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She dunked an admittedly delicious homemade gingerbread man into her coffee, then bit its head off. “I don’t see why he has to be such a show off. It’s not like he can actually win the contest. He doesn’t have his own class, you know? Not really.”

“Maybe he’s just really into Christmas?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Honestly, I think you may be taking this whole ‘Deck the Halls’ contest a bit too seriously.” 

“Says last year’s winner.”

“Or maybe there’s more to your fixation on Mr. Jones than just this contest?”

“Don’t start. It’s only about the contest. I wanna know what his evil plan is, that’s all.”

Ah, the annual Deck the Halls contest. Every homeroom teacher at Storybrooke was enthusiastically encouraged by the school principal to decorate their classroom door and hallway in festive winter style. The winning teacher’s class got some kind of prize, usually a special field trip. This year, students would be treated to a Polar Express themed ride on Storybrooke’s fully restored historic steam train. The kids could wear their pajamas and drink hot chocolate while they watched the snowy town pass by, and at the end of the ride, they’d get a chance to meet “Santa”. Emma’s fifth graders all seemed to think themselves too grown up for such a thing, but still… A little Christmas magic never hurt anyone.

Mary Margaret finished her tea and gave Emma’s shoulder a maternal pat. “Time to go pick up my little guys from the cafeteria.”

After her friend left, Emma let her gaze drift back to the object of her ire. Mary Margaret was right. Emma was definitely taking the contest too seriously, but that Killian Jones was just so damn infuriating. Ever since he’d transferred - no, swaggered - in from Misthaven Prep, he’d been the bane of her existence. He and his stupidly perfect hair. And his ridiculous flirty comments. And his stupid, ridiculous, unreasonably attractive face. The man may as well have had a banner over his head that read, “I’m sexy and I know it.” 

That was bad enough, but then came the first day of school after Thanksgiving break. Emma walked her class to Mr. Jones’s room for their music lesson to find he’d decorated the entire fine arts hallway to look like a giant gingerbread house with lights, human-sized gingerbread people and enough craft glitter to choke a reindeer. Between that and the caroling and the freaking cookies, how was anyone supposed to compete? 

And Emma really, really wanted to win. She had a competitive streak, sure, but it was more than that. It was-

Oh, crap. He caught her looking. And there he went with the eyes and the smile, and oh god he’s walking over to her. 

“Swan! I noticed you’ve been sampling my goodies. Fancy the flavor?”

Emma bristled. Killian Jones had a unique ability to say perfectly innocent things and somehow make them sound dirty. And also vaguely appealing, but that was beside the point.

“A little bland for my taste,” she lied. “They needed more cinnamon.”

“So the lady likes things a bit spicy. Duly noted.” He grinned at her, eyes alight with mischief. That smile of his was infectious - like the plague, Emma told herself - and she fought against the instinct to return it.

“My spice preferences are none of your business, Jones.” 

“Quite right, Swan.” He glanced downward, seeming appropriately chastised, but it only lasted an instant. He flashed those devilish blue eyes at her again with a wicked smirk to match. “Spicing up your life would be my pleasure, not business at all.”

Emma felt the blush begin to rise up from the back of her neck. It was bad enough that he could make her blush. She sure as heck didn’t want him knowing that.

She managed an unimpressed lift of her eyebrows and muttered something vague about picking up her class, before turning on her heel and exiting the lounge. At a perfectly calm and casual pace, thank you very much. 

—-

Later that afternoon, Emma sat at her desk grading papers. Or rather, sat behind a stack of papers that needed to be graded while staring around her classroom in an attempt to visualize a masterful decorating theme. Ugly Christmas sweater? No, that’d be a hot mess. Frozen? No, Ms. Arendelle the art teacher was already doing that. The Nutcracker? Nope. Mary Margaret won with that one last year. 

A knock on her door shook Emma out of her Grinchy brooding. “Ms. Swan? Can I come in?” Without waiting for a reply, Henry Mills barged in with an anxious smile on his face and a stack of printer paper clutched in his hand. “You said you’d read over my writing sample, remember?”

Emma pushed aside her grading and took the proffered essay. “How’s the scholarship application coming along?”

“The Sisters are doing most of the paperwork for me,” Henry answered. “I just need one more recommendation letter from a teacher and then my essay.”

The “Sisters” meant the nuns who ran the group home where Henry lived. It wasn’t the posh life that most of Henry’s classmates at Storybrooke Prep enjoyed, but the nuns cared deeply for the children in their charge. A better situation at least than Emma ever had during her years in the foster system. 

Emma read through the essay, all about the power of storytelling and how Henry aspired to be an author someday. He was capable of great things, that kid, but he needed the scholarship to pay his tuition so he could continue on at Storybrooke. 

“This is wonderful, Henry. I’m sure the scholarship board will approve you.” 

“Thanks, Ms. Swan.” Henry beamed at her for a moment, then glanced back toward her undecorated door. “Are you going to enter Deck the Halls this year? The judging is on Monday, right?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and leaned toward him as if confiding a secret. “Sure am. I’m just waiting until Monday morning so it’s a surprise.” Yeah, that sounded plausible, right?

Henry nodded, unconvinced. “It’s just that, well, I was really hoping our class could win this year. I’ve never been in a class that won before.” His focus shifted to a chipped spot on the edge of her desk. “I know it’s more for the little kids. I mean, it’s not like I believe in Santa anymore or anything, it’s just…” he picked at the chip making it worse. “The Sisters can’t really afford to take us anywhere, you know? And I thought it might be kind of fun to ride a real steam train and meet Santa just like in The Polar Express.”

He met Emma’s eyes finally. She knew that look. The I-want-to-be-a-part-of-something look. The I-want-to-be-a-regular-kid look. Her heart twinged with the familiarity. That. That right there was why she needed to win this year.

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’ll get you that train ride.”

—-

That Friday after school, Emma hit the local craft store. She bought tinsel and bows, little strings of lights and fake snow spray, garlands and non-breakable plastic ornaments. She even bought a sprig of freeze dried mistletoe for good measure. Come Monday morning, she had every intention of turning her hallway into a winter wonderland. 

As she and Mary Margaret walked to Emma’s classroom Monday morning, their arms laden with shopping bags, it quickly became clear that they were too late. Someone had beaten them to it.

Emma nearly dropped her parcels. “What the hell is this?” 

Wide-eyed, Mary Margaret took a hesitant step toward Emma’s classroom door. “I’d say it’s a train.”

Emma took in the sight before her, the initial shock slowly morphing into anger. Her classroom door had transformed into the front of a huge black steam engine, featuring a smoke stack that nearly reached the ceiling and a cardboard cow catcher protruding out at the bottom. Black duct tape train tracks laid neatly from the door clear to the end of the hallway. Blue butcher paper covered the walls on either side of the door setting a backdrop for a winter forest scene, complete with three dimensional evergreens made from layers upon layers of construction paper and fluffy white batting for snow drifts. Delicate tissue paper snowflakes had been hung painstakingly from the ceiling.

The Polar Express. Someone had turned her classroom - hell, half her hallway - into the Polar Express. It was beautiful. Perfectly executed. Emma hated it. 

She hated it because she didn’t need anyone’s help. She had it under control. Okay, so maybe her craft skills were not in the same league, but she had determination, damn it. Not to mention six bags of tinsel which she now had to shove into her supply closet for next year.

She hated it even more because she had a pretty good idea who the perpetrator was. There were only two teachers in the school capable of that level of Pinterest-worthy crafting, and since Mary Margaret looked as stunned as Emma, that only left Killian Jones. The one thing she couldn’t figure out was why he’d done it. 

“Looks like someone is trying to impress you, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a sly smile. 

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t deal with her friend’s needling right now. She wanted to storm over to the music room right away and interrogate him, but she knew she needed to cool down first. Rationally, she told herself that the whole reason she became so invested in this silly contest was for Henry’s sake, and these decorations were sure to win. Irrationally, she simply did not want to deal with Killian’s smug, perfect face and whatever double entendre he was sure to throw her way. 

But it bugged her all day. 

Was Jones trying to be some kind of white knight swooping in to save her ass? Well too bad, mister. No one saved Emma but Emma. Did he want two chances to win? That didn’t make sense. As music teacher, he didn’t have a homeroom class so the prize didn’t apply to him. Maybe it was just the bragging rights? That could be. That was way more likely than Mary Margaret’s suggestive suggestion. Wasn’t it? 

She had to stop that train of thought right away before she devolved into the ten year-old mentality of her students and sent him a note: “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” Not that she thought he actually did. Not that she would want him to. It was only a point of curiosity. 

—-

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma’s classroom won the Deck the Halls contest. She waved sheepishly at her students as she walked to the front of the school assembly to accept the prize tickets from Principal Hopper, but one look at Henry’s bright smile had her grinning for real. 

As she scanned the crowd, her eyes locked onto another face. Jones’s bright blue eyes met hers with an unreadable expression. Wasn’t this his moment of triumph? Wasn’t he going to claim the glory? She raised her brows in question at him. Was it you? He gave a small nod. Yes. She subtly bobbed her head to the side. Meet me outside. The whole silent conversation only took a couple of seconds. 

After the assembly ended, the students were dismissed for the day. A small group of teachers herded them outside to the bus lanes, but Emma noticed Jones wasn’t among them. Her stomach began to flutter as she ducked out a side door from the cafeteria. She shivered when the crisp December air touched her face and shrugged on her coat, thankful she’d remember to bring it to the assembly with her. Why did she feel nervous? No, she wasn’t nervous, she just wanted answers. Right.

Emma heard the door creak open again, and Jones stepped out clad in a black leather jacket  that couldn’t have been much insulation against the winter chill, but did a marvelous job of framing his broad shoulders and lean torso. He looked… wait, did he look nervous, too? She needed to say something. Anything. Right now.

“What the hell, Jones?” Okay. Solid start. “You hijack my classroom, but you don’t take credit for it. I don’t get it. Did I seem like I needed saving? Because I’ve got news for you, buddy-”

“I didn’t do it for you, Swan,” he interrupted. 

“Then why?”

“I did it for Henry Mills.”

For Henry? Her student? Emma blinked at him, trying to formulate a response to this twist, but all that came out was. “What?”

“I happened to overhear your conversation with him last week. I had written him a letter of recommendation for his scholarship application, and I was bringing it to him when I noticed him going into your classroom. I figured I would wait outside your door until he finished talking to you. I wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but the door was open.”

“So you heard him talk about why he hoped our class would win. And just what? Took it upon yourself to make that happen?” 

“Aye.” He ducked his head, looking almost shy. “I suppose the lad reminds me a bit of myself. I shan’t go into detail, but suffice to say my childhood was less than idyllic.”

Emma huffed a laugh. “I know the feeling.”

A tiny smile tilted the corner of Killian’s lips. “I thought you might. At any rate, the thing that made my young life bearable was my brother, specifically his insistence that no matter what, we would have a special Christmas. I simply wanted to be able to do the same for young Henry. I apologize if I overstepped, but a bit of Christmas magic never hurt anyone, did it?”

He reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and that right there did it. The vulnerability of that simple gesture shifted something into place in Emma’s heart. She regarded him for a second longer, looking for any trace that this was an act, but could find none. So, she raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly on the lips.

Killian froze at the contact, and Emma was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He returned her kiss with exuberance, smiling against her mouth. Oh, god she’d never in her life been kissed like this. For all the sin his lips usually promised, this kiss held more joy than lust and an almost unbearable sweetness. His smile lingered even as they separated again.

Emma shook her head in a bit of a daze. “Wow, that was…” He seemed to stop breathing, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “-really unprofessional of me. Sorry.” Emma cleared her throat, but saw Killian’s expression droop. He took a step back.

“Of course. You’re right, Swan. That will ne-”

She reached out and touched his arm, halting his retreat.  “No, what I meant to say was, would you maybe want to get a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

No display of Christmas lights could have been brighter than the way his eyes lit up for her, and Emma thought fleetingly that she could get used to basking in that glow.

“Aye, Swan. I’d love to have coffee with you.”

----

He’s contemplated it many times. More specifically, he’s contemplated how he would do it. Would he wrap his hand around her long, elegant neck and strangle her until snuffing the light from her eyes or would he use the dagger currently secured in his sash to end her life? He encases the hilt with his ring embellished fingers to feel the leather in his grip. If he did use his dagger, what part of her would he aim for? The heart? No, he wouldn’t go for the heart. The thought of going for a woman’s heart, like when Rumplestiltskin had ripped out Milah’s heart, makes him cringe. It makes his stomach twist, makes his heart constrict. No, he wouldn’t go for the heart. Instead, he’d go for the neck. 

As he tightens his grip around the hilt of the dagger and brushes his thumb over the pommel, he contemplates how good it would feel to slice the sharp steel blade through her jugular. How satisfying it would be to watch the bright red liquid spill over her creamy skin. To watch as all the youthful life vanished from her sweet face, as her body fell limp, as all the blood left her body, leaving her skin paler than it already is. 

He’s contemplated the task he’s been endowed with; he’s contemplated it many times. So why can’t he follow through?

Killian Jones is not a good man, he has never hidden that fact nor pretended he was. He steals and murders and does anything necessary to get what he wants, especially if it gets him closer on his path of vengeance. He didn’t earn his rings or his reputation by being a good man. He’s a pirate, the captain of the Jolly Roger, the most feared captain of all the seas. He stole the ship after its former captain, his brother, died while battling in the Royal Navy five years ago. Liam’s death destroyed a part of him that day and ever since then, Killian has led his band of pirates. 

Since then, he’s spent years building his reputation as someone who gets the job done, so why does his current job make him hesitate? Normally he can kill without mercy, normally he’s numb to the emotions that are supposed to come along with taking a life. After watching Liam die in his arms and then holding Milah’s lifeless body, he’s become numb to the world, he’s become dead inside. But for reasons he can't explain, he can't kill the princess of Misthaven. Since the day he laid eyes on her, as many times as he’s thought about it, he just can’t find it within his cold, black heart to kill her. 

He doesn’t even know her, only what he’s learned while being primed by the Evil Queen, and he’s only ever seen her as he stalks after her in the forest or watches her from outside the tavern. He’s grown familiar with the way her long, golden hair blows in the wind as she rides her horse, he’s grown familiar with the sad, lonely look on her face as he watches her at the bar while she’s wearing a long dark cloak, disguised as just another peasant to the patrons. He’s grown familiar with how feisty she gets when the sailors have had too much to drink and get handsy with her. He’s seen her slap a few in the face or throw her drinks on them. What a waste of perfectly good drink, but then again, the satisfaction of watching the fierce princess stand up for herself and give the sailors what’s coming to them is well worth it. It’s just too bad he’s never had the good fortune of interacting with her. 

Part of him wonders why the queen wants her dead in the first place. He understands the ongoing feud between the queen and Princess Emma’s parents; he understands wanting revenge, but still, Snow is not the one who murdered Regina’s lover. So why go after her innocent daughter? This is coming from a pirate who killed a man in front of his wife for calling him one-handed Jones and a man who drowned a sailor for drinking the Captain’s wine. Maybe it’s because she reminds him of himself when he looks at her—like she’s dead inside—and that’s why he can’t find it in him to kill her. His reputation as a merciless pirate captain is at stake, though. Many ships surrender their cargo without a fight because of his reputation, so if it’s compromised, then things will have to get bloody while he repairs his tarnished name.

He can kill the princess, get his gold and be on his not so merry way, or he can leave her be and incur the consequences. He has spied on Princess Emma for a couple of days while his ship is docked in Misthaven, and he has until sunrise to murder her before she leaves Misthaven and marries Walsh, the King of Oz, who is twice her age. If Killian doesn’t murder her, he’ll receive the wrath of the Evil Queen, and then she’ll hire someone else to finish the deed. Unless…

There is one other option, but before he can ponder the thought any further, a familiar face enters the tavern. Seeing the owner of that particular face makes him twitch and fills him with conflicting emotions. It reminds him of the past, both the good and bad memories. Good memories because the man he’s glaring at is Milah’s son, and bad ones because he’s also Rumplestilskin’s son. Baelfire is another person he’s considered murdering so he can finally get his revenge for what Rumplestilskin did to him. He murdered his Milah and took his hand. So it’s only fair that he take the life of Rumplestiltskin’s son in return, right? The only reason Baelfire isn’t dead yet is because he’s Milah’s son.

Although every second he sees Baelfire on this particular night, he becomes more fueled with rage. And not because he’s Rumple’s son, but because he’s engaging Emma in conversation, and she seems to be allowing his attention. 

“Come on, slap the bloody bastard,” Killian growls through gritted teeth. “Or throw your drink in his face.”

But she doesn’t, and instead, she leaves with him after a while. Killian hears Emma chatting with Baelfire when they walk out of the tavern. Her voice is much prettier than he’d imagined, as he’s seen her before but he’s never heard her speak until now. Killian peeks around the building and sees her smiling, although it’s the saddest smile he’s ever seen, and perhaps Baelfire has found a way to get through to her. His father is the master of manipulation, so it doesn’t surprise Killian in the least that his son is too. 

Killian ducks behind the building so they don’t see him as they head toward the forest. Killian swiftly follows behind them, tiptoeing carefully and quietly without snapping any twigs, which isn’t easy when his only light source is the moon and he has to steer clear of the trail Emma and Baelfire are on. He hides behind a tree when they stop somewhere inside the woods. Killian notices they’ve stopped deep enough into the forest where no one leaving the tavern would be able to see them or hear them. He turns around and tilts his head back until it hits the jagged edges of the bark and he waits. If he’s following through with his plan, he needs Baelfire to disappear. 

The air grows eerily silent for a while, he can only hear the hoot of an owl, and he’s not sure why they’ve stopped talking. He thinks he can hear the faint sound of kissing, but he could be wrong.

“Bae, stop,” Emma demands firmly after a minute. 

Killian’s ears perk up as he peeks around the tree. Baelfire has her pinned against a tree a few meters away.

“Oh, come on, we’re just having fun before you leave tomorrow,” Baelfire says, his words muffled by her neck as he kisses her there.

“I said stop!” she cries out again, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.  

Killian can see the frustration in her movements, the amount of force she uses, and he can hear Emma’s dress ripping as Baelfire reaches under her skirts and presses his body into her. She slaps him hard, tears streaming down her cheeks. His heart actually hurts as he watches the scene unfold. It’s one thing seeing her slap sailors in the tavern when she's been groped or disrespected—Killian at least found a bit of humor in it—but now she’s actually being attacked.

Baelfire grows angry, and after soothing the sting in his cheek with his hand for a few seconds, he captures her wrists and presses them above her head, against the tree. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he barks in a menacing tone as he breathes against her cheek. 

Emma turns her head away from him, her features twisted with disgust. “Someone help me!” She continues to shriek until he wraps his hand around her neck and presses her firmly into the tree to silence her pleas. 

“Your screams are useless, there’s no one here to save you. So shut up, you stupid—”

Baelfire’s sentence is cut off by the blade of Killian's dagger when he plunges it into Baelfire’s back. His lifeless body falls to the ground, blood seeping into the dirt and coating the tips of the leaves. “I’m here.” 

He’s never been this close to the princess before, and for the first time, he sees that her eyes are a mesmerizing green as they widen in fear. Emma’s whole body trembles as she gapes at him. 

He once again contemplates slicing her neck, it would be so easy to do, while she’s too frozen in fear and shocked to even try to escape. Whoever would find her and Baelfire’s corpses would think some lurker attacked them in the forest. Only the Evil Queen would know it was Killian’s doing. She would think he was seizing the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, which would be a correct assessment. She would smile sinisterly and be very satisfied with the turn of events. But Killian doesn't care about pleasing her. For some reason, he cares more about the frightened princess’s safety than satisfying the Queen. So he throws the bloodied dagger to the ground next to Baelfire and raises his hands, lifting his gaze to her fearful one. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs sincerely.

“Why did you…” she stammers, trying to retrieve her voice after almost being strangled to death. She soothes her fingers over her neck, her lovely pale complexion slowly returning to her face. “You didn’t have to…”

“I didn’t have to kill him?” he finishes for her. “Let’s just say I carry a personal vendetta against his father after what he took from me,” he snarls, raising his hook.

Emma stares at the curved steel as it gleams in the moonlight, growing even more wide-eyed and frightened. “You’re… you’re Hook?”

Killian steps close to her, flashing her a cheeky grin. “Aye, that’s my more colorful moniker. So you’ve heard of me, princess?”

Emma tries to step back, but the tree behind her halts her attempt. She reaches behind her, gripping onto the bark underneath her fingertips as though it will protect her from whatever Killian plans on doing to her. “I’ve heard stories,” she replies, her voice shaking. “And apparently, you've heard of me, otherwise you wouldn’t know I’m a princess.”

“I told you, love, you don’t have to be frightened. In fact, I’m here to save your life.”

“One, I’m not your love. Two, what are you talking about?” she demands, narrowing her eyes at him, anger quickly replacing her fear. “You may have rescued me from being defiled by that pig, but I highly doubt he’s a murderer like you. And three, how do you know I’m a princess?” 

“Because I was hired to kill you.” He steps out of her space and offers his hand. “Now come with me before the Evil Queen realizes you’re still alive.”

Emma’s even more confused, her mouth falling agape, her face paling. “What?!”

Killian sighs and looks toward the sky, praying to the gods that Emma will not make this difficult for him. He looks at her again and can't help but get lost in those luminous green eyes. “I’m taking you aboard my ship so I don’t have to kill you. Which means you have two options; we can do this the easy way, and you can come with me on your own... or we can do this the hard way and I can drag you to my ship kicking and screaming. It’s your choice, love.”

Emma scoffs. “You think I’m going with you?! You’re out of your mind!” She shoves him and storms away.

Killian shakes his head and sighs. He should have known she would try to run away. “The hard way it is.” He turns around and quickly follows behind her, scooping her up in his arms and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She screams and flails her arms and legs, fighting fruitlessly against him, her fists pounding relentlessly into his back. “Unhand me, pirate!” 

“That’s captain to you. Captain Killian Jones at your service.”

~*~

Emma opens her eyes to the light of the sun pouring into the window and finds herself in a warm bed with soft silk sheets and fluffy pillows. At first, she mistakes it for her bed but once her eyes adjust to the light in the room and she sees a wooden ceiling instead of the stone one of her parent’s castle; she knows she isn't in her room. The bed sways slightly from side to side as if she’s on a boat, but that's impossible. What boat is she on? Her brows knit in confusion as she sits up with an urgency her brain isn't quite prepared for, and she gets a little dizzy and cradles her forehead in her palm. She can't even remember the last time she was on a boat; it must have been years ago, when she was merely a child. 

After the sleepy fog filters from her brain, she looks around the room. The furniture is sparse and consists of a desk, a bookcase, a hammock and the bed she’s currently sitting in. This is not her family's ship, and once she takes a moment to take in her surroundings, images of last night flash through her mind. 

Running off to the tavern once again even though her parents forbid it. Thoughts of escaping Misthaven so she didn’t have to marry a man twice her age. Meeting Baelfire. Having a decent conversation with him. Leaving with Baelfire. Being attacked by Baelfire. A pirate saving her. But not just any pirate. Captain Hook. She remembers him taking her to his cabin and tying her to the bed with rope so she wouldn’t murder him in his sleep.

Emma peers down at the inside of her wrists, which are no longer restrained, and runs her fingers over the red marks where she had struggled to escape. She’d been hoping it was all a bad nightmare, but it was all real. The fearsome Captain Hook had taken her.  

She’s heard stories from her parents about him and the Jolly Roger that always make her shiver as if it's a cold winter's night. Then she remembers Hook telling her the Evil Queen paid him to murder her, but instead of murdering her, he wanted her to go with him. She remembers laughing in his face, right before he picked her up and carried her to his ship. Which means she is now on the Jolly Roger. With Captain Hook.

Emma's eyes widen as her heart flits with panic. Why would he save her life? He’s a pirate and a murderer. He stabbed Baelfire easily and effortlessly while his eyes were devoid of any remorse. So why would he spare her life? Emma shifts, attempting to get out of bed, but a figure appears in the doorway. A figure wearing a pair of black boots, leather trousers and a crimson red vest. Her gaze travels up his lean form, appreciating the dark hair poking out of his chest, scruff on his chin and cheeks, the ocean-blue eyes and the dark, unruly hair atop his head that's been ravaged by the sea winds. Emma immediately recognizes him as the man who took her last night. “You… you kidnapped me,” she snaps, glaring at him, the anger she’d felt last night bubbling in her chest.

The toothy smirk he gives her increases the detestation she harbors for him, and she wants to smack it off his face. “Good morning to you, too, princess.” He walks into the cabin carrying a tray of food, wine and a chalice and sets it on the bedside table. 

Emma shuffles across the bed, putting more distance between her and her abductor as he pours wine into the chalice. He tries to offer it to her, but she refuses to drink it. “It’s probably poison,” she accuses sharply.

He frowns at her. “I told you I would not harm you, didn’t I?” 

“If you aren’t set to harm me, then why did you kidnap me?!”

He sighs and sets the cup on the table. “I could have killed you instead,” he points out, as though it makes up for what he’s done. “But I didn't, and here you are, alive and well, with all of Misthaven thinking you’re dead.”

“They think I’m dead?” Emma shrieks. Her parents? Her brother? They must be devastated. Her heart cracks at the thought, eyes welling with tears.

“Aye, I had to tell the Evil Queen you were dead so she didn’t come after you. I burned Baelfire’s corpse until there was nothing left, and I told her it was your body I burned.” Hook throws a pile of clothes on the bed and sets a pair of boots on the floor in front of the bed. “Some clothes for you, Your Highness,” he says with a snide grin, “so you can change out of your tattered dress.”

“But why… why didn’t you just kill me?!” she huffs and grabs the clothes, chucking them at him angrily. 

He dodges them and frowns at her. “Your beauty is more impressive than your aim.” 

She responds by reaching across the bed to grab the chalice full of wine, and hurls it at him. He dodges that as well, and it bounces off the wall, its contents splattering the wall and the floor. He grits his teeth, impatience flaring in his eyes. “I’m beginning to ask myself the same bloody question,” he grumbles while picking up the clothes and placing them on the bed. “Just be thankful I spared your life, princess.” 

She eyes him suspiciously as he bends over to pick up the chalice from the floor. “Why would you? You must have a reason. My parents say you’re a dirty pirate and a cold-blooded killer without a shred of mercy.”

He scoffs as he curtly sets the cup on the table. “Ah, so you think you know me just because you’ve heard some tales? Please enlighten me and tell me more, because I’m dying to know what the hoity-toity princess thinks of the dirty pirate. The pirate who saved your life, not to mention saved you from being defiled outside the tavern and saved you from entering a loveless marriage with King Walsh.”

“Oh, please tell me what a selfish brat you think I am,” Emma retorts as she springs from the bed and steps into his space. “You think because I’m a princess you know everything about me, right?”

He shrugs. “You’re somewhat of an open book.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, irritation lacing her words as she crosses her arms. “You read minds, pirate?”

“I told you, it’s Captain. And I know you’re unhappy. I could see it when I saw you in the tavern.” His voice is surprisingly soft, but it does nothing to change how she feels about him. Annoyance. Anger. Hatred. The list goes on and on.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Please, that’s called spying, not perception.”

“Eyes are the windows to our souls, Emma. They don’t lie.”

“Oh really? And what do my eyes say?”

“That you’re unhappy, that you don’t want to get married to a man old enough to be your father. You’re too lovely to belong to an old man, anyway.” 

“And who should I marry then, hmm?” she challenges, cocking an eyebrow.

Tilting his head, he takes a step toward her and she tries to step back to get away from him, but the edge of the bed stops her. Killian grins and moves in, closing the distance between them. She swears he’s purposely stealing all the air from her lungs. “Perhaps if you had a lusty young lad between your legs, it might take the sadness from your eyes.”

Emma’s face flushes crimson, his husky words vibrating through her. “You forget yourself, pirate!” she warns.

He leans in closer until their lips are only inches apart and speaks in a low voice, “I’m willing to bet you’ve never had a man between your legs.” He licks at his lips as his eyes fall to hers, this time whispering so close she can taste his breath. “Perhaps we should change that.”

Fear surges through her as it did when Baelfire attacked her. She lifts her hand to smack the filthy smirk off his face, but he firmly catches her wrist and lifts the back of her hand to his lips, holding her startled gaze as he places a kiss to the center of her skin.

His lips scorch her skin, the kiss sending a painful ache through her. “Love, you and I both know you didn’t really want to marry Walsh. We both know I did you a favor in more ways than one, so stop pretending like you hate me and show a little gratitude.” He rubs the back of her hand with his fingertips, where his lips had touched and he releases her before walking away. “Now eat your food before it gets cold and get dressed. Then meet me on deck,” he says in a commanding tone, shutting the door behind him to give her some privacy.

Emma is too stunned in her spot, she can’t even throw a tantrum. She can’t huff and puff and yell out her frustrations. Instead, she stands there as stiff as a statue and a little turned on if she’s being honest. She certainly isn’t imagining Hook’s body between her legs as he drives into her. Certainly not. She doesn’t know whether to hate him or...

She shudders at the thought and once she’s able to reassemble herself, she picks up the clothes from the bed and dresses. The outfit comprises a white button-up shirt with long sleeves and black leather trousers, but the fabric smells like the sea and rum and Hook, and she’s definitely not appreciating his scent. The clothes may be too big and baggy on her, and they’re definitely different from the usual attire she’s accustomed to, but she thinks she can get used to them. She hates wearing dresses and corsets. Emma eats her breakfast begrudgingly, deciding it's not poisoned—if he wanted her dead, he would’ve killed her by now—and tugs on his big, heavy boots before she makes her way to the deck.

As she ascends the steps, she hears Hook speaking with one of his men. 

“We’re sailing to the island of Crete to sell the princess to the highest bidder. She’s a virgin so she’ll be worth a pretty penny.” 

Emma’s blood bubbles under her skin. He had saved her life just to sell her at the slave market?! She’s heard enough. Full of rage, she bursts through the cabin door and storms up to the deck, sprinting to the rails of the ship, but before she could jump overboard, two hands grasp her tightly and haul her back on deck. She squirms in the arms of two pirates as they keep her from attacking the captain who seems to find amusement in her rage. 

“You bastard! I’d rather die than be sold as a slave!”

“Looks like you got yourself a tigress,” one of them comments with a hearty chuckle.

“Settle down, love, we won’t hurt you,” Hook says in a soothing voice. Like that’s supposed to comfort her.

Emma scoffs. “You’re just going to sell me off is all.” Her features twist in disgust. “My parents were right, you’re nothing but a dirty pirate.”

She can see the anger spiraling through him as he steps into her space. “In case you haven’t noticed, princess, I am just a dirty pirate, and you’re just another mouth to feed. We, pirates, do what we can to survive. At least you’ll be sold somewhere where the Evil Queen can’t find you.”

Her eyes grow wild, rage cracking through her soul like a lightning bolt. “You think that makes it better?! That I should be grateful you saved me, well it doesn’t! I will never thank you, you bastard!” She spits in his face. “Go to hell!”

Hook grits his teeth and wipes off her saliva, flinging it to the floor and wipes his hand with a handkerchief. She expects him to retaliate but he doesn’t and instead instructs his men to escort her to his cabin to cool down.

But Emma refuses to calm down. She refills the chalice with wine and gulps it down, hoping to keep her body from vibrating with rage.

~*~

As the Jolly coasts smoothly and steadily, rocking gently on the waves, Killian debates with his conscious—something he rarely does. He has to continually remind himself that selling the princess is the best decision. Once Rumple finds out his son is gone, and that Killian is responsible, he’ll be after him. Emma’s not safe on this ship. If the Evil Queen discovers she’s here, she’ll kill her. And he can’t let that happen. So is it better to sell her off, somewhere far away, where she’ll be safe from the Evil Queen, and from himself, or to let the Evil Queen enact her vengeance against Snow? He’s not sure, and he looks out toward the stars for some kind of answer as they glitter in the vastness of the dark sky. 

Emma hates him, but he’d rather her hate him than have her dead. But why is he taking such measures to keep her alive? Maybe it’s the fire that burns strong within her or maybe it has to do with how much he wants her. She’s so beautiful and brave and she’s developed a high tolerance for the situation in a small amount of time. 

She is captive on his ship, yet she helps out with the chores voluntarily. And she gets along with his crew. Although he has yet to see her wield a sword, he knows she’d make a fine pirate. But he doesn’t trust her enough yet to be sure that she won’t murder him in his sleep. So he ties her to the bed at night while he sleeps in his hammock.

“So beautiful.”

Her lovely voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks over from his helm to see the princess gazing out into the starry night with a silvery moon perched big and bright in the sky. “Very beautiful,” he murmurs, a small smile taking over his face. But he’s not referring to the stars.

Emma doesn't look at him; she hasn't spoken to him or looked his way much since she discovered his plan, but he doesn't blame her.

She has her arms crossed and is wearing a nightgown that had belonged to Milah. Luckily, Milah was a similar size. He sees the princess shiver, but he’s not certain if she’s trembling because of him or the situation or because she’s just cold. Either way, he pulls off his long leather jacket and comes up behind her to slip it over her shoulders. 

Emma grabs onto the lapels, securing it around her and turns her head slightly toward him, speaking softly, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, princess.”

When she stops shaking, he breathes a silent sigh of relief knowing she isn't afraid of him, or at least she doesn't appear to be. He wants to wrap his arms around her to provide further warmth and so he can hold her and comfort and tell her everything will be all right, but he doesn’t even know if it will be. Besides, it’s better to keep as much distance from her as possible. She doesn’t need a man like him in her life. She deserves so much better, even if it pains him to admit it. 

“You know, the stars are more than just for show,” he says, standing beside her, gazing over the ocean.

“I know that. I make wishes upon them.”

“What kind of wishes?” he asks curiously.

Emma shrugs. “Well, I used to wish I could travel the world, you know, be away from the castle. Then I was betrothed to Walsh, and I wished I weren’t.”

“It looks like your wishes came true then, love.”

“Yeah, I suppose they did,” she answers solemnly. 

They both know this isn't how she had expected her wishes to turn out. His stomach clenches at the thought. “Then I kidnapped you and you wished you could get away from me?” He can feel her stare burning into his skin as he avoids looking at her. 

“I wished you weren’t selling me, but no, I don’t wish to escape you. I quite like it here on your ship.”

Killian looks at her in surprise, meeting her gaze, and sees the sincerity pooled in her depths. He could easily get lost in her eyes, just as he’s lost his way in life. He can’t believe after all he’s done to her, she still wants to be aboard the Jolly Roger. She is a tough lass indeed. He peels his eyes away, breaking their trance when he realizes they’re both staring at each other, and he clears his throat. “But do you know how to navigate by the stars?”

She shakes her head. “Isn't that what a compass is for?”

“Aye, a compass determines direction,” Killian says as he leaves her side to grab his sextant from near the helm. “A sextant determines latitude and longitude by measuring angular distances, like the altitude of the stars.” Reclaiming his spot next to her, he holds out the instrument, showing her how to align the guiding star with the horizon. “You can read the angle between the north star and the northern horizon,” he explains, pointing to the brightest star in the constellation with his hook while he holds the sextant with his right hand. “So if you’re ever lost at night, you can look up at the stars to find your way.” She takes the sextant and looks through it as he helps her adjust it, not failing to notice how close they are or how her breath catches when their hands brush. The wind blows through her hair, and he picks up her sweet scent as he turns his head to watch her, their cheeks almost touching. Good lord, she’s breathtaking.

“Wow,” she whispers, gazing through the sextant in fascination. “Where did you learn that?”

“I served as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy before I became a pirate. My brother, Liam, was Captain, and this ship was called the Jewel of the Realm.” His eyes darken at the memories and he looks grimly out over the ocean. “Liam, he died in battle and after that... I lost a part of myself.”

“You lost your way?” she asks, even as she already knows the answer.

He nods, flashing her a quick glance before looking up at the sky again. He can’t believe he revealed that much to her, but somehow he feels like a small weight has been lifted from his shoulders. 

Emma hands him his sextant. “It looks like you need this more than I do.”

Killian offers her a weak smile as he takes it back from her.

She yawns and pulls off his jacket, returning it to him as she announces she’s going to bed. “Night, Hook.” 

“Goodnight, Emma.”

He stays in his spot and decides to take a page from Emma’s book and wish upon a star. Killian wishes that he had Liam back, so his wise brother could tell him what to do, to help him find his way again. What he wouldn’t give to hear Liam’s voice again, what he wouldn’t give to hear Liam call him little brother again. 

Killian also makes another wish. He wishes there had been someone there the night he had kidnapped Emma, to save her—someone who could've actually protected her. From the Evil Queen. From him.

~*~

Emma wakes to the booms of cannons being fired and the captain shouting orders to his crew. Panic ripples through her blood, her heart racing as she rushes to catch a peek. Emma gasps when she sees Regina’s ship fast approaching, gliding through the water like silk. Guilt rises in her chest. She knows the only reason why the Evil Queen is after the Jolly Roger is because she’s looking for the princess. Had she discovered Emma wasn’t the one who Killian murdered? Or is she here for Baelfire? Emma’s not sure, but she knows she has to do something to help, rather than cower idly below deck and hope Killian and his crew will defeat Regina’s men. But if she goes out there, they will try to take her. As she returns below deck, she thinks quickly and comes up with a plan. Searching around the first mate’s cabin, she finds exactly what she’s looking for.

~*~

Cannons blaze and muskets fire as the fierce battle rages. The air is thick with smoke, reducing visibility, but both sides continue to fire. Killian wouldn’t be the Captain he is today if he gave up so easily. Besides, he has a princess to protect, and the Evil Queen’s men will have to go through him to get to her. Musket balls, cannonballs and even bolts from crossbows fly from both sides. Blood is spilled, bones broken and limbs severed by the onslaught, but it doesn’t faze him. After years of bloodshed on the high seas, Killian has become immune to the horrors of battle.

“Prepare to fight!” Killian cries as the ship closes in on the Jolly Roger. He looks back at his crew to see the pirates drawing their swords, confident and eager for battle. He glances over when someone stands beside him, sword drawn, and he doesn’t recognize them at first and has to do a double-take, his eyes flickering over her face. He’d recognize those emerald green eyes anywhere. “Emma?! What are you doing?!” 

She’s dressed in the pirate clothes he’d given her, with the addition of a cap pulled below her ears, her blonde hair nowhere to be seen. 

“I want to help. I am well versed in swordsmanship.”

“Go back below deck,” he growls at her. “You’ll get hurt!” The thought pains him more than he’s willing to admit.

“I won’t! I know how to fight, Captain.”

Before he can argue any further, the Jolly Roger is swarmed with enemies, and the sound of metal clashing against metal rings throughout the deck. Killian wants to stay close and keep an eye on her, but that will get him killed quickly. Besides, he doesn’t know if he can stomach the idea of watching, especially if she gets hurt or worse.

“The Queen has sent us for Rumple’s son. Hand him over!”

“He’s not here,” Killian assures them, blowing out a breath of relief.

Emma’s opponent rushes at her with his sword flying high in the air and brings it crashing down. She dodges his attack with a side step but he's quick to recover. With quick speed, he slashes at Emma's stomach, nearly catching her with his sword, but she manages to jump back just in time to avoid being split in two. She fights off several others, sending a few of them overboard, and Killian’s heart swarms with pride. And also relief.

“I knew there was a little pirate in you!” Killian cheers, glancing at her for a second while continuing to fight off Regina’s knights. 

Emma flashes him a cocky smirk. “I told you I can hold my own.” 

“That you can, love,” he agrees as a sword is thrusting at him. He surges backward, but not before the tip of the sword knicks his neck.

When the battle is over, they have won, at least for now; the Evil Queen had retreated. Though Killian had only sustained a minor injury, several of his pirates are badly wounded. 

The ship surgeon and his apprentice retrieve their dressing boxes to tend to the mortal and dangerous wounds first. There are too many pirates down for them to handle at once, so Emma chips in and tends to the men with simple or compound wounds.

Killian is surprised to see her darting from one pirate to the other, applying pressure on their cuts to stop them from bleeding. She does it so quickly and calmly, he’s sure she’s done this before. 

Once the situation at hand is under control, Killian goes to his cabin to retrieve his flask full of rum. Emma has proved she would make a fine pirate, and the guilt of her fate is weighing heavy on his mind. She’d be a valuable asset to him and his crew, but the problem is, he doesn’t wish this life for her, which is rather contradictory since he’s about to sell her off as a slave. Perhaps he should just grant Emma her freedom and leave her somewhere, hoping the Evil Queen will never get to her, but for reasons he cannot explain, he can’t stomach that idea. And if she stays on his ship, she won’t be safe either. Not from the storms, not from pirate attacks, not from him.  

The rum burns down his throat as he comes close to draining his flask, trying to numb the pain he feels. He thinks the pain is only consuming his heart, but when Emma enters his quarters, she’s studying him with a scrupulous eye and lifting her hand to his neck. Killian’s heart flutters at her touch and he loses a breath as he stares into her gorgeous emeralds while she eyes his neck. Killian shudders at the thought of her kissing him there. It’s not until she removes her hand when he realizes he’s bleeding.

“I need to borrow your flask,” she says, holding out her hand.

Killian cocks a brow at her boldness. “Love, trying to take a pirate’s rum is a way to get yourself killed.”

Emma rolls her eyes and shakes her head, offering a tight-lipped smile. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”

“Fair point,” he chuckles and hands her the flask.

Before he realizes what Emma’s doing, there’s a splattering of rum on his neck and a sting so strong, he hisses and tries to pull away from Emma.

“You’re hurt. Don’t move,” she murmurs and cleans up the wound. Her face is so close to his, he can feel her breath on his skin. He looks up, trying to ignore how warm and soothing her hands are and how they scorch his skin. It’s been a long time since he’s actually enjoyed the touch of a woman.

“You seem to know what you’re doing, love. You took care of my men without batting an eye at the blood.”

“You forget that I live in the same kingdom as the Evil Queen,” she replies gravely, her eyes still focused on her task. “My parents and I have cleaned up many of her bloody messes before. She leaves innocent townfolk either injured or dead wherever she goes.”

“That much I’ve gathered about her. So, tell me something, why would you help me and my crew when we’re sailing to the island of Crete, where we’re selling you to an auction house?”

Emma’s jaw twitches as she looks up from her task to glare at him. “Because my parents didn’t raise an ingrate wretch. Your crew has shown me kindness and hospitality on your ship and I am grateful for that.” 

When Emma’s finished dressing his wound, she hands him his flask, her eyes flicking to his. “All done.”

“Thank you, love,” he says appreciatively, offering a small smile. “You’ve been a lot of help.”

She arches a brow. “So, does that mean you’ll keep me on as a permanent crew member?”

His eyes darken at her question, a solemn look clouding his features. “The Jolly is no place for a woman, love.” He turns around and walks away from her, heading for the cabin door.

“Why not?” she demands stubbornly. “Because of what happened to Milah?”

Killian stops dead in his tracks and closes his eyes, sadness and anger coursing through him. Though he’d gotten his revenge on Rumple, it didn’t make Killian feel any better.

“I found her drawings in the desk drawer, all of them signed by her.”

Killian takes a deep breath, drawing the courage to face Emma again. He turns around slowly, seeing the way Emma looks at him. Not with sympathy, but with a steely look embedded in her lovely features. “She would still be alive if I had never allowed her on this ship, Emma.”

“Hook, you can’t blame yourself for her death. Rumple is the one who took her life, not you.” Emma steps toward him, speaking gently. “You want me to believe you’re only a dirty pirate, but I can see a goodness in you. You loved Milah, you loved her deeply, which means you’re capable of love. You’re capable of being more than a murderous pirate.”

Killian looks at her in awe. “How can you be so sure?” he asks bitterly. “You know the things I’ve done, you know I’m about to sell you off and yet you stand here and tell me I’m capable of being a good man?”

She offers him a small smile. “You’re not the only one who can read people. I just hope one day you’ll realize the type of man you can be. I hope that one day you can find your way again.” With that, she leaves him to ponder his thoughts.

Later that night, he can’t sleep. In fact, he can’t sleep for the next three nights, and the night before they are to arrive in Crete, his mind weighs heavy with regret. He doesn’t wish to send the princess away. He’d even go so far as to say he’ll miss her when she’s gone. But he’d never tell her that. The more distance he can put between her and himself, the better.

From where he lays in his hammock, he can hear Emma huff out a sigh of frustration and hears her shifting in bed, although she’s unable to roll over because she’s tied to the bed. She’s proved to him she’s capable of wielding a sword and he wouldn’t blame her if she tried to kill him in his sleep.

“Can’t sleep, either, love?”

“Tomorrow I’ll be sold as a slave. What do you think?”

“Fair enough,” he sighs. 

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“Because I’m the pirate who will be responsible for selling you off as a slave.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, and Killian slowly climbs out of the hammock, walks over to his bed and begins untying the ropes from Emma’s wrists. 

Even through the darkness, he can see her eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re so sure I won’t kill you in your sleep, huh?”

Killian chuckles. “If you did, it’d be quite ironic—the only person I’ve ever spared is the one to kill me. At this point, I wouldn’t blame you, love. Besides, something tells me it will be a sleepless night for both of us.” Once her hands are free, he soothes his fingers over the inside of her wrists, pressing his lips to each one. Emma’s breath catches and she watches him intently.

“Care for some rum?”

“Please,” Emma replies, practically begging for it.

So he fetches his refilled flask and they both make their way topside. Sitting on the deck and leaning back against the railing, they take turns drinking from the flask.

“So, tell me about Milah,” Emma says, passing him the rum.

Killian is hesitant at first, but with the alcohol flowing through his system and the position he’s in, the position he’s put Emma in, he lets himself be open with her. More open than he’s been with anyone in a long time. The most open he’s been since Milah. And before she came into his life, Liam.

After Killian divulges the painful memories of his past, the conversation flows more easily. They chat about everything. Emma tells him about her life in the palace and he tells her about his adventures at sea. They share a few laughs and they exchange a few smiles, both happy and sad, and a few soft caresses of the cheek that almost lead to a kiss, but Killian refuses to let it get that far. So instead he drops a kiss to the top of her head and lets her rest her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her. 

He can’t help but think how twisted the set of circumstances are. She tended to his wounds, she confided in him and now she finds comfort in him. She trusts him. Even with the knowledge that he’s selling her tomorrow. After her first couple of days aboard his ship, she has been nothing but helpful and kind and compassionate. And as much as he hates to admit this, he’d be a bloody fool to get rid of her. 

Killian looks up to the stars again and makes a wish. This time, he wishes nothing for himself. He deserves nothing this life has to offer. No, what he wishes is for Emma to find happiness. He wishes for her to find something that will permanently take away the sadness from her eyes. Perhaps someone.

~*~

Emma wakes to the bright sun streaming through the window, and she stretches her limbs, taking a moment for her brain to wake when she realizes something. Make that two things. One, her wrists aren't tied to the bed, and two, she’s still on the ship. They were scheduled to arrive in Crete at dawn. And it’s well after dawn. Emma can tell by how big and bright the sun is over the horizon. Emma gets out of bed and retrieves Killian’s compass from his desk to look at it. They’re not even heading toward Crete. They're going the opposite way. Emma’s completely baffled and confused as she goes up to the deck and finds Killian at the helm. 

“Hook, where are we going?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s not sure why she is irritated, because they haven’t arrived in Crete, but she needs to know what's going on before she can think about getting her hopes up. “We’re not docked in Crete as you had planned.”

Killian shrugs without even turning his head to look at her. “We’ll be docking soon, but not in Crete.” 

“Then where are we docking?” 

“We’re stocking up on supplies…” He turns his head to look at her, donning a grin, “and you’re getting some proper clothes.”

“Proper clothes for what?”

“Clothes that will fit you, love. If you’re going to be a permanent crewmember on my ship, you will need your own clothes.” He turns away from her to continue manning the wheel. “That is if you can handle it.”

Emma scoffs and places her hands on her hips. “I can handle it. I’ve been trying to tell you that all along.”

He sighs and looks at her, guilt and regret flickering in his eyes as he turns around to approach her. “I know that. I’ve just been too stubborn to listen.”

Emma snorts. “I could've told you that.” 

He flashes a sarcastic smirk and steps into her space, cocking his head to the side. “So what do you say, are you in or are you out?”

She smiles big and wide and launches herself at Killian, throwing her arms around him. “I’m in.” 

Once the shock he feels from her embrace subsides, he smiles weakly and wraps his arms around her, stroking his hand through her hair. “In that case, welcome to the crew, love. Now you’re a true member of the Jolly Roger.”

“Thank you,” she whispers in his ear, squeezing him tightly, “for everything.”

“No need to thank me, Emma,” he murmurs, relishing in the feel of her body pressed against his. But the hug ends too quickly and soon she’s pulling away, leaving him shivering from the loss of her warmth.

Killian informs the others of the new addition and after stocking up on supplies, they celebrate with lots of rum and teach Emma some sea shanties and folksongs. 

“So, you lied to her and yourself,” Smee says to him later that night. They’re watching as Emma laughs and socializes with the other crew members. 

Killian turns his head to frown at him. Smee is the only man Killian would allow to still have his tongue intact after expelling such an accusation. “What do you mean?”

Smee offers him a small smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I think we both know why you let her stay, even if you won't admit it.” He leaves Killian to consider his statement. 

He knows Smee is right, but he’s also right about another thing—Killian will never admit the real reason why he wanted Emma to stay.

~*~

“Bloody hell...” 

Emma smirks, her cheeks tinting with blush as he walks into the cabin. “I take it you like how I look?”

Killian can’t even begin to answer, his eyes still navigating over her form and her curves, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. She’s wearing long leather boots, red leather pants and a fitted top with a wide belt that accentuates her breasts. She’d bought the clothes when they had docked to stock up on supplies.

“How do you expect me to captain a ship with you dressed like that?”

Emma shrugs, a sly smirk curving her lips. “You’ll figure it out.”

She leaves the cabin, and he has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he can join his crew on deck. As much of a distraction as she is, he knows he made the right decision to keep her on board.

Later that night, Killian lays in the hammock and Emma takes his bed as usual. He thought he’d be able to sleep that night, but he struggles once again. He almost made a huge mistake, he almost sold her into slavery. How would he have ever forgiven himself? His heart aches at the thought. He’d prefer to say he doesn’t know why he changed his mind, but that would be a lie. He knows exactly why.

“You know, you don’t have to sleep in the hammock anymore. There’s room in the bed.”

Emma’s voice surprises him. He thought she was sleeping peacefully. He cocks a brow and turns his head to look at her from across the cabin. “You’re asking me to join you in bed?”

She props herself up on her elbows so she can see him. “Why not? It’s your bed.”

Killian is a little bewildered and a bit hesitant, but he climbs out of the hammock and strides over to the bed, slipping under the covers. Emma turns on her side, laying her head on the pillow as he stares up at the ceiling. 

“Tell me something, Captain.”

He turns his head to look at her, offering a warm smile. He’s tempted to wrap her up in his arms, but he doesn't want to risk losing his spot next to her. He’s not sure how she would react to such a move. “Call me Killian, love.”

“Killian?” 

The sound of his name rolling off her tongue is decadent, even better than her calling him captain. There’s something much more intimate about Emma calling him by his real name. He has to pause his thoughts for the moment as she stares at him inquisitively.

“What would you like to know?”

She’s silent for a moment as she bites her bottom lip, mulling over her thoughts. “Why didn’t you kill me that night?”

Ah, he should’ve known his original answer wouldn’t be sufficient for her. She is a stubborn lass after all. “Because I’m a pirate, love. I knew I could make additional gold by selling you.”

Emma nods against the pillow. “Mmhmm, that’s what a pirate would say, for sure. So, what’s the real reason?”

Killian lets out a depleted sigh. He also should have known she’s no imbecile. Lying to her is futile. “Because, love, when I saw you in the tavern, you reminded me of someone.”

“Who?”

He gazes into her eyes through the dark, the moonlight providing the cabin with a silver light that spills over the side of her delicate face. Her green eyes shimmer through the darkness and pierce through his damaged soul. “Me,” he answers in a husky, barely audible whisper. 

Emma’s brows furrow with confusion. Then comes the question he knew she would eventually ask him. “So, why didn’t you sell me?”

“Because I knew you were more useful as a pirate on my ship.”

Emma frowns at him in an attempt to pry the truth out of him with a single look.

“Love, if you’re trying to prove that I'm a good man, you're wasting your breath.”

“Why’s that?” she challenges. 

Stubborn lass.

He looks away from her again to avoid her intense gaze. “Because my reasons for keeping you aboard the Jolly are purely selfish,” he admits with a heavy sigh. 

“And how’s that?”

Killian drags a hand over his face. He knows she won't stop questioning him until she gets every ounce of truth from him. He drops his hand to his side and inhales a deep breath before turning on his side to face her. She waits silently and patiently for his answer and he can’t help but bring his hand to her delicate cheek to stroke her soft skin. “Because everyone I have ever cared about is gone. I can’t lose one more person I love.”

Emma is still silent, her mouth opening slightly, but no words form for a whole minute.

“Well, now I know how to silence you,” he teases with a smirk.

“You love me?” she asks, ignoring his joke.

“Aye.” 

His confession surprises her. Hell, his confession surprises himself. He would like to say he’s done a very good job at hiding how he feels about her; at first, he was too afraid to allow himself to feel something for her, but at the end of the day he knows Emma is precious to him. More precious than any gold or jewels or treasure chests. Probably even more precious than the Jolly. He cares about her too much to deny his love for her.

Emma doesn’t respond after that, at least not verbally, and maybe she doesn’t love him yet, but her eyes say much more than her words ever could. And her actions do too when she grabs onto his shirt collar before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It lasts for a few seconds, or at least he thinks. He can’t register the passage of time as his mind clouds over from the feel of her soft lips on his. Killian is sure he looks dumbfounded as he stares at her and tries to process what had just happened. She kissed him and he’s not sure what he did to deserve her affection. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Emma seals his lips with hers again, combing her fingers through his hair, and his brain turns to mush. His eyes flutter shut as he moves his lips against hers and slides his hand under her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. He wraps his free arm around her waist, pulling her in and closing the gap between their bodies. He wishes he had his other hand right now so he could grasp onto her hip and stroke her curves, but he really is not in a position to complain when Emma makes no effort to pull away or shove him away in regret and instead deepens the kiss by sweetly darting a shy tongue between his lips. He parts his mouth, granting her access as he emits a deep, approving groan, and sweeps his tongue into her mouth, getting lost in how sweet and decadent she tastes.

The kiss quickly heats up, he just doesn’t realize to what extent until she’s climbing on top of him and straddling him. She leans over to kiss him again, but Killian pushes her away slightly, gazing up at her with a confused expression. “Emma…” he manages, trying to catch his breath. “What are you doing?” He knows exactly what she’s doing, judging by her lustful stare and the way she drags her center against his throbbing erection. And it’s not that he doesn’t want this. He just doesn’t want Emma to regret anything in the morning.    

Emma answers by removing her nightgown and tossing it to the floor. Killian groans as his eyes drink in her beautiful naked form, his manhood hardening even more under her entrance. 

“So gorgeous,” he groans and grabs her hip, fighting the urge to fondle her aching, rose-tipped breasts. 

She dons a little, sly smirk and leans in to whisper in his ear. “I want to see if you were right. I want to see if having a lusty young man between my legs will take the sadness from my eyes.”

His heartbeat quickens, breath catching in surprise. He never thought he'd see the day when she'd take him up on his offer. “I'd be happy to show you,” he growls, swiping his tongue over his lips. The smirk she offers him makes his shaft twitch underneath her core.

“Good.”

Her luminous eyes are practically glowing as he slides the curve of his hook along the inside of her thigh and up her toned, cream-colored stomach, trailing it toward the valley of her breasts. He slowly and teasingly circles one of her breasts with the curved steel, delighting in the way her nipples harden at the touch. When he reaches for her other breast with his hand, brushing his thumb over her nipple to feel the lovely, pliable flesh in his palm, she produces a delicious, skin-tingling moan and leans over him, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck, her tongue darting out to lick him, searing his skin like a branding iron. Heat pulsates through him as she unbuttons his shirt and pushes the fabric away so she can nip at his shoulders before kissing slowly down to his chest. He closes his eyes, sighing softly, enjoying the feel of her wicked lips on his skin as he cups the back of her head in his hand, entangling his fingers in her hair.

Needless to say, he doesn't need further convincing. 

And it turns out he was right. 

When she’s in his arms again, both of them panting and sated, he gazes into those soft emerald eyes. They no longer hold the sadness they did when he first laid eyes upon them. She looks content. She looks happy. He'd like to think it’s because of their tryst, but perhaps the sadness had slowly dissipated since the night he’d kidnapped her and took her aboard his ship.

Killian kisses her forehead and laces his fingers through hers, his heartbeat slowly abating as she lays her head on his chest.

To think, when he first saw her, he had been debating with himself about whether or not to carry out the Evil Queen’s orders and snuff the light from Emma’s eyes; now he has snuffed the sadness from them. 

Many moons later the sadness is permanently gone from her eyes when she gazes upon their wee pirate. She cradles Liam in her arms while singing him lullabies her mother had sung to her when she was a young princess. 

Killian’s heart warms at the sight and he presses a gentle kiss to each of their foreheads. Looking to the stars, he thanks each one for the precious gifts he doesn’t even deserve but loves with all his heart nevertheless. 

She froze and stood up from her vanity, heart pounding in fear. Emma quickly went to her drawer and pulled out the dagger that she got for a birthday present. Steeling herself, she stood near the window and watched a figure climb up to her window. Her breathing quickened and she pointed the weapon at the intruder. 

“Who’s there?” she said confidently. “Show yourself!”

A voice chuckled, “Easy, lass. Don’t stab me with the dagger I gave you.”

Emma smiled and withdrew her dagger as Lieutenant Killian Jones climbed through her window. He grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his tousled dark hair. His blue eyes shone with amusement and he looked dashing in his naval uniform. 

She breathed a sigh of relief, “Hey, Killian.” 

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the air. Emma squealed and accepted his kiss, drawing him closer and running a hand through his ponytail. 

“I missed you, Swan,” he whispered, cupping her face and pressing his forehead to hers. 

“Me too,” she sighed quietly. “Are you going to be at the ball today? I know Mom and Dad said you weren’t invited, but - ”

“Alas, I’m busy,” he said, making her pout. “But if I have time, I shall endeavour to make it.”

Emma sighed as he set her down and she went to her vanity to finish brushing her hair. For the Annual Winter Ball, her parents had invited suitors from Arendelle to Agrabah to win her hand in marriage. It was getting increasingly frustrating to meet dozens of men who cared only for her crown and title. Her parents would be furious if they knew about the Lieutenant who had already won her heart.

“I wish we could just run away together,” Emma said abruptly.

“As do I, love,” he replied softly. “Maybe someday.”

“Why not today?” she said, standing up and looking at him. “If we sneak out the back way, we’ll get to those underground tunnels.”

“What about your parents?”

Emma fell quiet for a moment and then replied, “I’ll leave them a letter. They’ll understand. I mean, it’s true love, after all.”

She squealed again as he pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. He was very affectionate and kind to her, but she wished they didn’t have to hide. She wanted the world to know how much she loved him, but she was scared that people wouldn’t accept. 

“You look ravishing, princess,” he said with a smirk. “Like a swan in a lake.”

Her light blue dress was streaked with silver and had snow white feathers. She left her blonde hair down; it cascaded in golden waves across her shoulders. A silver tiara sat in her hair, serving as a symbol of her status. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she giggled. His dark blue navy uniform and clean trousers looked handsome on him. “You should get out before my mom comes in - ”

Emma gasped when he pressed a kiss to her neck and muttered, “Let’s have some fun before that, shall we?”

In response, she pulled his collar and pressed her lips to his, feeling the soft warmth and scent familiar to him. His musk reminded her of the sea and she desperately wished she could run away with him and live together. They kissed for only a minute before there was a knock on the door.

“Emma, are you ready yet?” Queen Snow asked. 

Killian pulled away from her and sighed sadly, “Until next time, princess.”

He gave her one last loving kiss before departing for the window. Emma reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“See you soon,” she said, letting go of his hand and leaving to meet her mother.

The Winter Ball was magnificent and her parents had truly outdone themselves. Gleaming chandeliers and ice sculptures decorated the room; the latter were gifts from the queen of Arendelle. The tables and chairs were icy blue with red roses as the centerpieces. Emma, unfortunately, was used to everything and she only sighed in exhaustion as the hours passed. Her suitors had been polite, but dreadfully boring. She wanted to escape this room and leave with Killian, but she had her duties to attend to. She was the princess and expected to be kind and welcoming. 

After an eternity, it was time for the last dance of the ball. Emma sighed and decided to leave, but she felt a hand touch hers.

“May I have this dance, milady?”

Emma gasped at the sight of Lieutenant Killian Jones. He had donned a brown duster with leather trousers, which looked striking on him. She was at a loss for words, but she let him lead her on the dance floor. They walked to the edge of the room, away from the sight of her parents and numerous suitors.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said, putting her arms around his neck as they danced slowly. 

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he said softly. “Apologies for being late, but I did something and I hope you’ll be happy.”

“What?” she asked curiously.

“You know that little cottage near the harbor? The one we talked about staying at?”

“You bought it,” she said with a laugh, watching his face light up with excitement.

“Indeed, Swan,” he replied, pulling her closer to him. “Maybe you’re right about this whole eloping thing.”

“Let’s do it tonight,” she said impulsively. “I know it’s cold outside, but if we head out now, we’ll make it by midnight and - ”

“Way ahead of you lass,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I had a horse prepared for us an hour ago.”

Emma desperately wanted to kiss him, but she was interrupted by another suitor asking for a dance. She sighed and gave him a pointed glance, silently promising to meet him outside once the ball was finished. He nodded knowingly and winked. 

Getting to the cottage wasn’t the hardest part. Riding a horse helped them navigate the cold winds and blistering snows. Luckily, Killian knew exactly the path to take and they were near their new home within the hour. But they needed to find a minister, so they could officially get married. Unfortunately, hardly any were available in the dead of night. The couple finally managed to find one in a sleepy little town, who didn’t look too surprised at their predicament. He married them in the church’s courtyard as the moonlight shone above. 

During the ceremony, Killian’s vows were short and sweet, promising to cherish and love her for eternity. Emma struggled to hold back tears as he took out a small, simple ring. It was worth more to her than all the jewels in her castle. After they were married, they headed straight for their new home.  

The cottage was small and lonely with one large room, a queen sized bed and a huge fireplace. The kitchen stood on the other side with a small table and stove for cooking. Thankfully, the place looked clean and tidy. Killian carried her in his arms as they crossed the threshold and they shared a deep kiss. After many minutes, they broke apart. 

“I know it’s not much, my love - ”

“Shut up, this is perfect,” she said, giggling as he set her down. “Can we start a fire? I’m really cold.”

He nodded and started a warm fire with the wood in the corner. They sat on the bed and watched the crackling fire as the snow fell outside.

“Emma, if your parents find out - ” he started nervously.

“Let’s not think about now,” she said, quieting his words with a finger on his lips. “I love you and we’re married now. This is what we’ve wanted for years now.” 

“Indeed, my love,” he agreed, pulling her closer to his warmth. “Let’s get some sleep now, shall we? I’m exhausted.”