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just like a ghost whisperer

Happy start of CSSNS 2022! I was lucky enough to have the first posting date so of course this piece is a monster. So excited to see all the other works being shared for @cssns this year!

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SUMMARY: It figures that the gorgeous house Emma’s renting on Boston’s coast has something wrong with it. She would have preferred a leaky sink or creaking stairs — anything but the ghost of Captain Hook haunting her. Between his annoying habits and flirtatious advances, the two of them work together to unravel a murder mystery, discovering something deeper along the way.

RATING: T for language, violence, and very very mild suggestive themes!

STORY WORD COUNT: 25,031 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, CSSNS, implied/referenced child abuse, ghosts, Just Like Heaven AU, Ghost Whisperer AU, mature language, violence, and mildly suggestive themes

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hahaha this was originally going to be 3k-8k words and then four days ago i decided to add massive plot. i'm so sorry hahahaha.

***

Packing tape smells horrendous. That’s the only thought running through her head as she seals another cardboard box shut.

60 days left.

The apartment that’s been home to herself and Henry for the last four years would just be another on a long list of residences they’ve spent time in. But Emma would not be able to stomach the $400 rent increase. It’s something engrained in her from the foster system and the years following Henry’s birth, stretching her dollar as far as it would go and sometimes going without if it meant her kid could have the formula he needed. Even though she can afford the price hike now, her gut refuses to let her stay.

Plus, she doesn’t think she can handle another leasing year with Albert Spencer as her landlord. Spencer thrives on making others miserable, she swears it. He even campaigned with the local and state officials to get rid of the cap on rent hikes.

Asshole.

Someone could tell her that his other company of vehicle rentals was a front for drug trafficking and murder and she’d believe it. He had a snide look on his face the moment she first signed her lease years ago, like he was about to swindle her out of all her money. Then came the disgust whenever he saw her paying her rent like he couldn’t believe he let the likes of her rent in his building.

A list of names, addresses, and photos are probably hidden somewhere in his own dwelling and he crosses off enemies as he goes, eliminating them by kicking them out, reporting them to authorities, and/or the possibility of killing them.

She’s only joking about that last part. Somewhat.

She’s kept them here for so long because it gave Henry’s life stability and the location was ideal. Who cares if she’s probably at the top of Spencer’s list because of the complaints from her neighbor Mrs. Norberry about Henry’s late night gaming - the price on top of everything else was too good to pass up.

In fact, maybe the increase wouldn’t be so bad?

“60 DAYS, RESIDENTS!” the man himself yells from the hallway, banging on doors as he passes them and repeats his message.

Nope. Definitely need to move.

Henry hasn’t had an issue with the prospect of them moving. He goes to his part-time job at the docks after school, then comes home and finishes his homework before spending the rest of his evening on different listing sites.

“Do you even want to stay in Boston? I mean, we can go anywhere.” His excited voice echoes in her head as she takes in the half-packed apartment. Part of her wonders if she’s doing the right thing.

Constantly moving, never setting down roots - that has been her whole life. Staying in one place for too long makes her itch but that’s the last thing she wants for her kid.

Despite what her long list of driver’s license address changes might say, she wants the house with the white picket fence and the dog and everything that screamed a normal happy life in every sitcom she watched growing up. The only problem lies in the fact nowhere has ever felt like home. The closest she ever came was a small cottage town further up the coast. They got plenty of snow in the winter and the summer never got unbearably hot like it did in Tallahassee. But she was young when she was there and the locals were getting suspicious of the nights she spent in her car with Henry in his carseat so she drove right out of Florida.

Hard to believe it’s been nearly 16 years since then.

Ding!

The chime from her laptop pulls Emma from her musings and she hurries to her feet. The packing tape rolls away from her and the scissors clatter to the floor but she pays it no mind. With the rental market being as insane as the housing market right now, a minute delay in correspondence could mean she loses out on a potential apartment.

Disappointment fills her chest when she sees it’s just a reply from one of her contacts but it quickly disappears when she notices what it’s regarding.

*

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: RE: Jones

Found some info that might be related to your missing person case. It’s a few years old so no idea if it’s even worth anything but figured it didn’t hurt to send it your way.

Will

*

Emma sits up straight, shoulders tense as she reads over the protected document he attached to the email. Most of the information included are things she already knows. However, at the very end of the document, she sees a new address that belongs to the person she’s been hunting for the past two years. It’s not listed under their name on any other forms or documents. Hell, they might not even still live there but it’s a start and it’s more than enough for her to go off of.

She spends the rest of the afternoon elbow deep in research at the cramped kitchen island. They’ve been able to make do over the past couple of years with such a tiny living space but perhaps the rent increase is fate stepping in. Paperwork she has compiled for this case over the last two years covers every inch of the island, extending over to the countertops and the coffee table. She prides herself on completing her jobs, or handing the few she couldn’t over to someone who could. But this case has been nagging at her since she took it up, even if it has become her white whale.

It was supposed to be easy; family separations usually are for her. She’s a pro at finding people, even if she’s never found her own parents, and the fact that this is the one case where the separated party completely dropped off the grid without any kind of job, social media, or education over the last ten years astounds her. They must be living in the midwest farmlands where there’s nothing for miles.

The address Will sent her, however, is for right here in Boston.

After cross-referencing the legitimacy of the information, she bites her lip. Temptation to check it out for herself, to know that she can finally close this case, almost wins out but she refrains. All her client wants is the information. What they do with it after is up to them and the last thing she needs is bad reviews or word of mouth telling everyone that she inserted herself deeper into personal matters than she was hired for.

Rolling her shoulders and cracking her fingers, Emma takes a deep breath and opens her email again.

*

Hello Mr. Jones,

I am happy to inform you that I’ve received information regarding your brother’s whereabouts. I assume that you still wish to avoid discussing this over the phone but I feel this will be best shared in person rather than over email. Are you available to meet in the future to review the information further? Please let me know what times work best for you.

Emma Swan

Private Investigator

617-555-0810

P.S.: I really think we found him this time.

*

Ms. Swan,

I was delighted to see your email in my inbox this evening. I appreciate the hard work you’ve put into this case over the last two years and look forward to this newest development. Have you heard of Book & Bistro over on Chelsea Street by Constitution Marina? I’m available tomorrow at 3:30pm if that works well for you.

I cannot express my gratitude enough.

Jones

*

Emma did, in fact, know Book & Bistro. The small cafe near the harbor was where she sat while Henry interviewed for his after-school job. Its placement on the corner of a large building makes it the perfect viewing area for the boats coming into Boston. While she’s never lived anywhere that felt like home, being near the water is the closest she can get. It calms her and lets her weary bones melt into her seat.

Most of the walls of Book & Bistro are covered in bookcases filled with every genre imaginable. What doesn’t hold books holds plants, the greenery adding life to the bright and airy space to keep it from feeling sterile. It feels like a retreat and the perfect place to get lost in a sandwich and a book which was exactly what she did while she waited for her kid.

It’s exactly what she does now as she waits for Mr. Jones to show up for their meeting. She nabs A Christmas Carol off the shelf despite summer creeping just around the corner, nibbles on her BLT, and waits.

And waits.

She checks her watch repeatedly, the minute hand slowly bringing her into the next hour. The door opens but no one even glances around the shop looking to meet someone. His email to her is the first thing she sees when she unlocks her phone, double checking the date and time.

Everything is correct. Mr. Jones should be here. The man spent months trying to get her to take his case, emailing her and even calling her one time, his accent distracting her just enough during the call that she missed his first name. (Things snowballed from there and she’s been too embarrassed and stubborn to ask for it since.)

Mr. Jones apparently had tools at his disposal to look into the search for his brother but couldn’t use them himself. Legal reasons, he had supplied and she shrugged it off. A good quarter of her clients are either hiring her from jail or have a record that any misstep could send them back. Who is she to judge with a record of her own?

Most of her means to find someone are legal, now easily figured out through social media postings. But she does have a few underhanded tricks that skirt the line of legality that any straight-laced person would shy from.

Sighing, she checks her phone again and texts Henry that she’ll be home in twenty minutes. He’s off from his job today and should be arriving at their apartment any moment now.

With any other client, Emma would’ve left a half hour ago but she decides to wait a few more minutes still.

Standing someone up doesn’t seem to be in Mr. Jones’ nature yet it’s the exact situation she finds herself in. It’s not the first time Emma’s been left in the dust by a client and it won’t be the last, but Mr. Jones’ guilt-ridden emails and pleas to find his brother leaves her surprised. She trusts her gut, her instinct being the only thing that’s kept her alive, off the streets, and away from jail again in the time since she left juvie. It tells her that his search is genuine and she can trust him.

She guesses even her gut isn’t infallible.

Pushing out of her chair and cleaning her space, Emma exits the bistro. She passes by a few emergency vehicles on the scene of an accident of sorts, nothing that uncommon in such a big city, and nods to the police officers she recognizes as she walks towards her car a block away. She calls Henry to let him know she’ll be longer than her twenty minute text message originally said. Sitting in traffic, she types up a quick email to ask Mr. Jones where he was today and if there was another meeting time that would work better before hitting send and turning up the radio to distract herself from the long ride home.

*

The apartment is quiet when she opens the door. Her keys clatter to the misshapen bowl Henry made in art class last year that sits in their entryway as she kicks off her shoes. It’s blue and doesn’t sit quite right but it reminds her of the art projects he brought home in kindergarten so she keeps it out even though he begs her not to.

“Mom, please,” he says. Clean room, nice shirt, and cologne - all signs that he was nervous about Violet coming over for their study date. “Can you please put that away?” He gestures to the bowl on the entryway table and reaches for it.

“Uh, no,” she responds. She softly slaps his hands away and stands in front of her new prized possession.

“But Violet is in my art class. She’ll know that it isn’t some project I made as a little kid. It’s embarrassing.”

“Well, if you want her to like all of you then that includes your minimal artistic talents. Seriously, stick with words, kid. Your writing more than makes up for your pottery.”

He whines and Emma imagines him stomping his feet like he did when he was small. “Moooooom.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupts them and she watches her son stand up straight and hold his head up high. He nervously runs his hands down his shirt and checks the mirror over Emma’s shoulder before giving her a look. It screams ‘Please go away’ and she decides to be merciful and hide in the kitchen as her son opens the door for his first study date.

The only thing she hears is Violet’s giggle and melodious voice as she comments, “Aw, it’s sweet your mom loves it so much she keeps it out here.”

Coming home to silence was an adjustment this year. Once Henry got his afterschool job to supplement his Fortnite addiction, often heading straight to the nearby harbor once class let out, Emma found the quiet of their apartment to be her companion more often than her son.

When summer break starts, Henry will only be home for a few days before leaving for the six-week writing program the University of Southern California is hosting for high schoolers.

It’s the longest they’ve been apart since she was in juvie. She’s tried to prepare herself for it as best she can, taking less cases while he’s home so she can busy herself once he leaves. But she knows she’s going to be lost without him and it’s not a concept she wants to deal with until he goes off to college. If then.

She shifts the pizza boxes from one hand to the other and calls for her kid only for him to come bounding out of his room with excitement clear on his face.

“Okay, hear me out,” he begins and Emma cries out internally. Henry’s taken up the habit of searching the Best of cities and searching how the housing market there compares with their budget. She’s not sure if it’s from an unstable life or his thirst for an adventure like the ones he reads in his books, but it’s becoming clear that her son doesn’t have a reason to care much for Boston. Especially after things with Violet fizzled out to just friends.

Oh God, is he trying to run from a breakup like she’d done?

Emma puts the pizza on the island, clear of yesterday’s paperwork which sits collected in a haphazard pile next to the microwave, and gives Henry her full attention as he holds his hands out in front of him like he’s calming a dangerous animal.

“How do you feel about the U.S. Virgin Islands?”

*

Five and a half weeks later…

She’s been ghosted by clients before. It’s unsurprising, given what so many of them hire her to investigate, but she’s never had a client wait two years for information just to drop their communication the moment she announces she has the final piece of the puzzle. Especially when the client is Mr. Jones.

But she brushes it off as best she can and takes on the easy cases of cheating spouses that she can work on while Henry finishes his sophomore year.

It becomes a painless routine for her.

Wake up, check apartment listings, see Henry off to school, follow scumbag spouse to insert seedy motel here and snap a few pics of them with a coworker, prostitute, or neighbor. The stakeouts are boring and she’s run out of podcasts to listen to but she keeps a vigilant eye out for movement. Apartment hunting is a pain and she’s often beaten to the lease signing by another renter.

And then Henry leaves and she surrounds herself with work. Her kid sends her sporadic video updates from the other side of the country between their lunchtime phone calls, Emma filling her calendar with cases after clearing it up for some mother-son bonding time before he left. Cardboard boxes have joined her lonely companionship with the apartment’s silence and, for someone who spent so much of her life alone, she feels empty. Having Henry consumed her entire life for the past 16 years in the best way possible. But now she doesn’t know how to have a life outside of him and his weeks away have left her floundering.

Now her main purpose lies with condensing their belongings into boxes and trying to make sure she can keep a roof over their heads. If it means swallowing her pride and signing for another year at the higher rate just so her kid doesn’t get an inkling of the uncertainty she faced at his age, it’d be worth it. All it would mean is more cases.

It’s right as her work email alerts her to a new message that Boston PD detective David Nolan gives her a call.

She knows him best from her time as a bail bondsperson when they first moved to Boston before starting her own business. He was her receiving officer more times than she can count and, according to Instagram, recently celebrated the birth of his first kid.

“Hey, David,” Emma says absentmindedly as she maneuvers her way through the growing pile of boxes. “How’s Baby Nolan?” Hearing from him is certainly a surprise, especially with a newborn at home. He’s probably wondering when she can come over for dinner one of these days. His wife insists that she and Henry join them for dinner at least once a month, though that went to the wayside with the baby along the way.

“Not letting us get any sleep, so good. Do you still need a place to stay?” David’s voice, despite sounding worn and worried, offered a pillar of strength she needed amongst her own stresses.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on a mansion just outside of the city.”

His chuckle reaches her ears and warms her chest. David’s the only man that’s never set off any alarms from her superpower and while their communication has become limited as of recently, his presence in her life is still that of a protective big brother. “Not a mansion, but definitely a place to stay for now.”

Emma perks up, her back straightening. “I’m listening. What’s the catch?”

“It’s being sublet on a month by month basis. And there’s a bit of construction on pause at the moment.”

“Meaning?”

“The owner was renovating when they ran into an unexpected incident and won’t be able to resume work anytime soon.”

Immediately, her shoulders drop. She’s not sure which condition is worse - living in uncertainty on a month by month basis or dealing in a stopped construction site. “I wouldn’t suggest this place to you unless I thought it could work,” David says soothingly. “It belongs to a family I know and they’re only asking for enough so it could help cover some of the taxes when they’re due in December.”

Emma sucks in a breath as David describes the home. Nestled in Storybrooke, a small area compiled of a couple of blocks in Nahant, the house sits at the end of a street right on the water. It has plenty of bedrooms that she won’t have to deal with any of the areas of construction and the view is incredible. Most importantly, the rent is cheaper than what she’s paying now.

“I’m in.”

*

“Kid,” Emma huffs, ear pressed to her shoulder to hold her phone as she hobbles through the front door with a box in hand. “This place is gorgeous. Half-finished, but gorgeous. I swear, David’s friend has to be a millionaire to get this property.”

Henry’s response is muddled between bites of cheesy puffs. His words only become clear once he swallows. “Think you’ll still be renting it when I finish up in three weeks?”

“Yeah kid,” she groans as she drops the box in the foyer, eyes glancing around to the kitchen and dining room to her left and the expansive living room to her right. From the way the house is positioned on the lot, nearly every window has a view of the ocean. In fact, the view from the living room’s bay window is her favorite. “We’ll have at least one week left by then before they realize how cheap they’re renting it for and decide to kick us out next month.”

“Mom,” Henry starts. She can tell he’s grinning by the way his voice changes, amused by her pessimism. “Have a little hope. Just a tiny bit.”

“You know you’ve got all the hope in the family,” she teases. “We balance each other out.”

He laughs and starts to say something before she hears chattering in the background. “Lunch is over so I’ve gotta go. Love you!”

“Love you too, kid.”

She smiles small, a gesture all for herself, as she puts her phone on the window seat. How lucky is she to have a kid like Henry? A kid who enjoys spending time with her and calling her while he’s away. Who isn’t afraid to tell her he loves her and when he misses her.

Taking a deep breath in, she looks around the living room.

This is what she wants to give her kid. The same thing she’s wanted for so long.

A home.

“The boxes won’t come in themselves…” she whispers to herself, sighing as she turns to head out to the U-Haul she rented.

Only she stops in her tracks, eyes wide and breath stolen for her as a man stands in the foyer just feet from her, open door behind him. Dressed in black leather pants, a billowing black shirt, matching velvet vest, and a black leather duster, his scruff looks artifully shaved and his blue eyes pierce into her soul. When she thinks back on this moment later, she’ll admit that the man is pure sin. A delectable treat for the eyes. But for now, she yells in surprise and rushes to grab a nearby object, the only one being a lamp. She pulls it hard into her hand, yanking the plug from the socket.

“Bloody hell!” the man yells at her. “What are you doing in my house?!”

“Your house?!” Emma nearly shrieks. “This isn’t your house!”

“Like hell it isn’t! I bought it specifically for that view there!” the stranger yells back. It’s only when he raises his left hand to point at the window behind her that she realizes he has no left hand at all. Instead, a hook protrudes from a cuff around his wrist. Her heart pounds as he leaves the hook arm up and steps closer, eyebrows furrowed in a menacing gaze. “I don’t know who you believe you are lass, but you better get off my - ”

Fight or flight instinct kicks in and Emma chooses both. She darts forward, right arm pulling back before launching forward in a punch. The action cuts off his sentence, his startled surprise at her movement the only sound she hears. Except he must have stepped back because her punch doesn’t land.

However, her escape out the open front door is now clear and she rushes past the stranger, down the porch steps and into her U-Haul. Kitchen pots and pans be damned, she can buy new ones.

*

Emma sits in the driver’s seat of the U-Haul as she watches the house, one hand on the ignition and the lamp resting in the passenger seat. The mystery man, however, never comes out. There’s something about him that doesn’t allow her to leave so she waits.

David arrives a half hour later, rushing out his patrol vehicle and to her driver’s side door in a heartbeat.

“Emma, are you okay?” he asks, eyes rovering over her person to assess any injuries.

She glares at him as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. Technically it’s David’s fault she’s in this mess. He was the one who had a friend that had a place. A place where herself and Henry were supposed to be the only occupants of. If this actually turns out to be a roommate situation with all of the bedrooms rented out, she is gonna kill him then leave. “I’m fine but I thought you said the house was empty. I need you to talk to the crazy guy in there to find out if I’m out of a place or if he needs to leave.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, David, I’m fine. Now go fix this, please.”

David rolls his shoulders and sighs, turning to head into the house with one hand resting on his gun. Aside from the fact hers is safely packed away, the last thing she would ever want is something else on her record. Things are hard enough as it is.

Silence fills the area by the truck and her continual glances around the property doesn’t show any movement or the stranger making a run for it. So she waits.

And waits.

And honestly, if David isn’t out within the next two minutes then she’s going in, stranger be damned and–

As if reading her mind, David steps out of the house and makes his way to her side.

“All clear,” he says, hands on his hips. “No one is inside.”

“Where did he go then? No one has left,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Well, there’s always the ocean.” His joking grin is merely met with a glare so he clears his throat. “What did the gentleman look like again?” he asks, pulling up the notes app on his phone.

“Dressed in all leather, looked like a pirate.” She swallows hard before saying the next part. She knows she’s not crazy – she knows what she saw. But that doesn’t mean he won’t think she is. “And he had a hook for a hand.”

David immediately stops. He stares at his screen for a moment before his eyes meet Emma’s, scrutinizing her. Judgment complete, a sort of glee lights up his eyes, smirk playing on his lips, and she inwardly groans. “Are you telling me that Captain Hook is haunting your temporary housing?”

“I’m being serious,” she insists, slapping his arm as he begins to giggle. “I saw someone in there. They are real.”

“I didn’t see anyone. I can guarantee you that the owner won’t be around anytime soon. Are you sure you saw someone and you’re not just tired?”

She is exhausted but she trusts her gut and she knows she wasn’t alone. “David.”

The look David gives her is full of sympathy and it makes her want to cry. It took her a long time to discern the difference between sympathy and pity but David gets her and knows that pity would be the last thing she ever needed. “Look, I think you’ll be safe here tonight. Just remember to lock all your doors and windows. If you want, you can always stay on my couch until you find someplace new. You’d just have to take over my diaper changing turns.”

Emma snorts, a small smile making its way onto her face. “Nice try but no.”

“Do you want me to set up my patrol car out here and keep an eye out?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just stay here tonight.” She adds, without any convincing, “I’m sure you’re right and I’m just tired.

He gives her a look like he doesn’t think there’s anything to look into but she ignores it. Aside from the situation with Mr. Jones, her gut hasn’t led her astray in over a decade. If it tells her that what she saw wasn’t nothing then she’s sticking with it.

The night passes slowly. She sits on the bay window, Henry’s old baseball bat in hand, and keeps an eye out for movement in the backyard while she listens for footsteps in the house. The lamp is back in its spot on the end table but she doesn’t turn it on. Instead, flames flicker from the fireplace casting a dull light over the room. There’s no furniture in the house yet, just the end table and its lamp, but she thinks this is the kind of place people make a home.

It’s quiet on the water, the waves calmly lapping against the bulkheads in a way that’s so soothing she nearly falls asleep sitting up. She catches herself being mesmerized by the glow of the moonlight on the ocean and stifles her yawns until the sun comes up.

By the time early morning rolls around, she checks all the doors and windows again before going upstairs to where her air mattress sits on the floor of the primary bedroom. Catching a few hours of sleep before David inevitably checks on her is all she can think about now.

*

Sweat trickles down her back from the July heat as she continues unpacking the U-Haul. The rental is only for another 24 hours so she needs to be done by then, even if it means paying Will in beer to get him to come move a few things for her.

The first thing she did when she woke up was take out her gun. It sits holstered on her hip and she keeps one eye out for the mystery man’s appearance as she pulls tables and chairs from the truck but it’s been quiet since she woke.

It’s not until an hour later that she sees him. The sun glints off of the water creating a glare in her vision for just a moment but it’s long enough for the man to appear.

“Hey!” she yells, pulling her gun out and aiming it towards him. Her thumb sits on the safety, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. “What are you doing here?!”

“Lass,” he nearly groans, glare etched deep in his features. “We covered this yesterday. This is my home so it’ll be in your best interests if you leave now.”

“You’re the one who needs to leave.”

“Don’t make me get rid of you. Leave now.”

At his threat, the safety comes off and her pointer finger sits on the trigger. “Or what?” She knows that she’s egging him on, daring him even, but she won’t let him scare her.

He steps closer, hooked arm pointed towards her from his side, and drops his voice low. “Or I will forcibly escort you off my property. It won’t be pretty.”

“Stay back.” Steady voice and still hands, she continues aiming the gun at this Captain Hook figure even as she steps away from him.

The man merely laughs and rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because if you were going to then I’d already be dead.”

“Try me and we can find out.”

He growls as he speaks, saying, “Get. Off. My. Property.”

“No.”

“I tried to be nice, lass,” he says, resigned and angry. He moves towards her, hooked arm extending to her person and in a flurry of motion, she pulls the trigger.

Vibrations run up and down her arms as she stares down the man in front of her. All that echoes is the sound of the gunshot. There’s no gurgling sound that she’s heard before as someone drowns in their own blood, there’s no gasping for last breaths, there’s no thud of a body collapsing to the ground. Her aim is impeccable, constantly getting bullseyes at the shooting range. So how could she miss?

“Bloody buggering fuck! Did you just fucking shoot me?!” he yells in disbelief, head tipping down to glance at his person in a hurry before glaring at her.

“Why aren’t you hurt?” she says, mostly to herself. Worry and fear seep into her voice and she doesn’t bother masking it as the shock overwhelms her. There was absolutely no way she missed.

“I can’t believe you shot me!”

Emma snaps out of her daze at that. Blinking, she moves her gaze to meet his.

“Of course I shot you!” she yells back, eyes narrowing on the man in front of her who has trespassed on the property twice and threatened her. Neither of them have moved which is fine with her because she doesn’t think her shaky legs can hold her weight at the moment.

“What do you mean of course?!”

“You threatened me with that!” She throws her arm not still holding the gun in the direction of his left arm, the hook shining under the July sun.

His eyebrows pinch together in anger as he holds it up for her to see, his words attacking her like it was a ridiculous assumption to make on her part. “You mean my hook? It’s practically my left hand now, love. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“How was I supposed to know that after everything you said,” she shoots back. Then her nose scrunches up in annoyance. “And I’m not your love.”

The man has the audacity to roll his eyes at her and in a huff, she points out that he’s fine so clearly she missed.

“Oh but you were so close,” he says through clenched teeth and a narrow gaze. “Felt the wind like it went right through me.” It takes a moment for his words to register and it fully sinks in once he moves to pace, ranting about her and how she needs to leave but he won’t go near her lest she shoot him again.

Blinking wildly, she looks at the mystery man and notices the inconsistency in the shed behind him. Right behind where he stood just moments before, the white shed is marred with a black spot. Sparing him one more glance, Emma puts the safety back on and tucks her gun back into her hip holster, marching right by Hook to inspect the shed.

A hiss escapes her mouth as her fingers gingerly touch the metal of the shed only to pull them back immediately from the residual heat. Definitely her bullet then. Which means she didn’t miss Hook. So how isn’t he hurt?

A low whistle from just behind her rings in her ear and she stiffens, refusing to let the man know that he was able to sneak up on her. Instead, she keeps her eyes trained on the bullet she embedded on the shed of the house she was renting.

Fuck.

She was definitely going to have to pay for this and get the homeowner a new shed.

“You’re going to have to replace that,” the man says. Ignoring the way that his accent sends chills down her spine, she plants her hands on her hips as she faces him, one eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

“You’re a bit of an open book to me, love,” he says, the cheeky tone only making her want to shoot him point blank. He shouldn’t even be this close to her but for some reason she’s allowing it. Instead, she lets her other eyebrow rise up and her lack of amusement be clear on her face.

“Still not your love,” she comments, rolling her eyes. “Now leave or next time I won’t miss.”

“Ah, ah. That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not leaving my own property.”

Biting back a groan, Emma starts. “Listen here you – ”

Except her words get caught in her throat as she pokes her finger at his chest just for it to go through him.

What. The. Fuck.

The two of them stand in shock as Emma’s finger remains half inside the man’s chest. His body starts to glow around the area and she swears she can see right through him to the grass beneath their feet. It’s as if he’s becoming transparent before her eyes and she feels the blood drain straight from her face.

She really is being haunted by Captain Hook.

“Wh-what did you do to me?” Captain Hook asks with a shaky voice, his eyes fixated on her finger. She rips her finger out of his chest and the only thing she feels is a cool embrace along her skin.

“I - I didn’t do anything,” she stutters. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, maybe call her a witch and demand she be burned at the stake or something, and she hates how she notices how this centuries old pirate, who probably didn’t even practice good oral hygiene while he was alive, has better teeth than her. She swallows to bring her focus back and manages to get out the words that neither of them can believe. “I think you’re a ghost.”

*

She hasn’t seen Hook since her realization the other day.

He had denied it, of course. Who wants to accept the fact that they’re dead and stuck as a ghost anyway? They spit words at each other, nasty words, and she may have wished him eternal damnation in hell, but he clearly wasn’t accepting the fact he died so maybe she could just scare him off.

Emma, though, isn’t one to take her chances. So after Hook turned and walked off – quite literally disappearing into nothingness as the sun glare from the ocean became too much – she figures that the best course of action is to discover what she should do the next time he appears. Because clearly he has some unfinished business with the property. Maybe treasure buried somewhere on it?

When she decides that her best course of research will be in obscure books that the library would take a few weeks to procure for her, she sets her sights elsewhere. Her growling stomach brings her back to Book & Bistro two days after the incident, the Reuben sandwich on their menu practically singing to her.

Belle, a short woman in tower-high heels, sensible skirt, and floral blouse rings her up before asking if she needs help finding a book to read while she eats.

“Actually,” Emma begins. Her eyes dart around the shop like she can’t believe she’s doing this but she sucks it up and asks anyway. “Do you have any books about ghosts? Err, getting rid of them specifically.”

Belle flits around the shop like she could navigate the shelves with her eyes closed, brown curls flying behind her. Something on her face must show her admiration when she’s handed a book for her small but growing pile. “I own the place,” the short brunette explains.

“Ah.”

“You might have to skip through a few passages but these four will have the most information regarding your concern.” Her smile is as white as it is wide and Emma can hear Henry in her head, joking that he’ll need sunglasses if she grins that big again.

Emma doesn’t realize she has a guest at her table until she takes a bite of her sandwich and glances up only to find Hook sitting opposite her. “Shit,” she murmurs between coughs, clearing her throat of the caught pieces of Reuben deliciousness. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses. No one in the cafe seems to be paying attention to her anymore after her coughing fit but she still doesn’t want to be seen as a crazy person. Belle’s inquisitive tilt of her head is her limit.

Still, Emma picks up her phone and holds it against her ear before turning to face Hook.

She doesn’t know why she expects him to be wearing something other than his pirate getup but he’s not. Dying in leather must mean one stays in leather as a ghost. Hopefully there’s no chaffing in the afterlife.

Ignoring the curiosity dancing across his features, Emma leans forward on the table under the pretext of studying one of her books.

“You haven’t answered me yet,” she whispers.

“Sorry love. I’m simply mesmerized by your skills,” he answers, part cheeky, part sarcasm, fully charming. His hook reaches forward as it to tap the phone and Emma holds her breath, eyeing it cautiously. She realizes now what an asshole she was, assuming that the hook was only there as a torture device and not something that was actually useful to have while on a ship.

Yes, she did her research, thank you very much. None of which ever mentioned Captain Hook being real.

“But I am here,” he continues and Emma blinks before meeting his gaze. “Because when you left today, I felt a tether linking myself to you. I was curious to test out its limits and surrendered to the pull. The next moment, I’m in the doorway of this fine establishment,” he breaks off for a second, a strange look on his face as he glances around Book & Bistro before he shakes his head and continues. “And you’re over here. I’ve felt small instances of this tether before, but never like this. And it never let me leave the property before too.”

She knows he’s telling the truth. Or at least her gut seems to think he is. Completely off her rocker or not, her gut rarely steers her wrong – Thanks Mr. Jones for ruining that streak – and it is not detecting a single lie.

“What, pray tell, are you doing here with all these lovely tomes instead of, say, at the library?” He lifts one eyebrow, an enticing look that has her leaning into his space subconsciously before she catches herself and looks at the pages before her.

“I am finding out ways to get rid of you.”

“Oi, don’t make me sound like a terrible houseguest,” he says, leaning back in his chair and tilting his chin up at her. “At least I don’t shoot other people.”

“Oh my god.”

She ignores his chuckles and spends the rest of the afternoon huddled at her table, Hook browsing over her shoulder on occasion. He disappears sometimes, where to, she has no clue, but then he comes back when she thinks of him or feels like she’s made a breakthrough and she’s not sure how to handle that. How does a ghost even get tethered to a stranger? Do they need to break the tether first before helping him move on or stop haunting the house? Her head starts to pound by the time the dinner rush comes in and she makes the executive decision to go home, Hook following or not, she doesn’t care.

*

So far she’s found no information about the tether and it leaves Emma stumped. She sure as hell doesn’t want to do anything that might hurt her. Self-preservation sits in her arsenal of survival instincts, always near the top and ready to be called on.

Unpacking had originally been her method to clear her mind. When she’s finished all of that – mainly the essentials because who knows when they’d have to leave this gorgeous home – she explores. Most of the first floor is done, the kitchen completely remodeled with light wood floors, a pale forest green on the cabinets, butcher block countertops, and the cutest white retro fridge and stove. There’s a room just to the left of the front door with windows lining all three walls. Bookcases fill the walls against the hallway and foyer, and she realizes within moments of entering that it’s a study of sorts, though the chair at the desk still looks brand new.

The rest of the floor is a gorgeous remodel that keeps the house’s original charm, from the window seat in the turret outcove to the brickwork scaling half the wall the fireplace is on, every inch of the house makes her jaw drop. That is, until she makes her way to the third floor.

The bedrooms on the second floor are in perfect condition, and the bathrooms hold the same exquisite marble slabs in the shower and subway tile backsplash by the sink. However, the third floor remains unfinished, exposed studs not clearly separating the area into defined spaces and the bathroom on this floor sits just as unfinished as the rest. Boxes of subway tile sit on the floor, supplies in front of the sink and only a few tiles actually on the way. It’s like whoever lived here before her just disappeared out of thin air.

So when she needs to contemplate what to do and she’s unpacked everything she can, she stands in the bathroom. Is it overstepping if she’s helping the owner finish what he started? Technically, she’d be a big help. Besides, one of her foster fathers worked in construction and brought her to the site to hang in the trailers when he couldn’t find a babysitter.

(Truthfully he didn’t care what she did as long as nothing interfered with his checks so she sat in on the tilers in the kitchen.)

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Emma hates to admit it but his sudden appearance makes her jump. Being a ghost and all, Hook doesn’t make any footsteps to warn of his arrival. He’s not even corporeal enough for her to attach a bell to.

“Yes,” she grinds out, putting all of her focus and then some on placing the tile in her hand onto the wall. In all honesty, she’s just glad she didn’t drop the tile. Knowing her luck, the contractor would have only bought enough to make no mistakes and it’d have been a super rare subway tile that’s been discontinued. Because, if the ghost haunting her new dwelling isn’t evidence enough, that’s the kind of luck she has.

“Your video device is proof of that?” He nods to her phone propped up on the counter playing a YouTube video.

“That’s it!” she exclaims in anger after pressing the tile on. “I am going to get rid of you even if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Last thing you do? Is that you wanting to spend an eternity with me, love?”

She can hear the smirk on his face in the way he presents his flirtations and it just makes her groan as she gets up and makes her way down the stairs to her room, but not before yelling out behind her. “And I’m not your love!”

*

The exorcist is first. Father Gold isn’t from a local church, as none of the ones in the immediate area have a priest readily available to perform such a task, but he comes dressed in his black robes and collar, a bottle of holy water in one hand and a silver crucifix in the other.

“Afternoon, Miss Swan,” Father Gold starts. She hears an echo of Hook in the kitchen practicing ‘Swan’ on his lips in different accents and it hits her that she never told him her name. Then Father Gold continues talking to explain what he’ll be doing. There’s an unease in her stomach as she listens, nodding along when appropriate.

At first, she thinks it’s because she feels bad for doing this to Hook. He’s not a bad guy, she’s come to accept. Just because he’s a nuisance doesn’t mean that she wants him to be melted with holy water. Still, she doesn’t interrupt Father Gold’s preparations.

It’s not until he starts (“May the power of Christ compel you!”) that she realizes the pit in her stomach is from Father Gold himself. He sweats like a sinner in church and from the way he stumbles over his introductory prayers, she initially puts it all down to nerves. She’s heard the stories, the difficulties of such tasks, but there’s something else with him. Something slimy about Father Gold.

“Have you even vetted your exorcist, Swan?”

Emma turns her head to see Killian standing beside her and watching as the priest holds his crucifix up near the fridge, the complete opposite side of the house they’re standing at, and waving his bottle of holy water in the air. Water droplets fall onto the wood and she can see Hook wince from the corner of her eye.

“You know you’re wiping that up, right? Too much water on these floors and it’ll warp the hardwoods.”

“Shut up,” she says from the corner of her mouth. Neither of them move from their spot, watching as Father Gold’s prayers increase in volume and passion and Emma’s face twists in disgust. “Is he even trying?” she asks herself, jumping slightly when she hears Hook’s snickering from her side.

She ignores him, refraining only just from rolling her eyes, and instead thanks the priest for his time once he’s finished, handing over the money donation for the church that Father Gold looks too eager to collect.

“You realize he was the one who needed an exorcism, right?”

“Shut up, Hook.”

“As you wish,” Hook begins, his gaze quickly darting down to the paperwork on the kitchen table. “Emma Swan.”

She likes the way his tongue works over every individual letter of her name. It’s like he caresses each letter like they’re his lover and it leaves her flushed, wondering what other things his tongue can do. Filing that thought away for later, she heads to her current bedroom, one that was probably Hook’s long ago, and makes her next call.

*

Zelena, the medium someone recommended on the NextDoor app, is as crazy as her curls suggest. Gorgeous red hair flows down her back in ringlets, the same kind of red Emma tried dying her hair to in middle school with Kool-Aid. The main difference lies in the fact that Zelena’s is completely natural… and that’s about the only positive thing she can say towards the woman.

The medium enters the house in a flourish, sniffing the air repeatedly before stopping in the living room. Hook eyes them suspiciously from where he lounges on the couch and Emma does all she can to not roll her eyes at his eyebrow raise.

“Hmm…” Zelena says, sniffing the air again. “Yes, yes. There is definitely a spirit here.”

“Yeah, I know,” she deadpans. “That’s why I called you.”

“Oh,” the redhead says, a smirk growing on her features as she steps closer to the center of the living room. “It’s a young spirit. One of a man.”

Hook sits up from his seat on the couch, instantly intrigued. He looks past Zelena to her and says, “She knows what she’s talking about.”

Glaring at him, Emma turns to Zelena with her hands on her hips. “So how do I get rid of him?”

“Let yourself…” The medium pauses, running her hands up and down her boy in frantic yet sensual motions. “Be free with him.”

Like the cat that caught the canary, Hook’s grin is wide and his eyes keep darting to her face but she refuses to acknowledge the flush that’s taken over her skin. Blaming it on anger seems like the easiest escape route. “You’re not seriously suggesting I offer myself up for ghost sex?!”

“Oh, I like her.”

“It seems that your ghost has some pent up issues,” Zelena says.

Crossing her arms, Emma glares at Hook, eyes sharp as daggers. “Clearly.” The pirate merely smirks and leans back into the couch again.

“I have reason to believe that he is… emotionally constipated, if you will.” It takes every ounce of acting ability that she’s honed over her years of bail-bonding and private investigating to not laugh out loud at the way that Hook’s face drops. “His inability to connect with someone of flesh before he passed on is preventing him from moving on. He regrets his failure to experience that action.”

Fighting to keep the amusement out of her voice is a spectacular failure but not one that Emma cares much for losing. She eyes Zelena and just barely keeps her smirk at bay. “So you’re actually suggesting I take a ghost’s virginity?”

“Why yes, dearie, exactly that.”

“Swan! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

Emma grins wide at her and places her hands over her heart, an attempt to look far more sincere than she is. “I’m so glad you know what you’re talking about.”

She steps aside and watches as Zelena prances around the living room, herbs and incense being waved about as the medium speaks to the ghost in her living room, asking him to open himself to them. Said ghost sulks in his seat, glaring at the redhead while he interjects every few sentences to assure her that while he’s not certain of many things, he’s certain he’s very practiced when it comes to enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.

Handing Zelena the fee for her appointment feels a lot like handing money to Father Gold. Both with underhanded motives and slimy smiles and ugh she just hopes their tactics work and are only experiencing a temporary delay, and she’ll wake up tomorrow with Captain Hook out of the house.

“For your information love,” Hook starts the moment Zelena leaves. He practically jumps out of the chair as he approaches the foyer where she stands, looking at her from under his eyelashes, tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip. “While I am no blushing deckhand, she may have had a point about – ”

“Absolutely not,” Emma cuts him off, face screwing up in disgust. “Entertain yourself with your hook instead.”

There has to be another option.

*

She has gone crazy. That is the only reason she actually scheduled an appointment with so-called ‘Ghostbusters’.

Greg and Tamara walk around the first floor of the house, the black machines strapped over the shoulders of their tan jumpsuits humming loudly and emitting various beeps at random. Hook stands by the bay window, eyes trained on the ocean just beyond the glass. He looks at ease there. Tension leaves his shoulders and if he could breathe, she imagines him taking long, deep breaths.

Much like the previous attempts, the two she’s dubbed as Ghostbusters Lite have no clue what they’re doing. They yell to each other from opposite sides of the first floor about the readings on their machines. The two of them inch closer to her basement door and Hook just raises his eyebrow at her like he can’t believe they’re actually letting these two go through with their scheme.

Greg and Tamara join at the basement door and do a show of yelling, shaking, and lights from their machines before they finally stop and take heaving breaths. “I believe we’ve got ‘em,” Tamara says as she wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from her forehead.

“Oh?” Emma says with feigned interest. She makes a show of a slow perusal of the first floor, narrowing her eyes only fractually as Hook remains by the window giving her the most unimpressed look she’s ever seen.

“Still here, love.”

“Yeah!” Emma suddenly says, grinning wide at Ghostbusters Lite as she digs in her purse. “I think you did too! Thank you!”

She hands the money to Greg and he counts it in front of her, his eyebrows furrowing as he sees she gave him the exact amount they agreed upon. “What? No tip?”

*

She refuses to tell David.

The last thing she needs is to have him concerned that she needs to do a stint under medical supervision for hallucinations. God, and she doesn’t need him laughing at her attempts to be rid of the ghost of Captain Hook.

Henry, however, is a different story.

“Is the place really haunted?” he asks the next afternoon after she lets slip about Ghostbusters Lite and their complete failure.

“I - uh,” Emma looks over at Hook standing in the bay window again, hand and hook clasped behind his back and posture straight as a board. “Yeah, kid, it is. But I’m trying to get rid of it.”

“Why?” She knows she shouldn’t, and she wouldn’t have if they weren’t over the phone, but she smiles at the whine in her son’s voice. For as much as he’s growing up, it reminds her of when he was younger and wanted to stay up to read just one more chapter, one more comic book, play one more level on his video game. Now he doesn’t have a bedtime, acting as self-sufficient as any adult. “Ghosts are cool,” he tries to reason. “Plus, it’s perfect writing inspiration when I get back. I could totally turn this into a science-fiction book or a horror novel. Mom, please don’t get rid of the ghost!”

“Henry,” she warns. “There is no way that I am going to let a ghost hang around the house annoying me – ”

“ – I beg your pardon! – ” Hook chimes in.

“Just because it might serve as inspiration for a book. Nice try kid, but no.”

“Moooooom!”

“I said no. Now,” she sinks down into the couch, happy she’s pulled the curtains back on the French doors so she can see the calming ocean waves from her perch, “tell me how your workshops are going.”

*

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“What are you talking about? I’m doing it just fine.”

“You’ve messed up the pattern, love.”

“No, I haven’t. I’m following the pattern exactly.”

“Yes, if whoever’s planning this work wants that wall’s design to be backwards.”

“Ughhhh!”

Emma stands up in a quick motion, hastily pulling her gloves off and throwing them to the floor. She angrily swipes at the hair that’s falling out of her bun and into her face and glares at Hook. If he weren’t dead already, he would be from the way her gaze burns him to the core.

“I am done! I don’t know how I’m doing it and I don’t care but I will be rid of you!” she shouts to the ghost relaxing against the third floor bathroom framework. “Come on now, Hook, don’t be shy. Tell me your unfinished business so you can leave me alone.”

He snarls, pushing himself off of his perch and standing straight. “No. I am not leaving my house, be it in my life or in my death.”

“Well you’re going to have to because I am not going to entertain a ghost for my summer!”

“Then you can leave!”

“You’re the one who needs to leave! Go find the light or the fiery pits of hell, I don’t care! Choose one and go!”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO!”

His chest heaves as if he’s struggling to breathe and she watches as he swipes his thumb against his lips, fury coming off of him in waves. For as much as their first interactions were full of yelling, she’s never heard him shout like this. With so much pain and anger. Not at her, though, but at himself. She imagines that this is the kind of feeling that he’d latch onto as a villainous pirate captain pillaging and plundering enemy ships. Vivid imagery of the hook coming out as a weapon rather than a hand comes to mind. He’d threaten his enemies with the point of the hook to their necks, use it to slice their stomachs open wide, dangle them from it over the side of the ship.

Blue eyes searching for the words he can’t bring forth, he drops his head in defeat. “I – I…” He makes a noise of frustration from the back of his throat. “There are things that I know and I don’t know why I do. But I do. Frivolous things like Netflix and the hairdryer! But I don’t recall a damned thing about my own life. Bloody hell, it’s like sailing through a fog.”

He paces back and forth in the unfinished third floor, tracing the steps again and again as he runs his fingers through his hair and taps his hook against his hip.

“You clearly remember enough to criticize my tiling.” Except her joke doesn’t land. She’s never been one to know what to do in emotional situations. Growing up, no one was at her side or holding her hand through it. Henry she could handle because he’s her kid so it’s different. Still though, there are more than enough moments where she struggles through it. Emotional breakdowns from the ghost haunting her house? She has no clue what to do but put her foot in her mouth.

“No.” He stops his pacing to snarl at her, his upper lip twisted to bare his teeth. “You have no idea what it is like to see a tendril of what might have been your life and go after it just to have it slip through your fingers leaving you adrift.”

“You have to figure out how to remember so that you can move on!”

“Pray tell, how do I do that, Emma? Since you seem to know bloody well everything else!” His anger is met with silence because she doesn’t know how. How can she help a ghost from hundreds of years ago remember?

His voice becomes increasingly hysterical and desperate as he stalks towards her, fire ablaze in his eyes. “I have no bloody clue who the hell I am or anything about my life. So stop forcing me out of the one place I do know. Because I’m not leaving.”

It’s not like it’s her fault that he’s stuck as a ghost in limbo. She didn’t do anything to cause that and she’d appreciate it if he’d stopped acting like she did.

Clenching her hands into tight fists at her side, she straightens her shoulders and stands tall. He will find that she can be defiant too.

She imagines he plans on striding downstairs, his leather duster swishing behind him as he gets in the last word but she won’t allow it. Instead, she bitterly lets out, “Join the club,” and steps right past him.

*

Memories of her past don’t haunt her dreams anymore. Or at least, they haven’t in so long that she forgot what they are like.

Tonight, she revisits her time with the Langston family and the mother who could barely keep herself upright from how badly she ran herself ragged for the other foster kids they accepted and the father who would be more concerned with how many beer cases or cigarettes he could purchase with the state checks. Mrs. Langston tries her best and has good intentions at heart but Mr. Langston looks at them with dollar signs in his eyes and for some kids even worse thoughts. The worse she has ever gotten from Mr. Langston has been when he uses her as his ashtray.

Most times she’s able to dodge out of the way of the cigarette butt touching her skin, her clothes filling with holes and burn marks that she tells teachers are from her playing with matches (that’s more likely to get her to a different foster home than anything of truth). Once she’s not quick enough. She’s not paying attention and his hand comes down and he burns the skin below her collarbone with his cigarette and he holds it down there like he knows what he’s doing and wants to dig as deep into her skin as he can.

The pain is searing hot and steals her breath instantly. She’s 12 but her wails remind her of that of an infant’s. No one comes to her aid.

Mr. Langston finally lets up and tells her to shut up and she weeps silently as she makes her way to the bathroom to do what she can for the wound. Mr. Langston wouldn’t dare spend a moment for her well-being, much less a dollar for a trip to the doctor and she’s seen what he does to Mrs. Langston when he feels she’s stepped out of line.

So she grabs the ointment after doing what she can to clean the wound and applies it gently. Except it feels like it won’t stop hurting so she rubs harder and harder, ignoring the pain and the tears that spring to her eyes and the way that she feels like she’s drowning in her sobs. She rubs and rubs and rubs until she sees blood.

And then she wakes up.

She sits up in bed with a gasp and feels the lingering burning sensation from her dream over the skin below her collarbone.

“Does it hurt?”

Emma’s eyes dart up to see Hook sitting in the bay window in the bedroom. Situated directly above the one on the first floor, it offers up an even better view of the water. The only thing is that he’s not looking at the water but at her.

“Huh?” she asks.

“That,” he answers with a nod of his head towards her chest. Furrowing her eyebrows, she looks down a moment later to see she’s been absentmindedly rubbing at the scarred skin.

“Oh.” She forgets he’s there as she continues to gently rub the spot until he comes to sit beside her on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“How’d it happen?” His voice is quiet and Emma takes a moment to study him.

She thinks a part of the reason she so badly wants him to move on is because growing up, death meant freedom. Not that she ever did anything to herself, but she always viewed death as being the only time she’d find peace since life wasn’t granting her any growing up.

And then she had Henry and life with him, amidst all the chaos, is as close to peace as she’s ever felt.

But for when the day comes, she doesn’t want to be a ghost stuck in limbo without a clue of the past. She wants to be able to move on to resting for eternity and be at peace.

Taking her silence for hesitance, he speaks softly, the softest she has ever heard from him. She supposes that she must have been thrashing and yelling in her sleep, something she hasn’t done in over a decade, and even ghosts take pity on the living. “I don’t remember much but I do know wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.”

Hair slips over her shoulder, covering the burn mark, and she watches with baited breath as Hook acts on instinct, leaning forward and collecting the hair with his hook to push back over her shoulder. Except his hook doesn’t collect any hair, instead going right through it. He frowns and apologizes as he steps back, coughing awkwardly and scratching at the back of his ear while she sits up straighter in bed focusing on the cool, soothing sensation his action has left on her body. She can’t explain it but it was like she felt him in a way.

Her thoughts start to overwhelm her as they jump from one conclusion to another and she feels herself losing control. Clearing her throat, she brings her knees to her chest and looks over at Hook’s awkward form in the doorway. He turns, giving her his full attention.

“We’ll figure out how to get your memories back,” she promises quietly.

Hook’s answering grin is rueful as he says, “Aye.” Once he leaves the room, a heavy weight settles in her stomach. Emma just found a new white whale.

*

Her last correspondence with Mr. Jones sits at the top of her email, pinned for her convenience and curiosity. The fact the man just disappeared off of the face of the planet right when she gets the information he wants baffles her. Her unsolvable case has been solved and yet she’ll never be able to share it since Mr. Jones has decided to ghost her.

Ugh, between Captain Hook and Mr. Jones, she has enough ghosts in her life.

She sends him one final email, wishing that he is well and that she has the information ready to be handed over when he returns from his absence, noting the final balance they agreed upon when she sent over contracts for her services two years ago. Hitting send, she takes a deep breath and decides to spend her afternoon researching how to help a ghost with no memories move on.

Search results focus on fighting one’s inner ghosts and famous ghosts in media; a part of her is hoping she’s been dreaming everything since her first return to Book & Bistro and this is her mind’s twisted take on A Christmas Carol but she knows that this is real. It’s as she’s reading through an article from a faux ghost hunting show that she gets an alert for a new email.

*

Hi Emma,

My name is Ruby Lucas and I was hoping you could help me with something. Do you have an office or somewhere that we can meet?

*

The two women agree to meet at Book & Bistro which, Emma realizes, is quickly becoming her go-to spot. She’d deny it if she had any real friends but part of her hopes to run into Mr. Jones here. Not that she knows what he looks like, but maybe it’ll be like fate and she can finally close the door on that case.

She takes a seat at one of the tables outside the lunch eatery, pulling out a chair beside her to put her bag on only to find Hook swiftly snatching it up as his own. She glares at him and drops her purse down anyway, smirking slightly at the oof from the weird feeling it caused as it went through him.

Ruby strolls up to the table moments later in skintight red jeans and black tank top, her black leather jacket making Emma sweat in the summer heat.

“Oh, she’s real,” Hooks says, his tone downright seductive as he licks his lips. A jumble of emotions play in her stomach, some that she doesn’t dare name, so she pushes them as far down as they’ll go and focuses on her annoyance.

“Really?” she deadpans. “We’re helping her solve her boyfriend’s murder.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Hook continues, the cheeky grin on his face growing as he notices the flush in her cheeks. “You’re still the most beautiful woman here.”

“Oh shove it.”

“Hi! Emma Swan, right?” Ruby’s cheery voice greets and Emma immediately stands, holding her hand out for the gorgeous woman to shake.

“Yes, and you’re Ruby Lucas?”

“That’s me, unfortunately,” the black-haired beauty said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry about Billy,” Emma offers.

Ruby’s smile is small and sad, her eyes glistening until she blinks the tears away. “Thanks, me too.”

She looks around the area, glad for the sounds of the boats to block their conversation from any outside observers, with Hook being the exception. Still, she leans forward when she speaks. “Can you tell me more about what’s going on?”

Ruby pulls strength from a well-fortified part inside of her as she tells Emma everything.

She’d been dating Billy for about a year and a half when he was killed and his former employer is starting to point fingers at her since her first, and only other, boyfriend also died. “A bee sting, believe it or not,” she shares, resigned to the heartbreak life has dealt her.

Billy was different though. No allergies, no drugs or rival gangs like what she ran into when she found her mother. Billy was as straight and narrow as they come, the sweetest man in the world, and who Ruby thought she’d spend her life with. Or so they both thought.

“You see, he’s a mechanic and was saving up to get his own garage. He wanted to be able to buy me a ring first though,” she says with a wistful smile. “So he got a second job transporting cars for this old guy. His company seemed legit – Billy always researched everything to a point where it could get annoying,” she huffs out a laugh, “but he wanted to be sure. And everything checked out.”

Tension flows over the table as Ruby looks down, fiddling with the rings on her fingers before she gathers the courage to continue. “Then one day he shows up dead in an alleyway and there’s no explanation. His boss keeps implying I hired someone to kill him to get his savings or some bullshit and the cops have questioned me three times already and I just know it has something to do with his job but I don’t know how to prove it. That’s why I need your help.”

The plea in Ruby’s voice hits her straight in the chest and Emma doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she eyes Hook from beside her and he nods in agreement. She blinks and shakes her head, wondering when she started looking for him for his opinion and instead focuses on Ruby.

“What have you tried so far?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Ruby waits for her nod before continuing. “I can feel his presence around me sometimes. Like he hasn’t moved on yet and I don’t think he will until we solve his murder.” She sighs, eying Emma’s face of shock before saying in a hushed and shameful tone, “I even hired a medium hoping that she could connect with him but he’s been too elusive.”

She doesn’t mean to, truly. The laugh that escapes her mouth is a complete accident but Emma can’t help but find humor in the irony. Ruby stands up quickly from disgust and gathers her items into her purse, jarring Emma back into reality and she shoots her hand out to grab the other woman’s arm.

“Wait! I wasn’t laughing at you! I promise,” Emma rushes to explain. “Trust me, you’ll laugh when I tell you what was so funny. And then I can help you.”

*

Ruby snorts, pulling her strawberry milkshake from between her lips as she starts laughing. Emma hands over a pile of napkins through her own giggles and Hook sits there unamused even though their guest can’t see him.

“So let me get this straight,” Ruby says as she finally calms down. “I have been desperately trying to get in contact with my dead boyfriend for over a year with no luck and you have a pirate captain haunting you that you can’t get rid of?”

“Sounds about right,” Emma grins.

Ruby takes a sip from her milkshake before asking as innocently as a sinner, “Is he hot?”

The look Emma gives her in return is as friendly of a glare that she’s willing to give new clients and/or friends. “He’s sitting right beside me.”

The other woman simply smirks, reaching for her drink once again. “I’ll take that as very.”

“Can we keep her around?” Hook asks from his seat and Emma rolls her eyes. She goes to kick his shin but instead only feels a cool sensation again before her toes slam into the chair. “Wish all you might but you can’t touch me, Swan.”

“I hate you,” she glares but neither holds much heat.

Ruby watches with interest but says nothing for the rest of the appointment.

*

Irony seems to run everything about Ruby’s case because when the woman hands Emma information regarding Billy’s employment at his second job, the first thing she notices is who the owner is.

Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports. Owned by one Albert Spencer.

Of course once she gets out from living under his thumb, she’s almost immediately thrust into investigating his company.

She always knew there was something wrong with his company and now it’s led to someone’s death. A very innocent someone at that. So she starts collecting every piece of information she can find about the company through both legal and illegal means. Employee lists, registered vehicles, routes, customers. If it appeared on the internet at any point in time, she nabs it.

From the tip of things, the company operates like a well-oiled machine. Not a single bad review, no late arrivals, not even a scratch on any vehicle. All of which shouldn’t be suspicious but are. No company is that perfect, no matter what measures are in place. Especially when only one employee has ever been recorded as taking a sick day.

Just over two months ago, one Barrie Rogers is recorded as going on an extended medical leave. No reasoning as to why, no doctor’s note or incident report. Just a flag in his closed file. Her gut tells her that Billy’s death runs deeper, that there’s so much more going on and that Barrie Rogers is connected somehow. She will find out.

The first course of action she takes is visiting the scene of the crime.

A little over a year after Billy’s death most of the blood in the alleyway is gone though some stains are still visible. The sight churns her stomach.

She’s passed this alleyway more times than she can count, perfectly placed smackdab in the middle of her route from the old apartment to Henry’s job at the docks. The first few weeks after Billy’s death, when the stench of blood and other bodily fluids permeated from the tiny space behind the police tape, she’d hold her breath, avert her eyes, and speed walk right by it. Knowing Ruby and what she’s shared about Billy, she feels bad about that now.

“This feels… familiar,” Hook says behind her as he looks around the alleyway.

“That’s great,” she says, her tone odd and distracted. As much as she’s going to help Hook remember who he was and what’s keeping him tethered to this world, she needs to keep her focus on Ruby’s case. Cops breathing down her client’s neck is never a good sign but at least this time her gut agreed with her initial thought that Ruby is innocent.

“No, there’s something about this alleyway…” Emma goes to ask him to be quiet as she reviews the area when she notices the look on his face. His eyebrows press together in deep concentration as his hand ghosts over the brick wall marked with the last of Billy’s blood.

“Do you think you knew Billy somehow? Maybe you shared the same haunts?”

She sucks in a breath at that, closing her eyes and mentally chastising herself for the accidental pun. She simply wanted to ask if his ghost perhaps ended up at the same places as Billy before it became tethered to her. When she opens her eyes, though, it’s like Hook hasn’t even heard a word she’s said. “Hook?”

The man in question stands stock still, frozen on the spot with his eyes wide in horror. “I know this alleyway,” he repeats absently. “I’ve been here before…”

Approaching him slowly seems like the best course of action as his head swivels this way and that, taking stock of the area. Her hand reaches towards him, stopping just short of the arm she knows she’ll go through, and says as calmly as she can, “Hook, maybe you should leave?”

He looks up at Emma with a fear-stricken expression consuming his features, finally noticing her presence. Gazes locked, his fear slowly melts away and he coughs, shaking his head and scratching behind his ear. “Apologies, love. I don’t know what came over me.”

She eyes him warily as he rotates his neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive!” he says with the fakest grin she’s ever seen. He doesn’t want to dwell on whatever just happened and she isn’t one to push so they move on. “What - uh - what exactly are you looking for here?” She watches him wave his hook hand around before tilting his head and investigating a pile of trash from afar.

“I don’t even know,” she says. “I guess I was just hoping something would come to me. There’s no cameras that catch this alleyway. I used to live in an apartment building a few blocks down and the police always had a tough time catching crime here. They installed a camera a couple times but it kept getting knocked down.” She sighs, eying the wall where Billy spent his last moments and turns to leave.

“Are you positive there’s no cameras?”

“Yeah. Come look.” Emma motions for Hook to follow her to the edge of the alleyway and she points out the different cameras on the nearby storefronts and explains their vantage points. “Anyone that lives around here knows there’s no cameras to catch the actual alley.”

“You’re not afraid of being here during the day?”

She releases a humorless laugh and shakes her head. “They might not catch the crime but during the daytime, those cameras will catch whoever’s leaving with ease. Unfortunately for Billy, he was killed at night.”

“Hm…” Hook hums to himself. He turns in a circle, looking up at the balconies with interest.

“Don’t even bother,” she says. “None of the residents heard or saw anything.”

He ignores her though and keeps looking, stepping back towards the mouth of the alleyway. He stops a few feet away from a second floor balcony where flower pots circle the edges, blooms falling through the railing.

Hook turns back to her in glee and points up. “Swan, is that what I think it is?”

Emma hesitantly steps closer. She’s learned not to raise her hopes too high in the middle of a case but his joy is contagious. Eying him warily for another moment, Hook raises his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes and looks up.

Right into the lens of a hidden camera.

Bingo.

*

“I can’t believe you knew to look there,” Emma says breathlessly as she rushes up the stairs of the apartment building. “How did you even figure that?”

“A pirate knows all the best hiding spots, love,” he teases with a smirk that she can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed with. It’s endearing, almost, to have him by her side as she works the case. He’s handling things like a champ though she guesses there’s quite a bit of intelligence required to come out on top of a band of pirates and lead them successfully.

When they reach the desired apartment, Emma knocks in quick succession against the wood, glancing at Hook apprehensively. The wait couldn’t be more than a few moments but it stretches like years. Taking care of bad guys? No issue. Having to deal with everyone else? She’s not the biggest fan of.

Probably why most of the PTA at Henry’s school hates her.

The wide oak door is dwarfed by the large man that opens it, though he does so only fractionally. He stands tall, built wide, and long curly hair frames his face. He only lets part of his face be seen as he crouches behind the door. Voice skittish, he calls, “What do you want?”

Sparing only a glance at Hook, taking note of his inquisitive expression all the same, she says, “My name is Emma Swan and I’m a private investigator. I’d like to speak with you about something your camera might have caught.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rushes to say before moving to shut the door.

Emma sticks her foot out to stop the door from fully closing. “Your camera may have caught a murder and by helping me, you can put a guilty man behind bars so he doesn’t do it again.”

The man eyes her, scrutinizing everything he sees so she jumps at the chance again.

“Look, I could have gone to the police to tell them and let them take your camera and whatever else from this apartment that might be deemed as evidence, like your computers,” she says, pointing to the elaborate desktop setup behind him, “Or you can let me in, we review the camera footage, and if it has what I’m looking for then you can make me a copy and I won’t say a word.”

Unsure what to do, he steps from foot to foot before sighing and opening the door wider. “Fine. Just – don’t touch again! The things here are precious collectibles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says with a fake grin. Hook follows in behind her, shoulder going through the door which makes the pirate grit his teeth. She shrugs a sorry in his direction before standing at the man’s desk. “What’s your name?”

“Family calls me Tiny.”

“For the irony?”

“No,” Tiny says in all seriousness. “Because I’m the smallest in the family.”

“Oh.”

“What am I looking up?”

“I feel like I’ve been here before too…” Hook says as he looks around the room. He walks around, inspecting the collectibles as Emma gives the details of Billy’s death. When Hook stops on a particular item – a pirate whose sword looks recently glued on – Emma inquires to both stranger and ghost.

“What’s up with this?” she says, pointing to the figure. Tiny rushes over and gently directs Emma away from the display.

“That, ma’am, is a one-of-a-kind original concept Captain Hook.” He grumbles to himself once back at his desk. “Someone broke it and I finally found the sword the other day. Now, I have the video you asked for. An undercover cop came by about three months ago asking for the footage too. Didn’t even know I had it. But I can make you a copy.”

“What’d the cop do with it?”

Tiny shrugs. “I’ve got no idea. Seemed like an upstanding dude but I haven’t heard anything since.”

Emma drops it at that, knowing that the legal system, like other government systems, doesn’t always operate like it should. She drops herself down into the chair besides Tiny’s and listens as he explains that the video is graphic and sickening to watch. He says he won’t pull any tricks on her and just give her the exact copy if she feels she can’t stomach it. But she’s never done anything without being able to vouch for it first so she shakes her head and insists he presses play. Tiny must have already seen the video, probably with the undercover cop, and turns his head away. “I can’t watch it,” he says quietly with a shake of his head.

The video is grainy for a few moments before the picture becomes clear. The camera’s night vision mode turns everything to green and black hues but Emma spots a young man she can only assume to be Billy in a mechanic’s jumpsuit standing against the alley wall.

Billy checks his watch, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground until another figure enters the video feed.

Albert Spencer.

The bastard himself comes towards Billy irate. She can just barely make out the way their mouths move in the silence but she understands that Spencer is questioning the disappearance of some drugs, apparently, something which Billy has no clue about. Spencer grows angrier and angrier by the second as Billy grows more defensive until Spencer grabs the young man by the neck and slams him into the wall. She sees the glint of metal on the feed and watches as Spencer spews nasty words to Billy, the younger man choking out more denials, before Spencer slices his neck, stepping back before a drop of blood can touch him. Instead, he spits beside Billy’s rapidly dying body, a pool of blood forming under him, and walks out of the alley with his head down and no one the wiser.

He left Billy to die amongst trash while he walked free without any remorse.

Until now.

Revulsion doesn’t even begin to cover the feelings swirling in Emma’s mind after watching the video. Her gut always rebelled against Albert Spencer, something in the way he held himself that made her wary. For all her jokes about the man murdering someone, she never thought she’d actually see it.

Bile rises in her throat and she excuses herself to the kitchen after swallowing it down, pacing back and forth as she fans herself. Hook follows her, standing in the doorway like a pillar of strength she can collapse into if need be. Not that she could, because of his whole ghost predicament, but the sentiment slows her racing heart. As terrible as the situation is, his unyielding support makes all the difference.

Disgust, frustration, injustice, heartbreak. The list goes on and on but she keeps a single-minded focus on securing the video and making her own copy in case the one from Tiny ever falls into the wrong hands. Just holding onto the video evidence feels like a weight is lifted off of her shoulders with a heavier one dropped in its place.

She sucks it up, giving Tiny her thanks once again, and leaves to go back to the house with Hook following silently behind her.

“You’ve been quiet,” she comments.

“Doesn’t this feel… wrong?” he asks, gesturing to the DVD.

She almost corrects him, almost explains the functions and ability of a DVD when she realizes that he can read her like an open book. The same discomfort she feels is reflected on his face. Neither of them seem to be a fan of holding onto graphic video evidence of murder.

“Listen, I don’t like having a copy either. But we need a backup in case going to the cops doesn’t work.”

Preparing herself for a lengthy discussion about financial influence and politics and how that plays into the law system, Hook just nods his head and drops the subject.

“What? No counter?”

“On a matter much less grave than this, you can count on my opposition,” he teases before sobering. “I trust you, Swan. If you say this is necessary then it is.”

“Oh. Okay,” Emma says, dumbfounded. “Got it. Thanks.”

No one besides her kid has ever placed their trust in her without question or without demanding she prove herself. Hook stands beside her like it’s the most natural thing to do, the obvious choice, and her breathing becomes stuttered before she regains control over herself.

*

That night, as Emma waits for a reply from Ruby about the evidence, she joins Hook at the bay window with two tumblers of rum.

“I don’t even know if you can drink this but… This is all the cabinets had and I feel like we should embrace the nice night,” she says when she takes her spot beside him and places a tumbler in front of Hook.

“This is my rum,” he says incredulously when he catches a glimpse of the label. “You just stole my rum!”

“Not stealing if you’re dead.”

“Oh, but it still is.” He grins at her, one of those damned eyebrows raised in amusement as he waggles his finger at her. “I knew there was a bit of pirate in you.”

She blushes under his praise and shrugs her shoulders, turning to look out at the ocean. Hook leaves his drink untouched.

When she glances at him from the corner of her eye, he remains deep in thought. Being in the alleyway and Tiny’s apartment seemed to be triggers for him and she wonders what’s going through his mind. He hasn’t said anything about what he possibly remembers but she can’t blame him much for that, not when she’s been less than forthcoming with her own past.

“Thanks,” she begins. He turns to face her suddenly in surprise and uncertainty and she takes a deep breath before continuing. “For having my back about the DVD. It’s not an easy choice and I’m grateful you didn’t fight me on it. Even if you don’t agree.”

“The right choice is rarely the easiest one,” Hook says. “I understand your reasoning. Truthfully, I’d have done the same too.”

The smile that breaks onto her face is small but no less soft and genuine. Henry always had her back but he’s a kid. Sometimes she just needs another adult to back her up and support her. She knows David would want to hand everything over to the police at once, make sure that there’s no other copies around, but her own past with law enforcement leaves her less than trustworthy. It’s part of why she left bail-bonds.

Tilting her head back and swallowing her rum in one gulp, Emma licks the remains from her lips before placing the tumbler down onto the windowsill. She crosses her arms as she feels herself taking down the brick walls around her heart.

Friends are few and far between in her life. She has David and his wife Mary Margaret, she reaches out to Will every once in a while though she’d call them more acquaintances than friends, and then there’s Ruby who she might be able to add to the list.

God, how sad is that? Having more fingers than friends.

Out of everyone she’s met, the parents of Henry’s friends and the sources she gets to know, the only people who know a fraction of her past are David and Mary Margaret. Even that is just the bare minimum since David gave her a ticket for a past-due inspection when they first met. Letting people in is not an easy thing for her to do. When she was younger, she’d throw her trauma and issues at whoever tried to get close, scare them off before they could hurt her. Then Henry started to grow up and understand pieces of what she was saying and she locked that instinct down immediately. He looked at her like she was his hero and she couldn’t let go of that image, of being something good to someone.

It wasn’t until he was 14 that she sat him down and told him the ugly truth about everything - her days in the foster system, her run-ins with law enforcement, Neal. She really should have given her kid more credit because he understood and told her it changed nothing. The thought makes her want to cry all over again.

So she takes a shuddering breath and looks up at Hook, his gaze questioning but patient, and tells him everything.

She tells him about being abandoned as a baby, about the Swans and the Langstons and Ingrid and every foster home in between. She tells him about Neal and the watches and how receiving the twenty-thousand dollars in jail was the second and only good thing he did for her, Henry being the first.

She tells him of their money struggles and no one wanting to hire a teen mom with no GED, of nights in her car and crappy apartments until she finally got a break. She tells him of Graham, the one man she just started letting into her life a few years ago only for him to be killed on the job by a rogue cop who had her hand in everything.

She bares her soul but doesn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes as she does so. His ghost may be tethered to her but she’s sure there’s ways for him to avoid her after if he wants. He can disappear and she’ll never have to see him again. If he rejects her, she doesn’t know if she’ll recover.

The thought twists her insides.

Since when did she give so much power to the ghost of a centuries-old pirate captain?

“I believe I may have been a law enforcement officer.”

Her head snaps to the side to look at Hook as he runs his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip. “What?”

He shakes his head and she can feel the confusion coming off of him in waves. “Everything about that alleyway and the apartment felt too… familiar. Like I’d been there before looking for the same clues. Recently, at that.”

She raises her eyebrows dubiously. “What? You think you might be the undercover cop Tiny mentioned or something? How does that explain the Captain Hook getup then?”

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

Head bent low as he examines the hook on his hand, Emma tosses a life preserver to drag him from the storm brewing below the surface. “Hey, maybe you’re onto something. Maybe that’s how you knew to look at the flower pots on Tiny’s balcony.” He offers her a small grin but the defeat is still etched onto his face as his fingers trace the hook. Trying again, her hand hovers over his bicep, close enough that she wonders if he can feel her heat the same way she can feel the cool emanating from his ghostly form. “What else do you think you remember?”

His eyebrows pinch together and Emma can just imagine him finding his way through the fog of his memoires.

“I don’t think I had a happy childhood but… I think I had a brother.”

Truthfully, there’s not much further they get than that for her laptop loudly alerts them to a new message in her email.

Hook rushes over first, effectively ending their conversation by letting her know Ruby’s gotten back to her.

It’s a simple response, thanking her for finding the evidence needed to put Billy’s murderer away and saying that she’s available to meet up tomorrow around eleven at Book & Bistro before bidding the other goodnight. She sends her a confirmation before turning to Hook.

Back at the bay window, he stands with his back to her and his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. She’s almost hesitant to disturb him but she knows how consuming dark thoughts can be and whatever memories he is slowly getting back, she can tell they aren’t good. “Hook?”

The man in question turns and gives her a wide, fake grin. “Well, I’m glad to have been of service to you and Miss Lucas. Hopefully Billy can be at peace now.”

“Hook,” she says softly and steps closer to him. “Do you want to talk about – ”

“ – You should get some rest, Swan. It’s been a long day.” He gives her a stiff nod, the fake smile still plastered on his face, and turns back to the window.

The cold that washes over her has nothing to do with the way his shoulder brushes her chest and everything to do with the fact that, after opening up to him, he’s shut her out.

Rejection has never stung her quite so badly.

She bites out a short goodnight, ignoring the rustling of his duster and the call of his voice as he says her name, every letter dripping in remorse. Instead, she quietly makes her way to her room, envisioning an imaginary ‘temporary’ sign hanging over the door that blinks bright red like every motel vacancy she shuffled her and Henry through in their early days.

A reminder to herself to not get too comfortable. Not at the house that she’ll have to leave some time in the future and not with the ghost pirate who needs to move on.

*

Silence fills their every stride heading to Book & Bistro the next day. Hook has tried to apologize more than once earlier that morning but she couldn’t stomach the thought and avoided it at every turn. If there was one thing in life that Emma can proclaim she’s the best at, it’s running.

Ruby waits at the same outdoor table they sat at just a week ago and she offers Emma a mimosa as a greeting. Hook sits silently at her side and sends her a look, practically challenging her to drop her purse through him again, but instead she takes the DVD from inside and places the bag at her feet.

“This DVD has everything you need to clear your name. It has proof of Albert Spencer murdering Billy,” Emma says, holding it up. Ruby reaches a hand out to grab it but Emma pulls it back just slightly. “Listen, you can do what you want with it but watching this? It’s not going to do you any good. Trust me.”

“I - I don’t want to watch it,” Ruby says. Red lines her eyes, only faintly visible beneath the thick black eyeliner and Emma knows instantly that the meeting has been weighing on her as much as it has them. “I just want to do what I can to bring him peace and put Spencer behind bars.”

“He’s here.”

Emma does a sharp turn to her side, finding Hook with a faraway look on his face. “Who’s here?”

“Is that Billy?” Ruby asks, sitting up straight as her eyes begin to water. “I can feel him. Is he here?”

Hook nods. “Yeah,” Emma relays to Ruby. “He’s here.”

The experience that follows is one that Emma will never be able to replicate or explain. Hook and Emma work as the bridges connecting the living world to the dead. She can’t see Billy the way she can see Hook but she can feel the way his embrace wraps around Ruby.

“He wants to tell her hello,” Hook starts, his eye line just above Ruby’s head. “And that every time she’s felt him, he was there.”

Emma takes a deep breath, waiting for Hook’s nod before she tells Ruby. The woman seems to melt in relief at the words, eyes fluttering under the threat of tears as she reaches one hand to her shoulder. She can imagine them together now, Ruby sitting at a table with the man from the video behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Grins lighting up both their faces as they converse with friends. Then she blinks and she’s left staring at a broken-hearted woman only just beginning to heal.

“He says that he’s sorry he’s put her through this pain for the past year,” Hook continues, still looking at Billy. “That he wishes more than anything they could have followed through with their dreams and he could have married her. He thinks she looks great in white.”

Ruby laughs when Emma tells her this, grabbing a napkin to dab at her eyes. “He used to tell me he dreamed of our wedding day,” she tells her. Emma smiles sadly and reaches a hand over to her, the other woman squeezing it appreciatively.

There’s a pull in her gut and Emma turns her head to Hook’s ghost to find him already looking at her. Genuine heartbreak fills the cracks of his features but more overpowering is the stronger, pure emotion that takes over him as he speaks Billy’s next words directly to her.

“He just wants her to know that she has done more for him than she will ever know and he will always be grateful for that. That she burst into his life like a ray of sunshine and chased away his dark days. He doesn’t know what’ll happen next but the very best part of his life and death was loving her.”

Emma chokes out the words through her tears, not able to take her eyes off of Hook’s sad expression for one moment. They stare at each other quietly until Ruby softly asks, “Did he move on?”

Hook clears his throat, smiling over Ruby’s head and nods to Emma.

“Yeah, Ruby,” she says. “He’s at peace.”

*

The ordeal is incredibly draining for the three of them so they say goodbye fairly soon after, Emma giving Ruby the card for David’s line at the station in case she needs anything in regards to Billy’s case.

Hook is quiet at her side, more contemplative than the tentative hostility that surrounded them this morning, and she takes strength from having him beside her through it all.

“I’m sorry,” she says once she gets out of the car at the house. “For how I acted last night and this morning. You aren’t obligated to tell me anything.”

Hook shakes his head, holding up his hand and hook in a motion of surrender. “No, Emma, it's I who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, especially after everything you told me. It wasn’t good form.”

“Hey,” she offers up, “we’re all allowed our secrets.”

“Would you be willing,” he asks, “to hear mine?”

*

They walk over to the bulkheads lining one side of the property and she promptly sits down, taking off her shoes and dropping her feet into the cool waters of the Atlantic. The feeling is replicated when Hook sits beside her and his hand covers her own. Not for the first time she wishes to know what his skin would feel like against hers. Was it soft and smooth? Or was it rough from his many hours on a ship?

Or from his hours handling a gun, if his theory of being a cop is right.

“I had a brother,” he tells her. She nods, remembering his words from the night before. “I think I orphaned him.”

“What do you mean? Like you killed your parents?”

“Father. And I didn’t kill him.” He releases a ragged sigh and scratches the back of his ear. “My father abandoned me as a boy. He pulled our ship into port without tying it down, ran on foot while I slept, and left me on our boat to go adrift back out to sea. I was found by fishermen a few days later, dehydrated and starving in the middle of the Celtic Sea.”

“Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger,” she repeats his words back to him in a whisper and he huffs out a humorless laugh.

“I was never quite able to let go of that betrayal. When I got word that he’d come to America, I had to find out. It took a few years, but I did find him. He was tucking his son, my little brother, into bed and whispering the same promises to him that he said to me. I heard him through the window that he’d never hurt him. Then he turned off the light, closed the door, and proceeded to throw a drug party in the living room.”

“What’d you do?” she asks.

He shrugs, blinking rapidly. “I don’t remember much. I think I called the cops because they took the bastard away.”

“And your brother? What happened to him?”

“I refused to take him,” he says. The words that leave his mouth are watery and Emma looks over to see tears in his eyes.

Even ghosts can cry.

“I told myself that I wasn’t in a position to take him in but I knew it was more that I was too angry and bitter. That I’d look at my little brother and hold everything my father did against him.” He takes a deep, labored breath. “I have many regrets in my life, I can feel that for certain, but this is the one I regret the most.”

She eyes their hands, how their pinkies interlap, and she wishes she could give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “The right choice isn’t always the easiest,” she says. “But I choose to see the best in you because of how you feel about your past.”

“And I you.”

They share a grin that’s broken by the sound of a car door slamming and Emma realizes that in the chaos of the last week, she forgot what today was.

“MOM?!”

“Henry,” she whispers happily to herself.

“Your boy?” Hook asks and she nods quickly. “Go say hi. I know you’ve missed him.”

She gives him a smile of thanks before rushing to her feet and around to the front of the house. Violet’s father waves from the car before he backs out of the driveway and Emma laughs at the look of awe on her kid’s face.

“Can we really afford this?” he asks her as he continues staring at the house.

“Don’t jinx it, kid,” she laughs. She can’t help but pull Henry into a tight hug, not caring for a moment that his heavy bags slam against her thigh. “I missed you.”

His words are muffled against her shoulder as he says, “I miss you too, mom. But now you’re squeezing me and I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry, sorry!” She steps back and takes a good look at her son. He’s only been gone for six weeks but it feels weeks longer. His skin has a healthy glow to it due to California’s sunshine and she can spot at least four more notebooks peeking out of his duffle bag than what he left with. A part of her wonders if he grew in the time he’s been gone but that’s when she knows she’s going crazy. “How was it?”

“Mom, it was the best. Thank you so much for letting me go! I learned a lot like how… to…”

“Henry?” Her face pinches in confusion as Henry trails off, eyes set on a point beyond her shoulder. “You okay?”

“What’s Killian doing here?”

She cups his face in worry, forcing his eyes to look into hers. “Kid, who’s Killian?”

But Henry steps back in confusion, looking over her shoulder again and pointing at something behind her. “He’s Killian.”

Emma turns in growing confusion, only spotting Hook’s approaching figure but no one else.

“Killian!” Henry calls out next and Hook stops short, staring at the two of them. She can make out the concentration on his face before he begins to blink in quick succession, shaking his head for a few moments. A look of clarity falls over his features before he answers hesitantly.

“Henry?”

*

“Tell me again how you two know each other?” Emma asks once the three of them make it into the house.

“Killian works at the docks for Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports. He’s off on Wednesdays and does Pirate Storytime as Captain Hook for the local library on his personal ship. He gives me cash on the side to help out,” Henry says like it’s no big deal. Instead, he has a greater focus on filling up his plate with every food item she’s recently purchased. Apparently his writing camp didn’t feed him.

Emma sighs. “That explains the pirate costume at least.”

“And how are you able to see me, lad?” Hook – err, Killian asks. Henry only shrugs his shoulders, spraying crumbs everywhere when he speaks with his mouth full.

“I can’t believe Killian is the ghost.” He swallows, swiping his mouth with his arm. “I didn’t even know you died.”

Killian sits up straighter at that. “No one told you I died?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma interrupts. “Can we back up for a second?” They look at her and she raises her eyebrows, demanding confirmation. “Did you just say Killian works for Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports?”

*

As if things couldn’t get any more convoluted, it turns out that she was right – Albert Spencer’s second business - the car and boat transport business - was a front for drugs. And murder, considering Billy’s situation.

“A few months before Billy was killed, I was able to go undercover in the company under the alias Barrie Rogers,” Killian explains over their table. “It was suspected that Spencer hid drugs in the framework of cars and boats he promised to transport for customers and my mission was to find evidence of it. Then a chuck of the drugs on one transport went missing.” Looking at Emma, he explains, “I think it was on a car that Billy towed. He didn’t steal them, some low level guy Smee did. He could find anything that wasn’t supposed to be found. But Spencer wouldn’t hear it and, unfortunately, Billy got killed.”

“So you were investigating the alleyway and went to see Tiny, right? You knew there had to be something that was missed,” Emma concludes.

He nods. “Spencer went there all the time for his illegal activities, so there had to be something. One day when I was checking it out, Tiny was watering the flower pots and I spotted the camera.”

“So what happened to you?” Henry cuts in.

“Yeah,” she adds. “Spencer reported Barrie Rogers as on an extended medical leave. Do you think he hid your body or something?”

Killian shakes his head, straightening his shoulders as he tenses from the memories. “No. Because I don’t believe I’m dead.”

*

It turns out that nearly three months ago, Spencer’s paranoia began to eat at him. He felt like someone was close to uncovering his entire operation and his other deeds, namely one concerning his former employee Billy. He sent the dogs on Ruby, digging up her tragic romantic past and using that to evade cops' noses. Except the paranoia remained. He believed someone under him was feeding information to the authorities.

It was unfortunate for Killian that Spencer’s paranoia correctly zeroed in on him.

Everyone else under Spencer had been affiliated with him for years. They all got a piece of the pie, perks of seniority apparently, and Killian was the only fresh blood of the group besides Billy.

So Spencer sought him out one Wednesday a little over two months, watching as Killian did his weekly storytime for the library and waiting until he was alone with his guard down.

The old man walked onto the ship, red in his eyes and fire in his veins. He accused Killian of trying to take down his whole operation, something Killian vehemently denied to save his own life. More accusations came flying out of Spencer’s mouth, some on the nose and some so wildly out there that it made Killian laugh.

Then Spencer threw the first punch.

“I don’t remember much of the fight, too much adrenaline and pure instinct,” Killian says. “The pirate costume is about 90 pounds of dead weight and wouldn’t let me put up the fight I wanted. I think he knew that. All I can remember is a searing pain at the back of my head.”

“How do you know you didn’t die of a brain bleed?” Emma inquires.

The possibility that Killian isn’t dead, that this is just some apparition of his living self projected out into the universe for some reason or another, is almost too much for her to bear. She refuses to get her hopes up, refuses to think that it’s still possible for him to fix what he regrets.

That it’s possible he might still want to be in her life when he’s back to himself.

“I remember now I have an older brother too, actually,” he tells her with a small smile. “He’d be raising hell right now if I was killed and there’s no way a smart lass like yourself would have missed that.”

“So what happened to you?” Henry asks.

“I don’t know. But I think the best place to start is at Liam’s.”

*

Henry whines over the fact he can’t go, like he’s six instead of sixteen but Emma reminds him that one stranger is hard enough. “He doesn’t need two people he doesn’t know talking to him about his brother,” she explains. “Especially when said brother is currently a ghost or spirit or whatever.”

“Killian,” he pleads to next, giving the ghost-spirit-pirate-cop his best impression of a puppy dog face. “Don’t you think this could be a great learning experience to add to my pirate adventure book? The one inspired by you?”

“Oh, you play dirty, lad,” Killian says, his words dripping with amusement. One side glance at Emma’s stern expression sobers him up and he nods his head to her as he tells Henry, “I think you should listen to your mother though.”

Liam lives on the other side of Boston, a modest townhouse near the water. He keeps the front impeccably manicured and his grass a vibrant green even under July’s unforgiving sun. A sleek white car sits in the driveway and the front door is open with only the screen door preventing any bugs from entering.

“How well do you think this is going to go?” she asks as she stares down the house.

“He’s going to think you’re mad,” Killian admits, though he’s straining his neck from inside her VW bug to inspect the area.

“Great.”

From the little Killian’s told her about Liam since regaining his full memories, his older brother is as stiff and strict as they come. If good form were a person, it’d be Liam with no tolerance for nonsense, which, if he answers the door, is going to be all he gets from Emma.

The man that comes to the door is tall with broad shoulders. Short curly hair sits atop his head and Emma can see the family resemblance between him and Killian when her eyes meet his and they’re the same striking oceanic blue.

“Can I help you, lass?”

Emma sucks in a breath and steals a glance from Killian at her side as he lets out a breathy call of his brother’s name.

“Hi, you don’t know me but my name is Emma and I’m a friend of Killian’s,” she starts, catching his interest. “Can we talk?”

Liam eyes the area outside the townhome with suspicion, eying Emma too before glancing behind him. “I have somewhere to be so you have to make it quick.” With that, he unlocks the screen door and lets her in.

“Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.” The townhome looks a bit like a disaster, if you ask her. For how well-kept the front looked, she anticipated the same orderliness on the inside. But there’s a pile of clothes on the couch and a duffle bag by the door, toys strewn through the living room, and containers upon containers of tupperware on the kitchen island.

“How do you know my little brother?”

“Younger brother.”

“Younger brother,” Emma corrects on instinct after hearing Killian utter the words. Liam gives her a look and she smiles apologetically. “Sorry, it’s like I can hear him in my ear.”

“Very funny, Swan.”

“But, um, I actually stole his shot of rum at the bar.”

“Oh really?” Liam inquires, not believing her for a moment. “What kind?”

Her mind flashes back to the bottle she stole from his liquor cabinet and the tastes that danced on her tongue for hours after, wondering if that’s how Killian would taste. Ignoring the flush overcoming her, she says, “Mount Gay’s 1703.”

Liam hums noncommittally. “What do you do for a living, Emma…”

“Swan,” she tells him. “I’m a private investigator.” He hums again.

She subtly looks to Killian for help but he’s running his hand through his hair and muttering curses under his breath. All she wants to do is ask him what’s going on or to grab his hand so she doesn’t feel so alone but Liam grabs her attention first.

“Miss Swan, while I am sure you enjoyed extracurricular activities with my brother, he is going through a serious matter that I won’t discuss with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am sure that your career path helps you in finding out intimate details about your subjects but I will not be sharing anything about my brother with you.”

Emma scoffs, crossing her arms as she lets her fury brew deep in her gut. “You know, for all the talk of good form, your brother never mentioned you were such an ass.”

“Emma,” Killian whispers from beside her. “Love, he won’t believe us.”

“Oh yes he will,” she mutters to herself.

Liam continues to eye her, not at all helped by her half-seen asides with his brother. “You need to leave, lass.”

“It’s a lost cause. Let’s just go,” Killian urges and she swears she feels the metal of his hook at her elbow but she shakes him off.

“I am not leaving,” she tells them both though she remains in a staredown with Liam. “I need to know what happened to Killian.”

“I am not telling you anything. Now leave.”

“Emma, come on.”

“NO,” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and turning towards Killian. “I won’t leave until your thick-headed brother listens to us. Damn it, Killian.”

It’s not until she faces Liam again, face pale and eyes wide in frantic worry, that she realizes her mistake. To the outside observer, she just yelled at thin air.

“Fuuuuck,” she groans to herself. “Damn it.” Taking a fortifying breath, Emma steps up to the kitchen island, focusing on Liam on the other side, registering the steak knife he clutches in his hand. “I am going to sound crazy and I know it but I just need you to hear me out and not because you think I’m some one night stand of Killian’s but because I am his friend and I care about him. I moved into his house – ”

“ – You’re David’s friend? The one I’m subletting Killian’s house to?” Liam cuts in.

“Yes!” Emma shouts excitedly. “And you see – ”

“You need to move out of there right away.”

“What.”

“Either you leave and move out right away or I’ll call the police and get you for harassment and trespassing.”

Killian groans to her side and she knows it’s been shot to hell so she doesn’t bother hiding it as she asks him, “Got any other ideas, Hook?”

“You’ve done so wonderfully that nothing else is coming to mind, darling.” She rolls her eyes at his sarcasm and sets her shoulders back. Liam is looking for a fight and that’s all she’s done her entire life. He will have to arrest her to get her out of here.

“I know I sound insane but when I moved into your brother’s house, he started to appear to me like he was a ghost. I thought he was dead but we just found out that he might not be. Where he is, we don’t know. But we’d like to so that he’s not wandering around lost like a ghost. I know it sounds as far-fetched as you can imagine but it’s the truth.”

“All you’ve proven to me is that you’re a stalker and insane,” Liam growls. “Now leave before you wake my daughter because I don’t want her to see this.”

“Tink?” she hears Killian ask to her side.

“Who’s Tink?” she asks him but Liam jumps in at the sound of the name.

“Tink? You’re not really that deranged that you’re dragging Tink into this too, are you?” Liam questions with narrowed eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the knife.

“Tink – she’s his wife,” Killian explains. “She passed away two years ago. She’s here though.”

Emma licks her lips nervously as she looks back at Liam, realizing just how badly she is playing with fire. “Killian says your wife is here.”

“Bullocks. I’ve had enough of your tales,” Liam starts but Emma backs away, repeating the words that Killian’s telling her.

“Tink says she’s always around and watching over you and Delilah. She says that when you find glitter on one of your ties, it’s her letting you know she’s with you. Or when Delilah finds a four-leafed clover in the backyard. She is always with you and will be forever,” Emma chokes out. Red-faced, from grief or anger, she’s not sure, Liam swallows hard. “She says that she knows you’re not as happy as you were before but that she’s so proud of how you’re keeping things together for Delilah.”

“Stop it,” Liam growls.

She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “Tink knows how strong you’ve been and she says to remind you of the friends you have and of your brother, that you’re not doing this alone.”

Through gritted teeth, hatred consumes every word as he says, “You better shut your mouth, lass.”

“She says that she used to kiss your eyelids every night before bed because you’re her angel,” Emma tells him in a rush. Devastation hits Liam like a train and he gasps, dropping his knife. Speaking through her own tears, she adds, “Tink says you’ve been her angel for so long that it’s her turn now.”

Head dropped to his head, Liam whimpers, “Get out.”

Emma looks to Killian helplessly, the man looking as wrecked as his brother, and she opens her mouth unsure of what to say. “I – ”

“I think you’ve caused me enough pain,” Liam growls out, eyes bloodshot. “Not only are you reminding me that I will have to pull support on my brother in mere days but you have to bring my wife into this too?” She’s too stunned to speak so she can only watch as Liam keeps himself from drowning in grief by latching onto his anger. “The very last thing you can do is leave.”

She turns in a hurry, flying past the toys in the living room and the clothes on the couch and rushes outside, the screen door bouncing off of the frame. “Don’t you ever come back!” Liam shouts to her retreating figure.

Paying him no mind, Emma goes to the bug, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling up before Killian’s spirit has the chance to catch up. She turns the key in the ignition and pushes hard on the gas pedal, jolting the two of them out of there.

“I had no idea he’d react like that. I’m so sorry, love.”

Emma shakes her head, wiping the few tears that escaped with the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“He’s grieving.”

“Doesn’t give him a right to be an asshole.”

Killian sighs, “I know. I’m sorry to have put you through that and not gotten anything in return.”

“What do you mean?” she asks him. The corner of her mouth darts up in a small smile as she says, “That gave me plenty.”

*

How does one tell a spirit that the body they belong to is in a coma? That they’re relying on life support that’s going to be pulled soon. If there’s a guide for it, Emma would’ve liked to know.

Telling Killian comes through a rush of words as she explains her theory. Of course, denial sets in quickly.

“My brother would rather die than do anything to harm me,” he protests. “He would keep me on those machines for as long as possible.”

“Do you have any other explanation?” Emma says. “I mean Killian, come on. You got in a fight, hit your head, you’re balancing between the world of the living and the world of the dead, and your brother just talked about pulling your life support. All signs point to a coma.”

He shakes his head, pacing the length of the living room as Henry plays his video game. “Like I said, Liam wouldn’t take me off life support. Not willingly.”

“Hey,” Henry cuts in. He pauses his game and leans over the back of the couch to face them. “Did you sign a release form or something when you became a cop that dictated your medical wishes? He could be forced to follow that.”

“How do you even know about something like that?” Emma asks, coming over to ruffle his hair. Henry rolls her eyes but grins up at her and she feels herself soften to the core.

“Like every emergency service drama on TV right now has a plot about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now that you mention that, I may have.” Killian uses his hook to brush hair off of his forehead and she wonders how often he wears it. He’s clearly comfortable with it, and he declared during their first meeting that he uses it as his left hand, but she wonders about the story behind it. The one story they haven’t gotten to yet.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out…”

*

It takes three hospitals before Emma is able to find the one Killian is resting at. Visiting hours are close to ending and she doesn’t know if she can stomach a night of uncertainty so she books it.

Getting put onto the visitor list is not her favorite moment, especially when it comes to dragging her kid into it, no matter how willing a participant he is.

“His brother doesn’t like me,” she explains. “We got off on the wrong foot and he never got over it. But Liam’s been dodging my calls since Killian went MIA and I could never find out why. Killian’s my fiancé, just tell me.” She looks away, willing the tears she fakes so well to come to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mutters as she reaches for a tissue.

“Please, can we see him?” Henry pleads next. “He was supposed to be my step-dad and teach me how to sail his ship.” His bottom lip wobbles and Emma glances behind her to see Killian just as impressed with her kid’s acting skills as she is. Definitely something to look out for in the future. And maybe he should consider a career in acting with these theatrics. “Please,” he continues, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “At least let me say goodbye.”

The nurse relents at that, adding their names to the visitor list and directing him to their room.

They’re just feet away when she hears the doctors conversing inside and stops Henry from entering.

“... with the minimal brain activity to start, what we wanted to see was an increase, not a decrease. I suspect that he’ll lose total brain activity within the next few days,” the doctor says. She can hear the faint scribbling of notes and wonders if he brought a nurse with him or a class of residents. The idea that Killian is being used as a teaching tool while he fights for his life churns her stomach. “His brother is aware of this and has agreed to honor the affidavit Mr. Jones signed when he joined Boston PD.”

Unable to stomach any more, Emma strolls into the hospital room with Henry following hesitantly behind her. Killian is slowest and last to enter, keeping his eyes averted from where his body lays in the center of the room.

“Excuse us,” the doctor and his group of residents say, nodding to her before leaving the room.

Once they’re alone, Emma’s eyes find Killian’s body.

He’s pale with a healing cut on his cheek, just below his eye, his right hand set in a cast and the stump on his left covered with a sock to keep blood flowing. His black hair lays dull and flat against his head and the Killian in the bed has less weight than her ghost Killian, a feeding tube sticking out of his side as the main source of nutrients for the last few months.

“Wow,” Henry says. His eyes dart between the ghost and the body, not sure who he should address.

“Aye,” he says solemnly, finally making eye contact with his own person.

It must be weird, she thinks, to see yourself laying stock still in a hospital bed. To know that your actual body has been bed bound while your soul has been galavanting freely. The detachment that comes with it must be freaking him out.

His fingers stick out of the cast, slightly more swollen than she anticipated, but she reaches out still to hold his hand like she wished to do on the bulkheads.

“Swan?” Killian rasps out.

“Hmm?” She turns her head in his direction to see him holding up his hand in amazement, staring at his fingers.

“I can feel that.”

Disbelief overwhelms them, coming out in short puffs of laughter, growing only when Henry comments, “I guess hope isn’t lost for you after all, Captain.”

Their laughter comes to an abrupt stop, however, when they hear security being called over the loudspeaker and Emma feels fear strike her to her core. “They know,” she whispers and the three of them quickly rush out of the room, blending into the small crowd of visitors also leaving their floor. Getting caught would do them no good, especially when they don’t know how to help Killian yet.

*

“So why do you think we can see you and no one else can?” Henry asks over a slice of pizza once they get home.

“Your mother and I had theorized that it had to do with the house but that doesn’t seem to be right otherwise Liam would see me as well.”

Emma frowns, sipping from her glass of rum. “Do you have any unfinished business? Something tethering you to the world of the living while your body’s in a coma?”

Killian just shrugs. For the first time since she’s met him, he is without his leather duster and vest, his rolled up sleeves and unbuttoned shirt a delicious tease that Emma needs to stop focusing on. “Not that I can think of, at least nothing that can be changed.”

“Not regretting not giving me boating lessons?” Henry teases.

“Of course I regret I didn’t start that sooner,” he jokes back. He glances up at Emma for a moment and she feels his eyes on her mouth. “I have regrets about things like that. But those are ones I have after the incident, not ones I held before it.”

“What about your brother? Your other one?” she asks.

“Ah, yes, well, I had looked into that,” he says. “I can’t remember the name for the bloody life of me but I contacted a private investigator and I don’t think they ever found him.”

“Good thing that’s what I do,” she says with a grin. “Come on, try me. Same last name?” she asks as she strolls over to her laptop, bringing it back to the kitchen table.

“Aye.”

“Let’s see what we can find,” she says with a grin. The grin that immediately drops when she opens her laptop and her emails are the first thing she sees. Pinned at the top is her correspondence with one Mr. Jones. What had been her white whale.

The same Mr. Jones that is sitting beside her?

She opens the latest email from him and checks the sender.

[email protected]

“I think we just solved more than one mystery,” she says to herself.

“What are you talking about?” asks Henry, a new slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.

“I believe Killian’s the Mr. Jones I’ve been emailing for the last two years.”

*

Liam Jones II, like his older brothers, lives near the water in Boston. His apartment building is one of the older ones, an odd architectural design that scared buyers away in the 80s but is coming back as hip nowadays. It’s clear the community takes pride in their odd buildings and homes and work together to keep things looking clean and fresh.

Emma parks the bug across the street from Liam II’s apartment, right in front of the seaside park. She watches as Killian’s younger brother weeds the flowerbeds and an older man watches over with a fatherly grin. They tease one another back and forth, the comfortable familiarity between them a balm to Killian’s broken soul.

“I wish I had been able to apologize for how I wronged him,” he whispers to Emma. She swears she can feel his breath dance across his lips as he leans over the center console, gaze set firmly on his brother. “I don’t regret arresting our father, but I do regret the pain I’ve caused the boy. Perhaps if I told Liam then things would be different but I will never know.”

“I think the fact that you want to apologize shows how you’ve grown,” she says when she recognizes the start of a spiral into self-loathing. “You can’t take back the decisions you made but you can do better. At least you can know that he’s happy.”

He gives her a small smile and nods before politely asking her to leave. She takes one last look at the apartment building, swearing the older gentleman smiles at her as they leave, and she brings him home.

*

Henry waits for them on the porch steps, grinning wide as Emma gets out of the car. “There are tons of fireflies tonight.”

“Did you get started without me?”

The grin he gives her lifts her mood tenfold from the gloomy car ride back and she can’t help but respond in like.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Let the competition begin!”

“Hey! Cheater!”

“Not a cheater, Swan, but a pirate.” Emma turns at Killian’s voice behind her, smiling softly at the grin on his face. “Turns out his mother isn’t the only one with some in her.”

“I’ll just wait for your admittance of being a bad influence,” she teases. He smirks but doesn’t deny it. At least now she can surmise where her kid picked up his dice tricks from.

“So what is this competition he’s bellowing about?”

Emma watches Henry running around the backyard and calling out numbers like he’s her little boy all over again and her heart warms at the sight. “When he was little and I couldn’t afford a lot of games, during the summer, we’d have a competition every night to see who could catch the most fireflies. If I won, he went to bed early. If he won, I had to let him read until he fell asleep.”

“Who knew pirates could be such bookworms?” Killian teased but Emma only raised her eyebrow.

“I’ve seen your study, Hook. You’ve got more books than I’ve seen in a library.”

“Come on, mom!” Henry calls from the side of the yard. Only his head sticks out from behind the house and she watches as he snatches another firefly, yells his number, and then lets it free. “Stop flirting and start catching!”

She rolls her eyes at her kid’s antics and turns to Killian. “Wanna try?”

“Oh, I’ve never – ”

“What? Never tried catching fireflies?” she asks, stepping away for a moment to gently capture one in her cupped hands. She can feel his eyes on the line of skin that gets exposed from her jumping capture and thanks every god and deity she knows that her blush is hidden under the dark of the sky.

“I don’t even know if I can catch one in my state,” he whispers regretfully.

She whispers back, “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

Checking that the firefly is still in her hands, she looks up to ask Killian if he’s ready only to be floored by the soft look he gives her. There’s such an open tenderness to it that she feels her jaw drop slightly, her own eyes searching the depths of his. The yearning in her chest is almost unbearable and she feels it mirrored in his gaze.

For so long, they’ve been hurt by life and left alone. They have been let down by those they trusted and even disappointed by themselves. With each other, there’s no judgment. Understanding runs deep in the bond that connects them and Emma has never felt herself so at peace with someone before in her life.

She finds herself standing at a cliff’s edge and imagines a hook in her hand, the tall, dark, and scruffy pirate by her side. Her heart in his hands and his in hers.

“Ready?” she asks breathlessly, not even certain she’s asking about the firefly anymore.

He looks at her with such admiration that she doesn’t even notice his hand brushes the hair off of her shoulder, the murmuring of his comment about a glowing angel. Instead, she focuses on the way his lips firm one word a few moments later, so confidently and with such finality that she feels her knees go weak.

“Always.”

And so they jump.

*

The bay window has become their seat, she realizes. They gather in front of it that night as they have already done so many times before and stare at the ocean. If he were sitting there in his body, their knees would brush with every movement they make. Instead, she gets to see how the moonlight shines on his form and wishes she could see it for real.

“If tonight was your last night on Earth, what would you do?”

She’s not sure what prompted the question but now she hangs on every second for his answer.

“Probably teach you how to do the right tile design upstairs.” She rolls her eyes as they both chuckle at the memory before she leans back against the wall, eyeing him under the moonlight as if she could commit the image to her memory.

“Seriously, what would you do?”

“Exactly this.” He says it with no hesitation, no joking tone. Pure sincerity dances across his face and it steals her breath away. “I’d spend every moment right here. With you.”

If he were here, for real, she’d kiss him. She’d kiss the holy hell out of him and then probably drag him upstairs to her room. His room. Their room?

Or she’d kiss him and then cuddle against his side in the bay window, listening to him point out the constellations overhead.

Or she’d hold him close in the tightest embrace she could manage and never let him go.

If he were really here, there’s so much more she’d love to do but he’s not so she settles for resting her pinky over the ghost of his and smiling wide at him, her heart beating so loudly in her chest she swears he can hear it.

“Sounds perfect.”

*

Waking up the next morning is disorienting.

Her back hurts from where she fell asleep in the bay window and her neck has a kink in it. She rubs the sleep from her eyes as the rising sun blinds her, calling out, “Killian?”

The lack of response has her sitting up straight and pinching her eyebrows together in worry. Killian doesn’t sleep, not in his state, and he’s always been around when she wakes up. Calling his name again, she feels relief begin to flood her system at the thumping on the stairs only for fear to grip her heart when it’s just Henry.

“Is Killian with you?” she asks in a hurry, rushing over to the stairs.

Henry eyes her fearfully. “No, I thought he was with you.”

“Shit.”

The two of them fan out across the house and the yard, calling out Killian’s name with no response. They meetup in the kitchen, panting and sweating from the summer heat. “Where did he go?” Henry asks.

Like an ice bucket has been dropped over her head, Emma feels her face fall. “We need to get to the hospital. Now.”

*

Emma and Henry rush through the halls of the hospital, their visitor stickers haphazardly stuck to their shirts. Everyone else moves at a slow pace like someone they care about isn’t dying and it leads to more than a few run-ins, not that she cares.

These people are fine and Killian is not.

Once they reach his floor, she sees Liam standing outside of Killian’s room with his head down.

“Liam!” she calls out in desperation, Henry following at her heels. “Please, Liam. Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

“Emma, bloody hell,” Liam says, dropping his coat to the floor and pulling her into his arms for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry for how I acted the other day. I’m so sorry for not believing you. I’m – ”

She pulls out of the hug quickly, examining his red eyes and she feels her heart drop. “What – Is Killian okay?”

“They just turned off the life support machines.” His voice cracks as he tells her and all she wants to do is punch him, yell at him, throttle the man for not holding on a little bit longer for his brother.

“Is he dead?” Henry asks brokenly from her side. She reaches an arm out to rest around his shoulders and pulls him close.

Liam swallows and glances at the room, the faint sound of a heartbeat echoing in the space over the quiet chatter of doctors and nurses. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

They slowly enter his hospital room, the gleeful state of before being replaced with grief. Henry rushes to Killian’s side and gently places a hand on his elbow as they remove the breathing tube from his throat. Emma is slower to come over, waiting until almost all of the machines and wires are gone with the exception of the tracking of his vitals.

“I wish we had more time,” she whispers to him.

Her fingers trace his cast down to where his own are exposed and she grips them as tight as she can. She wants him to feel in his last moments, to know that he wasn’t alone. She just hopes he knows it was her by his side.

She can hear Liam waiting at the doorway and she accepts that she has no right to prolong her goodbye. His brother has been by his side his entire life, has respected his decisions and has offered him more than she ever could. She’s just a woman who was able to see him during his time of limbo.

“Goodbye, Killian,” she whispers before leaning down and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

Waiting for a moment, she hopes to see his eyelids flutter open, for him to greet her with a smirk and those twinkling blue eyes. But nothing happens and the monitors remain the same. “Come on, kid,” she whispers once Henry finishes his goodbyes. He comes to her side and they walk over to Liam, thanking him for giving them this.

“I really am sorry, lass. You have no idea,” he whispers. Emma doesn’t say anything in return, just gives him a sad smile.

Before she can take another step, one of Killian’s monitors starts to go crazy, the beeping sounds taking over the chatter of the medical staff still inside. She turns in awe, standing still as nurses rush in from the hall and bump into her, muttering about how signs of brain activity are increasing and it looks like he’s waking up. She doesn’t know if it’s a miracle or if it’s the last bit of strength before his death, but she feels the hope in her chest rise.

And then nurses are ushering her and Henry out of the room, closing the door behind them, and she’s left with nothing.

*

He’s awake and recovering, the email said. She’s read it enough in the weeks following her getting it that she remembers the words within by heart. His scans are good and the doctor says that aside from some abrasions and his cast, he looks as healthy as can be.

I asked about his time in the coma, if he remembers anything, and so far nothing. His mind is a bit fuzzy at the moment – he keeps mentioning Tink – but he doesn’t remember you.

I’m sorry, lass, Liam wrote to her. He’s staying with me for the time being if you’d like to see him. Don’t worry about the house, you can stay there as long as you need. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.

She hasn’t though. Reached out, that is. It’s been three weeks and she’s been focused on making sure Albert Spencer is brought into custody for the murder of Billy Angus and the assault on Killian Jones, undercover officer with the Boston PD. Watching him being brought in wearing handcuffs in front of a dozen cameras felt like sweet justice, but only for a moment.

Moving boxes fill the living room of the blue seaside house, her and Henry’s belongings once again being put in cardboard. The U-Haul truck sits in the driveway and she’s determined to fill it with as many boxes as she can before Henry gets home from work.

She signed a 7-month lease on a small cottage twenty minutes north. She figures it will give her enough time to find somewhere permanent to settle down without being assaulted by memories of Killian and what could have been. Henry thinks she’s being ridiculous, and she probably is, but Killian remembers Henry. They developed a bond from his time at the docks before everything happened, something Emma never had until he ended up in a coma. She can’t face him and see the lack of recognition in his eyes. For certain, that would be the thing that breaks her.

Standing up, she grabs a box of knick-knacks and makes her way to the moving truck, cursing the sweltering August air. Maybe they should consider moving to Alaska; Boston was never supposed to be this hot.

“Need a hand, love?”

Emma stumbles down the porch steps and promptly drops the box at her feet, thanking every god and deity that nothing fragile was inside. Breath catching in her throat, she looks up to see Killian standing at the U-Haul, dark jeans, white shirt, and a plaid button-up gracing his figure instead of the pirate leathers she’d become so accustomed to.

“You know,” he starts with a smirk, casually strolling towards her. “I was going to ask why you never visited but I see you wanted to skip town before I could call out your tilework.”

She huffs out a laugh in disbelief, eyes stuck on him as he stops in front of her. “I thought you couldn’t remember me,” she whispers, hating the way her voice cracks and her vision gets blurry with tears.

“You, I remember perfectly. Just had to give me a few weeks,” he says, grin widening with every moment as she feels relief flood her body. “What I don’t remember, though, is the kiss from an angel that woke me.” She blushes under his gaze but can’t fight the smile forming on her lips. “Now, that isn’t fair, is it?”

“Would you like me to refresh your memory a bit?” she asks, quirking her eyebrow up to match his.

For the first time ever, she feels his arms wrap around her waist and she can run her fingers through his hair like she’d seen him do so many times. She revels in his touch and he closes his eyes under her attention.

“Every day,” he whispers in the happiest voice she’s ever heard from him.

So she does.

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