#cs fic

The stairs opened up to a spacious room at the center of the cave. Large holes within the exterior - the eyes of the skull shaped grotto - looked out over the coastline. An ocean breeze filled the chamber; the fresh brine both calming and invigorating to Hook’s senses, fortifying him for what was to come.

The shadows continued to lug him across the floor. Hook kept his head down and his body limp until he was roughly deposited against the stones in front of two sets of feet. A deep groan echoed out from his chest and he rolled over onto one side, clutching his ribs on the other.

“Be careful!” Emma pleaded beside him, struggling against The Shadow’s hold. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?”

Tilting his head back, Hook looked up into the faces of his two worst enemies, a scowl pulling at his split lip and a murderous rage glinting from his swollen and blackened eyes. The Dark One crouched down, his reptilian visage hovering within Hook’s view and a wide, gloating grin spread across his lips.

“Always a pleasure to see you like this, Captain,” he sneered. “So glad you could join us.”

“Indeed,” Pan agreed. “Lovely of you both to accept my invitation.”

“As though you left us any choice,” Emma replied back in a tone of pure venom. “Where is Henry? Where is my son?”

“All in good time,” Pan answered. “The lad is being well looked after by my Lost Boys. No need to fret.”

Knowing the Lost Boys as he did, Hook knew she had every reason to fret. Fortunately, a blur of black silhouettes wooshed across the cavern’s openings like billows of smoke, racing towards Pan’s encampment to retrieve the lad before any further harm could come to him.

“Why are we here?” Hook panted out in a pained cadence, forcing himself up to his knees in an effort to continue to sell his injuries. “What game are you playing now?”

“It’s quite simple, really,” Pan began in that irritating voice of feigned innocence. “We each wanted you here for different reasons. I…” he continued, stepping forward and indicating to himself with his eyes trained on Swan. “require your magic. And my son…”

The Dark One grabbed a fistfull of Hook’s hair and hauled him to his feet by his scalp. His pained cry almost drowned out Rumplstiltskin’s dementedly maniacal laugh as he brought him in close and confessed in the pirate’s face, “Why… I want you dead, of course!”

“Well, go on then,” Hook challenged, defiantly. “What are you waiting for?”

“No! Stop!” Emma cried out, wrenching her arm out of The Shadow’s grasp and sending a pulse of magic straight at Rumplestiltskin's chest.

The force of the blast caused him to release Hook and stagger backwards. Much to Hook’s displeasure, Swan braced herself in front of him, shielding him, and ready to match the Dark One curse for curse.

“Now, now,” Pan tutted, throwing his progeny a hard look. “As I said, all in good time. Remember our deal? I’m first.”

“What do you mean, you’re first?” Emma demanded with her hands still raised. Magic may work differently than she was used to, but they had both agreed - along with The Shadow - that she ought to risk using it if necessary.

“The reasons we brought you here,” Pan informed her. “I get to have mine fulfilled first.”

“You mean Swan’s magic?” Hook limped forward to stand next to Emma and followed up the inquiry with another. “What bloody use is her magic to you and why would she ever agree to relinquish it?”

“To save her son, of course,” Pan answered, his words delivered as though that fact ought to have been obvious.

Hook shared a wary yet hopeful glance with Emma, then turned his attention back to the demon brat who was now arrogantly lounging against a craggy outcropping with his arms and ankles crossed.

“Go on.”

“It’s simple really,” Pan began. “I need an infusion of powerful magic to retain my youth and keep the reaper at bay.” His eyes narrowed in on Swan, the unnatural hunger and covetousness in his eyes sparking Hook’s anger and possessiveness. “A seer once told me I could gain the power I needed from the heart of a boy descended of my line, one full of unshakeable belief, but--”

“You’ll never get my son’s heart! I’ll die before I let you--”

“Yes, yes,” Pan waved off Emma’s outcry and threats with an air of boredom, then carried on as though they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. “Well, it turns out the heart must be given willingly, and your little brat has been less than cooperative. Therefore…”

Sauntering forward, Pan came to stand in front of Swan, and Hook moved to place himself between them. His efforts were thwarted by a rough shove from the Dark One which landed him on his backside.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Pan circled Emma, who remained stiff-backed with a glower of determination scowling from her features. “While I could keep the boy here in an effort to wear him down and comply, I’m afraid time is not on my side… even here. So…”

“So you want my magic in exchange, hoping it will be enough to keep you alive until another option presents itself,” Emma finished for him, doing her best to keep the fear and torment out of her voice, but Hook could still detect it and his heart ached all the more for her.

“You managed to go nearly a decade without using it, if I’m not mistaken,” Pan rationalized callously. “Surely, you won’t miss it that much. A small price to pay for the life of your son, wouldn’t you say?”

Glancing back at Hook, Emma raised her brows; the hope that he might signal to her that their plan could be put into motion clearly pouring from her eyes. With a subtle shift of his head, Hook tried to convey they’d have to stall a bit longer. The crestfallen look she gave him let him know the message was received. With a decisive swallow, she straightened her shoulders and turned back to Pan.

“I’ll give you my magic with one additional condition.”

“Oh?” Pan replied, eagerly. “Do tell.”

Gesturing back at Hook, she demanded, “Hook’s life is also spared and he leaves with Henry and me.”

Pan drew in a hissing breath of supposed remorse, but Hook knew the boy did not possess the capacity for such an emotion. “I’m afraid I can’t make that deal.” A sinister grin lifted the corners of Pan’s mouth and he stepped back to gesture at the demon beside him. “You’ll have to take up the pirate’s fate with him.”

Another maniacal giggle twittered from the Dark One’s throat, setting Killian’s teeth on edge. “Care to make another deal, Dearie?”

“Don’t do it, Swan,” Hook pleaded, finally getting to his feet. “You know this demon can’t be trusted.”

Ignoring Hook’s protest, Emma asked, “What do you want? What will it take to spare his life?”

“Let’s see,” he drawled ominously. “How about… the life of your son.”

“Never!”

Emma stretched out her hands, ready to blast curses at both their adversaries, willing to risk her own safety should the corrupted nature of the island cause her magic to backfire. Grabbing her wrist, Hook stalled her actions and out of the corner of his eye he saw a glint of metal sparkle from the cavern's eyes.

His shadow had returned. Victorious.

“You can’t really expect Swan to trade her own son for me,” Hook grit out through clenched teeth. “And you,” he said to Pan, “blinded by the capriciousness of a prophecy, you have failed to see the answer to your problem even when it is literally standing before you.”

An intrigued perplexity pulled at Pan’s features as he cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean by that, Captain?”

Hook shifted his weight and tucked his thumb into his belt. “I’ve spent a long time trying to find a way to exact my revenge on Rumplestiltskin, and in the course of that pursuit, I learned something.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, pirate, but my patience will not last.”

“There is another prophecy,” Hook told him. “One about a boy--one who will be more than he appears and who will lead the Dark One to his son. This boy shall be his undoing.” Shifting his attention to Rumplestiltskin, Hook clarified, “That’s why you want Henry dead. You believe him to be the boy.”

“Are you suggesting he is not?” the Dark One challenged. “You think you can save his skin by attempting to cast doubt?”

Shrugging, Hook replied, “I’m merely offering another perspective.” Taking a few purposeful steps to his left, the pirate positioned himself closer to the opening where his shadow remained hidden. “It seems to me it wasn’t Swan’s lad who led the Dark One to his son, but another boy altogether.” Flicking his eyes onto Pan, Hook stated, “One that is much more than he seems.”

Pan’s eyes widened in comprehension and Rumplestiltskin’s face grew pale beneath his scaly pallor.

“I see you both finally understand,” Hook said with a malevolent smirk. “Pan is the boy who shall be your undoing.”

“Impossible,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “We all know there’s only one way to kill me, and good luck finding the necessary--”

“Ah, yes. That.” The hard crack of the t reverberated off the rocky walls. Reaching his hand towards the sky, Hook gloatingly said, “You should know by now… pirates make their own luck.”

Hook’s shadow came soaring into the chamber and deposited the Dark One’s dagger into its master’s hand.

“NO!” Rumplestiltskin bellowed, lunging for the dagger only to be held back by his nemesis’ shadow.

Emma rushed forward and took the opportunity to snap her enchanted cuff onto the Dark One’s wrist, rendering him incapable of using his magic against them. The entire scene was silently witnessed by Pan, whose expression grew more and more delighted and more and more menacing.

“Well, now.” Pan slowly clapped his hands together in appreciation and approached Hook. “Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?”

“Indeed,” Hook replied, gripping the dagger tightly in his hand. “Looks like the only ones who will be making a deal are you and I.”

“I’m listening.”

“You free the boy, allow Swan to keep her magic, and guarantee us safe passage off the island. In exchange, the dagger is yours.”

“And with it you expect me to murder my own son?” Pan asked, feigning shock and outrage.

“We both know you’d gladly sacrifice your entire bloodline for the chance at the power and immortality he possesses,” Hook shot back, holding out the dagger. “Do we have a deal?”

Pan’s greedy eyes dropped down to the curved blade then flicked back up to the pirate’s. “You would willingly give me such power? Knowing the horrors I am likely to inflict?”

“So long as you leave Emma, her lad, and me be to live our lives in peace, I don’t much care.”

“Well then,” Pan purred, extending out his hand. “I’d say you’ve got yourself a deal, Captain.”

Rumplestiltskin began to protest, begging and pleading for Pan to reconsider as Hook handed over the dagger. Without hesitation and absolutely zero remorse, the demon boy plunged the dagger straight into the Dark One’s chest.

“What have I always told you, Rumple?” The boy whispered with a vicious gleam in his eyes. “Pan. Always. Wins.”

Death rattles gurgled up the Dark One’s throat and Hook pulled Emma in close, turning her into his chest to save her from having to witness the gruesome sight. He would not deny the pleasure it gave him to see his old enemy in the throes of dying, even if it meant giving his other adversary nearly unlimited power.

Rumplestiltskin dropped to the cobbled floor, his hand wrapped around the dagger protruding from his chest, as he struggled to draw breath. Pan turned, triumphant; his stance wide and his hands smugly braced against his hips. A savage smile split his face and a feral glint gleamed from his eyes, sending a shudder down Hook’s spine.

A final rasp hissed from the former Dark One’s lips and his hand went limp, failing to the ground. Pan’s features began to glitter under the torchlight of the cavern and a swirl of black tendrils crept up his legs.

“See that my part of the deal is met, then come collect me at the Dark Vault,” he said to his Shadow, whom he believed was still loyal to him. The spectre nodded, and Pan vanished in a billow of pitch.

Hook and Emma stood in weary silence for several erratic beats of their hearts before turning to embrace one another. They’d done it! They’d beat Pan at his own game!

“I should not wait too long before going after him,” The Shadow commented, breaking the two apart and forcing them to focus on the next part of their plan.

“How long will you be g--”

Emma’s question was cut off by the exuberant sounds making their way from the cave’s openings.

“Mom!”

“Henry!”

Swan sprinted towards her boy, who was being gently set down by the shadows that had gone to retrieve him. Dropping to her knees, she pulled the lad into her arms and he reciprocated, wrapping his tightly around her neck.

Hook repositioned himself to try and hide the body of Rumplestiltskin from the boy’s view. However, the action caught Henry’s attention and his eyes widened in terror.

“Y-You’re Captain Hook! The Lost Boys told me about you!”

“It’s okay, Henry.” Swan stood and took her son’s hand, leading him over to the pirate. “He helped me get here. He helped me save you from Pan and--”

“Pan!” Fearfully, the boy searched the room, his head swiveling to and fro. “He wants my heart! He said he’d hurt you if I didn’t give it to him, but I knew you’d…” Impossibly, the lad’s eyes grew even wider when they landed on the poorly concealed body behind Hook’s feet. “Is that the Dark One? What happened to him? Is he… is he dead?”

Turning her son around so his back was now to the gruesome scene, Emma continued her assurances that the boy was safe and had nothing further to fear. Flicking her eyes up to Hook, a pleading glimmered from their jade depths and the pirate answered with a nod of understanding. Swan recounted the entire tale of what she had gone through, beginning at the point of his abduction and following through to the most recent events, all while Hook worked to move Rumplestiltskin’s body to a dark corner of the cavern.

Once sufficiently out of sight, he grasped the dagger and freed it from his enemy’s chest with a firm tug, then with his hook, he pried off the magic binding cuff from the corpse’s wrist. A sick churning overwhelmed his gut as he read the name now etched upon the blade and was reminded of the new horror they had unleashed upon the realms.

Lifting his head, he faced The Shadow hovering beside him. “Are you certain this will work?”

“It has to.”

Hook was not at all comforted by that reply as he handed over the dagger and cuff, but they had few options at this point.

“Once you’ve taken control of him with those,” Hook began, nodding at the implements, “will you bring him back here or keep him imprisoned in another realm?”

“Here,” The shadow replied without giving it a moment’s thought. “The island won’t like it, but he must be kept where he can be monitored, and I have a duty to mend what he destroyed.”

“I do not envy you that task.” Hook may not have the same magical intuition as actual purveyors of the mystic arts, but he had seen the changes and corruptions of the island firsthand since that initial tragic visit with his brother and all the years he’d spent trapped in the demon boy’s service.

“Captain?”

Young Henry’s voice echoed across the cavern and Hook was quick to follow it back to its source, lest the boy seek him out and catch another harrowing glimpse of the body.

“Aye, lad?” He slowed his steps as he drew closer and tucked his hook behind his back, not wishing to frighten the boy with his namesake.

“I… I wanted to say thank you,” Henry said, staring up at him with the same warm, brown eyes another boy had looked upon him with long ago. “My mom said she’d never have been able to rescue me without you. I owe you my life.”

Sticking his small hand out, Henry stood rod straight as he awaited the pirate’s acceptance. A touched, soft smile lifted the corners of Hook’s lips and he took the lad’s hand.

“No thanks required, my boy. It is I who owe you and your mother. If not for her, I’d still be indentured to Pan and just as much a captive on the island as you were.”

Twisting his head to one side, Henry’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. “You are not at all what I expected for a pirate,” he said. “I always thought pirates were the bad guys.”

Something unpleasant tightened in Hook's chest. “I hope that recent experiences have proven that, at least on this island, I am not the bad guy.”

“And neither is he,” Emma informed her son, indicating the umbral spectre still hovering in the dark corner. “You can come forward. He knows you were powerless to deny Pan’s bidding as well.”

The Shadow presented himself and gave an apologetic bow towards the boy. Hook noted that he too was concealing potentially distressing items behind his back. Although, the effort wasn’t quite as successful given his gossamer nature.

“So, what now?” the lad asked, turning his face up towards his mother. “You said we can’t go home because the village turned against you.”

“We’ll just have to find a new home,” she told him, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. “The important thing is, we’ll be together and no one will ever separate us again.”

“I actually have a proposition for you in that regard,” The Shadow began, hesitantly. “What would you say to staying and making a home here for a while?”

Emma balked, her lips parting in surprise and her brows arching up her forehead. “Here? In Neverland?”

Hook was also taken aback. Surely the entity must know of their eagerness to leave this accursed place.

“I realize it is not an ideal environment, but with your help Neverland can be restored to what she once was.”

A look of uncertainty crossed her features and her mouth opened to voice, what Hook could only presume would be, a resounding refusal.

“Please,” The Shadow pleaded, stalling Swan’s words. “Truth be told… I am not certain I can heal all of her wounds without you.”

“Why me?” she asked, and Hook could see the heartache she felt for the island shimmer within her eyes even as she fought to keep her resolve. “There are plenty of others, more suited to the work than I, whom you could enlist.”

“But none of them possess white magic as powerful as yours.” His head tilted down towards Henry and he added, “Nor do they have the heart of the truest believer beating within their chest.” He cast his eyes out towards the shoreline, the moonlight glittering upon the waves and mused, “I do not think any of this has been a coincidence. I believe you have always been meant to save this place.”

“I’m no saviour,” Emma refuted. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin to--”

“Yes. You are,” Hook reminded her. “You saved me. You saved your son. You saved all the shadows who were doomed to be trapped here forever.” When her stubbornness refused to release the dubious expression from her face, Hook took her hand and pulled her in close. “How many people have you helped over the years? Even while you were in hiding and without your magic, I know you could not have sat idly by while others suffered from that which you could help ease.”

“How could you possibly--”

“Because I know you, Swan,” he murmured with a flirty smirk. “You are something of an open book… to me.”

She swallowed hard then inhaled deeply. “What about Henry? There are still so many dangers here and I--”

“I’ll be fine!” the boy protested. “The Shadow and the Captain are right, Mom. If we can help make Neverland better, then shouldn’t we stay and at least try?”

Sensing they nearly had her swayed, Hook offered, “The two of you can stay with me on my ship. I swear no harm will come to the boy whilst he is in my charge.”

Henry’s eyes lit up. “Can we really?”

“No,” Emma replied, emphatically, gripping Hook’s hand tightly. “You can’t possibly mean to stay. Not when you are finally free to leave.”

Running the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, he confessed, “My reasons for wanting to leave this place no longer exist.”

“What possible reason could you have for wanting to stay, though?”

An amused and slightly exasperated huff puffed from his chest. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he whispered. “It’s you.”

Before that wall of hers could begin to fortify itself, he gave her hand one last gentle squeeze then stepped back, tucking his thumb into his belt as he cocked his hip to one side. “Besides, you were right. There are still many dangers lingering, and you’ll need someone to help you navigate past them.” Throwing The Shadow a look over his shoulder, he added, “You’ll need all the help you can get keeping Pan secure and the Lost Boys in line.” Turning back to Swan, he shot her a challenging grin and a raised brow. “So what say you, love? Fancy throwing your lot in with a pirate?”

A smile tugged at her lips, her eyes cutting between her son’s hopeful pleading and the pirate’s taunting expression.

“Fine,” she dramatically exhaled. “We’ll do it your way, pirate.” She took a few sauntering steps forward and poked her finger in his waistcoat. “But don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

Hook brought up his hand and pressed hers against his chest beneath it. “I would despair if you did.”

~/~

Some measure of time later…

“Don’t run too far ahead!” Emma called out to her son who was hurriedly making his way to the Pixie Wood. “The cottage will still be there!”

Beside her a deep chuckle rumbled through Killian’s chest. When she glanced his way it was to find him already gazing down at her. Lifting their joined hands, he brushed a soft kiss to the back of hers, sending a quiver of a wonder down her spine.

“You can’t blame the lad for being excited,” he murmured softly against her knuckles, skimming the tip of his nose along her wrist before letting their hands fall back between them. “It’s been an age since he had his own room.”

Emma mused affectionately to herself. She supposed he had a point. The Jolly Roger had become rather crowded as of late, what with many of the Lost Boys choosing to relocate there in order to learn a sea-faring trade from one of the greatest sailors in all the realms. Realms they planned to return to one day as soon as their captain deemed them ready to join another’s crew.

The more troublesome of the group, the ones dangerously loyal to Pan, who would have stopped at nothing to free him from where The Shadow had imprisoned him deep within Echo Cave, had been shipped off early on. Literally. The army of shadows had rounded them up in a matter of days, and Killian had wasted no time in taking them to a place called Pleasure Island. He hadn’t said much about the place, but Emma had been quite certain she did not want the details.

Once the Lost Boys and Pan’s imprisonment had been dealt with, she and The Shadow began the arduous task of setting things within the island’s enchantments to rights. Their first victory had been the returning of the dawn. Emma would never forget that morning, dozing in her pirate’s arms as they lazed in his bunk after a night of ‘enjoyable activities’ (as he called it) only to be roused by faint rays of sunlight prisming in through the Captain’s Quarter’s windows.

Nor would she forget the experience of being kidnapped by said pirate the very next day, taken to a secluded lagoon, and introduced to the provocative practice of skinny dipping. The image of his naked, glistening body being bathed in beams of light as he sunned himself on the grotto’s large rocks would be forever seared into her memory… and happily so.

The days had not lasted a full course at first, but with each salve of sorcery, each balm of spellwork, and every incantation towards a cure, the island began to heal more and more. Yet, with each achievement there was one restoration of the island’s power that remained beyond their conjuring.

Pixie dust.

Try as they might to get the trees where the pixie flowers grew to produce their blooms, Neverland was still without its most powerful resource. That was until Tinkerbell (a former fairy who had been banished to the island) had been able to persuade the Blue Fairy to help in their cause. A sackful of fairy dust had arrived by special delivery from another fairy named Nova, and with it, instructions on how the fairy dust might help encourage things along within the Pixie Wood.

And encourage things it did! Within a matter of days blooms began to appear on the highest branches of the trees, but the Blue Fairy had also warned how fragile and delicate the early stages of pixie flower growth was. The blooms would require constant monitoring and infusions of magic in order to survive into maturity and produce pixie dust.

Tinkerbell had offered to become the Wood’s guardian and look after the flowers, but Blue had other ideas, gifting the fairy back her wings and her wand and inviting her to join the ranks of her sisters once more. Emma would not hear of her missing out on this second chance and with Killian’s agreement, they urged her to go with their blessing.

Emma would see to the Wood.

As much as she had enjoyed spending time on the sea, she could not deny having missed the firm foundation of nature and the solace of the forest. Fortunately, her pirate was well aware of her longings and had agreed to relocate with her without a moment’s hesitation. It had taken more time than she’d expected to construct the modest cottage - her magic still functioned abnormally on the island from time to time - but now that it was complete, she, Killian, and Henry would live out the remainder of their time in Neverland within the comfort of its walls; although, Killian would return to the Jolly Roger each day to continue the necessary lessons with his prepubescent crew.

“Now the cottage is finished and the pixie flowers are growing, might we ought to discuss what happens afterward?” Killian posed as they continued to make their way through the woods.

“Afterward?”

“Aye,” he replied with a hesitancy in his tone that had Emma pausing their steps. “After you’ve successfully brought pixie dust back and finish bringing the island back to its former glory.”

“You mean… what happens when it’s time for us to leave.”

Killian did not respond, choosing instead to give her the time and space she needed to consider what he was truly asking. She really was an open book to him.

Inhaling deeply, Emma worried her lip and cast a glance towards the cottage door which had just been flung open by her exuberant son. “I suppose we’ll have to find a place that accepts pirates and witches.” Flicking her eyes back up to the man before her, she pondered, “If such a place exists.”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, a broad smile stretched across his handsome face and he crooned down at her, “I am certain there are a number of places that will welcome your gift. And as for piracy…” His expression became solemn and serious, his eyes swimming with a resolve that left her nearly breathless. “I think I have had my fill of such endeavors.”

“What?”

“I will keep my ship, of course,” he hurriedly clarified. “Perhaps we could find a quaint fishing or merchant village with a harbor suitable enough for her?”

“Are you… are you sure?” Emma could not quite believe he’d be willing to give up his life on the sea. “I would never ask you to make such a sacrifice for my sake.”

“You’re not,” he assured her, reaching up to cup her face. “And it is no sacrifice. Not when I compare it to a life spent at your side.” His thumb caressed her cheek as he bent over to brush his lips over hers. “That is, of course…” he murmured nervously with his forehead pressed against hers, “if you’ll have me?”

A shuddering breath fell from her mouth, followed by a jubilant elation of mirth. With joyous tears stinging the corners of her eyes, she swept her hand through his riotous hair and lightly held the back of his head, toying with hairline at the nape of his neck.

“Yes!” she whispered excitedly. “A thousand times, yes!”

A startled cry made its way up her throat when he tightly wrapped her in his arms then lifted her off the ground, swinging her around as an overjoyed burst of laughter rumbled through his chest. Setting her back on her feet, his lips crashed against hers and they lost themselves for several blissful moments, until Henry’s impatient shouts forced them to come up for air.

Taking Emma’s hand, Killian pierced her with a look that held heated promises for later before leading them towards the cottage. A charge of desire zipped through her, and she silently hoped that the day’s excitement would be enough to cause Henry to sleep very, very soundly that night.

“Shall we tell the lad now, or wait?”

Emma contemplated Killian’s question before deciding, “Let’s give it a day or two. Give him time to settle into the cottage before we set his sights on the next chapter.”

“As you wish.”

Arriving at the door of their new, albeit temporary, home, Emma tugged on Killian’s arm to stop him before entering. Perplexed by the action, he raised his brow and cocked his head at her.

“What is it, love?”

“I just want you to know,” she began lovingly, “No matter where our life may lead us or how we spend our days… you’ll always be the pirate captain who gave me my greatest adventure.”

Killian smiled and swept her up into his arms, carrying her over the threshold. “And you, my love,” he replied with his mouth poised to kiss her as soon as he said his piece. “Shall always be the witch in the woods who saved me.”

The End

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The rain beat uselessly against the window panes, its attempt to flee the desolate fury of the winds sweeping across the grounds of the grand country manor a hopeless endeavour; the rivulets that ran haphazardly down the glass were a sign of a swift and painless surrender to a force much greater than itself.

Emma Swan watched in silent fascination at the tempest that had been unleashed upon her small, comfortable corner of the world. The blinding flashes of lightning, with its jagged lines tearing open the sky, followed by harsh cracks of thunder that shook the earth to its foundations were so much more thrilling and intriguing to her than the fireworks that were displayed in Misthaven during the summer months.

She could appreciate the magic of mixing gunpowder and metals together with fire to create a dazzling display of colours that could light up the night sky; however, the light show conjured by Mother Nature herself was more than just a frivolous form of entertainment for the masses. Its dualities of light and dark, of rage and sorrow, and of destruction and renewal, were free to war with one another openly and without constraint - a liberty that Emma craved to experience herself, but from which she had been forbidden for years she no longer cared to count.

She could only watch the continued deluge of water, and the wind that drove it onwards, taking comfort that at least one of them could expel their pain and suffering to the point of exhaustion before beginning the task of healing themselves once more.

“Emma! Why are you hiding away in here by yourself? We have all gathered in Mama’s petite salon, and Ruby is keen to begin setting the mood for our All Hallow’s Eve celebration with all of the ghost stories she has been dying to scare us with!”

Emma startled at the sound of her cousin’s voice, the dismay underscoring her exclamation sending a wave of guilt to crash over her and settle heavily amongst the rest of her feelings of inadequacy and despair that had become her constant companions these last few years.

Mary Margaret Blanchard was all that Emma was not: keenly intelligent and highly accomplished in music and languages, a talented horsewoman and archer, incomparably generous in her charitable endeavours, and a reputed beauty celebrated as far north as Dun Broch and as far south as the Southern Isles. Most importantly of all however, Mary Margaret was an heiress to a large fortune that would secure her freedom to marry whomever she wished - or not at all.

Despite her golden curls and a face that could rival any cherubic rendering of the masters, Emma had never had the means nor the opportunity to be as accomplished as the other ladies in her small circle of society. The gods had seen fit to take her parents from her at the age three - a terrible carriage accident as they were returning home from a holiday to Avonlea - and when all of their affairs had been settled, it was discovered that the considerable wealth her father had added to the family’s coffers had been frittered away through bad investments and clandestine outings to the card table. It had left Emma practically destitute with a meagre few hundred pounds per annum with which to live, thus offering little prospect of a well-matched marriage.

Emma quickly stood up from her position by the window, her hands nervously smoothing out the creases of her new powder blue dress (a well-intentioned gift from her aunt and uncle upon her arrival), the glow from the lone lantern she had lit not enough to highlight the embarrassed flush blooming across her cheeks.

“I thought perhaps you would like to spend some time with your friends. I imagine it will be some time before you can host them all together again.”

“Oh Emma!” Mary Margaret rushed over to her cousin, clasping her hands over Emma’s in a gesture to assuage any doubt that her absence wouldn’t immediately be noticed and missed.

“You are my cousin, but you are also my best friend! I do not wish to host any gatherings without you!”

Emma smiled weakly at Mary Margaret’s protestations, her green eyes - an almost perfect replica of her own and a trait synonymous with both of their mothers’ side of the family, the Snowingtons - were wide with sincerity but ringed with a pity that forced Emma to swallow back the scream of frustration at that hated emotion.

She had been knocked down time and again in her short life, but she had always picked herself up, dusted herself off, and continued to try to forge some kind of existence for herself, all the while wrapping her heart within tendrils of nettles and thorns to keep it safe each time she fell. She had never asked for help nor solicited sympathy for her reduced status in the society she had been born into. Her grandmother Regina would never have countenanced such gestures; pity was not an emotion one should wish to be bestowed with, no matter how well meant. It was perhaps the only lesson from the wretched woman to which Emma had paid any heed.

A brief flash of lightning, followed by yet another earth-shaking boom of thunder, set off a peal squeals and jittery giggles further down the hall where the gaggle of young ladies awaited their gracious hostess and her poor and seemingly aloof cousin. Emma had successfully managed to hold back the eye roll such childish reactions evoked, but she couldn’t hide the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face fast enough for Mary Margaret not to notice.

“I’m sorry, Mary Margaret, I know they are very good friends to you. They seem… very agreeable… and- and very lively,” Emma quickly placated, snatching up her lamp as she prepared to leave her sanctuary to spend an hour or two in said ‘agreeable and lively’ company. However, Mary Margaret held fast to Emma’s other hand as she linked their arms together, halting their exit for a moment.

“They could be your good friends too, you know. I know Lady Mills was terribly negligent when it came to introducing you to society, but you are free from her tyranny and can now start your life over again.” Mary Margaret’s reassuring smile caused yet another swell of guilt to crash through Emma, her cousin’s earnestness overriding her previous irritation with her.

“Perhaps,” Emma relented, a small, yet genuine quirk in the corner of her mouth visibly easing the worry and tension within her cousin that even after nearly a full year of living with her Blanchard relations, Emma still believed herself unwanted and unloved.

“Although, I’m not sure that this new life I am to embark on will involve marrying a Prince Charming such as your Sir David.”

Mary Margaret wasn’t quite as adept as Emma at masking her emotions with a patented eye roll and a sarcastic quip; she had always been far too open in sharing her kind heart to begin guarding it now. However, she did manage a huff of humoured indignation at the characterisation applied to her fiancé.

“He may be very good friends with Prince Eric, but I would hardly call him royalty. But I will grant you that I do often picture him as the dashing Prince whenever I read Her Handsome Hero.”

The two young women giggled together as they left the library, the oppressive atmosphere that had fallen over the room dissipating even as the storm outside continued its rage-fuelled campaign to create a shroud of darkness and chaos fit for a night honoured for its evocation of fear, superstition, and the supernatural - All Hallow’s Eve.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

Mary Margaret’s friends were lively, engaging, and for the most part, good natured. They tried to include Emma in their playful teasing of their hostess with outrageous wedding plan ideas, or as they idly gossiped about some of their less favoured peers and their hopes that they would be so lucky as to find themselves with a well matched husband - even as they wished with almost mercenary fervour that they would be blessed with a marriage filled with the comfort and ease of a large fortune.

Emma couldn’t participate indifferently in such conversations. Memories of untamed chestnut curls and a boyishly crooked smile assaulted her thoughts. All of her hopes and dreams of being freed from the cage of misery her grandmother had confined her to for so long, of finding someone who had been uncaring of her lack of wealth and appeared to only share her interest in freedom and travel, fleeing at the first denial of more intimate relations. The threat of being cut off from a heretofore unknown family fortune was a poor excuse and held no comfort for her - she had never been considered someone worthy of being a titled man’s wife, she had never been considered worth fighting for.

Emma turned towards the window she had claimed a seat beside, her attention fixed again on the chaotic scenes that could still be discerned through the darkness even without the assistance of the streaks of white light that continued to score the cavernous void that had swallowed the stars tonight. Try as she might, however, she couldn’t quite shut out the excited tittering and raptures of her cousin’s upcoming nuptials.

“A winter wedding sounds magical to be sure, Mary Margaret. And while I do not blame you for wanting to marry Sir David as soon as you are able, wouldn’t springtime be more meaningful? That is when you two first met, yes?”

Ella’s question was innocent enough; everyone within three counties of their own town of Storybrooke knew when Mary Margaret Blanchard and Sir David Nolan had first met. The grand garden party in Glowerhaven, followed by the Spring ball were each hosted by the Spencer family in their palatial summer mansion and was where most young ladies (and oftentimes their overtly ambitious mamas) would begin their scouting expeditions for the perfect husband. At the time, Mary Margaret was more concerned with ensuring that her dear cousin Emma was enjoying herself and attempting to participate in the still-new society she had been introduced to only a few months before. However, a playful gust of wind mischievously making off with her favourite shawl was all it took for Mary Margaret and Sir David to make each other’s acquaintance and form an affectionate yet proper attachment to one another.

The blush that quickly bloomed unbidden across Mary Margaret’s face therefore seemed out of place.

A bone rattling boom of thunder interrupted the impending interrogation from the women gathered. Squeals and shouts as well as one or two prayers to Zeus himself to please stop hurling his furniture across the sky were interspersed with nervous glances at the storm that seemed to only be gaining in strength as it bore down on the great house. Only Emma continued her observation with calm interest as she watched the earth battle with the heavens in its attempt to hold onto every rock and tree root it could grasp.

Miss Ruby Lucas, never one to miss a subtle twitch of a finger, or an imperceptible uptick of a mouth, let alone an obvious blush from one of her oldest friends, quickly corralled the ladies to return to their previous endeavour of listening to what would surely be the most romantic of love stories. She would need everyone to feel as comfortable and unsuspecting as possible so she could elicit the biggest reactions of shock and terror when it was time to begin the ghost story telling portion of the evening.

“A little wind and rain will not release you from a confession to your very best friends, Mary Margaret. Now, everyone please get yourselves resettled, our esteemed hostess has what I hope is a scandalous story to share!”

Emma turned away from the window just in time to see her cousin draw herself up to her full height, seated though she was in the oversized wingback chair closest to the fire. Taking a deep breath, Mary Margaret began her tale.

“Mama had been adamant that we spend Yuletide in Misthaven in the hope that both Emma and I would find respectable suitors, which would then hopefully lead to many marriage proposals well before the Spencer ball.” Mary Margaret shared an exasperated glance with Emma as they both recalled the fervour with which Aunt Eva had laid out her plans for the family’s trip to the capital last Yuletide. It had only been the outbreak of a sleeping sickness that had stalled any plans for a happy matrimony for the two young women.

Emma was sure no such offers would have been forthcoming to her. She may be as beautiful as her cousin, but what was beauty to a young man of the world if there was no meaningful financial status attached to it?

“She was so disappointed when Papa postponed all of her plans, and, well, so was I.”

Another boom of thunder interrupted Mary Margaret as everyone unconsciously gathered closer to one another and the fire - a beacon of light and safety against its ancient foe of darkness and the preternatural creatures that lurked unseen outside. Emma held her place by the window, one ear focused on Mary Margaret’s story, as the other listened to the anguished song of the gale that appeared to be trying to build to a crescendo that would surely shred the delicate veil between this world and the Other Realm.

Mary Margaret chuckled nervously but took advantage of the atmosphere of heightened emotions to continue into the next part of her tale.

“Johanna used to tell me all sorts of stories and superstitions when I was younger. Making wishes on blue stars to bring forth the Reul Ghorm and her flutter of fairies, or the siren at Lake Nostos who could shift into the one who has captured your heart even as it drags you below the lake's murky depths before you register its facade of deceit. I had always loved the story of the bevy of enchanted swans who would transform into beautiful princesses that would dance along the surface of their lake near the Summer Palace just outside of Avonlea, waiting for their true loves to break their curse.”

Mary Margaret’s words seemed to settle the group; their brief flinches and flickering gazes towards the windows were not enough to distract them from the story unfolding before them.

“I had long stopped believing in such fairytales, but when Mama said we were to stay here for Yuletide I couldn’t help thinking about my most favourite superstition: The Fortunes of the Twelve Sage Leaves.”

The collective sigh could barely be heard over the shrieks of the wind and the relentless pounding of the rain outside; however, Emma had heard enough to know that she was the only person in the room not familiar with this particular tale. She turned completely away from her study of the storm, her attention now on Mary Margaret.

“Yes, I’m sure most of you know this legend well,” Mary Margaret said, her eyes quickly catching Emma’s, a confirmation that the explanation to come was for her cousin’s benefit alone. “I plucked twelve sage leaves from the kitchen garden and made my way to the willow grove. There is a lovely fountain where two lovers, carved perfectly in marble, stand in an embrace so intimate, their eyes only for one another, that I think if they were flesh and blood, the world could shatter into oblivion and still they would not be enticed to turn away from one another.”

This time, Mary Margaret sighed, her romantic heart spilling out unchecked fantasies of true love conquering all - even for those made of cold, unyielding stone. Emma fought not to roll her eyes at the overwrought display; it was not Mary Margaret’s fault. She had largely been untouched by the cruelty of people, the books she read shaping her mind to put heroes and villains into neat boxes marked ‘black and white’, the example her parents had set assuring her that she deserved only kindness and respect. She had not lived as Emma had.

Internally shaking away her irritation, Emma continued to listen, drawn in by the secret her cousin had kept to herself for so long and intrigued by the strange Yuletide ritual that apparently all young women in their circles were acquainted with - if not intimately, then at least by word of mouth.

“I carefully placed each sage leaf in a semicircle around the plinth where the statue of the lovers stood. The fountain’s waters were frozen solid, so it was easy to keep them in place and step away. As the ritual says, I turned away and walked toward the other end of the garden without looking back. When I reached the garden's edge, there was this… I’m not sure how to describe it,it was so strange a sensation. Only the tiniest of snowflakes were falling from the sky, dissipating to nothingness before ever touching the earth, but the air was stiflingly cold even with my warmest coat and thickest socks and boots.”

Mary Margaret floundered for a moment, searching for the words that could best describe her experience, unknowingly building enough tension and anticipation to boil over into the most genteel riot that would still be sure to scandalise even the most liberal of ladies.

“Well?” Astrid Nova burst out, her pixie-like frame practically vibrating off the settee she was perched on. The chorus of agreement that followed brought Mary Margaret out of the rabbit hole of thoughts her mind had begun to fall into.

“It felt… well, it felt like the first rays of the morning sun, its light and warmth filling me with this… certainty? Yes, a certainty that my destiny was standing behind me, if only I were brave enough to turn around and meet it. So I turned around and there was David - well, a version of him cast in the grey of a spectral shade, but I could see every feature as clearly in the glow of my lantern as I could when we officially met at the Spencer’s garden party. Right down to the small scar on his chin. We gazed at each other for what felt like hours, but could only have been scarce moments before he gently faded away, but I knew… I knew without question that we would find each other again - soon. And so we did, but I will never forget our first true meeting on Yuletide Eve; that is why I am determined that we must marry on the same day.”

Titters of excitement, punctuated by envious sighs, marked the end of Mary Margaret’s story, her captive audience turning to one another to make their own declarations that they too must do this ritual and try their luck at coming face to face with visions of their own husbands to be.

Emma was staring out the window once more, the rain still falling in endlessly heavy curtains. However, the storm itself seemed to have exhausted its fury, only faint flashes of light highlighting the still rain heavy clouds, and the odd rumble of thunder now disrupting the usual nighttime sounds surrounding the manor. She did not envy her cousin’s good fortune in finding the man of her dreams and under such highly romanticised circumstances; Mary Margaret deserved all of that and more; she simply mourned her own inability to match the level of maudlin enthusiasm and desire for a romance that could rival their hostess’. Perhaps if she were able, then she wouldn’t feel so much like an outsider, or worse, someone with which to be looked upon with pity.

Emma’s silent introspection and inattention had not gone unnoticed. Lady Aurora Rose of Briarsglen, a former bridal prospect for Prince Eric who derided his rejection of her as being his own fault entirely for not understanding her vision for the kingdom rather than a result of her own vainglorious view of the world, raised an imperious brow as everyone else settled down once more.

“Miss Emma, I fear we may have not considered your feelings in talking about our dear Mary Margaret’s future happiness with Sir David. While I’m sure you are enthusiastically assisting in all of the arrangements, it must be upsetting to know you will soon be without your cherished cousin.”

A silence descended upon the room, the hiss and pop of the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace not immune to being smothered by the awkwardness and offensiveness of such a comment. Before anyone else could speak up in defence or support of either lady, Aurora continued, oblivious to the pain and mortification she was inflicting.

“I’m sure your aunt and uncle will be happy to keep you. Lady Blanchard would be… content, to have you as her companion. Or, oh! Mary Margaret, you wouldn’t have to search far and wide for a suitable nanny if Emma accompanied you to Shepparton House!”

“I really hadn’t-“ Mary Margaret began, the pretty pink that had initially tinged her cheeks immediately draining away to a pallor akin to a newly turned corpse.

“It would be the perfect situation for all,” Aurora continued, as though Mary Margaret hadn’t spoken. “As soon as your children are older, Emma could transition to a governess. You do read and write, do you not Miss Emma?” Aurora’s tone was all politeness but her eyes spoke of doubt that Emma could be worth anything more capable than teaching the simplest of lessons.

“For the love of Athena, use some wisdom and hold your tongue!” hissed Ruby, her tone and the flash of her hazel eyes intimidating enough to force even the most hardnosed duchess to clamp her mouth shut and take a cautious step backward for good measure.

“Emma doesn’t need your unwanted suggestions as to how she should live her life. I would sooner take life lessons from a lady of the night - at least she wouldn’t be as carelessly offensive as you!” she continued, a glint of triumph colouring her words as Aurora visibly shrank into the cushions she had previously been regally lounging against.

“I didn’t- I mean to say, I wasn’t -“ Aurora attempted to backtrack, her haughty convictions when it came to station and class crumbling in the face of Ruby’s ire, turning pleading eyes towards Emma in the hope of finding swift absolution.

Emma had compassion enough for most people’s missteps when it came to her upbringing and current prospects; it was often thoughtless, but never meant with the intention to humiliate her. But there was no mistaking Aurora’s intentions, and while Emma wasn’t willing to add further threads to the tension coiling itself tightly around the group by dressing down the silly young woman, and thus proving her credentials to be a successful governess, she certainly was not going to remain and allow them all to witness her humiliation consume her.

“I think I would like to retire early. Mary Margaret has certainly set the tone for a night of tales of the supernatural - it is certainly the perfect time, being All Hallow’s Eve. Do not forget to set some cocoa aside for those from the Other Realm - you wouldn’t want to offend them with no offerings for such an auspicious night.”

Emma stood quickly, refusing to meet her cousin’s eyes and ignoring the gentle tug on her skirts from a still irate Ruby, her murmured “please stay” going unheard. Emma glided out of the elegant French doors of the salon, her posture as perfect and genteel as any other young woman present, her head held high, unwilling to let anyone see the pain and sorrow filling her veins and flowing uninhibited directly to her heart.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

It was half way past the eleventh hour, the rain that had lulled Emma into a fitful sleep had now ceased completely, the clouds clearing just enough to allow a sliver of moonlight to filter through her bedroom window.

For the last quarter hour, Emma had stared, near unblinkingly, at the silvery sheen that lit the floor of her bedroom, counting the nicks and divots of the old hardwood planks as she drew meaningless shapes between them - anything to pass the time until she could safely sleep again without falling back into dreams full of memories best left buried.

She listened to the sounds of the manor settling around her: the creaks of stairs down the hall as they slowly expanded and contracted with the temperature, the odd bang and gurgle of the downpipes outside her bedroom, the soft hooting of a barn owl mingling with that of the wails of creatures hunting their prey in the woods beyond the garden wall, the erratic thud of her bruised and battered heart…

No. Enough. If she could not accept pity from others, then she surely could not accept it from herself.

Emma sat up, flinging her bedclothes away from her, an anger unlike anything she had ever experienced that began low in her belly and rapidly clawed its way up her throat, now threatening to spill from her lips.

All she had ever wanted was to be loved and not be a burden to the few family members who had bothered to claim her. Her grandmother Regina had never shown much affection for her in public, and was downright cruel behind closed doors, had delighted in forcing Emma’s exclusion from society. Had it not been for Mary Margaret’s insistence that she visit her seldom seen cousin, she would be there still, drowning in loneliness and unwarranted scorn from one who dared to profess that they provided all the care she could possibly need.

Emma was no longer a prisoner of Lady Regina; her Blanchard relatives had been adamant that she stay with them and take her place in society as her parents had intended for her. She would be forever grateful for the careful and gentle love that she received from her aunt and uncle, as well as Mary Margaret, but she knew beyond a doubt that their world was one in which she would never feel quite understood, a world in which, eventually, she would be left behind.

Leaving the warmth of her bed, Emma silently padded barefoot over to the window that offered a view of the estate’s willow grove, the light of the moon revealing a shadowed outline of the lovers’ statue in their eternal embrace. As her eyes adjusted to the dimly illuminated shades of silver and green, clarity, as bright and clear as an early spring day, pushed its way to the front of her mind.

She could continue to live a halflife; one where she remained on the fringes of society, always searching for her place, but never finding it, or she could follow Mary Margaret’s path and learn whether or not Fate had decided there was someone waiting for her to come into his life. There was no need to vacillate - if Emma wanted to change the course that her life was taking, she had to drop the mantle of fear and submission she had wrapped herself in and take the first steps in assuming control of her life and fortunes.

And she would start with determining if the deep and abiding love that she had dreamed of since she realised it had been ripped away from her at such a young age would have a place in her future.

Why did she have to wait until Yuletide Eve to see the shade of her intended? Surely All Hallow’s Eve held just as great a power? It was the one night when the veil between this world and the Other was at its most transparent, a gossamer thin veneer where the dead could return to their loved ones for a drink or meal, where the Fae could enchant or punish those who crossed their path as they rode their steeds across ancient paths known to them long before mortals walked among the lands, where monsters and ghouls lurked in darkened hollows and waterways, pouncing on unsuspecting travellers too drunk or naive to pay heed to the tales that were rooted in fact rather than fiction. Magic and other supernatural forces crackled in the air as much as lightning did as it branched across the skies - there had to be a way for Emma to bend that energy to her will for this one small ritual.

With well-practiced movements, Emma reached for the box of matches she kept beside her bed, adjusting her vision again to detect the tiny latch that kept one side of her lantern closed, and quickly struck up a flame, throwing even deeper shadows into the far corners of the room. Turning the dial on the lantern, she placed the burning match above the lantern’s mantle, watching the transfer of light as it grew brighter. Not wanting to disturb anyone as she traversed the halls on her way to the gardens below, Emma dimmed the lantern until there was just enough light to see by before slipping her fleece-lined cloak about her shoulders and stuffing her feet into her most well-worn boots. Exhaling a long breath to calm her nerves, she slipped out her bedroom door, girding herself for her encounter with Fate and Destiny.

Stepping out into the walled kitchen garden, the smells of sodden earth, rain-washed plants, and the faint scent of the herbs that Cook used to season their meals, overwhelmed Emma’s senses. She had always loved the feeling of cleanliness after a storm had passed through. Everything appeared brighter, renewed, ready for new growth and transformation. The small kernel of hope that still resided deep within Emma and had refused to shrivel up and crumble into dust, took strength from these scents, sending a pulse of lighthearted joy through her and further fortifying her determination to see out her plans.

Emma directed the light from her lantern over to the raised plots filled with an assortment of autumnal herbs ready to be picked and dried for the winter months ahead. Searching through the neatly spaced rows of plants, she was dismayed to discover that she couldn’t find a single sage leaf, let alone the plant itself.

Midnight was fast approaching, the time she had to complete the ritual slipping away as quickly as water through a sieve. Searching the garden or the kitchen’s larder for twelve sage leaves would take far too much time and could very well result in waking the household servants, who would have no hesitation in gossiping about poor unfortunate Miss Swan and her desperate attempt at turning to witchcraft to find a rich husband. The town of Stroybrooke would know all about her grasping attempts to raise herself above what she was due before the temple bells had finished their tolling at Sunday worship.

An old apple tree stood at the end of the garden, a wizened sentinel propped up against the sandstone bricks of the garden wall. Despite its age, it still offered bountiful bushels of sweet crimson apples and an abundance of pink and white blossoms during the summer months. However, autumn was beginning to give way to the harsh winter months, which was made all the more apparent in the tree’s appearance. No longer was it the young fair maiden with flowers in her hair, the apple tree now represented the wise and ancient crone - a keeper of truth and knowledge.

Truth and knowledge. Emma recalled the lessons grandmother Regina’s gardener had imparted to her as she had followed him around during his daily duties.

“You may not like apples, Little Miss, but they are revered by the old ones as symbols of truth and knowledge. You should at least respect them, if you won’t eat them.”

Emma wanted the truth, she needed the knowledge of what her future could hold for her. And she wanted to prepare herself for what she might find out. Leaves from an apple tree would be a worthy substitute.

With quick steps, ignoring the squelching of her boots on the muddy ground, Emma darted to the tree, her lamp illuminating the lower branches well enough for her to place it on the ground so she could make use of the shallow footholds carved into the trunk and reach for the leaves still stubbornly clinging to a spindly branch.

Plucking the necessary number of leaves, Emma jumped the few feet to the ground, almost slipping over in her haste. Snatching up her lantern, she made her way to the gated archway that led to the willow grove, her heart beginning to beat frenetically in anticipation of what she would find out on the other side.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

The air was still as Emma stepped inside the grove, the long pendulous branches of the weeping willows barely swaying as she walked by. She felt neither a chill nor a warmth as she walked towards her destination in the middle of the garden. It was as though the storm had stripped away the very season itself until there was nothing left to mark its presence by. It was unnerving - the stillness and the nothingness - this feeling of the natural world pausing its usual activities as if it were awaiting the supernatural world to take its place.

However, time would not pause for anyone, the seconds sweeping by towards the midnight hour. Emma hurried onwards, determined to reach the fountain and complete the task she had set out to accomplish. The statue of the lovers loomed before her, standing on a platform above the water’s surface, the pristine white of the marble they were carved from and their lifelike features reflecting the yellow light of the lantern Emma held tightly in her grasp. The fountain’s water pumps that usually created fantastical displays during the day were silent as they usually were during the night hours, the water’s surface as smooth and silvery as a looking glass as shadows danced across it. If Emma allowed herself to gaze upon the scene before her for any length of time, she could almost believe the illusion that the lovers were simply swaying together to a song only they could hear.

The faint tolling of a bell could be heard in the distance - midnight was now upon her. Snapping back to the task at hand, Emma leaned over the edge of the fountain and quickly began laying the apple leaves in a semicircle in front of the statue as best she could, each bell toll marking each time she placed down a leaf. The water wasn’t frozen as it had been for Mary Margaret; however, the lack of wind or any kind of meaningful air flow at least allowed the leaves to keep their formation relatively steady as they slowly floated away from the statue.

As the last bell chimed, Emma straightened up and turned her back to the fountain, directing herself with careful yet confident steps back the way she had come. The urge to look back before she reached the gate was strong, but not enough to sway her from her path. It had felt like an eternity walking to the edge of the grove despite it being no more than fifty yards; however, before long, Emma reached the gate. She slowly took in a deep breath and released it, waiting for the sign that she should turn around and meet her husband to be.

It began with the barest hint of frost on the ground, tiny crystals that sparkled on every blade of grass as though the storm from earlier had rained down diamonds instead of water. Next, came the mist, rising from the earth in swirling, icy tendrils that wrapped around Emma’s legs, seeping through the layers of her warm attire, and sending shivers running up and down her spine. The mist continued to curl around her form until she could almost feel it caressing the ends of her unbound hair, her shining golden waves dimming until they became colourless against the mist encircling her.

The glow of her lantern still shone, but it had become muted as the mist continued to swirl and coat the darkened scenery in a layer of glittering ice. From the corner of her eye, Emma could detect the silvery brightness of the full moon beaming down onto the grove, its light far more intense than usual and rendering her lantern useless. She instinctively knew the light was her signal to turn around and meet her fate, but the feeling of dread - like large droplets steadily dripping into the pit of her stomach - gave her pause. Was she afraid because she wasn’t having the same experience as Mary Margaret had? Or were her primal instincts warning her that she had called forth something that should never have been summoned?

Emma couldn’t run away now. This was what she had wanted: to know what her future could hold for her, to know that her life could turn into something hopeful, to be given the love of one who would not dismiss her own, leaving her disappointed and abandoned once more.

Taking yet another deep breath to calm her nerves, Emma turned, the mist parting as she did so and giving her a clear view of the fountain in front of her. The fountain was illuminated by moonlight; she could see it as clearly as though it were the middle of the day, the marble lovers remaining in their eternal pose. The water beneath them, however, was churning, bubbling over the stony edge of the fountain and flowing down the sides, staining the light stone with veins as black as ink.

Emma squinted in confusion as she noticed that the water was no longer the clear reflective blue of the tiles on the bottom of the fountain - it had become a thick, tar-like black. The bubbling grew in intensity until it began to merge into one, forming a shape that began to take the appearance of a man. Its features were masked in the darkest of shadows despite the pool of moonlight it was now standing in, the stark white statue no longer taking pride of place as the apparition stood in front of it. When the being was finally fully formed, it gracefully stepped out of the fountain, and with slow, almost insouciant strides, it began to make its way toward Emma.

Emma’s heart began to beat erratically. Not from anticipation or excitement, but from fear, and from danger, and from… temptation.

No, not temptation. Emma thought wildly, trying to force her limbs into action and escape this nightmare of her own creation. She would not risk being led into temptation again; she had barely escaped last time. She may be poor, with nothing of material worth to offer anyone, but she would not succumb and become a fallen woman. That would never be her fate. She certainly wouldn’t allow herself to be enthralled by something from the Other Realm, something dark and impure.

It was that resolve that freed Emma from her terror-induced paralysis. She turned and fled, just as the being stretched out a black gloved hand towards her, the lantern she had been gripping on to so tightly until now slipping from her grasp and falling into an iced-over puddle, the crack of ice as the lantern made contact with it echoing the sound of the thunder of only hours before.

Emma darted through the gate leading back to the kitchen garden and onwards to the safety of her bed, never looking back, never pausing to consider if she should give a chance to the spirit (or demon) who had been reaching for her. It had been a mistake to try and bargain with Fate and Destiny. She was not meant to know her future before it had come to pass.

And now there would be a price to pay.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

He had wanted to allay her fears, show her that he meant no harm, to tell her he could feel her heartbreak and loneliness and that he understood. But she had run away before he could form the words he needed to soothe her terrified thoughts.

The pain of her grief and loneliness, her disappointment at a life that had been nothing but cruel to her, had seeped into the very essence of the ritual, called to him like no other mortal had ever done. He wondered at her decision to use apple leaves on All Hallow’s Eve to power her spell. Given her reaction to his presence, he doubted her aim had been to summon a Dark One from the Other Realm. He could not say definitively whether she had a true love waiting for her in this mortal world, but he could not detect any threads of connection to another that would indicate that she did. The Fates owed him a favour; he would demand their expertise in the matter.

Even so, he had decided that he wanted her, mortal suitor or no. He knew that if she gave him a chance, she would see that they understood each other, despite her short life and his eons of existence. Looking back towards the fountain, he noted that she hadn’t closed the portal she had opened. Quickly, he began tracing a series of symbols in the air above the still bubbling waters, each one glowing a deep blood red before fading away into the ether.

After the last symbol had been drawn, the water became a smooth glass like surface once again, the icy mist that had lingered dissipating as the portal closed. He would not allow his brethren to be given the chance to compete with him for the affections (or soul) of the golden haired woman who had been the first to make his long dormant heart flicker with the first signs of life since his days of being mortal. There was a familiarity to her that he could not yet perceive; however, he was eager to find out why she drew him and to understand the strength of her pull upon him.

He gazed down at the still surface of the water, his shadowed visage masking his features. Swiping his hand impatiently across his face, he revealed his true form: unearthly blue eyes, rimmed red as though he had not slept for many a long night, stared back at him, framed by sooty lashes and midnight dark hair that fell carelessly across his eyes, his pale, pale skin highlighting everything in a stark contrast. He had the appearance of a newly risen corpse or one of those blasted vampires that the mortals insisted existed but were more of a bastardised version of his kind (blood was not a palatable food source to be sure) and that would not do. He needed to show her that he was not to be feared.

He would need to prepare himself well for their next meeting. He wanted to show her that she was worthy of catching the eye of an eligible bachelor ready to settle down and devote his love and life to her, which would take some time and planning. Looking up towards the window he was sure were her chambers, he noted no fire or candlelight to keep those from the Other Realm at bay on this most important of nights for his kind. He would ensure she had a light to see her through the remaining night hours while also offering a token of his affection and hope that she would meet him again.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

It had been a long time before Emma was able to fall asleep. When she finally did, it had been fitful, full of dreams of shadows and mist that threatened to consume her, a hand reaching out from the darkness, offering safety and protection, but which she was too afraid to trust would not betray her. She had awoken long after breakfast had been served, the late morning sun shining cheery and bright through the window of her bedroom.

Emma sat up, stretching out her cramped muscles as she allowed herself to shake off the remnants of sleep and the events of the night before.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, a large crystal vase overflowing with blue irises caught her eye. It had been set upon her bedside table, the shade of blue not something she had ever seen before in nature. A memory tickled the back of her mind as she continued to admire them; however, she couldn’t quite grasp it, and after a few moments, she let it go, figuring if she was meant to remember it would come to her later.

Emma had been so interested in the unexpected gift - she would be sure to thank her aunt and uncle when she saw them at the noontime meal, for it must have been they who directed itsdelivery to her - she had not immediately seen her lantern sitting next to it, still faintly lit with a low flame. She remembered dropping it last night as she fled the willow grove and away from the spectre that had reached for her as though he were asking her to take his hand as a gentleman would to a lady he was offering to escort safely across an undesirable section of pathway.

A piece of parchment the size of her palm was placed in front of the lantern, a note elegantly written in a script that was no longer in fashion, but was to be admired for its evident skill and beauty.

A/N: Story context: This is a canon divergence of the CS movie, which begins right after Emma gets the wand from Rumplestiltskin. (He does not send him to his vault of do-not-touch things in this version tho. We’ll pretend Elsa gets to Storybrooke some other way lol. I’ll also be ignoring Marian, which, the show pretty much did when it just ended up being Zelena anyway lol. 

Emma smiled at the faintly glowing wand in her fingers, feeling the warmth of the return of her magic, lighting a glow in the vast dining room of Rumplestiltskin’s castle. 

Everything was back on track.

Including herself.

Perhaps she had been trying to take the easy way out, blocking her magic from returning so she could go back to New York with no ties left behind. 

But more than anything, it was Killian’s smile now that made the warmth inside her grow even more, and if it wasn’t her imagination, made the wand spark a little brighter.

“It works,” whispered Emma, staring at the wand in awe, eyes snapping to Killian. “My magic is back!”

“I knew you could do it, love.” said Killian softly, a relief in his eyes, like it was for both the possibility of getting back home, and for the fact that he still blamed himself for her powers being taken in the first place. 

“Ah, the Savior, of course,” murmured Rumplestiltskin from his perch on the edge of his dining table. “I should have known you would have magic of your own.”

Emma suddenly realized just how much Rumplestiltskin knew. “Is it a problem that you know…?”

“It would be,” he agreed, but lifted his hand, where a potion bottle materialized. “However, I have spent the past few hours mixing myself a Forgetting Potion.”

Emma smiled. “Good. Well, let’s do this, then.” She then lifted the wand, about to attempt to bring forth the time portal.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rumplestiltskin, jumping down and pushing her hand with the wand down. “Not in here. You might bring any number of my possessions with you.”

Emma winced, eyes finding the myriad of scary-looking things in the castle, wondering just how catastrophic that could be. 

She looked from Killian’s raised eyebrow to Rumplestiltskin. “So where do we—“

But not a second later, Rumplestiltskin’s castle was gone, and suddenly they were outside. Trees, greenery and blue sky replaced the walls of the Dark One’s abode. They weren’t too far from the town below, and not far off was the sea. But they were in an empty enough area of the forest that no one should see anything, and nothing should come with them.

 “Well,” said Killian, giving her another smile, “ready, there, Swan?”

Emma nodded. She lifted the wand again, concentrating on her magic, on the emotion in her chest, bright and raw. The tiny flicker of a portal, like a zipper drawn in the very fabric of the air, appeared before them. 

Killian grinned. “That’s it, lo—” 

He was cut off with a grunt, and Emma’s eyes snapped to him, her concentration broken and the tiny beginnings of the portal fizzled back out of existence. 

Emma’s heart stopped. 

They were no longer alone. 

A burly, muscled man had his arm around Killian’s neck in a chokehold, his other arm pinning Killian’s left arm to his side. Killian let out an angry, surprised snarl, jerking hard against the grip. 

“Hook!” cried Emma, jamming the wand in her back pocket to hide it and running toward him, only skidding to a stop when three other thugs suddenly flanked the first.

“Sw—“ began Killian, his right hand scrabbling at the hold around his neck, but his airway was quickly cut off. Red rushed to his face, and Emma’s heart froze.

“Sorry, darlin’,” said the man’s raspy voice. “We got direct orders to bring Captain Hook in. He stole from us last night, and now he gon’ pay. Pretty stupid to show yer face in the open like this, without yer crew, no less.” A dark chuckle. “Shoulda sailed away when he had the chance.” To someone behind him, he shouted, “Lucky catch, men!”

Killian struggled against them, something angry and feral, landing a blow to the man's gut. The man growled and stumbled, and Killian reared back to hit him again until the man snapped, “Stop fightin’ or the wench dies!” That made Killian freeze, staring at her with icy horror. 

For a moment, Emma and Killian stared at each other, and it felt like time stood still.

Panic rushed through Emma's chest.

Magic.

Magic.

But she had no idea how to use her magic.

And if she took even a step forward, she'd get a sword through her in seconds.

Killian grunted as a second thug grabbed him on his other side, ripping Killian's sword from his sheath.

Panic rose even sharper in Emma's chest.

Killian swallowed, eyes locked onto her. “Go—home,” Killian managed, his eyes pleading and broken, with something in them that looked like goodbye, only making Emma’s eyes burn. 

“Hook—!” breathed Emma, running for him, but froze when three swords pointed in her direction, so close to her it made her stumble back, falling to the ground.

And by the time she made it back to her feet, they were gone.

-.-.-.

Dark had fallen.

The air had chilled. 

But none of it gave her the cold dread inside her chest. 

She’d searched for hours.

But those men obviously knew this forest better than she did, and it was easy to get lost in it. 

Too easy.

She let them take him.

Emma kicked herself.

She should have done something.

She should have done something.

She should have been spending all the time back in Storybrooke learning magic instead of shoving it away.

Because now Killian was gone, and it was all her fault.

She got them stuck in the past.

She was the reason Killian stopped trying to free himself from those bastards.

She was the reason that they may never see each other again.

Emma couldn’t stop seeing his eyes. 

The resignation.

The defeat. 

The horrible, utter sadness.

She was now alone, and she’d never felt this alone in her entire life. 

It was one thing to grow up being alone. 

And it was another thing entirely to find people, to fall for people, and to have them ripped from you.

It was an entirely different thing to know what it felt like to not be alone.

And ever since meeting Killian, more or less after he decided to become a part of something , he’d been practically glued to her side. He’d voluntarily gone back to the land he hated more than anywhere, he’d given up his revenge, he’d found her in freaking New York City —an endeavor Emma still didn’t know how he managed to do—and how he managed to find her in a world he knew hardly anything about?

Emma stopped on the path, feeling the chill of the air. 

Even the air felt different in the Enchanted Forest. It felt… unearthly, which, wasn’t exactly off point. The magic in the land seemed to crackle like a charged atmosphere. The animal sounds, the nightly coos and caws were different, and all this different was unsettling and…

She really, really didn’t want to admit she was scared. 

But Emma didn’t have Mary Margaret with her this time. She didn’t have a princess squad to help her through. And, she didn’t have Hook.

Killian, who was god knew where. 

He might even already be—

No , said a firm voice in her head, trying to quell the hair that raised on the back of her neck at the thought. They wouldn’t have kidnapped him if they were going to be quick about it. 

The idea of him suffering at all…

Emma swallowed, hard, trying to shove down the rush of panic that shook her fingers.

How the hell was she supposed to find him?

She was a complete outsider. 

She not only wasn’t from this town, she wasn’t from this world , and she wasn’t from this time, not by a long shot. 

She was trapped thirty years in the past, and Killian could be anywhere. 

“Go home.”

Emma shut her eyes at Killian’s echo.

Go home.

He wanted her to go home.

He wanted her to leave him here, conjure the portal, and go home.

The very fact that he thought she would made her chest hurt, because how could he think she’d leave him here?

But…

“You really thought I’d let you drown?”

“Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain? ”

Here she was thinking how he could possibly think she didn’t care about him, when…

“Do you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He said anyone.

He meant me.

And replaying it all, how could she think he’d know she did?

All she’s done since he saved her in New York, was walk away from him.

But she did care.

She more than cared.

And now, she may never —

No.

Emma opened her eyes, ignoring the burn in them.

Determination set into her face, Emma made up her mind without hesitation. 

There was no way she was leaving here without Killian.

The thought of returning to life without him, living without him…

It felt wrong. 

Something about him in her life just made sense. Even now, she felt like something was missing, and suddenly she was wondering how she ever considered leaving her family, leaving him, to go back to New York. 

“Go home.”

She couldn’t go home when he already became her home.

But… 

How on earth—or, how in the Enchanted Forest—was she supposed to find him?

And before they did something terrible and irreversible to him?

“He stole from us last night. Now he’s gon' pay.”

Emma blinked. 

Killian didn’t steal anything from anyone; she knew he hadn’t. He’d been too concerned with messing up the time continuum.

He hadn’t stolen.

But Emma had a pretty good feeling who had.

And Killian was currently paying for his crime. 

Emma smiled grimly, a plan unfolding in her head. 

She started walking, faster this time.

She just hoped the Jolly Roger was still in port. 

-.-.-.

Emma clung to the shadows when she entered the town. 

Thanks to Rumplestiltskin returning her clothes, she was no longer wearing the ragged dress and cloak that they had stolen, and was back in her jeans and leather jacket. Something that, Killian’s voice reminded her, hasn’t come into vogue, ever. So… she had to be careful. They just fixed the timeline; they cannot ruin it all over again.

But Killian was worth that risk.

As she clung to the dark areas of town, Emma was reminded of a younger her, living on the streets, dodging shadowy corners to pitch black alleyways. It was evening, the sky blackening with an array of stars, but the town still bustled with life, mostly around the taverns. 

Emma passed the tavern she and Killian had found his past-self in, and Emma risked a look inside, but he wasn’t there. 

Her heart quickening, Emma suddenly worried he wasn’t even in town.

She picked up her pace, following the path past-Hook had led her down when he’d been her inebriated guide. 

Emma emerged from the cover of an alley, looking up to see the sea, and ships of all sizes moored at the docks. And among them—

Emma felt relief flood her. 

The Jolly Roger. 

She smiled despite herself, picking up her pace. As she got closer, she could see the crew retracting the anchor—

They were leaving. 

Her heart pounding, Emma began to sprint. 

With grunts of heaving, two members of the Jolly’s crew were lifting the gangplank.

It was halfway up when Emma got to it, flinging herself off the dock and onto it, barely making the jump. She slid down the wood, landing in a heap on the deck. 

“What in the blazes—?!”

The two men nearly dropped the gangplank, but managed to finish shutting it, faster, as if worrying that someone else was going to attempt Emma’s jump. 

Her entire body throbbing from the mistreatment, Emma slowly picked herself up from the deck. She quickly noticed at least a dozen pirates were staring at her in shock. 

But a voice broke through the din, and Emma would recognize it anywhere. 

“Well, you don’t bloody see something like that every day.”

-.-.-.

Despite her protests, Emma had been manhandled by two of the crew members and dragged into the Captain’s Quarters a moment after she’d seen him. He’d witnessed her reckless jump onto his ship, but hadn’t said a word to her yet. 

She was currently in the chair opposite his desk, two burly hands on her shoulders keeping her pinned down, and Hook was in his chair behind the desk, staring at her in silence. 

“What are you doing aboard my ship?” he said finally. 

Emma flicked her eyes to the pirate holding her down, then back to Hook. “I’ll tell you, but only you.”

Hook sighed, then flicked his eyes to the man behind her, giving a minute nod and a slight roll of his eyes. Then, when the door clicked shut, he gave her a pointed look.

Emma let out a breath, her heart beating in a frenzy. This Hook was not half as drunk as he was when they last met. His gaze on her was cold and measured and there was no trace of the softness Killian had now. It unnerved her, this air of danger he held, sitting before her. Waiting. 

But Emma swallowed, trying to remember, this is still Killian. Just… buried under two hundred years of pain and resentment. 

It didn’t make her feel better. 

“I need your help.” said Emma at last, holding his gaze. 

His brow lifted, like that was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “My help?” he echoed, lips twisting a little in amusement. “I’m a pirate captain, lass. You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives. Pirates take.”

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the irony that all he’s done the past two years was give. 

Worry fluttered in her stomach, suddenly wondering if her Killian was all right.

And when did he start being ‘her’ Killian?

Emma let out another breath. “Yeah, that’s actually what brings me here. All I need to know,” said Emma slowly, “is who you stole from last night.” 

She’d thought it through; if she could just get the name or the place of the person who he’d stolen from, she could go find Killian without Hook ever needing to know she was from the future. 

Hook paused. 

Suspicion suddenly gleamed in his eyes. 

He stood, and rounded his desk until he was standing before her. 

The suspicion only deepened in his eyes.

Emma could feel the danger radiate off him like a cologne. 

She was trying not to shrink under his intense gaze when he leaned even closer, his face inches from hers. He searched her eyes.

“You,” he whispered. “I remember you.”

Emma’s heart skipped. “You do?” she breathed. 

She should have known it was irrational to think he meant he remembered knowing her. 

Because his eyes narrowed, coldness in the blue. “You owe me a nightcap, love.”

Emma froze. “Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “Didn’t blame the rum, huh?”

He leaned back slightly, but looked no less predatory. “I’m guessing this is from you as well,” he said, brushing the metal of his hook to his cheek where Killian had hit him. 

Emma winced. “Not exactly—“

He was suddenly in her face again, eyes narrowed, colder than ice. “You were trying to get me drunk. To get on my ship,” he muttered. “Why?”

Oops.

Emma tried to think fast. 

She did not like a version of Killian that scared her, and this one did exactly that. 

As if to prove the point, he raised his hook, tracing her jaw until the tip was underneath her chin, forcing her head up. Emma gasped reflexively, suddenly realizing how bad of an idea this had been. “Tell me,” he hissed, “or this will be rather unpleasant.”

Emma swallowed, trying to stem the rush of fear. To hell with the timeline. “I’m from the future.”

His brow rose sharply, surprise and a little confusion slipping into that cold expression. Clearly time travel was not one of the things he’d expected her to say. 

It was the second time she’d surprised him, and Emma knew he wasn’t an easily surprised man.

Before he could interrupt, she went on, wincing as the sharp tip of his hook stung. “I’m telling you the truth,” she said quickly, fear sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m from… about thirty years in the future. I think. It’s really hard to keep track with all the curses," she finished, which even to her ears sounded like she was crazy.

“Time travel is unheard of.” said Hook, dismissing her whole story.

"You spend two hundred years on an island where time doesn't even exist and this is too crazy for you to imagine?" snapped Emma exasperatedly.

He ignored her. “Now, what are you really doing on my ship? Clearly if you’d gotten what you wanted, you wouldn’t have been daft enough to return.” His eyes looked her up and down, his brow lifting when his eyes reached hers, and Emma glared at him. “And if I had gotten what I wanted, that night would not have ended with you injuring me.” A cold smile. “Well, not in the traditional way, anyway.”

Emma huffed out a breath, almost forgetting just how innuendo-clad he once was. “Look, I’m telling the truth . I need your help to—“ She gasped, the tip of his hook digging slightly deeper. 

“You will tell me what I want to know,” said Hook quietly. He removed his namesake, and Emma winced. “I’ll give you the night to think it over. Lie to me again," his voice lowering, dipping into the personification of danger as his gaze bored into hers, and she tried not to shrink under it, "you’ll be walking the plank in the morning.” He moved away from her, and Emma realized she'd forgotten how to breathe.

“Hook—“ began Emma, but Hook simply barked, “Jenkins!”

The door opened, and one of the men who had dragged her down here walked inside. 

“Take her to the brig.”

Emma’s heart pounded. “No— Hook,” she said quickly as he sat nonchalantly back at his desk. “I need—“

Emma was grabbed from behind and forced out. 

He didn’t look up as they took her. 

But when he thought she was out of sight, she saw him briefly touch his fingers to his lips, something unreadable stirring in his eyes.

-.-.-.-.

Emma waited until she was left alone, and the ship had quieted down enough to suggest the crew was asleep.

They’d bound her hands in front of her, which was their first mistake. 

Feeling a sense of deja vu, Emma felt along the ground until she found something useful. Finding something sharp and thin enough to work, she quickly got to work on the lock to the cage. 

The trouble was opening the door without it creaking, which took her plenty of precious minutes. 

Once free, she left the brig, and quietly made her way to the armory.

It was good that she was familiar with the ship after Neverland. Plenty of hours on the water had her nervous energy getting the better of herself and she’d done some extensive exploring. She’d paced the ship enough to know where its creaky boards were, so she was inside the armory in silence quickly. 

Emma grabbed the first blade she could find—a knife—and freed her hands, then took the gag from her mouth. 

Gripping the knife in her shaking hands, Emma left the armory, walking down the hallway to the door at the very end. 

The Captain’s Quarters. 

Feeling plenty of uncertainty, but needing to know where Killian was, Emma slowly reached for the door handle, glad the ridiculously loud chorus of snoring from the crew covered much of the noise she made. 

Slowly and without breathing, she opened his door. 

Emma shut it just as quietly, and the noise of the snoring was muted. 

Emma turned. 

The cabin was dark. 

And there, lying on his bed, was Hook. Asleep.

She could see him breathe beneath the blanket. 

Carefully, and avoiding every creak in the floor she knew of, Emma crept up to his bed. 

Then, she held the knife an inch from his throat, opening her mouth to wake him.

“Do I need to explain what a nightcap is to you?”

Emma jumped a mile in her skin.

Hook’s eyes were open, and he looked from the knife at his throat to Emma. A raised brow, he deadpanned, “You escaped.”

“You underestimated me.” she countered. He lifted his brow as Emma continued firmly, “I need you to help me.”

“Help me?” he echoed. His eyes flicked from the knife to her eyes. “You’re taking your life in your hands threatening me, lass.” he said dangerously.

“I’m trying to save your life!” snapped Emma.

His brow hitched higher, again flicking his eyes pointedly to the blade, then back at her. 

Emma sighed, removing the knife from his throat. 

He still didn’t move, eyeing her still suspiciously. “How is it you think you’re saving me?” he asked. 

Emma sighed shortly. “Look. I told you I was from the future. I am. I’m from your future. And I didn’t get sent to the past alone.” She took a breath, hoping telling him wouldn’t implode the timeline. But she was scared, she was alone, and without his information, she would never be able to find Killian. She could only hope that after she saved Killian, he’d still exist when they returned to their time. 

Emma sighed. “When I got sent here, you came with me.” she said finally.

Confusion kneaded his brows with honest puzzlement, and for the first time he looked almost like her Killian. “I… what?” he managed.

Emma sighed shortly. “You— future you,” clarified Emma. “You’re here, in the past, too.”

Hook looked lost in thought for a second. Then— “That was bloody real?”

“What was?” asked Emma.

He sat up, regarding her with both suspicion and shock. “The dream I thought I had of you, up until you foolishly returned.” Emma glared at him flatly as he went on, “I saw…”

“Yourself,” finished Emma impatiently. “Yeah. You punched yourself.” At his very perplexed expression, she went on, “I told him—you—it was a bad idea. So, blame yourself.” He blinked in utter confusion. But, at least, he seemed to believe her story. “Look,” said Emma, “we were on our way back to the future when some huge guys kidnapped him because they said he stole something and he needed to ‘pay for it’.” she finished in a bad facsimile of Killian’s abductor’s voice. Her eyes burning into Hook’s, she said, “What did you steal? Who are they and where did they take him?”

“You’re telling me,” said Hook slowly, “that there is a future version of me out here?”

“Yes,” said Emma through gritted teeth. “Now what did you—“

“Tell me, love,” said Hook casually enough, though the coldness in his words was back. “What is my future?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said exasperatedly. “Already I need to get you a Forgetting Potion to make sure you get to that future.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a million things happening behind guarded eyes. But finally, his brow lifted a fraction. “And I’m just supposed to believe this?" 

Emma groaned. “What proof do you want?” she said impatiently. “Your father abandoned you and Liam; you used to be in the Royal Navy; you became a pirate after what happened to Liam in Neverland; you’re currently on a suicidal mission to kill Rumplestiltskin for taking your hand and Mila—“

“Stop!” 

Emma froze, having been angrily ticking off the trivia on her fingers, to see Hook’s eyes with more emotion than she’s seen from this version of him yet. 

“How do you know all that?” he breathed. For once, his voice lost Hook’s edge, and he sounded like Killian. The danger evaporated from him in seconds, replaced with something almost... lost. “It’s—it's been centuries since—"

“You told me.” said Emma simply. 

“I… told you,” repeated Hook flatly, words rolling off his tongue like something foreign. The edge in his voice swiftly returned as he demanded angrily, “And why the bloody hell would I do that?” 

“How should I know?” snapped Emma, her anxiety getting to her and sharpening her own tone.

He rose to his feet, and Emma did not like the feeling that he was attempting to use his height over hers to intimidate her. He leveled a look at her, with something different in his eyes, something dangerous in a new way. “Tell me one thing, lass," he began, voice casual-sounding, but underlined with something that sent a shiver down her spine, "and maybe I help you.”

“Why wouldn’t you help me?” exclaimed Emma, standing her ground. “You’d be helping you!”

“That remains to be seen.” He stepped toward her, and damn it he didn’t even need the hook to be imposing. “Tell me, lass.” Another step, and Emma felt her back hit the wall, not even realizing she’d been retreating. His gaze bored into hers. “Do I get my revenge?”

Emma swallowed, suddenly feeling a familiar sense of dread as to when the past version of Rumplestiltskin had asked about whether or not he found Neal.

When the silence spread a little too long, she whispered, “Hook—”

“Do I, or not?” he demanded, voice clipped. Cold.

Dangerous.

Emma felt paralyzed.

The Hook—the Killian —standing before her was completely hellbent on getting his revenge. He’s been at it for centuries, and the anger and pain in his eyes overpowered the blue in them, so much so it was hard to remember that Killian and Hook were the same person.

And here, Hook was his vengeance right now.

There was hardly a spark of him.

If she told him the truth, that he not only doesn’t kill his crocodile, but chooses to live peacefully in the same town as the monster? Gives up not only his quest for vengeance, but turns into a hero?

And worse yet, that he lets go of Milah?

For her?

From the amount of anger she’s eliciting from him right now, she doubted he’d be happy to know that information in particular.

So, she decided to tell him the truth.

Or…

Part of it.

“No,” she said finally, watching his brow shift dangerously. “Not yet.”

He searched her eyes, his face like stone. “Not yet?” he repeated, voice low, almost threatening.

Emma swallowed the fear slipping down her spine, hoping she was still as good of a liar as she once was. “Not yet,” she confirmed, which, still, wasn’t a complete lie. She took a breath, holding his gaze, preparing herself. 

And she lied.

“I’m helping you get your revenge in the future,” she said smoothly. “The Dark One is currently living in a realm without magic. He’s vulnerable. I’m helping you get there.” She swallowed, her entire body rigid. Hook was pin-silent as Emma finished, “We accidentally got sent to the past on our way there. That’s why I need you to help me. If you don’t, you will never get your revenge.”

Emma fell quiet, holding her head high, clinging onto confidence she didn’t feel in the slightest.

Killian could read her like an open book.

If this version of him was as perceptive as he comes to be…

If he found her lying to him…

Again …

Emma tried to ignore the fear prickling in her veins.

He held her gaze, pinning her to the spot with his eyes alone. Watching her eyes carefully, his narrowed. 

Finally, he said, “Why are you helping me?”

Emma tried not to flinch at the obvious distaste in his voice. She thought fast, and found something that held nothing but truth. “Because,” she said, “you did me a favor. I’m repaying a debt.”

His brow lifted. “Quite the debt.”

Emma felt something stir in her chest, thinking of all that Killian has done for her. “It was quite the favor,” she said quietly.

His brows kneaded with question, like he wasn’t sure why he would bother to do her a favor.

Emma was quickly becoming irritated with this version of Hook.

“How are you helping me?” he asked then, gaze boring into hers, almost as if he was trying to poke holes into her story to see if it would leak. “Why do I need you?”

It was spoken so carelessly.

And it hurt.

Emma was surprised at the sudden burn behind her eyes.

She’d brushed off Killian’s affections, his obvious devotion to her, more times than she could count. 

And here he was, looking at her like he couldn’t have cared about her less.

How could she have wasted all the time she had with him?

Getting him back now was the longest of long shots, for—and it made sharp fear race down her spine— he could already be dead.

Blinking away the emotion, Emma huffed out a breath, trying not to appear as hurt by his words as she was. “I’ve got Light Magic,” she snapped, making surprise lift his brow. “You’re trying to kill the Dark One. Do the math.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, danger rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he spoke.

“I help you, and, him,” he muttered, uneasily over what to call his future self, “get back to your time,” he said slowly, “and then I will get what I want most?”

Emma felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips, for she didn’t have to lie for this one. “Yes.” 

He most definitely will. 

-.-.-.-. TBC

That’s why he wasn’t buying the shocked look on the witch sitting across from him face. Witches were loyal to their coven. There was no way that they would say or do anything against one of their own.   

“I don’t understand. What do you mean you think someone here had something to do with the murder?” The witch, Emma he believed her name was, said angrily. She was a beautiful woman. He thought so when he first saw her walking toward them earlier, all sweet smiles while welcoming them.

David turned and glared at him for the abruptness of his statement. “What my partner means, Ms. Swan, is we have come into some evidence that someone from this coven could be involved and we would like your input on the matter,” he said, trying to ease the tension he could feel between his partner and the woman in front of him.

Emma threw one last heated glare at the dark haired man before turning her attention back to Guard Member Nolan. “What kind of evidence do you have?”

David reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Opening it he took out two photographes. "Ms. Swan, can you tell me if you recognize this woman?” he asked, passing her one of the pictures.

When Emma looked at the photo she gasped at the image. “Oh my God! That’s Glinda!” she exclaimed in horror.

“Glinda?” David asked. 

“She’s one of our senior witches or she used to be.” Emma whispered, still not believing what she was seeing. “What happened to her?”

“I’m very sorry to say that she was in the sanctuary when it was burned down,” David told her sympathetically.

Emma looked up at him in confusion. “Why would Glina be in a sanctuary? She wasn’t running from anyone.”

David went to respond but was interrupted. 

“What do you mean she used to be your most senior witch?” Killian asked sharply.

 Emma turned to glare at him. “She left the coven. Relocated back to her hometown,” she responded through clenched teeth. 

“When did she leave?” David inquired gently, hoping to put the young witch at ease after his partner's abrasiveness.

“She left about a week ago,” Emma said while still shooting daggers at Jones.

“Did she tell you, or anyone, why she was leaving?”David questioned further.

Emma turned to him and shook her head. “No. She left in a hurry. She didn’t even say goodbye to anyone.”

Killian scoffed.

“Do you have something to say?” Emma demanded. 

“Aye. You're telling me that one of the most senior witches of your coven just up and left without any explanation and nobody found that the least bit suspicious. I thought you witch types were supposed to be smarter than that," Killian said harshly.

"Now you wait a damn minute! I don't know who you think you are but you have no right coming into this coven and speaking to me in this manner! I don't give two shits if you are a Guard Member!" Emma yelled, rising to her feet to stand in front of him. She knew she shouldn't be talking to him like this but he was being a dick.

Killian looked up at her speechless. He didn't expect that sort of reaction. She was gorgeous standing before him, blonde hair tousled and green eyes on fire. She was magnificent and if she hadn't been a witch he might have been tempted. Too bad that she was.

“Okay. Why don’t we all just calm down and take a deep breath," David suggested as he quickly rose and stood between them.

"I certainly hope you don't conduct all your investigations like this." Emma seethed All the while narrowing her eyes at Jones, who had the audacity to smirk at her.

"No. You'll have to excuse my partner, it seems he left his manners at home," David said, turning to Killian and silently telling him to shut the hell up. His partner rolled his eyes then gave him a quick nod of his head.

Emma sat back down trying her best not to pay Jones any attention. Taking a deep breath she faced Nolan. "I don't understand, Glinda didn't have any reason to seek shelter in a sanctuary. She wasn't cast out and she certainly didn't abandon us. What was she doing there?" she lamented, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Glinda was dead. 

"It might have something to do with this," David said, passing her the other photo. "Does the symbol look familiar to you?"

Emma took the photo and frowned at the image, it was a little hard to make out what with it being traced in what she assumed was ashes. It was a dagger with what looked like a rose wrapped around the blade. "No. I've never seen this before. What is it? " She asked, handing back the photo.

David  exchanged a quick glance at Killian silently communicating with his partner before turning back to the witch. "Ms. Swan.." except he didn’t get the chance to finish his question because a voice interrupted him. 

“What on earth is going on here?” 

All three heads turned toward the sound of the voice to see a dark haired woman walking towards them. She had the air of authority around her and judging by the look on her face, she was not pleased with the situation she walked in on.

“Regina,” Emma said as she hastily rose to her feet and out of the corner of her eye she saw the two men do the same. Her aunt looked as poised as ever but Emma could see a slight bit of nervousness that was uncommon for Regina. "These gentlemen are with the Guard." 

"Yes. I know," Regina says matter of factly before turning toward Nolan. "Hello, David," she said in greeting, her tone oddly fond.

"Regina," David says coldly, his demeanor instantly changing in the presence of the woman.

Regina smirked slightly at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this impromptu family reunion?"

"We aren't family," David said harshly.

Emma and Killian looked at each other in confusion. Their mutual animosity was forgotten for a moment as they watched. 

Killian looked at his partner in shock. "Wait a bloody minute. You know her David?" 

“Unfortunately,” David responded.

“Oh! David you wound me,” the dark haired witch said mockingly.

“Enough! Regina we’re here on High Counsel business,” David said firmly

“What kind of business?” Regina asked in an annoyed tone.

“Glinda’s dead, Regina,” Emma informed her gently.

“What,” Regina says, clearly taken aback.

“There was a fire at a sanctuary, it was burned to the ground. Glinda was inside,” Emma explained.

“How do you know it was Glinda?” she asked, with a stricken look on her face.

Killian, having had enough of beating around the bush, grabbed the envelope out of David’s hand. “Because of these,” he said, taking the photos out and tossing them on the table. He watched as Regina took in the images before her. A sense of delight went through him as he saw her eyes widen. “Look familiar?” he asked, gesturing toward the photo of the dagger and rose symbol.

“That symbol has nothing to do with me,” Regina hissed in contempt.

“Regina, do you know what it means?” Emma asked her aunt.

“It’s nothing!” she said dismissively.

“Oh, you know it’s not nothing.” Killian said before turning to Emma. “It’s the insignia of a very dangerous dark magic user, one your aunt knows very well,” he said, throwing a smirk Regina’s way.

“You need to stop talking right now,” Regina said, taking a menacing step toward him.

“It’s the reason that she’s dead. The fire didn’t kill her,” Killian informed them, not backing down.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

“Our head healer came to the conclusion that Glinda’s heart was crushed from within,” David informed them while casting a pointed look at Regina.

Emma gasped. “That’s impossible! That’s a dark magic act and it’s been outlawed for centuries.”

“Darling, if you actually believe that, then you are more naive than I thought.” Killian

sneered at her.

Emma could feel herself start to tremble with rage at the man standing across from her. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what kind of jackass he was but never got the chance because suddenly a loud bang rang out.

All eyes turned toward the sound. David had apparently taken out his sword and slammed it onto the table. “Enough! this isn’t doing us any good!” he said, his voice filled with anger. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Obviously we aren’t getting anywhere, so for right now we’ll be leaving,” he turned to look at Regina, “but make no mistake. We’ll be back.”

“David you can’t be serious,” Killian said, clearly not happy with his partner's decision.

“Let’s go,” The older man said as he picked his sword and the pictures up off the table. 

Killian leveled a glare at the two witches before he turned and followed his partner to the door.

XXX

When they got outside Killian turned to David. “What the hell was that!?” He demanded.

“Not now, Killian,” David said through clenched teeth. He knew that coming here was going to be tough, but he thought he could handle it. He had almost breathed a sigh of relief when instead of Regina another witch had come to greet them. That relief was short lived of course when the woman he hated with every fiber of his being walked into the room. David would normally call himself a pretty level headed and calm person but he knew he had to get out of there before he did something he regretted. He took a few deep breaths to calm down before heading down the path towards their car. 

“David. Would you hold on a minute,” Killian said once he caught up to his partner. 

“What!” David snapped as he spun around to face the younger man.

Killian stopped in his tracks, slightly taken aback by the older man’s demeanor. “What’s gotten into you, David?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just get back to the compound,” David said tersely before getting into the car and slamming the driver's side door behind him. 

Killian stood there in shock until the sound of the car starting broke him out of it and he quickly got in the car. The drive was quiet, neither man said anything for fear of setting the other off. Killian stared out the window thinking back on the interview. To say it was a disaster would be an understatement and if he were being honest Killian was one of the main reasons why it was. He knew that he let his anger get the better of him and it might hurt the investigation to come.

Killian turned to look at David and a stab of guilt went through him. He owed the man literally everything, Killian would be dead in a ditch somewhere if it wasn’t for David. Before becoming a Guard Member, Killian’s life had been hell. His Mother had died when he was young leaving him and his older brother to be raised by their absentee father. Parenthood didn’t agree with their no good father anymore and after a few years, he left in the middle of the night and then it was just him and Liam on their own until..it was just him. 

When David found him he was angry, vengeful and on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid. David had talked him down. He had brought Killian back with him to The Guard Headquarters and since then, David had been his mentor, partner and friend. Becoming a Guard Member had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had found a community of people that he loved and respected including David’s wife Mary Margaret, who welcomed him with open arms. 

The car coming to a stop pulled Killain back to the present and saw that they had come to a stop in front of David and Mary Margaret’s house. “Dave. What are we doing here? Shouldn’t we be heading back to headquarters and briefing them on what happened?” 

David didn’t look at his partner as he turned off the car, still too angry about everything that happened. If David was being honest he wasn’t really even all that mad at Killian’s behavior tonight. He knew how the younger man felt about witches, so he wasn’t entirely surprised by his reaction. No, David was angry because he had to go and tell his wife everything that happened tonight and he was not looking forward to it. With a deep sigh he opened the door and stepped into the cool night air. 

“David what’s going on? Why are we here?” Killian asked again. Concerned about how quiet his partner was being.

David finally turned to look at Killian as the younger man came around the car and stood next to him. “I need to talk to Mary Margaret,” he said wearily.

Killian looked at him in confusion. “About what?”