The room was pitch black, the moonlight at just the wrong angle to provide any illumination and no sign of the candle that had beckoned him, though he thought he could smell the faint hint of extinguished smoke. He squinted, peering into the darkness as he listened for any sound of movement. There was none.

For a moment, the feeling of terror and dread washed over him. Where was she? He straightened up, reflexively moving his hand to where his sword was strapped to his hip.

Just as he made to take a step into the room, anxious to find its occupant, he felt something move behind him. Before he could react, a body slammed into him from behind him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. An arm came up across his throat, pulling his head back against his attacker’s shoulder. A pair of short legs wrapped around his middle, squeezing tight.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” came the playful whisper in his ear.

In a move almost as quick as his assailant’s, Killian reached over his head and hauled the small body over his shoulder and into his arms. The small girl squealed in laughter, wriggling in his grasp until she had regained her footing on the floor. It didn’t last long, and a second later, Killian found himself enveloped in another bone crushing hug, this time from the front. He returned it eagerly, resting his cheek on the top of the ten year old’s head.

“You know,” he said finally, kissing the top of her head, “some days I regret having taught you that move.”

Even in the dark he could feel the radiance of her smile. “No you don’t,” she countered.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted, his own grin widening.

The young child scampered off into the darkness then, and Killian waited patiently until the spark of the candle being reignited illuminated the room once more.

The room was small and circular, the only pieces of furniture being the small cot off to one side, a wooden stool with a water pitcher sat on top, and a basket of clothes stacked neatly against the wall. The walls were covered in markings and drawings, some clearly depicting scenes from stories that he had told her, while others were new and unknown to him. He would need to ask her about them later.

(Killian blatantly ignored the markings of the tallied days of her imprisonment. It was something she had thought to begin on her own, and he hadn’t had the heart to stop her.)  

He ran his eyes over her quickly, surveying his daughter’s slight form where she stood in her nightgown. It hadn’t been that long since his last visit - three days and only two nights, the longest since her entrapment - but his mind never ceased to worry until he saw her again. Though her hair had clearly not been brushed since the last time he’d visited, she appeared well enough. Her eyes were bright, her arms and legs were strong and solid, and there was a splash of colour in her cheeks. She was just as perfect as he remembered. It was only then that he let out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Did you bring them?” She asked excitedly.

“Aye, I did,” he responded with a wink.

He dug around in his pockets, emptying the contents on the floor between them. Twenty eight small chess pieces, old and cracked from lack of care, and half of a stick of chalk.

The little girl dropped to the floor, snatched up the chalk, and began drawing out a checkerboard on the stone floor, just as her father had once shown her. Killian sat across from her, easing himself down a little more stiffly than his daughter had. The years that had been suppressed during his time in Neverland seemed to be catching up with him slowly each day, it seemed.

“You’re missing some,” she noted, picking through the small pile.

“Aye, well, it’s all I was able to gather,” he said, reaching back to scratch behind his ear. “I’ll see if I can’t track down some more for next time.”

Once the board was drawn up, Killian divvied up the pieces and began placing them on the board. They were short by a few pawns and a white bishop, but they made do with a spare button and some doubloons. He passed the black to his daughter’s side; they had played enough times before for him to know what her preference was.

The game began as it often did; Killian choosing careful and tactical moves that easily gobbled up his daughter’s messily sprawled pawns. Small, she might be, but his daughter’s competitive side rivaled only his own, and letting her win out of hand would have invoked a fury that Killian was not prepared to handle. That said, if he turned a blind eye to the safety of his own pieces, sacrificing a few pawns of his own, the little girl didn’t have to know.

But the game quickly took an unusual turn, and before long the little girl was left with a dwindling set of players and a king only a few moves away from checkmate. Killian frowned as he watched his pile of captured pieces grow, and the crease between his daughter’s eyebrows deepen. His knight moved ahead again, putting the black king in check. The little girl barely seemed to notice, her eyes glazed over where they were fixed on the board.

“Ah, darling,” he prompted with a tight smile, hoping to regain the girl’s attention. “You see? You’ve left your rook open for the taking.”

Killian’s heart sank in his chest when she didn’t even flinch, his smile fading. For all his past talk of his ways with women, he had never actually known any girls in his youth, and far fewer children. In fact, aside from Liam’s makeshift role, he had never even had parents.

He sighed, resisting the urge to rub his hand over his face in frustration.

Perhaps everyone had been right. What did Captain Hook know about being a father?

Sure, he had tried his best over the past few years, with some degree of success. The few days when the games and gifts were all it took to bring a smile to his daughter’s face were easy enough. Her eyes would light up at the sight of a sweet treat he had swiped from a marketplace, or she would gasp in wonder at a card trick he had picked up from a pickpocket. On days like those, when she was beaming up at him with nothing but joy in her face, he felt like a real father. Like he could possibly - by the grace of God himself - be the father that his little girl wanted. The father she deserved.  

But more often than not, he was faced with the other days. The days that left him feeling a failure, made worse by the horrible circumstances that had befallen them. His daughter was as strong and beautiful a girl as he could have ever dreamed of having, but he could see the sadness that lingered behind her eyes, even when she tried to hide it.

And that, of course, was the worst part, wasn’t it? Instead of exploring the world and becoming the woman she was always meant to be, his little girl was trapped in a tower, feebly attempting to hide her disappointment for the sake of her father. She had had everything taken away from her, and yet she still felt responsible for putting on a brave face.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought. He was the one that was meant to protect her. That was his duty as a father - more so than the gifts and the treats and the visits. And yet he couldn’t seem to get even that right. And yet, he still had no idea how to fix it. Hell, he didn’t even know where to start!

Killian Jones had never felt so alone.

“Perhaps we should start again, shall we?” He asked weakly, trying to mask the pain in his voice.

Much to his relief, she did speak this time.

“No, no. It’s just that...” she sighed, reaching across to tip the small black castle on it’s side in defeat. “I wish it were that easy.”

His heart twisted further in his chest.

“Hey, now. Look at me,” he urged, gently catching her chin with his finger to peer into her eyes. “Look at me darling.”

She looked up, and Killian felt a lump form in his throat as he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes.

“They will never be able to keep us apart. Not really,” he promised, his voice stern. When she appeared unconvinced, he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Even now, look at us. Thick as thieves, we are.”

A single tear spilled from the corner of his daughter’s eye, and it sent a stab straight to his heart. He moved his thumb quickly moved to swipe it away before leaning forward to press a light kiss to her head.

“Now, no more tears, darling.”

She sniffed, but she wiped her eyes. “Yes, papa.”

The little girl glanced back at the board before her, her eyes lighting back up mischievously as she spotted an opening. Reaching forward, she moved her queen forward until it reached the spot where the white horse head figurine sat, kicking it over with the bottom of her piece.

“And now I have your knight,” she giggled, her voice sounding lighter already.

Killian smiled fondly back. “You can keep that, darling. And I will keep this,” he said, picking up the fallen rook between two fingers and slipping it into his breast pocket.

The last remains of sorrow disappeared from her face, as she snatched up her piece in her hand, beaming at it as though it was the best gift she had ever received.

“You can be my white knight!”

Killian made a face.

“Wouldn’t you rather me be your dashing pirate?” He teased.

She tilted her head, looking at him intently as though she were trying to see her father as the swashbuckler he was meant to be. “No,” she shrugged, holding the piece close to her chest. “I just like you as my papa.”

Well he’d be damned if he didn’t admit his heart skipped a beat at that. The old captain flushed, turning his attention to the abandoned game on the floor.

“What say we get you into bed, princess?” He said gruffly, scooping up the pieces and replacing them in his pocket. The little girl made a face, but fetched a handkerchief from the basket in the corner and began wiping down the stone floors. When all traces of their game were gone, she crawled into bed, scooting to the far edge of the wall to make room for her father. Once she was settled, Killian snuffed out the candle and made his way through the dark to sit beside her.

It took a bit of maneuvering to fit them both on the narrow mattress, but after a bit of wriggling, his daughter was curled up into his side, the blankets tucked tightly around her small body.

“Tell me a story,” she asked, her voice already full of sleep. It had always amazed him how easily his daughter was able to fall asleep. He hoped it was normal. Not that he would have any idea of what to do anyhow.

“You’ve heard all of my stories already a thousand times over.”

“A song, then?” She encouraged.

Killian sighed in mock defeat but nodded, thinking as his eyes flickered over the stone ceiling above them. He settled on an old sea shanty, one that he had learned in the navy centuries ago. It wasn’t the happiest of songs, but it was soft and slow, and there wasn’t as much cursing as the other ones. The repetitive verses had a certain sway to them, like the gentle rolling of waves on a calm morning. It was a song that he had used to sing her to sleep a million times before, and though he was sure she knew every word by heart, she only listened patiently as her father’s voice rose and fell with the words.  

The darkness never quite seemed to reclaim the room as the shanty came to it’s inevitable slow conclusion, the echo of the last note hanging in the air. He could feel the gentle puffs of his daughter’s breath where her head rested on his arm, and for a moment he thought she might have fallen asleep. But a moment later, her small voice broke the silence.

“Will she come back?”

He didn’t need to ask to know who she meant. There was only one other person who ever came to the tower. Her jailor.

“Yes, lass,” he admitted, brushing his hand through her hair to help soothe her.  

“Will you stay with me?”

“I will, love,” he promised, placing another kiss to the top of her head. “Go to sleep.”