at fault here.”

“None of this makes any sense!” Emma shouted, slamming her hands on the desk and effectively silencing her friends. “Where could this guy possibly have gone, and why? It looks like he was just a regular Joe who ran a bar. Outside of the wild theories, there’s no proof that he ever did anything even slightly questionable.”

“We weren’t around back then,” Jefferson reminded her, shifting uncomfortably. “These theories are all we have to go off of.”

“I heard that Granny used to talk about the murder back in the day,” Belle told her. “No one ever listened to her, so she just clammed up. My father said that she and Killian were actually pretty good friends.”

“Granny?” Emma asked. “Like, the diner?” When both Belle and Jefferson nodded, she stood up, her purpose renewed. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Granny doesn't talk about it anymore,” Belle said. 

“Maybe not to people who are trying to paint her friend in a bad light,” Emma replied sensibly. “But would she talk to someone who’s actually trying to solve things?”

***

“Well,” someone huffed when Emma entered the diner. “If it isn’t the new bar owner. I was wondering when you’d pay me a visit.”

Granny.

She wasn’t sure what the old woman had heard of her, but it sounded as if she wasn’t overjoyed to see her. 

“Hi,” Emma said, waving politely as she walked over to the counter. “I just wanted to stop by to-”

“I’m not interested in whatever you have to say.” The woman waved her off and turned her back on Emma.

But Emma wasn’t about to give up that easily. 

“Yet you wondered whether or not I’d stop in,” she pointed out. “Which means there’s a part of you that’s curious, right?”

That caught Granny’s attention. She turned back to Emma and narrowed her eyes, “If you’re just here to drag that poor boy’s name through the mud-”

“No!” Emma interrupted, earning an even harsher glare from the old woman. “I want to know the truth,” she said, lowering her voice a bit. “Because…” 

How could she explain that her bar had a ghost Killian who was unable to move on? Sure, she could claim she didn’t believe a word of the stories - which was the truth - but how could she explain why she didn’t believe them? She was new in town and had zero connection to Killian Jones other than owning his bar. All she had were the locals’ stories.

Granny crossed her arms, waiting for her to finish what she was saying. When Emma just couldn’t find the words, Granny rolled her eyes. “You just want to gossip.”

“That’s not true,” Emma stated. “I think something bad happened and…” she looked around, relieved to see that no one seemed to care what she had to say. “I think Killian is stuck here.” She sighed, knowing exactly how she sounded. “I know, I know. I sound like a lunatic. But I think his ghost is stuck at the bar because whatever happened to him has never been solved.”

Granny’s expression softened, and Emma swore she could see tears in her eyes. “He didn’t deserve to be an afterthought. Killian Jones was a good man, and he ran a respectable business. People just want to talk because it was a bar, and in these sleepy towns, the rowdy places get reputations.”

She wondered if that meant she’d get a reputation too.

“So, you think he’s haunting the place?” Granny asked.

Bingo. One more ally.

Emma nodded. “I’ve seen him.” She left out the magic and mayhem, but figured telling an old lady that she’d seen the ghost of a friend might only help her cause. “He’s a little irritated that I’ve taken up his space, but I think he’d like to see the old place up and running again. And I think he should know what happened to him.”

“He doesn’t know what happened?” Granny asked, her eyes widening as she leaned forward, practically perching on the counter. 

“Do you?” Emma asked.

Granny shook her head. “All I know is that he was madly in love with a woman named Milah. She was nothing but trouble from the start and played him like a fiddle. Whatever happened to him, she had something to do with it.”

Emma thanked her for the information, and swore she’d be back for more. Before she left, a to-go bag, complete with a grilled cheese and onion rings was slid across the counter. “Find out what happened,” Granny stated. “Let him find his peace.”

Killian, however, was in no mood to discuss Milah. The moment the name left her mouth, he scowled at her and refused to answer any further. 

A sore spot to be sure. 

It took most of the evening to appease him and bring him back into a good mood. She pushed all thoughts of helping him move on to the side for the time being, figuring at some point, he might let her in. Now was not the time.

Right now, it seemed Killian just needed a friend.

“Emma?” 

Killian growled at the sound of someone entering the bar. Emma shushed him as she made her way to the front. “It’s just my cousin, David.”

“That bastard moved everything around in my room!” Killian protested.

“My room,” she reminded him, hoping David wouldn’t hear her. “Unlike you, I have to live here. Besides, it’s all in the hallway.”

“Who are you talking to?” David asked.

Great.

“Nobody,” she said, “Just… a little mental checklist of the kinks I need to work out.”

He nodded, but didn’t look all too convinced. “Hey, so I talked to a couple guys at the station, and they said there might be some information they can let out without damaging an open case too much. Especially since it’s so cold, and none of the officers who worked it are even around anymore.”

“Is it anything that’s going to be useful?” 

David shrugged. “But it’s something, right? I’ll dig up what we have. That might take a couple of weeks, but I’ll let you know when it’s ready, and we can work something out.”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

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