#magic wardrobe

“Mama,” Henry cries as he comes flying out the front door, “can I pick out my room? There are three. Cause I want the one upstairs. Can I have the one upstairs?”

Emma laughs at her son’s barrage of questions. Killian reaches down and scoops up the wriggling child.

“Sorry, my boy, but you’re mum gets first choice.” He successfully cuts off the lad’s whines by tickling him. Then he sets Henry down upon his feet and ruffles his hair. “In the meantime, why don’t you pick some flowers for your mother? The field over there is carpeted with them.”

Killian points west away from the sea, and Henry eagerly scampers off. Emma calls after him to be careful.

“Don’t go too far! Make sure you can still see the house!”

“He’ll be fine, Swan,” Killian assures her, pulling her inside the house. “He never fell overboard on the Jolly despite your worrying, now did he?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Haha, that really puts my mind at ease.”

Killian winks at her, then gives her a tour of the first floor, which is bigger than she would have expected. There’s a small foyer, then a formal sitting room to the right and a formal dining room to the left. At the end of the hall is a kitchen that opens up into a family room with a stone fireplace identical to the one in the parlor. Next to the stove in the kitchen is a door that opens out onto a patio with an even better view of the rocky sea below. Between the hallway and the kitchen is another door that leads into the master bedroom. The bed is tucked right beneath the window, and Emma can imagine falling asleep to the soothing sounds of the crashing waves.

“There’s no indoor plumbing like in your realm,” Killian explains as Emma circles the room, her hand skimming over the furnishings, “but there is a stream practically in our backyard, and the kitchen is large enough to put a tub in one corner.”

Emma pauses in her explorations and arches a brow at him. “You think I’m going to complain about a lack of plumbing after six months on the Jolly Roger?”

Killian manages another nervous laugh. “So you like it?”

She steps close to him, resting both of her palms on his chest. “I’m more worried if you’ll like it. You won’t miss the adventures at sea?”

“As I’ve said many times, piracy is ten percent adventure, ninety percent sheer boredom.” He lifts one of her hands and kisses it. “I’m ready for a life with you and Henry. I’m ready for the family I haven’t had since my mother passed.”

Tears well in Emma’s eyes. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that anyone would choose her, put her first. Yet this man isn’t just anyone, is he?

“Besides,” Killian says, thumbing her chin, “the Jolly still belongs to us.”

“But are you really satisfied turning her into a merchant ship? Is your crew?”

He draws her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Mason has always wanted to go to the naval academy, and with a year or two on a respectable merchant ship, he can. Hawkins wants to go to university, and Curly is looking at a plot of land to purchase and farm. Starkey has a sweetheart in Camelot, though he’s tried to hide it. As captain of my vessel, he can now ask for her hand. They’ve all grown up, Swan, and they have dreams and plans of their own.”

“And they’re loyal to their first captain,” Emma amends with a smile.

“I don’t know why.”

“I do,” she tells him, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “Are you sure you won’t get bored doing ledgers, placing orders, or whatever else merchants do?”

Killian shakes his head and bops her nose. “Quit doubting me, love! Besides,” he leans closer and stage whispers in her ear, “don’t tell anyone this, but I rather enjoy keeping the ledgers.”

Emma finds the nerd beneath his swashbuckling swagger incredibly sexy for some reason. “Well then,” she teases, stepping away from him to saunter over to the large bed. She grasps one of the bedposts and drapes herself around it in what she hopes is a sexy maneuver. “In that case, Mister Jones, maybe we should christen this bed.”

Killian growls and pounces, yanking her close and claiming her lips hungrily. Emma’s just dropped to the bed with a giggle when Henry comes pounding inside.

“Watcha doin?”

Emma almost falls to the floor in her haste to push Killian off her and jump to her feet. “Um, Papa’s just . . . tickling me.”

Killian chokes as he tries to hold back a laugh, but Henry is oblivious. Their son sticks out his hand, and clenched in his fist are a bunch of small yellow flowers.

“Oh, well, I did what Papa said and got you some flowers, Mama!”

“Buttercups!” Emma can’t help the tears that spill down her cheeks. “Thank you Henry!”

She picks up her son as Killian steps closer. He embraces both of them, brushing kisses to the tops of their heads.

“Welcome home, my loves,” he tells them.

******************************

After removing his boots by the door, Killian tiptoes through the cottage, the light of the full moon helping him avoid the furniture, Henry’s toys, and Emma’s shoes which she always leaves wherever she happens to kick them off. When he gets to the kitchen, he’s able to light a lamp so he can find the supper that Emma promised to leave on the stove. The Jolly was late coming into port, and going through the inventory took much longer than he had anticipated. Luckily, Emma is used by now to that most unpredictable of mistresses: the sea.

“Killian?”

The sound of his name is weak, yet he can still make it out on the other side of their bedroom door. He crosses to the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible. Emma’s curled up on the bed, her hair lit gold by the moon, and she’s so still he thinks maybe he didn’t hear her after all. He wants to reach out and touch her, yet he doesn’t want to wake her.

“Killian? Killian?”

She stirs slightly, but it’s clear she is still half asleep as she mumbles his name.

“Aye love, it’s me.”

“Killian?”

“Yes?” He touches her lightly through the blankets.

She says his name a few more times, like a question, and he can’t help smiling at how disoriented she is. He’s learned over the past year that she does in fact talk in her sleep. She finally seems satisfied that he’s here, and that he’s Killian. Her body relaxes and she mumbles good on a sigh. He pats her gently again and turns to go, but before he can, she reaches out and manages to find his hook in the dark.

“But you’re not leaving?” she asks, still in that sleepy voice.

The question makes his heart swell. “No love, I’m not leaving.”

“Henry’s not leaving?”

He lifts his hook and brushes his lips across her hand, which clings to the metal tightly. “No, Swan.”

She lets out a little shudder and releases his hook. He bends, brushes a kiss to her brow, then turns back to the kitchen.

“Killian, have we done this before?”

The question has him frozen with his hand on the doorknob. He isn’t sure what she means by the question.

“I only just got home, Emma,” he tells her gently.

“Oh,” she murmurs, sleep finally beginning to claim her fully and slurring her words. “I guess I dreamed it, then.”

Killian tiptoes out and slowly closes the door behind him. He chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table with the food Emma had left on the stove. Yet as he takes a bite of the roast on his plate, he sobers. He hates the fears that sometimes plague Emma. He wonders how long it will take for the love in their little home to ease them.

******************************

Killian awakes the next morning to the banging of pots and pans, sometimes punctuated by curses in their small kitchen. He may have had second thoughts about the location of the master bedroom if he had been aware of the fact that Emma was completely incapable of moving about quietly.

“Can I have more strawberries, Mama?” Henry calls out, far louder than necessary, and Killian groans as he shoves the pillow over his head.

“Shhh,” Emma admonishes, in the exact same volume as their son, “you’ll wake up Papa.”

“Why’s he not up? He said he’d bring home more paper for me.”

“You know the ship doesn’t always arrive on time. Now eat.”

Killian flings aside the pillow with a sigh, knowing that getting any more shut eye is impossible. Yet as he buckles his brace and slips into his shirt, he only feels joy well inside his chest. He did get Henry more paper for his scribbles, and he can’t wait to hear what tall tales the lad will weave next. He can’t, at only six, truly write yet, but he feels with fatherly pride that it’s merely a prelude of what is to come.

Once he’s dressed, he grabs the parcels wrapped in brown paper and string that he’d hidden in the nightstand before he went to bed. He tucks them under his hooked arm, then bursts through the bedroom door. “Making an entrance,” as Emma would say.

“Papa!” Henry cries out, tossing aside his fork and jumping up from the kitchen table.

“Killian!” Emma admonishes, turning from the stove with a spatula in her hand. “I was trying to let you sleep.”

“A pointless endeavor, love,” he quips with a wink. Emma rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove. Henry leaps onto his back, trying to grab the parcels.

“Whaddya get me, Papa?”

“Well, get off me, you little monkey, and I’ll show you.” Henry slides to the floor, and Killian hands him the largest parcel. “Paper, as requested.”

“Yay! But what’s the other one?”

Killian hands him the small, compact, rectangular package and grins as Henry rips into it. The paper falls away to reveal a leather bound book with beautiful gilt-edged pages and hand painted illustrations in deep hues.

“That, my boy, is a book of tales from Agrabah where the air smells like spices and the sultanese keeps a tiger for a pet!”

“Wow! Will you read it to me right now?”

Killian glances over his shoulder at his wife. “Not until after you eat your breakfast.”

He ruffles Henry’s hair, and the boy obeys. Killian turns to the stove where Emma is purposefully keeping her back to him, though he can’t fathom why. He saunters up behind her and leans over her shoulder, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair.

“Mmm, something smells delicious.”

“It’s just pancakes,” she retorts, but she is unable to hide her smile.

“I wasn’t talking about breakfast,” he growls lower against her skin. He feels her shiver beneath him, but when he tries to grab her around the waist, she dodges him. She grabs the plate of pancakes and carries them to the table.

“Eat them before they get cold,” she says with forced cheerfulness, and he frowns. She sits next to Henry, sliding a pancake onto the boy’s plate, and Killian sits as well.

“I got you something too,” he tells her, sliding a small parcel across the table with his hook.

Emma still refuses to meet his gaze, fiddling with the string around the square package that could fit in the palm of her hand. “You know I never need anything but you.”

“Yet a man likes to spoil his bride. Go ahead, open it.”

She glances up at him from beneath her lashes, then tears into the paper with a tentative smile. It falls away to reveal a small velvet box, and Emma gasps before she’s even lifted the lid. When she does finally open it with trembling fingers, she breathes out his name. Killian slides off his chair and falls to his knees next to her. He pulls the gold ring with its simple jade stone reverently from the velvet and slides it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

“I promised you I would get you a ring the day we wed, remember?”

Emma nods, staring at the gem and turning it in the light.

“I know diamonds are the usual choice, but this immediately made me think of your eyes. Then the gold like your hair . . . “ he trails off worriedly. “Emma?”

She looks up at him finally - and promptly bursts into tears. Killian glances at Henry worriedly.

“Take your breakfast outside on the patio, okay?”

Henry nods and scurries off without argument, his brown eyes wide as he glances at his mother. Killian rubs his wife’s back and whispers soothing words, most of them nonsense. He hands Emma his handkerchief, and she wipes it across her eyes, then blows her nose loudly. She cocks her head at him, and the words out of her mouth are the last ones he expected.

“Did we have a conversation when you came home last night?”

“Um . . . yes, love. You said my name about a hundred times then asked if I was staying.”

Emma nods, twisting his handkerchief in her hands. “I thought so. Did I ask if we’d done this before?”

Killian laughs and rubs her back again. “Yes, you did. I wasn’t sure if you meant last night, our entire marriage, or since we were ten.”

Emma nods, but says nothing. He’s entirely confused. It isn’t like Emma to cry out of nowhere. Or refuse to look at him. Or dodge his touch. He’s beginning to become concerned, truth be told.

“If you don’t like the ring -”

“Of course I like it! It’s perfect!”

“What then?”

“Oh God,” Emma pants, hugging her middle and looking up at the ceiling. “Last night, I dreamed about this conversation. In my dream - my nightmare - you got angry and left.”

Killian’s brow furrows. “I can assure you, Swan, nothing you can tell me would ever make me leave.”

She levels him with a steady gaze. “You used to. Through the wardrobe.” He starts to open his mouth, but she lifts her hand to stop him. “I know it wasn’t intentional, and I’m not blaming you, I just . . . I just . . .”

He grasps her hand firmly in his. “Breathe, love, it’s okay. You just get scared sometimes. It’s okay. So do I.”

“You do?” her voice sounds so small and fragile that it breaks his heart.

“Aye, of course. It has nothing to do with love or trust. The wounds of childhood tend to linger.”

“But I do trust you!” she exclaims.

He draws nearer and cups her cheek. “I know that. That’s my point entirely. The fears are irrational, for both of us. Now, what is it you have to tell -”

He stills when Emma takes his hand and places it on her abdomen. It’s different somehow, and he freezes. He had noticed the last time they made love, but couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. Now he gazes into Emma’s blushing face - how had he not noticed the sudden roundness in her cheeks? The pieces begin to fall into place - her fatigue lately, that illness that seemed to linger far too long . . .

“Emma, are you . . . “

She nods, her eyes welling up with tears again. Her tears - of course! He swallows thickly.

“Emma you’re . . . “

She grins wider, cocking her head saucily. “I’m rather proud that I’ve rendered you speechless. I think the word you’re looking for is pregnant.”

A grin fills his face, a goofy, joyous grin. “Well, I was going to say with child, actually.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you were, my old fashioned sailor who -”

He cuts her off with a passionate kiss, and when it ends, he scoops her up and spins her around with joy.

“Careful there, buddy. The morning sickness is mostly gone, but I make no promises that I won’t puke on you.”

“Wait,” he says, shaking his head, “how long have you known about this?”

“Well,” she hedges, “this realm doesn’t exactly have a stick you can pee on.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs, “Never mind. Let’s just say it took me awhile to figure it out, and then it took me a bit longer to get up the nerve to tell you. I’d say I’m at least twelve weeks along, probably more.”

Killian cups her face with his hand and locks his eyes intently on hers. “Do you honestly believe I would leave you over this?”

She bites her lower lip and shakes her head.

“Can’t you see now how happy this makes me?”

“Well,” she says with a shrug, “you spinning me around the kitchen sort of convinced me, I guess.”

He throws his head back and laughs before kissing her soundly again. But he doesn't do any more spinning.

No sense testing fate.

***************************

“I’m sorry, Captain Jones, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The midwife has the audacity to grab Kilian by the arm and try to forcibly remove him from his own bedroom. On the bed, Emma is crying out as her next contraction hits.

“I’m not leaving,” Killian says firmly.

“It isn’t proper for a man to be present,” the midwife argues, though her words are almost drowned out by Emma’s cries.

“Bullshit,” Emma interrupts the argument, her breaths coming raggedly as her

birthing pains abate for the moment.

“Mrs. Jones, it just isn’t done,” the midwife snaps back, aghast.

“Well it is in the realm I come from,” Emma tells her, “not to mention the whole

impropriety thing is ridiculous. He’s obviously intimately familiar with my vagina.”

The midwife’s eyes grow impossibly large, and Killian can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.

“Mrs Jones! It isn’t ladylike to -”

“Yeah, well ladylike has never described me anyway.”

The midwife presses her lips together in a disapproving way as she draws closer to the bed. She lowers her voice, but the woman is seventy-three and hard of hearing, so Killian can hear every word.

“I’m aware that your husband isn’t the biological father of your son, so I’m going to assume this is a bit new to you. If your husband sees you in this state, well . . . it may . . . turn him away from you, if you catch my meaning.”

Emma’s face turns a deeper shade of red that has nothing to do with her labor, and her eyes blaze in a way Killian knows well. He grins wider, knowing that his wife is about to render this woman speechless.

“My husband wasn’t complaining about my pussy when he was between my thighs last night, so I think I’m safe.”

Yep, speechless. Killian can’t help winking at the midwife as he saunters past her. The woman looks like she might faint. Killian kneels beside the bed and brushes a kiss to Emma’s forehead. Her face crumples as she clutches desperately at his hand.

“She was trying to make you leave!”

“Nothing could tear me away, love.”

“Oh God!” Emma yells, drawing her knees up as another contraction rolls through her. Emma releases Killian’s hand and grabs onto his hook instead as she groans in pain. This one is stronger than the last, and just as Killian is about to lose his mind because he can’t help her, she collapses against the mattress.

“I didn’t want to break your one good hand,” she tells him with a wane smile.

“I appreciate that,” he quips back with a lopsided grin.

The midwife has pushed the sheets back and is examining Emma. “Well, Mrs. Jones, your contractions are longer and closer together, but the baby isn’t crowning yet. We’ve got a while still.”

Emma whimpers and shakes her head. “It didn’t take this long when Henry came.”

Killian puts his arm around her and whispers that he loves her. She drops her head wearily to his chest, and he kisses her sweaty brow. Another hour goes by the same way, and it feels like time has stopped altogether. Killian feels her labor is unceasing, so he can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Though she’s clearly exhausted, he’s amazed at her strength.

“I see the head!” the midwife finally says excitedly, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “Can you push for me when the next contraction hits, Emma?”

The look on his wife’s face is full of determination as she draws her knees up. He sees her tense when the pain comes again, but she bears down with a scream. She has to do the same thing again, and again, and yet again before the midwife laughs out that the baby’s head is out. The midwife shocks him when she pushes back the sheets further and asks if he wants to see. Killian does, and he blinks back tears when he sees their baby.

“It’s almost over, Emma,” he encourages her.

Emma pushes a few more times, and finally, cries fill the air. Emma laughs even as she collapses in exhaustion. Killian kisses her and murmurs over and over how bloody brilliant she is.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife announces as she rubs the baby down with salt to fend off infection.

“A girl,” Kilian breathes and kisses his wife again.

The midwife then washes the baby off with the water Killian had boiled for her hours ago. The little thing is red, screaming, and oh so tiny, but the midwife is all business as she cleans her up and wraps her in a blanket. The woman only softens when she gently places the baby girl in Emma’s arms.

“Oh Killian, she’s so beautiful,” Emma whispers as she brushes her fingers over the baby’s cheeks.

Killian lays down sideways on the bed next to his wife and gazes in wonder down at the tiny baby. She has a tuft of dark hair on her head, and her skin is damp and feather soft beneath his fingers. She’s ceased her crying, her eyes wide as she gazes up at Emma, as if she recognizes her mother instantly.

“She has your eyes,” Emma whispers with a smile.

“And your chin and nose,” Killian adds.

“And your ears,” Emma says, her thumb tracing over them.

“Poor thing.”

“Hey,” Emma admonishes, tearing her gaze away from the baby, “I love your ears.”

They just gaze down at her for several moments, Killian grinning broadly when the baby’s tiny fingers wrap around his pinkie. A tear slips down his face, and Emma reaches up to wipe it away.

“Do you want to hold her, Papa?”

He can only nod, his emotions overwhelming him. He gathers the bundle into his arms, holding her close to his chest and out of the way of his hook.

“What shall we name her, Swan?”

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually. I sort of had a feeling she was a girl, and well . . . there’s only one name that seems fitting. A name that I will always associate with love and home.”

“I know exactly what you’re referring to, my love, and I think it’s absolutely perfect.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and they both turn their heads to see Starkey in the doorway with Henry in tow. Kilian grins.

“Henry, would you like to come meet your baby sister Martha?”

Henry’s eyes are wide as he draws closer to the bed. Emma reaches out and encourages her son to climb up and join them. He settles in next to his mother and leans over to look at the baby.

“She’s pink,” he observes, and they laugh.

“She won’t be forever,” Killian explains, “all babies are that way at first.”

“Even me?”

“Yes,” Emma teases, kissing his cheek, “even you.”

Henry gets bored of the baby fairly quickly and asks if he can go back down to the beach with Starkey. After he leaves, Emma and Killian cuddle together to love on Martha, until she starts to fuss.

“Okay,” the midwife says briskly, “Papa needs to leave so Mama can nurse.”

She let’s Killian stay the minute she sees Emma’s scowl.

Emma and Killian: Age 28

“Papa, again, again!”

Killian laughs as his three-year-old daughter makes futile attempts to move the rocking horse back and forth. “Okay, okay, anything for my cygnet.” He presses his hook down on the horse’s tail, setting it in motion again as his little girl squeals with delight.

Emma laughs too from her chair by the fireplace. “That’s the truth. You know the kids don’t need you to bring gifts every time you’re away.”

“It’s part of the inventory I own, love, I can do what I please with it.”

“You spoil us.”

“Happily.”

He winks at his wife as she settles back into her chair and sips contentedly on her mug of hot chocolate - another gift from his latest shipment. Business is booming with the addition of a second ship. Starkey is still the captain of the Jolly while Nibs has taken the helm of the Jewel II. The Jolly is what sets Killian’s business apart, however. With the pegasus sail, it’s able to bring exotic goods from far away realms that no other merchants can acquire. Though Hawkins, Mason, and Curly all left to pursue their respective dreams, Killian had no trouble replacing them nor acquiring a crew for Captain Nibs. Jones Shipping has developed a reputation for treating their sailors well, and Killian has been able to hire the very best at sea.

The Jones family enjoys frequent trips on the Jolly as well, with renovated accommodations that Killian made specifically to make his family more comfortable. Henry and Martha are just as content at sea as they are on land, though this little cottage of theirs is always a joy to come home to.

Killian continues to rock Martha on her new toy as his gaze lands on Henry, now nine years old. As usual, he wanted more paper and pencils, which he goes through at an alarming pace. His writing is incredibly engaging and complex for a boy his age, and Killian couldn’t be more proud. Henry’s no slouch behind the wheel of the Jolly, either, and can read the stars as well as any of Killian’s crew. No father has ever been more blessed than he.

Their domestic evening scene is disrupted by a knock at the door. Emma frowns as she rises to her feet, setting her mug down on the coffee table.

“Who could that be?”

When Emma opens the door, she lets out a pleasantly surprised gasp to find Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily standing there. Despite Martha’s protests, Killian joins Emma at the door with his little girl balanced on his hip. There’s the typical round of greetings, hugs, and exclamations over how much the children have grown, but Emma and Killian both get the feeling this isn’t just a social visit. Not at this time of day, and not by the looks of those nervous expressions on the fairies’ faces.

“I just brought home cocoa and tea from Agrabah,” Killian tells his old friends. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Tiger Lily says, “tea for me, please.”

“I’ll take some cocoa,” Tink adds, “remember how Wendy used to love it?”

“Yes, she sure did,” Killan says, his mind going back in time to a frightened little girl with leaves in her hair. He hopes wherever she is, that Wendy is happy.

“Um, Henry,” Emma says slowly, “why don’t you take Martha upstairs with her new rocking horse?”

Killian holds his breath for the lad to protest. His baby sister in his room isn’t his favorite thing in the world, but the boy must pick up on the tension radiating off the fairies because he immediately agrees.

“Come on, Martha,” Henry tells her as he hoists up the rocking horse, “I bet I can rock you even faster than Papa.”

Martha squeals in delight and eagerly follows the big brother she idolizes up the stairs. Emma settles in at the kitchen table with the fairies while Killian goes to the stove.

“What’s this all about?”

That’s his wife, direct as always. Tiger Lily sighs and cuts a quick glance over to Tink.

“Emma . . . “ she says slowly.

“We found your parents!” Tink interrupts, practically vibrating with excitement. Tiger Lily rolls her eyes.

“What?” Emm breathes, and Killian abandons the tea pot to rush to her side and take her hand. “Are you sure?”

“Well, lost princesses are more common than you might think,” Tiger Lily says dryly, “but in the case of the lost princess of Misthaven, it all adds up.”

“Adds up to you, Emma,” Tink put in. “The birthmark, the princess’s birthdate, the wardrobe - all of it!”

“Wait,’ Killian interjects, “did you just say wardrobe?”

He’s cut off by the whistling of the teapot, and he goes quickly to retrieve it from the stove.

“I think we need to start from the beginning, Tink,” Tiger Lily says as Killian sets out the tea and cocoa on the table. When he joins the women, he draws his chair as close as he can to his wife so he can put his arm around her and take her hand.

“You may have heard the tales about Snow White, her Prince Charming, and their battles with the Evil Queen,” Tiger Lily begins.

“Snow White and Prince Charming?” Emma asks. “You mean they’re real?”

“Says the woman married to Captain Hook and having tea with Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily,” Killian quips, earning him an eye roll from his wife. She’s told him the version of Neverland in her former realm - a ridiculous version, in his opinion.

“Yes, they’re real, silly,” Tink says with a shake of her blond curls.

“I’ve heard of them,” Killian says, “go on.”

“Well,” Tiger Lily continues, “you may have heard that though they banished the Evil Queen after taking back the kingdom, she returned when Snow was with child. She cursed the baby with an evil spell.”

“Yes,” Killian says with a shake of his head, “and it came to pass. The child came too soon and died.”

“No, she did come too soon, but the child did not die. Secretly, the Blue Fairy helped the court woodworker fashion an enchanted wardrobe -”

Emma gasps and clutches her husband’s hand tighter. “Killian! A wardrobe!”

“I know, love,” he whispers.

“The wardrobe was supposed to send Snow safely to a land without magic where the curse couldn’t touch the unborn child,” Tiger Lily says.

“It could only carry one,” Tink clarifies.

“But the baby came too soon, so they had no choice but to send the child through alone. The Evil Queen and her minions were mounting an attack on the castle, so they had no more time.”

Killian nods. “I’ve heard of that battle. It’s a favorite tale in every realm, though not one with a happy ending. The Evil Queen was slain, and everyone was led to believe that in the chaos, Queen Snow lost the child.”

“And you believe this baby was me?” Emma asks softly.

Tiger Lily reaches across the table and gently turns over Emma’s left wrist. “The Blue Fairy cast a spell over you in the womb so that when you were born, this mark would be upon you. So your parents would know you when you found them.”

Emma’s eyes well up with tears. “How did they know I would ever find them?”

“They had faith and hope. Even with the Evil Queen dead, her curse still remained until your 21st birthday.”

Tink jumps in, bouncing on her seat. “The best part, Tiger Lily, tell them the best part!”

Tiger Lily smiles indulgently at the blonde. “I think you’d like to tell them, so go ahead.”

“The Rose Fairy imparted a gift to you, Emma - that the wardrobe would bring you your true love, and that when the time was right, he would lead you home.”

Emma turns to Killian, her eyes bright with tears as she cups his face. “Our wardrobe, Killian, that’s why it appeared to us.”

He shakes his head in wonder. “Emma, I know how you feel about me, but true love? That’s the strongest magic of all. Surely someone more worthy . . . “

Emma’s face softens as tears slip free and roll down her cheeks. “Don’t you see? The wardrobe brought us together right when we needed one another the most. Right before I lost Martha, right before you lost your brother and Milah. Then it brought us together for good when you found Henry.”

Killian lets out a breath of wonder as Emma’s thumb traces the scar on his cheek. “We always find one another, don’t we?”

Tiger Lily and Tink both beam as they speak again.

“It’s funny you should say that -”

“Because it’s kind of your family motto.”

To Be Continued . . . . 😉

Killian can only nod, for he fully agrees. There’s really nothing more he can say. Emma reaches for his hand, and he takes it, lacing their fingers together. She pulls him near as she turns back to look at the clouds as they roll by. She pulls his arms around her waist and leans her back against his chest. Her hair smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Her hand slides down his left arm to grasp his hook, and he can hardly breathe past the lump in his throat.

“He’s five years old now, Killian. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to grow up like me.”

“There’s one difference between your childhood and his, though. His mother is on her way to rescue him.”

Emma turns in his embrace, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if he hates me?”

Killian catches the tear with the pad of his thumb, then caresses the dimple in her chin. “I don’t see how anyone can hate you, my love. And children are infinitely forgiving. Think back to when you were five, Emma.”

She gives him a tremulous smile even as her eyes flood with more tears. He lets his forehead drop to hers, though he won’t initiate a kiss. That will be on her timetable, not his.

“My love,” she whispers, “I like the sound of that.”

She turns her head into his shoulder and wraps her arms around his neck as he holds her tighter.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want for you.”

“What I want is my son. To love him and have him love me back. Is that selfish?”

Killian buries his fingers in her hair. “Not at all. I believe that’s called a mother’s heart.”

*****************************************

“It’s beautiful,” Emma breathes as soon as the Jolly Roger settles upon the waves after her magical flight. Killian comes to stand at Emma’s side, taking in the sight of Neverland on the horizon with fresh eyes. Dead Man’s Peak is no longer a hulk of jagged rock, but a verdant mountain. Skull Rock has mostly crumbled into the sea, leaving behind a shimmering coral reef. The ribbon of Rainbow Falls can even be seen cascading down into the valley.

“It wasn’t always,” Killian sighs, “but you’re right, it’s gorgeous now.”

Emma grins as she leans farther over the railing of the ship, and Killian’s heart is warmed to see it upon her face. She awoke this morning in a cold sweat, thrashing against an unseen foe. When she finally calmed in the circle of his arms, she explained the nightmare. She was back in that crumbling house, being attacked by those men, only her lad was there too. She was reliving her trauma, that Killian knew all too well, but he also guessed that her fears about meeting her son were also wrapped up in her nightmares.

“Mermaids!” she exclaims, pointing.

Killian leans over with her, and sure enough, a school of mermaids are leaping through the water alongside the ship. Frankly, he feels they’re showing off with their over-the-top acrobatics.

“They’re so colorful,” Emma observes.

“Aye,” Killian says, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulder, “they’re happy to have their lagoon back. Soon the island will be teeming with the mystical creatures that used to live here so long ago.”

Emma shakes her head. “I still can’t believe Peter Pan was evil in real life.” Then she frowns. “And I’m a little pissed that I don’t get to kill him myself for what he did to my son.”

Killian holds back a chuckle, for he knows her anger is real. It makes his blood boil as well. Yet he loves this bold and brilliant woman, and admires her avenging spirit probably more than he should. He brushes a kiss to her temple.

“I would bring him back if I could, just so I could see you unleash your wrath on him. The gods know he deserves it.”

Emma wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest. “Thank you for saving Henry.”

“You’ve said that far too many times already, Swan.”

“Well, you’ll just have to hear me say it again.”

Hook and his crew sail the Jolly Roger into Pirate’s Cove as they always have, but even his men are struck silent at how the island has changed. Bright flowers bloom, and the songs of tropical birds fill the air. The remnants of Rainbow Falls trickles over the rocks of the bluffs ahead in a soothing rhythm.

Killian leaves his men with the ship and guides Emma through the thick trees, following the river that cuts through the island. Tink and Tiger Lily told him that no more dreamshade grows here. Every time a pixie dust tree blooms with new life, every dreamshade plant in its vicinity shrivels up and dies. Killian is glad he no longer has to fear the evil plant.

Emma is quiet as they walk along the path to the home of the fairies. He senses her nerves, and gives her hand a comforting squeeze. The smile she gives him is forced, but she squeezes back.

Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell no longer have reason to hide their domicile, so the cave is now open to the sunshine, and smoke rises cheerily from the chimney.

“This looks cozy,” Emma says, biting her lip.

“Aye, though the smoke there is just for show. Tink has this idea that every home needs a fire going, even when it’s bloody 99 degrees outside.”

Emma manages a nervous laugh and follows him down the short passageway to the main part of the house. Killian taps his hook in the open doorway to alert those inside to their presence.

Tiger Lily, unsurprisingly, isn’t home. Tink is at the sink doing dishes, but gasps and drops a bowl into the sudsy water when she sees her guests. Her hands fly to her mouth as she dashes across the room.

“You’re . . . you’re Henry’s mother!”

Emma gives Killian a surprised look, and he shakes his head in confusion.

“How in the world do you know that, Tink?”

“Oh Hook, really? I’m a fairy, I know these things.”

“She’s been impossible since she got her wings back,” Killian tells Emma.

Said wings flutter in indignation as Tink glares at him. “And you, Hook, have no manners. You haven’t even introduced me to our guest.”

“I didn’t have a chance the way you’ve been blubbering on.”

“I’m Emma,” Swan interrupts, giving Killian a pointed look, “and yes, I’m Henry’s mother.” She glances around the room, worrying once again at her bottom lip. “Where is he?”

“He’s napping,” Tink says, “but we could tiptoe in there if you like.”

“Should I?” Emma asks nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to scare him.”

Tink waves her hand. “He sleeps like a rock, believe me. Such a pleasant, sweet child, really.”

Emma’s cheeks pink and her hands twist nervously as she follows Tink down the short hallway. The fairy opens the door slowly to reveal a darkened room with twinkling lights strung from the ceiling. In one corner is a twin sleigh bed, and snuggled under the soft blankets is a little boy with chestnut hair. Emma’s trembling hand flies to her lips as she tiptoes closer. His cheeks are plump, his ears stick out from his head in an adorable way, and Emma can’t help noticing that he has Neal’s nose. She glances behind her and sees that Killian and Tink have slipped away to give her privacy.

Emma sinks to her knees beside the bed, her hand hovering over the child’s head. A half sob chokes in her throat as she gently strokes her little boy’s soft hair. He shifts in his sleep, clutching the teddy bear at his chest a bit tighter, and Emma quickly pulls her hand back. He rolls over, flinging one arm out, and that’s when Emma sees it: the buttercup birthmark that matches hers. The one she hasn’t seen since the day he was born. There’s no mistaking it, this is her son.

She rises from the floor and tiptoes back out of the room and down the hall. When she sees Killian, he gives her a concerned look, and she flies to him. He lets out a puff of breath when she collides with his chest, but he instinctively holds her tight.

“He’s beautiful,” she chokes out.

******************************

“John Darling adopted Henry when he was three years old. Apparently, he had terrible colic as an infant and severe night terrors after that, so he had been difficult for children’s services to place.”

Tink’s words seem to have little effect on Emma. Killian watches her with concern. The cup of tea in her hands is surely cold by now, and Emma hasn’t lifted it to her lips once since Tink gave it to her. She stares into the flames of the enchanted fire and idly pushes Wendy’s old rocking chair back and forth with her foot. Tink catches Killian’s gaze in concern, but he gives her a barely perceptible shake of his head. If Emma wants to engage, she can, but he won’t force her.

Tink clears her throat and leans towards Emma. “I believe Henry’s difficulties - the colic and the night terrors - has to do with him being a child of two realms.”

That catches Emma’s attention, and her gaze snaps quickly to Tink. “Two realms?”

Tink opens her mouth, but before she can explain, a small voice pipes up from the hallway, and Henry shuffles in. His face is flushed and sweaty from sleep, his hair is sticking up crazily, and he drags his teddy bear behind him by one leg. He freezes when he sees Emma and Killian. Tink notices and rushes to scoop the boy up on her lap.

“Henry, you remember Killian, right?” She brushes at his hair as Henry nods shyly. “And this . . . “

Tink edges towards Emma slowly, and Emma sets down her cup of tea with shaking hands. She edges onto her knees so she is eye level with Henry.

“ . . . this,” Tink continues, “is your mother, Henry. She’s come for you.”

“Hi, Henry,” Emma whispers, smiling despite her choked voice.

The boy blinks as he takes Emma in, then he eases off Tink’s lap and comes closer to the mother he hasn’t seen since the day of his birth. Killian can tell Emma is overwhelmed and that she longs to touch her son. He also knows she won’t until the child is ready.

Henry pulls his teddy bear closer and rests his chin between the toy’s ears. “Do you want to see my other toys?” he asks Emma softly.

Emma’s smile is wide and beaming. “Yes, I would like that.”

Henry reaches out and takes Emma’s hand. Once they’re out of sight, Killian drops his face to his hands, unable to help the tears that leak out of the corners of his eyes.

*******************************

“I can scarcely believe how much it’s changed,” Killian muses to Tinkerbell as he looks around him, “we were only gone a few days.”

He’s lounging on a picnic blanket, Tink sitting cross-legged next to him. Emma has taken Henry down to the edge of the water for a swim. The blanket is scattered with the remains of their lunch.

“It truly is beautiful,” Tink says with a sigh.

Killian tosses an apple core into the woods behind him, then lays back, flinging his arm across his eyes and resting his hook on his stomach. Tink gives a sardonic half laugh, haugh snort.

“Don’t get too comfortable, pirate, there are still a few lost boys out there.”

Killian rises up on his elbows and arches a brow at the fairy. “You think they’d cause trouble?”

Tink shrugs, squinting out at the water. “Felix was loyal to Pan almost to the point of obsession. They’ve melted into the deepest part of the jungle and are quiet for now, but . . . “

“Well, I’m not borrowing trouble,” Killian grumbles. His eyes find Emma and Henry, and his voice grows thick with emotion. “I’d rather enjoy a quiet moment while I have it.”

The sun shines on the water of Mermaid Lagoon, making it sparkle like diamonds. The songs of the mermaids float on the air, and it’s just as beautiful as Tink had always said. Henry is knee deep in the water, laughing every time one of the mermaids flicks her tail at him. They’ve learned that the creatures can be rather mischievous, but one named Ariel has taken a particular liking to Henry. Ariel’s their princess, actually, and her fondness for the boy means they all remain on their best behavior with him.

Killian laughs at Henry’s antics. Each time he lunges for a mermaid tail, said mermaid darts away, and the five year old ends up splashing face first into the water. Yet every time, he resurfaces with a sputtering giggle. Killian’s gaze shifts to Emma. She and Tink are the same size, so the fairy has loaned her some clothes. Emma is currently wearing a one-shouldered dress of ocean green that hugs her figure. The skirt normally hits just below her calves, but Emma has it hitched up to her knees. She sits on a rock next to Henry, her legs in the water. Henry splashes her, and she splashes back. Then Emma opens her arms wide, and Henry launches himself into her embrace. Emma presses him close, not caring that he’s getting her completely wet.

“These two weeks have been good for both of them,” Tink comments.

“Aye,” Killian agrees, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman he loves. Emma rises from the rock, cradling Henry like a baby, and walks up the beach towards them. Killian can see that Henry is getting sleepy by the way his arms have gone slack in his mother’s arms. Sure enough, when Emma deposits him on the picnic blanket, the lad’s eyelids are drooping. Emma wraps him up in a towel, and Henry curls up in a ball on the blanket, hugging his teddy bear close. Emma catches Killian’s gaze and smiles as she brushes Henry’s wet hair out of his face. Soon, the boy’s breaths even out, and he’s fast asleep.

Emma frowns. “Do you think it’s okay for him to sleep out here? He’s wet.”

“Don’t fret, my love,” Killian tells her, “the sun is warm, and you have him wrapped up snugly.”

Emma nods, but still bites her lip in concern. She’s only been a mother for two weeks, after all. What does she know? Killian probably knows more than she does after all his years of rescuing lost boys. Mason was Henry’s age when he joined the crew, so Killian had practically been a teen father.

“Swan,” Killian says gently, taking her hand and rubbing her knuckles gently, “you’re wonderful with him. A natural.”

She lets out a long sigh and gives him a wobbly smile. How he manages to read her like that is another thing she’s having to get used to. She watches her son sleep, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. Once he allowed her to touch him, she couldn't seem to get enough: hugs, rubbing noses, brushing his hair off his forehead, cheek kisses. Henry loves the affection too, often leaping onto her lap and cupping her face with his chubby little hands. One of Henry’s arms is flung out in sleep, a habit of his that Emma finds adorable. His birthmark catches her eye, as it often does.

“Tink,” she says softly, “these two weeks have been great. But don’t you think it’s time you explained to me what the hell this all means?”

Emma doesn’t miss the glance Tink tosses Killian’s way, yet the furrow upon Killian’s brow likely matches hers. He’s already told her about Pan searching for the heart of the truest believer and about the significance of Henry’s birthmark. What neither of them can understand is how she fits into all of this.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tink hedges.

“None of that, you bloody stubborn fairy,” Killian admonishes in a teasing voice. “You said that Henry would be a child of two realms, but from what Emma and I can gather, he’s a child of only one. A land without magic.”

Tink sighs, then looks at Emma questioningly. “Tell me about his father again.”

Emma shrugs. “He was just a boy. An ordinary runaway.”

“A right jackass is what he was.”

“Killian!”

“Well he was!” Killian protests, and Emma can’t help but smile at his indignation. They’ve had many long nights filling in all the details of their time apart, and Killian is definitely not a fan of Neal.

Tink says nothing, her gaze distant, and Emma can practically see gears turning in her head. Killian looks nervous too, for some reason. Emma glances back and forth between them.

“What are the two of you not telling me?”

“A child of two realms,” Killian says, his gaze falling on Henry, “and . . . “

“A child of royalty,” Tink fills in.

Emma blinks and gasps, “You can’t be saying . . . I mean, you don’t really think . . . but I’m no different than Neal! A nobody, nothing, I -”

“You were never nothing,” Killian interrupts her firmly.

Her gaze softens at the intensity in his voice, but then she shakes her head, the implications of it all overwhelming.

“You’re from a realm of magic, Emma,” Tink says, “it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I was abandoned,” Emma argues.

“Think about it, darling,” Killian says softly, “you were found wrapped in a blanket that had your name stitched into it. Does that sound like careless parents to you?”

Emma rubs at her temple.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Tink says, “but the prophecy about the truest believer was very clear. You , Emma Swan, are not only from a magical realm, you’re also -”

“A princess,” Killian finishes for the fairy. Emma’s head snaps up at the sadness in his voice. His jaw clenches as he rises to his feet. “Which is why this idyllic little holiday must come to an end. My ship and my crew are at your disposal, your highness. I swear to you, we will find your family and your kingdom.”

Before she can process what he’s saying or the sudden formality in his voice, he’s turning away and striding quickly back through the jungle. Emma looks at Tink, her eyes blinking in confusion.

“What the hell is up with him?”

Tink sighs. “Captain Hook has quite the problem with self-loathing, I’m afraid.”

***********************************

Killian is slowly coming up from the depths of a deep sleep, fighting the persistent whisper of his name. Then soft lips brush across his, and he doesn’t want to fight it. His eyes blink open, and he squints in the dark, trying to see. A cool hand, a whisp of soft hair, and those lips again on the shell of his ear.

“Follow me, Killian.”

He thinks he’s dreaming at first, but when his arms reach for Emma’s side of the bed, and he finds it empty, the last cobwebs of sleep flee his brain. He sits up, heart pounding at first until he sees Emma in the doorway, smiling at him. She tilts her head in a gesture that says come on, and seems to glide out into the hallway. He knows it’s the illusion of her long, white satin nightgown, but it makes her look ethereal all the same.

Once he’s up and doing her bidding, she picks up her skirts and runs on her bare feet down the hall, through the parlor, and out of the cave. He swears he hears her giggle once they’re out in the moonlight, but he’s beginning to wonder again if this is a dream.

She stops at the edge of Mermaid Lagoon, and whirls to face him. He skids to a stop at the picture she makes, the light of the full moon pouring over her figure and illuminating her hair. That damn nightgown leaves little to the imagination, honestly, especially in this lighting. She smirks at him, as if she’s read his mind. Then she’s slipping the straps of the nightgown from her shoulders, letting the satin fall soundlessly around her feet. He’s completely shell-shocked now, blinking and practically gasping for air as he takes in her naked form, flawless and strong in the moonlight. They haven’t been intimate since her attack, and the sight before him causes an instant physical reaction. He suddenly realizes that he rushed after Emma without a shirt, without his brace, without his hook.

Without a weapon. He glances nervously at the jungle behind them, but Emma laughs.

“Is this a dream? A trick?”

She shakes her head and gives him a soft smile. “Killian. Seriously? I just felt we needed some time alone.”

That last word - alone - falls from her lips with weighted meaning. Then before he can respond or take another step, she turns and slips into the waters of the lagoon. She goes under soundlessly, then comes back up, only her head out of the water.

“Aren’t you coming, pirate? Or do you not know how to swim?”

It’s Killian’s turn now to smirk as he quickly discards his sleeping pants. “Oh believe me, love, I’m good in the water.”

He dives in, cutting across the lagoon with easy strokes. He breaks the surface right in front of her, and Emma immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her naked body to his. He shouldn’t succumb to this temptation, not when he knows now who she really is and where she comes from. Yet his arms go around her automatically, and his forehead drops to hers.

“Emma,” he groans, “why are you torturing me?”

“Why are you torturing me?” she counters.

“I’m sorry?”

Emma’s fingers find his wet hair as she presses herself ever closer. “It’s been over two weeks, Killian. I miss you.”

“I didn’t want to push you.”

She smiles, nuzzling her nose against his, “I know, and God, I love you for that, but I’m ready.”

“But since then we’ve . . . well, now we know -”

“Stop it,” she commands, pressing a finger to his lips. Lips that curl up into a smile before pressing a kiss to the pad of her finger. “What was that for?”

“You sounded so regal just then.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn princess.”

Killian frowns. “Yes you are, and we should be reuniting you with your parents, your kingdo-”

Emma cuts him off with a fierce kiss, her tongue assaulting his, telling him far more with her actions than she ever could with words. He shouldn’t kiss her back, but their wet skin is pressed together, her fingers are digging into his scalp, and fire is coursing through his veins. Emma wraps her legs around his waist, and he’s completely incapable of rational thought. He slides his hand and stump down to hoist her up, grabbing her flesh in the process and eliciting a groan from deep in her throat. He shifts her so they are lined up perfectly, and she moans as he enters her. It’s quick, and slightly awkward in the water, but it’s been so long that neither of them mind. Emma’s legs tremble around him, and she drops her head to his shoulder as they both come down.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Killian tells her breathlessly.

“I did.”

He kisses her then, tenderly and with wonder. The jungle isn’t quiet; the water laps at the shore, crickets chirp, and leaves rustle. It feels like they can both finally breathe. He never wants it to end.

They stay in the water for a long time, never leaving one another’s embrace. Neither wants to break the spell of the night with words, so they speak with kisses instead. When they first try to leave the water, they make it only as far as the beach. He presses Emma into the sand with his weight, claiming her lips once again. Yet she’s the one who takes him, switching their positions and pinning his arms above his head. The moonlight is spilling over her again as she moves above him, her head thrown back, her breasts glorious. They come at the same time, and then Emma collapses against him, her hair everywhere. He gathers it in his hand as he presses a kiss to her shoulder.

The first light of dawn is just tinting the horizon when they finally get dressed. Killian tries not to look Emma in the eyes, worried still that this was all some sort of hazy dream, or worse, a goodbye.

He’s just slid his pants up to his waist when Emma comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her cheek to his back.

“This isn’t me saying goodbye, if that’s what you're thinking.”

His breath catches in shock. He’s not the only one who is perceptive. She’s smirking at him when he turns around, and she reaches up to cup his face in her hands.

“I love you, Killian Jones.”

“I love you, too.”

She searches his eyes. “I feel like my whole life, until now, I was just searching for something.”

He threads his fingers through her hair. “Aye love, I feel the same. Perhaps I have always been trying to find my way back to you.”

She gives him a tremulous smile, and he exults at what he sees in her eyes. Her next words, however, steal his breath.

“I don’t want to look for my parents.”

Killian frowns. “Emma, I’m sure they’ve been waiting for you all this time. Hoping, maybe even searching.”

She shakes her head. “I’m tired of living in the past. I’m ready to look forward - with you and with my son.” She presses a kiss to his lips and then drops her hands from his cheeks. Instead, she clasps both his hand and his stump and presses them to her chest.

Killian can scarcely breathe. “Swan, do you mean that you would . . . that is to say . . . “

Emma laughs as a single tear slips down her cheek. “Don’t make me ask you, pirate.”

He grins broadly as he presses his forehead to hers. “Marry me? Let me always, always be by your side? Let me be a father to Henry?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Killian kisses her again as the sun breaks forth across Neverland.

Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually liked her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.

Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and that pair of blue eyes from her head.

She’s just drifting off when a familiar creak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock. It startles her so much, her hand seems to act on its own and she slaps him across the cheek - hard.

“Bloody hell, Emma what was that for?”

“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought . . . I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, you’re real?”

He smiles, even as he rubs his red cheek, and it lights her up inside. “Liam didn’t think you were real either when I finally told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in the captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”

Emma winces. “Sorry I slapped you.”

Killian shrugs. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.

“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”

He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf-like. They’re adorable.

He’s adorable.

He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”

Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll definitely be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Robby Eddleston.”

“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.

“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”

Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”

Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.

He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s a tough lass.”

They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”

“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”

Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”

Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know you said she was a good woman.”

Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”

“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.”

Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Davy Jones locker?” she asks. “People really say that where you’re from?”

Killian looks confused. “Seamen do.”

“Oh . . . “ she trails off, her brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the difference between his world and hers.

“Nevertheless,” he continues, “I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, how has this new home been?”

Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Sarah, until I found out she was crazy.”

“Crazy? How so?”

Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”

“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”

Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But me being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”

“Hermione who?”

Emma laughs as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, Harry Potter.” He just blinks in confusion. “Books. About wizards and witches.”

“Oh,” he says with a nod, but she can tell he’s still a bit confused, and no wonder. When they were ten, he didn’t even know what a movie was. Emma finds his confusion surprisingly endearing.

Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”

Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.

Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”

He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 17, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”

Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words remind her once again that their wardrobe connects two very different worlds. She also still wonders if Killian travels through both space AND time. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says it’s only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”

They both fall silent for a moment. Emma’s not sure what to make of their bizarre situation. Emma doesn’t want to contemplate what it means if he’s actually 300 years old or something and no longer living in the 20th century, so she decides to change the subject. She turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his.

“What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”

“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”

“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”

The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”

Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”

His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”

“What does that mean?”

He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”

Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.

“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.

Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.

A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“

“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”

Killian nods and brushes one more brief kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.

The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.

“They remind me of Martha’s forget-me-nots,” she thinks to herself, “but sad, too.”

Killian: Age 16

“Get up here, little brother!”

Killian grabs his naval jacket and dashes up the ladder to the deck, grumbling under his breath about it being “younger” brother not “little.” It especially bothers him when Liam is speaking as Lieutenant Jones and not just family. Yet it seems Liam isn’t the only one loose with naval order at the moment. When Killian climbs out of the hold, he finds the rest of the crew chattering excitedly, gazes tilted upward.

“Killian!” Liam calls, racing to his side. “You almost missed the excitement!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but the captain gave me a new sextant to plot our course, and it uses star charts I’ve never seen before.”

Killian’s eyes scan the ship’s deck, his eyes landing on the men wrestling to hoist an unusual sail. He blinks, thinking surely he must be seeing things, but as the sail rises, he finds it is, in fact, made of feathers. In the center of it is the symbol of a horse with wings.

“This sail,” Captain Roberts announces from his place on the quarter deck, “is made of feathers from the wings of the famous mythical horse Pegasus.”

“Captain!” the gunman shouts breathlessly. “Enemy ships off the port bow!”

The Captain ignores the announcement and turns to Liam Jones. “Lieutenant, plot our course!”

“Should we prep the canons, sir?” the gunman asks, confusion clear on his face.

“There will be no need,” Captain Roberts dismisses with a mysterious smile, “where we are headed, they can not follow.”

Killian glances at his brother, who heads for the ship’s wheel, but Liam looks just as confused as he. Killian rushes to the railing along with several other men of lower rank. They lean forward to watch the cannonballs from the enemy splash with a mighty roar into the water a safe distance away: warning shots.

Killian almost loses his balance as the Jewel of the Realm creaks and sways, his stomach dropping. His eyes widen as he sees the ocean fall away below. He and the rest of the men gasp as the reality sets in - the Jewel is airborne.

“Quit gaping and man your stations!” Captain Roberts shouts. “We’re heading to Neverland!”

There’s a quiet murmur after the announcement, even as the men scatter to their duties. Most have never heard of such a realm, while others whisper excitedly of a place they once visited in their dreams as children. The whispered tales seem far-fetched to Killian: a place where your dreams come true, where you can eat chocolate cake all day long, swim with mermaids, and even fly? Even at ten, he would never have believed it.

Of course, a magic wardrobe that takes you to the girl of your dreams seems far-fetched, he supposes. He grins as he remembers Emma’s lips on his, her soft cheeks beneath his calloused fingers, her silken hair tickling his jaw. He has to find a way to get back to her - hopefully tonight. He isn’t sure what this mysterious mission is all about, but surely the captain’s personal cabin boy won’t be needed for whatever it is. He only has to figure out a way to sneak into Captain Roberts’ quarters when the man isn’t there -

“Killian!”

He startles at the sound of his name, and Liam chuckles, clapping a hand to Killian’s shoulder. “Everyone else is mesmerized by our journey to the skies, yet here you are daydreaming.” Liam cocks his head as he regards his younger brother. “Oh no, it’s a lass, isn’t it?”

Killian blushes as he shrugs and returns to his work. “I’m just thinking.”

“If you say so,” Liam laughs as he tugs on Killian’s arm, “but don’t let your brooding cause you to miss this.”

Killian lets his brother drag him over to the railing. The ship cuts cleanly through the white, billowy clouds, with none of the swaying he’s become used to at sea. The air is crisp and a bit cold this high, and a particularly thick cloud suddenly envelopes them.

“Incredible,” Killian whispers.

“Brother, look,” Liam whispers back.

The clouds part, and the Jones brothers gasp as the world of blue and white becomes dark and gray. An island shimmers in the distance, surrounded by a blue-tinged glow. They lean further over the railing as the ship dips and begins its descent.

The Jewel of the Realm has arrived in Neverland.

******************************************

In front of Killian, over his brother’s shoulder, is an inviting beach with palm trees that sway in the warm breeze. Behind him, the Jewel of the Realm is shrouded in an unnatural fog.

“Don’t worry, little brother, it’s a simple mission.”

Killian doesn’t even bother correcting him on the “little” part. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious? A ship full of navy men, yet only two boys can fulfill this task?”

Liam narrows his eyes. “At eighteen I am hardly a boy.”

Killian chuckles. “You better hope you’re wrong if the superstitions of the rest of the crew are to be believed.”

Liam scoffs. “I think it has more to do with the simplicity of the task. We get the plant, row back to the ship, and we’re heroes.”

Killian hopes his brother is right. Captain Roberts had Killian in mind all along to retrieve the plant, but it was supposed to be twelve year old Jim Hawkins in the row boat, not Liam. Unfortunately, the lad had broken his leg and had to be left behind at the last port. Killian tries to tell himself that the captain is just being cautious, like Liam said, tries to agree with his older brother that the tales about this place are just stories nursemaids tell to their charges at bedtime. Shadows that take you away to the island in your dreams, pixies who blow their dust on children to make them fly, mermaids that drag lazy children to their deaths - it’s all surely nonsense.

They beach the row boat, and Liam slings his satchel over his shoulder. Inside is a sketch of the plant they are looking for. Killian narrows his eyes at the shadowy jungle before them. How are they ever to find one single plant in all this vegetation?

He and Liam hear the movement at the same exact moment and spin as they draw their swords. Standing before them on the beach is a lad about Killian’s age, dressed in a tunic made of green leaves and breeches crudely made of animal skins. The smile he gives them is full of mischief and something a bit more sinister. Killian’s spine crackles with suspicion. He glances at Liam, and it’s clear his brother doesn’t see the boy as a threat at all as the elder Jones casually lowers his sword.

“Is there a king on this island, boy?”

The lad smirks. “Just me.”

Killian narrows his eyes, and the boy glances his way with a knowing grin. Liam pulls the sketch out of his satchel.

“We’re looking for this plant, do you know it?”

The boy’s eyes widen. “Dreamshade? Of course I know it. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with it. It’s the deadliest poison.”

Liam scoffs. “It isn’t poison, it’s medicine.”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Who told you that?”

“My captain.”

“He lied. This captain must be quite the ruthless killer. Nothing causes suffering like dreamshade.”

“What’s your name?” Killian asks.

“Killian, don’t waste your time, he’s just a child.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “I’m about his age. Am I just a child?”

“My name is Peter,” the boy tells them, a gleeful laugh spilling out of him, “and if you’re tired of them trying to turn you into men, you can come and play with me and my lost boys.”

“We don’t have time for games,” Liam mutters.

“Suit yourself,” Peter tells them with a shrug, “if it’s dreamshade you seek, then you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

Then, with a crowing laugh, and to the utter amazement of both Jones boys, Peter launches himself into the sky and speeds away upon the clouds back into the recesses of the forest.

“Okay,” Killian says slowly, “clearly that particular rumor was true.”

“Let’s just get this plant and get the bloody hell out of here.”

“I agree to the getting out of here part, but maybe we should proceed with caution about the plant.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Surely you don’t believe that boy over our own captain.”

Killian’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never trusted Captain Roberts completely, and besides, Peter is a native of this island. Perhaps we should -”

“Killian,” Liam cuts him off, “you don’t trust anyone.”

The smile his brother gives him softens the words, and Killian smiles back. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me in this,” Liam says with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Without order, without discipline to your superiors, this navy life won’t work.”

Killian wonders, not for the first time, if that’s the very reason this navy idea is a better fit for Liam than it is for him. Nevertheless, he sighs in resignation. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother, you know that.”

And with a nod of understanding and trust, the two of them plunge into the deep woods. The jungle is dark and damp, and Killian only has the trust in his brother’s navigational skills and his compass to find the way. Killian grips said compass in his sweaty hand, pushing aside the tendrils of fear that seek to grip his heart. There’s something ominous in this jungle, and he has the feeling they’re being watched.

Liam squints down at the sketch in his hand. “I thought the boy said this plant was abundant here.”

“Perhaps we’ve -”

Before Killian can finish his sentence, a crowing shout fills the air, and filthy boys drop from the branches above them and burst from the thick foliage on all sides. Some have arrows notched to the bows they carry, others have spears resting upon their shoulders, while still others grip daggers in their fists. All of them have smeared their faces with mud and are garbed in either bits and pieces of the nature around them or tattered remains of clothing. They snarl and gnash their teeth more like animals than humans. He and Liam pull out their swords, but they are completely surrounded. Some of the boys only reach as high as Killian’s hip, clearly only eight or nine at the most. The last thing he wants to do is kill children, even if they do appear savage. The circle of boys part to allow their leader through.

“May I introduce you to my lost boys,” Peter grins. “This island is ours with no grown ups to tell us what to do.”

Liam shakes his head. “All we want is the plant. We told you.”

Peter tilts his head as he steps closer. “You’ve already grown up.” He turns to Killian. “But you - you could join my crew. I can tell you like to play.”

For one, dreamlike moment, Killian wants to tell Peter yes. No expectations, no responsibilities - it sounds wonderful. Playing sounds nice, too. He hasn’t played since his mother passed, and when was that? How old was he? He can’t remember anymore. The parents who were supposed to be there for you and protect your innocence left, leaving you at the mercy of rough hands and sinister eyes. Grown ups were the people who stole your childhood, who tossed your plaything into the deep, dark sea. He thinks of the stuffed rabbit Emma gave him, pure white and soft, bobbing farther and farther away from him. His mind can almost see it, with that bright pink ribbon. His heart beats wildly, he sways where he stands, and -

Liam steps closer, his shoulder brushing up against Killian, and it’s that contact that snaps the sixteen year old out of it. Yes, his brother. He can’t let Liam down.

“Never.”

He expects Peter to scoff, get angry, or turn on him. Instead, his gaze takes him in and a slow, sinister smile plays across his face.

“We’ll see.”

Casually, Peter turns to one of his crew and takes the spear the lad holds. With a subtle gesture, he gives the boys a command, and they all relax their postures, holding their weapons loosely. Pan spins the spear playfully as he turns back to Lieutenant Jones.

“You still trust your captain, lieutenant?”

“Always,” Liam insists.

Peter lifts the spear and taps it gently against Liam’s chest. “Let’s test that, shall we? That plant you seek? The tip of this spear has been coated with its sap. Your captain says it is medicine, I say it’s poison. Who should you trust?”

“Liam,” Killian pleads.

Liam lifts his hand to still his brother. “I have no reason to trust you, boy.”

Peter’s eyes flash with a mixture of bloodlust and glee as he slashes the spear brutally across Liam’s chest. Liam cries out and stumbles to his knees, hand to his chest as blood stains his shirt. Killian shouts and falls to the ground beside his brother.

“Just a scratch,” Pan laughs, practically bouncing around them. The lost boys join in his revelry, spinning and giggling maniacally.

Liam groans and falls back, his body shaking. Killian catches him in his lap. Through the gash in his shirt, the wound on Liam’s chest is turning black around the edges and vines of black extend outward, spreading across his torso.

“What’s happening to him?” Killian shouts at Peter.

“Dreamshade poison. I told you. He’ll be dead in minutes.”

Killian goes pale as he looks at the boy in shock. It isn’t so much the casual way he spoke the words, but the spots of red in his eyes and the pleasure curling his lips.

“K-Killian,” Liam gasps, reaching towards his little brother with a trembling hand. Killian takes it and clasps it as tears stream down his face.

“Stay with me, brother,” Killian weeps, then he looks frantically at Peter. “Save him! Please!”

The boy shakes his head. “No one can be saved from dreamshade.”

“Killian,” Liam says again, wincing against the pain, “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sor-”

His voice cuts off and he goes limp in Killian’s arms, his hand slipping out of its hold and falling to the ground.

“No!” Killian screams. “No, no, no!”

He cradles Liam’s still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. Sobs wrack his body. He doesn’t know if the lost boys are still there or what they are doing. The whole world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really. I tried to warn him.”

Killian’s head snaps up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Anger fills his veins, but when he speaks, only despair colors his words. “He was all that I had.”

“I know,” Pan replies in a voice that almost sounds sympathetic. He crouches down next to where Killian still clutches his brother’s form. “And now that he’s gone, you finally have the look that all my lost boys share. The look of someone who is completely and utterly alone. An orphan.”

********************************************

Killian watches Pan through the flickering flames of the campfire. The branch of a sapling rests in Killian’s lap, and his fingers twist a vine around each end to make a bow. Pan plays a song on his pipes, and several of the lost boys dance about to its melody. The song calls Killian, urging him to cast aside his pain and join the dance.

But he won’t let himself.

He squints up at the sun. He guesses it’s been about thirty three hours and . . . around twenty minutes since the lost boys tossed Liam’s body into the sea. Thirty three hours and twenty minutes without Liam. His entire life, Liam has been there, and now he’s gone.

Yesterday at dawn, he snuck down to the beach. The rowboat was still there, but the Jewel of the Realm was no longer a hulking form shrouded in the fog. He had taken the rowboat out - not for long and not far - and the ship was nowhere near shore. Surely they hadn’t flown away on the Pegasus sail. Surely they would wait longer than that before giving up on the Jones brothers. He guessed they had simply sailed out of sight or found a cove to hide in. Yet despite his hopes, it’s obvious that his captain cares little for mere boys. No search party has been sent, and Killian doubts it ever will.

Peter reminds him often that Liam’s death is the captain’s fault. The fault of every grown up on that ship, actually. They never cared about you. They never believed in you. Did you really think they would let you be a hero? There’s truth to Pan’s words, Killian knows this, and he’d be lying if he said hatred for his captain didn’t burn within his breast. But he’ll also never forget that it was Pan who sliced the spear laced with dreamshade across his brother’s chest. He’ll never forget Pan’s gleeful smile of satisfaction or the spots of red in his eyes as Liam’s blood seeped his naval shirt.

Killian eyes Pan across the fire now. The dance has reached a feverish pitch, and Killian already knows, in just thirty three hours as a lost boy, that the dance will soon fall apart into a wrestling match. Killian also knows that his only hope for survival is to play the part of a lost boy. Yet despite the naval blue ripped at the knees, despite the way he crowed when they set his naval jacket on fire, despite the mud smeared across his cheeks, Killian will never stop hating Peter Pan.

“Has Peter showed you how to lace that with dreamshade?”

Killian turns to the boy who has plopped down next to him. They all have names, but he can’t remember this one. His black hair is curled tightly against his head, his teeth seem white despite their filthiness against his dark skin. Freckles are barely visible across the bridge of his nose, and his brown eyes seem different somehow from the other boys.

“You forgot my name already didn’t, you?” he chuckles. “It’s Starkey.”

“Right,” Killian mutters, biting off the end of the vine that holds the arrowhead in place.

“There’s a trick to the dreamshade so you don’t nick yourself,” Starkey continues despite Killian’s unfriendliness. “Pan doesn’t always warn the boys. Thinks it’s funny.”

Killian casts a curious glance Starkey’s way. There’s definitely something in those mahogany eyes . . .

“He’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?” Starkey asks, and Killian gets the impression he’s testing the waters somehow. The lad swallows, glancing nervously to where Peter is crowing over the inevitable wrestling match. “All boys but one grow up,” Starkey almost whispers.

Killian’s heart beats faster as he stares into the flames. “You mean,” he whispers back, not looking at his companion, “the others do?”

“I’m near thinning time,” Starkey replies, “so are Nibs and . Some are oblivious though. Ruffio, for example, he’ll no doubt stay faithful to the bitter end. I hate the look in their eyes when we turn on them.”

Killian turns his head in shock, but Starkey is slipping away into the jungle already. Starkey has obviously told him these things for a reason. But why?

As the next few weeks go by, he and Starkey have more whispered conversations, and Killian is surprised how quickly they become friends. Starkey’s tale is similar to his own, having spent time as a slave on a schooner. The only difference is that his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped, a trauma that Killian is sadly able to imagine now that Liam bled out in his arms.

Slowly, as the days go by, Starkey brings more boys into his confidence: Nibs, first, then Jooks, Noodler, Cecco, and Curly.

A hunting crew returns with a boar to roast, and that night there is a feast and a wild rumpus to follow. Though there is no alcohol, the whole thing reminds Killian of how he used to act when he’d drink too much rum. Killian feasts, he dances, even plasters a smile upon his face, but it’s all a show for Peter Pan. He can’t stop thinking of his brother for one, but there’s also Starkey’s cryptic words : thinning time.

Killian plops down, exhausted, and grabs a coconut to guzzle some of its milk. As he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, he sees Pan at his side, leaning forward and scrutinizing his face. It takes all of Killian’s willpower not to startle back. For a long moment Peter studies him, and it causes a chill to run down Killian’s spine. When Pan finally speaks, his voice holds barely contained anger and a trace of shock.

“You have a mocking kiss in the corner of your mouth.”

Killian blinks. “Wh-what are you talking about?” His mind goes to Emma, of course, not that she is ever far from his thoughts. Especially now with Liam gone, he longs for the wardrobe in Captain Roberts’ cabin and fears he may never see it again.

“There,” Pan accuses, pointing with a dirty finger, “perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. How did I not see it before?”

Killian glances around nervously as the party noises have gone silent. Several lost boys have drawn closer, concern furrowing their brows.

“He has a kiss, Peter?” one of the boys asks.

“Kisses are dangerous!” another one gasps.

“Yes,” Peter answers, his eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of red, “a mocking kiss, and one he’s very fond of too.”

Killian swallows hard as he rises to his feet. The lost boys seem to be closing the noose around him, and he looks around frantically. There seems to be no choice but to fess up, hope for mercy, though Peter doesn’t seem the merciful type.

“So I’ve kissed lasses. So what? I’m 16!”

“No,” Pan hisses, “not lasses. One lass. A special lass.”

Killian clenches both fists, his face flushing at the way Pan spits out the words. Emma is special, and he won’t deny it. Ever.

“We don’t like girls,” Peter snarls, “they fancy themselves your mother, making you wash before meals and putting you to bed at a proper time.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Um . . . I think you’re a bit confused.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t help his sass, has rarely been able to help it.

“Your brother was obvious. He’d already chosen to grow up. But you, you tricked me. You can’t be a lost boy with that kiss always mocking me.”

Killian knows a heartbeat before it happens that the lost boys will fall upon him. What he doesn’t expect is to find his old naval sword in his hand or for Starkey, Nibs, and several others to fall in line just behind him. He glances at Starkey right before the two sides clash, and the other boy winks at him knowingly.

Those on Killian’s side are all older, but they are fewer in number. And Starkey was right, not all the other boys close to thinning time are willing to turn on their leader. Rufio is the oldest and fiercest fighter, his loyalty to Pan clear in his gaze and his willingness to die. Killian guesses he is seventeen, and he’s broader and taller than Killian. Nevertheless, Killian has naval training with a sword. He holds back, however, unwilling to slaughter little boys, no matter the situation. Yet when he finds himself face to face, blade to blade, with Rufio, something shifts. Pan may not want his boys to grow up, but Rufio fights like a man. Unrefined and a bit desperate, but with strength and muscle behind it.

All skirmishes cease as the sound of the blades clashing draws everyone’s attention. Ruffio fights dirty while Killian has been taught to fight like a gentleman. At first, Rufio’s style seems to be winning when he trips Killian then flings sand in his face. Yet Killian’s training has given him muscle memory, and even with his eyes burning, he acts instinctively.

Killian’s blade pierces Rufio’s heart. The boy’s eyes widen in shock before he hits the ground, blood spreading quickly across his chest. The lost boys are silent. Chest heaving, Killian turns towards Pan, lifting his blood-stained sword.

“I have a crew of my own now,” he tells the demon child, “and we’re leaving.”

Pan narrows his eyes, and before Killian can register what’s happening, he’s taken flight and making circles around him. Pan lands just behind Killian and startles him when he speaks.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow mutiny in my ranks.”

Killian turns to face Pan, ready for a fight, but is unprepared when Peter plunges his hand into his chest. Killian gasps and chokes as Pan squeezes. Then he tugs and with a sharp pain, yanks Killian’s heart out. Killian’s mouth hangs open in shock as he presses his hand to his chest. There’s no blood. How is there no blood?

Pan lifts a glowing red object and holds it in Killian’s face - his heart. It pulses, bright red, with tiny swirls of dark flitting through it.

“Look at this, Killian Jones, you have a touch of darkness in your heart.”

Killian doesn’t know what to do, he can scarcely comprehend what is happening. He’s heard rumors of witches and warlocks who could steal a man’s heart. He never expected it of this boy, however. Killian drops to his knees as Pan squeezes his heart.

“I could crush it right now and end you,” Pan mocks gleefully, “but since you attempted to steal my crew, I’m thinking of a more fitting punishment.”

Pan leans forward and slams Killian’s heart back into his chest. In the same moment, Peter’s other hand snatches Killian’s abandoned sword and he brings it down upon Killian’s wrist, slicing off his left hand. Killian screams in pain, holding his severed appendage to his chest as he falls backwards. Starkey catches him and helps him to his feet, Nibs supports him on the other side.

Pan kicks at the lifeless hand where it lies upon the ground. “They say a vein runs from the heart right down to the tip of your left hand. Fitting don’t you think?”

Pan and his loyal followers melt into the jungle, and Killian doubles over in pain. “Leave me,” he grits out to Starkey and Nibs.

But the two former lost boys in addition to the few others who had stood at Killian’s back refuse to leave him. They drag him through the jungle in the opposite direction of the rest of Pan’s crew.

***************************************

Killian Jones stands at the top of the highest peak in Neverland. The last month has been a time of healing for him. Healing from losing his hand. Healing from the loss of his brother.

But the thirst for revenge? That hasn’t waned.

Killian looks down at the curve of metal at the end of his left arm. His jaw clenches as he gazes upon it, then back out to sea. His new crew had taken him to a couple of fairies - Tinker Bell and Tiger Lily. They had enough pixie dust between them to help him heal, though it was still a long, slow process. No amount of light magic, however, could give him back his hand.

“Hook?”

Killian turns to where Starkey stands further down the hill. That’s what his crew calls him now: Hook. His blue eyes gaze back out to sea at a familiar speck of white on the horizon.

“Get the crew together,” he tells his faithful friend. “We have ourselves a ship.”

**********************************************

For only the second time in his life, Killian Jones has bloodied his sword. Killing Rufio had been largely in self defense, and he had felt sick as he watched the boy’s life blood stain the ground. He doesn’t feel sick now as he strides amongst the naval crew he used to be a part of. He and his new crew had fought ruthlessly, and now their remaining enemies have been tied and gagged.

“If you don’t want to die today,” Killian announces, “you can pledge allegiance to me, Captain Hook.”

A choking laugh escapes the gagged mouth of the Jewel of the Realm’s captain. Killian’s eyes flash when he hears it, and he strides to Captain Roberts. He leans down and yanks the gag from the man’s mouth with his hook.

“Is something funny?” he snaps.

“You are still nothing but a boy.”

Killian leans close to the man’s ear and speaks to him in a whisper. “Really? Is that why you sent my brother and I like lambs to the slaughter? You sent mere boys to retrieve your poison?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the navy.” Roberts turns and spits in Killian’s face.

Behind Hook, his new crew of former lost boys gasp in shock. Their new leader stands erect, calmly wiping the spittle away with his handkerchief.

“What about loyalty, Roberts? When my brother and I didn’t promptly return, you sailed away and left us.” Killian clenches his jaw. “I see Hawkins is back on board. Were you returning to send him to this accursed island? Still a coward?”

Killian doesn’t need the man to answer; he knows it to be true. Hawkins stands behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Starkey, his arms crossed as he coldly assesses his captain. Killian catches the boy’s eye and Jim nods his approval before Killian hefts his sword and plunges it into Captain Robert’s shoulder. The man flings his head back and screams. Seeing the blood spill upon the deck as he pulls the sword back reminds Killian of Liam, and filled with rage, he stabs the man in the other shoulder. Whimpers color the man’s grunts of pain.

“What do you want?” he manages to choke out.

Killian raises his hook and plunges it into the man’s chest. “I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.” He twists his hook viciously before yanking it out, and the man’s lifeless body crumples to the deck.

Silence reigns on the deck as Captain Hook calmly straightens, wiping his bloody hook clean on his handkerchief. “Raise the black flag!” he shouts to Starkey. “This ship is now the Jolly Roger!”

As if fate has a sick sense of humor, Emma hears at that very moment loud shouts from the main part of the house. Then crashes, things breaking, and a scream. Emma curses herself for her delayed reflexes; she’s entirely too off her game tonight. She leaps from the bed and grabs a poker resting against the fireplace and hoists it like a club just as two burly, tattooed men burst through her bedroom door. Emma swings the poker at them as they barrel towards her, but she may as well be swinging a toothpick at a grizzly bear. They sling her across the room, then lift her up and slam her against the wardrobe. The first of the two men, with a shaved head and biceps the size of boulders, squeezes her throat with both hands.

“Where are the drugs?” he demands, shaking her.

“I don’t know!” she gasps, clawing at the hands around her throat.

The second man begins to tear her room apart, opening drawers and flinging out their contents. He pulls her duffel out from under the bed and dumps it all out on the floor. Emma thinks of Killian and begins to kick her feet against the wardrobe door. It kicks her assailant, too, which is convenient, and one particularly hard kick lands right where it hurts most. He yells and drops her, and Emma scrambles across the floor on her hands and knees as she gasps in sweet air.

She’s just gotten to her bedroom door and grasped the knob when the second man grabs her by her hair and slings her across the room. She hits the side of her bed and slides to the floor. The man lifts her up, pinning her arms against her side, and shoves her onto the bed. He gets on top of her, his knees pinning her legs to the bed.

“Let’s have fun with her,” he snarls to his companion, “then I bet she’ll tell us where Jackie hid the stash.”

Emma thrashes, but he has her pinned. She looks longingly towards the door, which has swung open. Her heart plummets when she sees Jackie lying there in a pool of blood, her throat slashed. The bald man chuckles at his friend’s suggestion and comes over the other side of the bed.

“Sounds fun,” he sneers.

Emma panics and claws at the men as they pin her arms above her head. “Killian!” she screams, turning her head towards the wardrobe. “Killian!”

“Shut up,” the men snap, one of them slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. Emma turns and tries to bite him.

“She’s feisty,” the one on top of her says, his breath rancid, “this will be fun.” He pulls out a knife and holds it to Emma’s throat.

Just as the other man reaches down and rips at her pajama shirt, a blur of black leather comes crashing through the wardrobe with a feral yell. Killian yanks the man with the knife off Emma and slashes him across the throat with his hook before he can even lift his knife. Emma slides from the bed and to the floor, pulling her ripped shirt closed. The bald man flies over the bed towards Killian, and Killian spins out of the way. The man lands with a loud grunt, and by the time he scrambles to his feet, Killian has pulled a sword from a scabbard at his side. Before the man even realizes what is happening, the sword is plunged deep in his gut. Killian yanks the sword free, and the man crumples, dead in a pool of his own blood.

Killian spins towards her, his long leather coat swirling about his legs, his eyes a steely blue as he gazes at her with a tortured expression. She’s always been one to scoff at the whole damsel in distress trope, but at this moment, she has never seen anything more beautiful than this man. She swears he seems to glow like some avenging angel.

His face falls as he glances first at his bloodied hook and then at his bloodied sword. “You’re afraid of me,” he says.

Emma shakes her head, unable to speak as tears tumble down her cheeks. She knows how she must look, curled in around herself and shivering on the floor. “H-he ripped my shirt,” she says, hating how small and vulnerable her voice sounds.

Killian’s sword clatters to the floor, and he quickly wipes his hook on the bed sheets as he falls to his knees beside her. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

He then shrugs out of his duster and drapes the heavy leather over her shoulders. Emma clutches the coat closed and falls against his chest. He holds her as she weeps.

“Did I get here in time?” he chokes out, and she can hear that he’s crying, too.

She nods against his chest.

His hold tightens around her, and when his words come again, they are tight with righteous indignation, “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she whispers.

They fall silent as he holds her, running his hand through her hair. Eventually, his hand moves to cup her face and he gently tips her head back to look at him. “Emma, last night changed everything for me. For the first time since I was a lad, light filled my heart.” His thumb wipes at the tracks of her tears, and he smiles hesitantly at her. “Come with me, Emma.”

She looks long into those pools of cerulean and braces herself for him to say he’ll take care of her. It’s what men always say in these situations, at least in the movies, and while part of her longs for that, another part of her rebels against it. She doesn’t want to owe him or need him to the point she loses herself, like with Neal. Killian traces her jaw, then thumbs her chin, and she waits.

He smiles at her and says, “We’d make quite the team, I’m sure of it. And I have a feeling there’s a little pirate in you, love.”

Emma’s eyes widen in complete surprise. That wasn’t what she thought he would say at all. Even now, trembling in a ripped shirt, he’s still looking at her the way he did when she told him about kneeing Robby Eddleston in the nads. Like he believes that she can do anything.

Emma glances around the tiny room with cracks on the ceiling and yellowed paper on the walls. At the miniature table with only room for one lonely chair. What’s keeping her here anyway?

Then her eyes take in the gruesome scene of three dead bodies. She’s the only survivor of this little bloodbath, which evidently has something to do with drugs. The cops won’t believe she’s innocent, not with her past criminal record. No one will vouch for her, the court assigned attorney won’t see a need to fight for her defense. Case closed, neat and tidy. She’ll go back to jail.

Emma smiles up at her pirate in shining armor. “Why not?”

His grin practically splits his face at her answer, and he presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. He sheathes his sword, then before she knows what’s happening, he’s scooped her up in his strong arms. Emma rolls her eyes.

“Killian, I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

He smiles down at her with that crooked grin he’s always had, even at ten. “Never said you weren’t, love, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

The wardrobe begins to emit that familiar glow as he turns towards it. Killian toes it open with his boot, then steps through with Emma in his arms. Behind her is death and decay, but before her is a stately Captain’s quarters with a bank of bright windows. Killian puts her down and she turns in a slow circle, still clutching his duster about her frame.

“It's so . . . neat and tidy. I was expecting it to look more like the Black Pearl in the movies.”

Killian scoffs, “That git Jack Sparrow? I take far more pride in my ship than he does. And why does he get a movie, too?”

Emma laughs as she turns to him. “You don’t even know what a movie is. Or have you seen one since I saw you last?”

He scratches behind that ear again. “Um, no. But I like the idea of being famous even in your realm.”

He grins at her cockily, rocking back on his heels. She turns and sees the wardrobe behind her. Emma reaches out a shaking hand in wonder. “Unbelievable. It’s just like the one in my world.”

“Aye,” Killian remarks, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She turns in his embrace, wrapping her own arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.

“I’m so tired, Killian.”

“I’ll leave you then,” he tells her, “there’s a trunk in the corner of Milah’s old things. There should be a nightgown. I’m not sure if it’s your size, but we can stop in the next port and buy you some things of your own. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

He kisses the top of her head and turns to go, but she grabs his hook to stop him. “Don’t go. Please.”

He steps closer, eyeing her in return. “After what happened, I wasn’t sure . . .”

His words make her melt inside. How could he ever have been a villain? She takes his hand and threads their fingers. “I trust you,” she tells him, “and I just want you to hold me.”

He does as she asks, and his embrace combined with the swaying of the sea, lulls her into the deepest sleep Emma has ever had.

 Emma and Killian: 23

When the sun shines through the small windows of his quarters the next morning, Killian feels content and well rested in a way he hasn’t in years. He knows that a large reason for that is the woman in his arms. He looks down at Emma, her back to his front. Her blonde hair is a riotous mess, tickling his nose and chin. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her cheeks pink. He remembers how she trembled the night before, how wide her eyes had been, how small she had looked curled in on herself as she attempted to cover her body. He wishes he didn’t know what that trauma was like, wishes seeing her didn’t bring back memories of recoiling from Liam’s touch after . . .

Killian presses his eyes shut, unwilling to go back to that place, even all these years later. Instead he presses a gentle kiss to Emma’s head and lightly runs his finger down her forearm. Sex is the last thing on his mind right now; he’s far too concerned with making sure she feels safe. He knows it may take her awhile to feel comfortable with more than platonic embraces, and some days, she may not want even that. He is determined to be whatever she needs.

She’s here with him; that’s all that matters now. Finally, after so many years, they can really be together. There’s no rush for them to figure things out, and he’ll wait as long as it takes. He lifts her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles before turning her palm up and pressing a chaste kiss there. His thumb runs over the inside of her wrist, and he stills.

Blinking, Killian leans closer to look at the design upon her inner wrist, and his breath catches in his throat. He’s seen that mark before . . .

“He has it, the mark that I found in my research,” Tink whispers to Killian.

The boy finishes the cup of water the fairies had given him, his brown eyes still wide and fearful as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth. When he does, Killian sees it - the mark. It looks more like a tattoo than a birthmark and is shaped like a small flower. The child sets his cup down, and Killian notices his hands are still trembling.

“It’s okay,” Tiger Lily tries to assure him, “no one will hurt you anymore.”

“Where’s John?” the boy asks. It’s the first words he’s spoken since Hawkins rescued him from Pan.

Killian exchanges nervous glances with the fairies. Tink’s eyes are struggling against tears as she kneels beside the boy.

“He . . . had to go away. He didn’t want to, but . . . he . . . “

Killian tosses aside the poultice Tiger Lily had put on his head wound and paces with nervous energy.

“Do you want that wound to get well or do you want to drop where you stand?” Tiger Lily admonishes him.

“Oh please,” Tink grumbles, pulling her wand from the pouch at her side. She snaps her wrist towards Killian’s head, and his wound is bathed in pixie dust. He touches it tentatively, and grins when he feels no pain.

“Tink!” Tiger Lily scolds. “Magic isn’t to be used to -”

“Ladies,” Killian hisses, gesturing to the corner where the boy is now cowering. “It may be best to limit the magic until he’s adjusted, savvy?”

Killian spies Michael’s old teddy bear in a basket near the rocking chair. He remembers Wendy sitting there darning socks, and his breath catches. Pushing aside the memory, he picks up the teddy bear and gets down on his knees before the lad.

“We only want to help you, my boy,” he tells the child, offering him the toy.

The boy inches forward, eyeing Killian warily. He snatches the teddy bear and

holds it close, burying his face against the bear’s furry head.

“Let’s start with introductions, shall we? My name is Killian. What’s yours?”

“Henry.”

In the present, Emma begins to stir in Killian’s arms.

“Hey,” she murmurs as she turns her face towards him, eyes blinking with the remnants of sleep.

“Morning, love,” he whispers back, his thumb still tracing over the pattern on her wrist as he attempts to pull his thoughts together.

Emma turns in his embrace and gives him a sleepy smile. “Thanks for . . . well, everything.”

“I wish it had never happened,” he tells her huskily as he twirls a piece of her hair around his finger.

“Hey,” she says, pressing her palm against his cheek, “are you okay?”

He swallows, unsure if this is the best time to bring up her birthmark. “Just worried about you, ‘tis all.”

Emma frowns. “You’re lying.” She sits up and leans back against the headboard.

Killian takes in every line of her face, amazed at the intelligence and strength that he sees. There will be no subterfuge where Emma is concerned, that much is clear. He lets out a long sigh and takes her hand, gently turning it to reveal the mark on her wrist.

“How long have you had this, love?”

She chuckles lightly. “It’s not a tattoo, if you can believe it. I’ve always had it. Martha - you remember her, right? - well, she said it looks like a buttercup.”

Every nerve in his body begins to tingle. It scarcely seems possible. All this time . . .

“Emma,” he says carefully, taking her face in his hand, “the son you gave up . . . “ He hesitates, searches her widening eyes, licks his lips nervously, “did he have this same birthmark?”

“Yes,” she breathes, “how . . . how did you know?”

He presses his forehead to hers, hoping to bolster her. “Darling, would you like to meet him?”

“What?”

“Your son. I know where he is.”

She sighs and pauses before unzipping her duffel, then decides to just slide the bag under the bed. It isn’t quite as large or ornate as her bed at Martha’s, but it’s still a four-poster with ample room underneath.

She purposely ignores the wardrobe the rest of the evening, refusing to give it even a glance as she cooks up a supper of ramen noodles with her hot plate. She stares at the noodles in her bowl, the desire to look over in the opposite corner stronger than she would care to admit. Why did she even come back to Maine? Oh right, because there are people in a town called Storybrooke who said she could come back if Tallahassee didn’t work out. Too bad she needs to earn more money before she can get the rest of the way there. And in the meantime, this wardrobe is mocking her.

She stays in the shower longer than necessary, despite the layers of scum on the avocado colored subway tiles. She comes out in nothing but a towel, grasping it tight with one hand as she fishes in her duffel with the other. Normally, alone in her room, she’d just walk around naked. But she can’t help remembering those blue eyes she saw watching her as a girl. She chuckles wryly at herself and ceases searching her bag. She stands up straight, pushing her wet hair from her eyes, and drills her gaze into the wardrobe. With a huff she stomps over and flings the door open.

A handful of empty wire hangers swing and clang together from the post inside. That’s it. Empty. Emma laughs at herself as she shuts the door. She lets her towel drop to the floor as she returns to her duffel. With two hands, she finds her pajama pants and tank top quickly and slips into them. She’s just crawled into bed and is reaching over to flip off the bedside lamp when she hears a squeak. She pauses, her hand hovering in midair between the bed and the lamp. She turns her head slowly towards the wardrobe.

The door suddenly swings open.

“Emma? I’ve tried this wardrobe a hundred times . . . ”

Her mouth falls open at the sight of the person on the other side. She eases slowly from the bed in shock and steps closer.

“Killian?” she questions softly, wrapping her arms around the post of the four-poster bed. The same blue eyes as always stare back at her, but he has changed so much. Those eyes are now rimmed with dark kohl, and his face has a hardened edge that is brand new. His hair is the same dark shade, but instead of the shoulder length and the boyish lock of hair falling in his eyes, it is now a bit shorter and messy in a dangerous sort of way. Instead of a nightshirt, he wears tight, black leather pants and a long black leather coat over a black shirt and red vest. The buttons of his shirt are undone almost to his navel, revealing thick, dark hair on a hardened, muscular chest. The naïve, hopeful boy she had known has obviously grown into a world-weary man.

And then there’s the hook. A large, shiny steel hook where his left hand used to be.

The harshness of his face softens as he takes in the sight of her, and when he speaks, the roguish smile he gives her and the cocky arch of his brow seem slightly forced. Like a long-practiced act he’s performing for the first time in her presence.

“Actually, love, people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker: Hook.” His face falls even as he brandishes the intimidating appendage. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again, lass. It’s been so long.”

Emma shrugs, the corner of her mouth hitching up. “Only seven years. Give or take.”

“Yet so much has happened since then,” he tells her in a voice heavy with almost unbearable sadness.

“For me too,” she admits in barely more than a whisper.

They search one another’s eyes for a silent heartbeat. “I hate to hear that, love,” he finally says, “though I hope the terrors here are less frightening than those in Neverland.”

Emma’s mind reels. He’s been in Neverland. He’s dressed like a pirate. He has a hook. When she speaks, it’s almost hesitant. “You mean . . . you’re Captain Hook?”

His eyes light up and a look of pride fills his face. His voice is full of bravado when he speaks. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me.”

Emma suppresses a laugh. “Well, there’s a book. And movie. Several movies, actually.”

He cocks his head for a moment as he searches her face, a look of slight confusion upon his own. Then some sort of realization seems to wash over him, and he deflates his posturing. “The portrayal was far from flattering, I see. I – I’ll leave you.”

“Wait!” Emma cries out even as he turns to go. Without thinking, she reaches out and grabs his hook to stop him. When he turns, he looks in surprise at where her fingers curve around the steel. So he’s . . . Captain Hook. Is that so much harder to believe than having a friend that walks through an enchanted wardrobe? She smiles up at him. “Stay.”

He seems almost transfixed as she pulls him out of the wardrobe and towards the bed. She sits and gently tugs him down with her, her hand still clutching his hook. It doesn’t scare her, didn’t for one second. And it’s hard to explain, but holding it seems . . . right. Comforting, even. She sets it in her lap and squeezes it as she gazes into his face.

“Tell me what’s happened since I saw you last,” she encourages, as she would to a long lost friend. Because that’s what he is. The only one she has or has ever had, come to think of it.

He clears his throat, still staring at his hook in her lap. “I’m afraid there’s an awful lot to tell.” The slightly embarrassed chuckle and ear scratch that he gives her reveals the boy still inside him.

Emma shifts closer, “Just the highlights, then. It’s not like I have anything important to do.”

So he begins to talk. The accented voice she has always loved rolls over her like a warm embrace, but the story breaks her heart. He tells her about losing his brother Liam and why he became a pirate. His voice breaks as he describes the elder Jones dying in his arms, and Emma tugs his arm up and over her shoulder. A tear tracks down his cheek as he tells her about Milah, about watching Pan crush her heart and being helpless to stop it. He turns his face away as he speaks of the choices he has made, many of them dark, in his pursuit of revenge against Pan. Emma leans closer and rests her head on his shoulder to let him know it doesn’t change anything.

“I’ve been talking on and on about nothing but myself,” he tells her, his lips brushing against the crown of her head. “That’s bad form, love. What about your life? Less tragic than mine, I hope.”

Emma lifts her head to look into his eyes, so intensely blue as they study her. “I’ve had my own share of tragedy.” She lets out a shaky breath and then tells him about Neal and jail, and then . . . she speaks for the first time about the baby she gave away. Confesses for the first time out loud about how giving him up tore her heart in two.

Killian holds her tighter as the tears break free. She turns in his embrace, fisting her hands in his shirt and sobbing into his shoulder. When her tears are spent, there is a dark, wet spot on his shirt. She laughs sardonically as she wipes at it.

“Look what I’ve done to your shirt.”

“Tis nothing, love.”

Emma suddenly realizes that both her hands are splayed against his chest, and she can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. She lifts her head and sees his face so close to hers. Her eyes flicker from his bright eyes to his lips, and her thoughts tumble backwards in time to their first kiss when his lips were so soft and welcoming, and how the feel of them on hers made her heart soar. They both lean towards each other, and then their lips are brushing. They sort of melt against one another as they deepen the kiss, and it’s simultaneously just like when they were sixteen and vastly different. The softness, the tenderness, and the heart swelling rush are all still there. But there’s fire and passion wrought of pain and loss that sparks and sets them both on fire.

What comes next happens in a sort of haze, as if Killian is a drug she can’t resist. Hands and lips feverishly exploring, and clothes peeled back and cast aside with a mixture of frenzy and reverence. When Emma removes his brace, he stiffens and closes his eyes in shame. She lifts his left arm and runs her fingers across the scars there, then kisses it tenderly. He tells her around an obvious lump in his throat that no one has seen or touched it since Milah. She presses it to her breast and pulls him close for a hungry kiss. She wants him to know he isn’t disabled or broken, not to her.

Then they’re falling as they come together, Killian practically worshipping every inch of her as if she’s an angel he doesn’t quite deserve. And Emma is almost overwhelmed with the intensity of it, and she wonders why she ever thought she loved Neal.

Because it was never like this.

They are still breathing heavily, yet sated and slightly drowsy in each other’s arms when the light pours out of the open door of the wardrobe. Emma cups Killian’s face and runs her thumb along the scar on his cheek.

“Emma.” His voice is almost a groan. “For years, I told myself that if I ever found my way back here, I would stay. With you.”

He’s searching her face, and the look in his eyes is begging her to understand. “But you can’t, can you?” she whispers.

Killian brushes her lips against hers, feather light. “I just received an urgent message from some friends. We were making haste to Neverland when I saw a light in the wardrobe. I have to help them if I can.”

Emma grasps his shoulders tight even as she nods in understanding. He presses his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, and they breathe one another in for just one more heartbeat. Then he slips from the bed and begins to gather his clothes. As he steps into his leather pants, the light of the moon sends a shaft of light across his back, illuminating the criss-cross pattern of scars she had traced earlier with her fingers. She remembers the trembling slave boy of ten, and the hesitantly hopeful cabin boy of sixteen, and she wonders if the scars were there even then.

Killian finishes dressing with a click of his hook into his brace. The sound of it echoes in the quiet room, and she sees his jaw tense with shame. Giving him her body clearly wasn’t enough to wash that away, and it breaks her heart.

“Emma,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “I’m not the boy you once knew. I know I wasn’t worthy to share your bed tonight, but know one thing.” He lifts his gaze finally to hers, and the moonlight brightens them. They are swimming with more emotion than anyone has ever bestowed upon her. “I have always loved you. That has never changed.”

She sits up, clutching the sheets to her bare chest as she watches him walk to the wardrobe. She wants to tell him she loves him too, but she can’t get the words past her throat. He steps into the wardrobe, and a slight panic seizes her that she can’t speak. He turns to look at her, giving her a tender smile.

“Can I come back tomorrow night?”

Her heart soars at his question, tears filling her eyes. “Yes.”

He gives a simple nod, pulls the wardrobe closed, and the light is gone. He is gone. A strangled sound comes from Emma’s throat as she curls in on herself. Every time she and Killian have spent a night together, her world comes crashing down. First Martha’s stroke, then being betrayed by what she thought was her family.

Whatever tomorrow brings, she doubts it will be Killian.

**************************************

When Killian comes back through the wardrobe, the early light of dawn is just beginning to spill through the windows of his cabin. He sinks to his bunk, his heart still struggling to recover from the night he had shared with Emma. He can still see that otherworldly light seeping through the cracks of the wardrobe door, and he’s tempted to go back through and simply stay with Emma. He clenches his jaw as he reaches over with his hook and pierces the small slip of paper that had arrived via bird from Tink and Tiger Lily less than twenty four hours ago.

Pan has him.

Three simple words that he can’t ignore. So he lets the light fade away, rises to his feet, and strides above deck, crushing the missive in his hand.

“What is our position, Starkey?” he cries to his first mate.

“We’ll be making landfall in less than half an hour, sir.”

Killian nods as he joins the other young man at the captain’s wheel. Starkey’s gaze keeps cutting his way, but Killian is in no mood to talk. His emotions are a tumult of golden hair, light green eyes, and heated skin mixed in with the fear of reaching the island too late. Somehow, for reasons he can’t fathom, his night with Emma feels intertwined with the boy he has to save. Has to. He tells himself this overwhelming urge comes from his own memories of a shattered childhood, but somehow he knows it is deeper than that. His nerve endings feel exposed, brushing up against a mystery just out of reach.

When they anchor the ship in the cove near Mermaid’s Lagoon, Hawkins tells him in hushed tones that the island is much too quiet. It has nothing to do with the empty lagoon or the stillness of the dark waters nearest to the shore. The mermaids abandoned this place long ago, when magic first began to die. Tink speaks dreamily of their songs, but it’s a pleasure that has never reached his ears.

No, this quiet is filled with a heavier foreboding. Hook normally visits the home beneath the ground on his own, not wanting to expose Wendy to his uncouth crew, but this time he takes those he trusts most along with him: Starkey, Hawkins, and Slightly. Mason begs to come along, but there’s too much unknown to risk it.

They find the place just as quiet as the rest of the island. Wendy’s sewing basket is sitting abandoned by the hearth, the fireplace cold. Hook frowns when he sees a tiny cup sitting upon the kitchen table, filled to the brim with a brown liquid. He shakes his head.

“Wendy always makes sure Michael takes his medicine.”

It’s awful stuff, and the boy pitches a fit every time, but the concoction brewed by Tiger Lily is a supposed inoculation for dreamshade. Killian’s skeptical of the home remedy - it’s never made a bit of difference for his crew - but it makes Wendy feel better to make her brother take it.

Yet here it sits.

Starkey pulls a dagger from his belt. “Something strange is afoot, Cap’n.”

“Aye.”

“Their brother John came for them.”

They spin at the sound, weapons aloft, but it is only Tiger Lily. Killian deflates and re-sheaths his sword.

“Brother?”

“Half brother,” Tiger Lily sighs, depositing a quiver of arrows upon the table and rolling her shoulders. “He’s already a man. A man who made a deal with Pan, apparently. You weren’t the only one searching for the boy, Hook.”

“You don’t mean -”

“Yes, Pan has him. I’ve tracked them to Skull Rock. Tink is there keeping watch, but I’m not sure what we can do.”

“And Wendy and Michael -”

“Gone. I don’t know how, but Pan gave John an antidote for the water of Rainbow Falls as well as passage to another realm.”

“Home,” Killian whispers, “a land without magic, Wendy said.”

Tiger Lily nods. “John was a desperate man, Killian. He didn’t want to turn the child over; had grown attached to him even, but Wendy is 15 now, and . . . “

She trails off, her shoulders hunched. She isn’t like Tink with chatter spilling out of her. Tiger Lily is clearly shaken. Killian sinks onto one of the kitchen chairs and rubs his hand over his face.

“He wanted to save his sister and brother, I get that,” Killian fumes “but turning over a tiny lad that way . . . “ He slams his fist into the table in frustration.

“We must attack, Captain,” Hawkins says grimly, “before Pan kills the boy.”

Killian looks at the three determined men before him. He knows they’re right. Emma, he thinks to himself, please understand if I don’t make it back to you.

**************************************

“Pan has to do the ritual here,” Tiger Lily whispers from their hiding place in Skull Rock. “This is the heart of Neverland. All the island’s magic originates here.”

Killian peers over the rock with Tiger Lily at his side. The child stands trembling with Pan beside him. An enormous hourglass looms over them both, the sand within like gold dust. Whatever it is measuring, time is almost up.

“I’ve never seen that hourglass before,” Killian says to Tiger Lily.

“Pan’s had a protection spell around it until recently. It measures Pan’s boyhood. He will never grow up, but he isn’t immortal.”

He isn’t immortal. A slow smile fills Killian’s face. “Pan is the reason magic is dying in Neverland.”

Tiger Lily’s gaze meets his, her brown eyes widening brightly. “Of course! Peter Pan’s magic is unnatural; it consumes. Get rid of Pan -”

“Restore Neverland to glory,” Killian finishes for her.

Killian looks back at the child once again, yet another source of magic for Peter Pan to consume for his own “play.” Even from this place he can hear the boy’s weeping. The Lost Boys surround him and their leader, weapons forming a tight circle that will be difficult to penetrate. Nevertheless, Killian takes note of one important detail.

“They are in an offensive position to keep the boy in,” he whispers. “Not defensive to keep attackers out.”

“We still need a plan,” the fairy whispers back.

He smirks at Tiger Lily. “What do you think I have a crew for?”

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ll risk that child for a full on assault?”

“Hey,” he gives her a wink, ‘trust me for once.”

He slips away, further into the cave, and he bites back a chuckle at the way Tiger Lily is grumbling. His crew has used these caves often to store bits of treasure for a rainy day, so he’s familiar with its labyrinth of tunnels. He hurries along one with light, quiet steps. It leads him to a precipice just over where Pan is giving a rousing speech to his Lost Boys.

Killian is surprised that the child isn’t restrained in any way, but he’s so small, and his eyes so large with fright, that it’s likely unnecessary. Killian eases his way to the very edge of the precipice, lying flat on his stomach so he’s hidden from sight.

Pan is saying something about saving Neverland’s magic, grasping the trembling boy by the arm. Killian thinks back to Mason and then Michael and the lack of a mark that saved them from this cruel rite. He can’t see it from here, but he assumes that this child does bear the mark.

Killian knows that time is short. He scans the large main cavern of Skull Rock, his eyes finding the members of his crew. All are in position, so he takes a deep breath before calling out:

“Flee! Flee!”

He adjusts the timbre of his voice, deepening it ominously. The Lost Boys freeze and Pan narrows his eyes as he drops the little boy’s arm. Now that he has their attention, he continues.

“You heard me. Flee, I tell you! The spirit of Skull Rock has spoken!”

To his right, still crouched behind the rock where he left her, Tiger Lily is glaring at him. She makes gestures with her hands that clearly say what the hell are you doing? He tosses her a wink which says Hey, it’s me! Which she ought to be used to by now, really. Below them, his words have had the desired effect on the Lost Boys.

“It’s a ghost!”

“A ghost who wants revenge!”

“This place is haunted!”

“Quiet, you idiots!” Peter shouts. “Someone’s here alright, but it’s not a ghost.”

“I am the ghost of vengeance,” Killian cries out again in a deepened voice.

He’s enjoying this far too much, truth be told. Peter’s face can’t seem to settle on anger or fear, and Killian’s lips curl into a grin. The imp pulls out his dagger as he inches closer to the stone walls of the cave, and the Lost Boys gather at his back. The pixie dust is too scarce now for the demon boy to take flight, a fact that Killian relishes.

In the shadows, Killian spies Hawkins taking advantage of Pan’s distraction. He grabs the little boy, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle any cries. Mason is at his back, and the two teenagers hurry the child to a waiting rowboat, Tink at the oars.

Once the youngest members of his crew have succeeded in rescuing the lad, Killian slinks back down the tunnel to join the rest of the pirates. Tiger Lily scowls at him as she follows.

“So you were never going to clue me into your plan?” she whispers.

“What would be the fun in that?” he quips back under his breath.

Peter calls out into the dark recesses of Skull Rock, “Ghost, demon, or man, whoever you are, make yourself known!”

Hook’s lips curl up into a satisfying smirk. The noose has been tightened; his crew has The Lost Boy’s surrounded.

“Boo!” he shouts, arching one brow mockingly.

The look on Pan’s face when he turns and sees a crew of pirate’s behind him, armed to the teeth, is one that Killian Jones will never forget. His crew falls upon the Lost Boys, but Hook keeps his eyes locked on Peter Pan. Hook isn’t sure if it’s cowardice or desperation, but Pan runs away from the battle towards the hourglass. Then a look of confusion washes over Peter’s face, and Killian grins knowing exactly what his enemy has just realized.

“Looking for something?” he shouts over the din, swinging his hook to dispatch the Lost Boys who are in his way.

“Where is the boy?” Pan shrieks in a blind rage. He lunges at Hook, but his form

is sluggish.

“Gone,” Killian snarls.

“It’s you or me this time, Hook!” Pan bellows as he launches himself at Killian.

Hook’s cutlass flies from his hand; by all accounts the boy has taken him completely by surprise. Never has Peter Pan fought more like a demon than he does now, scratching and biting and kicking. Killian rolls with him, slashing occasionally with his hook enough to draw blood. Peter’s rage is an almost palpable thing, and though Hook could succumb to his own in equal measure, he holds himself back.

Instead, he laughs. The sound sends Pan over the edge and he begins to choke the pirate. Still, the man grins.

“What’s so funny?” Pan demands, fury making those two red spots appear in his eyes.

“This is,” another voice answers, and Pan loosens his grip on his enemy’s throat to follow the source of it. Tiger Lily stands before the hourglass, Killian’s cutlass in her hands. She swings the weapon at the glass with all of her strength.

“Nooo!!” Pan screeches.

The hour glass shatters, the remaining sand pouring out upon the ground. Peter Pan curls in on himself, screaming in agony. Hook feels not an ounce of compassion, however, and he looms over his enemy with a snarl upon his lips.

“You didn’t really think I would drop my weapon so easily, did you?”

Pan doesn’t answer. He throws his head back, clawing at his skin as he continues to scream. The battle between the pirates and the Lost Boys has ceased, and everyone looks on in horror as the boy who never grows up shrivels and wrinkles before their eyes, his bones weakening and contorting. With one final wail, his face seems to melt, then his entire body turns to dust.

For a moment, there is an eerie silence. Former enemies glance at one another, unsure what to do next. Then a violent wind rushes through skull rock, picking up the ashes that were once Peter Pan. A dark shadow flies in behind it, and the ashes whirl it, faster and faster and faster. The vortex sends everyone to their knees, shielding their eyes from the dust and wind. Then there’s a bright pulse of light that sends them all sprawling on their backs.

Killian’s head collides with the rocky floor and pain shoots across his forehead, his focus blurring at the edges. He thinks he sees a flurry of purple and green - wings? He blinks, but then his vision begins to dim as someone calls his name.

Emma, I’m sorry. It’s the last thought he has before he succumbs to the darkness.

“This has a view of Main Street,” she tells Emma as she pulls an old fashioned key from her apron pocket and inserts it in the lock. “It’s a suite with a little sitting area and kitchenette, though you’re welcome to take your meals in the diner. On the house, of course.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh, but I couldn’t. It’s your business.”

Granny waves her off. “I know a waitress’s salary isn’t much. How are you ever to get back on your feet if you have to spend every dime just to live? Besides, it was all in the agreement I sent you.”

Emma just nods, still nervously clutching her duffel. She doesn’t want to tell her that she didn’t actually read it. All the fine print and the legal jargon had made her head spin. Marco had said it was the best deal for a girl like her, and how many options did she have, anyway?

“Storybrooke is a nice little town,” Granny says as she pulls the curtains open to let in more light. “The last girl I helped, Ashley, ended up staying. She’s even engaged to a nice young man who works at the cannery.”

Granny comes closer, studying Emma’s face carefully. “Ashley was pregnant when she came. Marco told me you just gave up a baby. I want you to know, I’ve been there. Back in my day, they just shipped me off to a convent and ripped my little boy from my arms. I didn’t even have a say.”

Emma glances away nervously.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said my piece, and I won’t bring it up again. Just know this is a safe place, and I’ve got your back. And I don’t answer to anything but Granny, okay?”

Before Emma can say anything else, the woman is gone. Emma sinks down on the antique sofa situated in front of the fireplace. She feels out of place, out of sorts. Granny seems nice, and it’s clear she means well, but Emma isn’t staying here. Once she’s saved up enough money, she’s getting as far away from Maine as she possibly can.

Tallahassee still sounds nice.

**************************************

Emma stands in front of the large, mahogany piece of furniture, her dry toothbrush dangling from her lips. It doesn’t look like the one from when she was ten and sixteen: the carvings are far more ornate, and the trim is all wrong, yet her fingers itch to open it and her heart rate picks up just a bit. She’s just about to reach for the little pewter knob when a knock sounds on the door. Emma opens it to find Granny standing there with towels in her arms.

“Thought you might need these tonight,” she says, bustling in without an invitation. “You’re not a guest but an employee, so washing these is your responsibility. The laundry is in the basement. Do you know how to do laundry?”

Emma nods.

“Good. Ashley turned her sheets pink.” Granny says this matter of factly, and Emma stifles a laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you be.”

“Um,” Emma gathers the courage to ask, “this wardrobe . . . “

“Wardrobe?” Granny asks, brow creased in confusion. She sees what Emma is gesturing at, and nods. “Oh, that. It’s not a wardrobe, it’s an entertainment center. Just fits the decor better. There’s a tv behind those doors. A small one, and it’s just the basic cable with fifteen channels or so. Better than nothing, though, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, goodnight.”

Emma’s shoulders fall after Granny leaves. An entertainment center. Nevertheless, she holds her breath when she flings it open.

Nothing but a twenty inch television set, just like Granny had said. It seems even smaller in the large cabinet, and it sits atop a cable box. Emma sighs and closes the doors. What had she expected, anyway?

***************************************

Emma’s feet are sore as she sags against the prep sink and removes her apron. Ruby sees her and laughs in camaraderie.

“The first day is always the toughest,” she encourages.

“I hope so,” Emma groans. She pulls a wad of bills out of her apron pocket and thumbs through it. “I got good tips, though.”

Ruby smiles. “The breakfast crowd is always generous. Lunch? Not so much. Too much take out.”

Emma shoves the cash into the pocket of her jeans. There’s no uniform here, just the matching retro aprons with the pink frilly trim. Ruby is dressed vastly different from Emma in a tiny skirt and a midriff top. Emma wonders if this got the brunette more tips. Not that Emma is going that route, no matter how much she wants to get to Tallahassee.

“Speaking of lunch,” Emma says, “I’m starving.”

“Take a seat out there, and I’ll bring you something.”

“Grilled cheese and onion rings with a Coke?”

Ruby winks. “Coming right up!”

Emma heads for one of the smaller, two seater booths in the back near the jukebox, not wanting to take up room needed for real customers. She still feels a bit guilty taking food from Granny’s business. Of course, Ruby is Granny’s actual granddaughter, and she didn’t bat an eye at Emma’s “order.” She’ll just have to try and get used to generosity, she supposes.

Emma’s surprised when Ruby comes out almost immediately, but it isn’t her lunch on the waitress’s tray. With a flourish, she sets a mug of hot cocoa down in front of Emma. It’s even topped with Emma’s favorite: whipped cream and cinnamon.

“From a secret admirer,” Ruby chuckles with a roll of her eyes.

Emma frowns down at the beverage, and then her eyes flash as the cop she’d served at the bar earlier walks over. She’d recommended the whipped cream and cinnamon, telling him it was her personal favorite. The pervert! He stops at her booth and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, she lifts the mug and flings the cocoa right at him. It wets the front of his dress blues and drips from the badge at his hip. He glances down in shock at the front of him then back up at her.

“You do know I’m nineteen, right?” she snaps. “I may not have the most spotless past, but I’m not an easy score.”

The cop calmly grabs some napkins and pats at the stain on his shirt. “I agree one hundred percent,” he says, focusing on his shirt and not her. “I’m a thirty-two year old man. However, that creep Walsh Oaken over there is thirty-six and likes to sniff around Granny’s girls. I wanted to warn you.”

Emma’s brow furrows in confusion as she studies the cop, then looks over his shoulder at a skinny man who’s also perched on a stool at the bar. He winks at her, and Emma’s face turns red.

“Uh, you mean that guy at the bar? The one who’s been sitting two stools down from you since you came in?” Emma attempts a wry grin at the cop.

He chuckles, and Emma thinks that his eyes look kind, though also sad. The creep Walsh obviously overheard her conversation with the cop, and she suddenly wants to crawl under the table.

“Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke,” he tells her, extending his hand.

“Oh God,” Emma groans, “the sheriff?”

He laughs again. “It’s okay. I admire your spunk. Guys like Walsh obviously have no hope of taking advantage of you.”

“Ew,” Emma says, her nose wrinkling, “he’s gross and old.”

“I’ll overlook the old comment,” he tells her, “since he and I are too old for you.”

“Hello, Graham,” Ruby purrs as she sidles up with Emma’s plate of food. The sheriff’s eyes light up, and Emma is surprised when Ruby, over the top flirt, actually blushes.

“Hello, Ruby.” He replies, and Emma almost laughs at the way the man’s voice hikes up an octave. He clears his throat nervously, then says, “Well, duty calls, ladies. I’ll see you tonight, Ruby?”

“You know it,” the brunette tells him with a wink.

Ruby watches him go, and the sheriff even glances back in the doorway. Emma takes in the exchange with growing humor. When Ruby turns back around, Emma arches both brows at her.

“What?”

“You and the sheriff?”

“Shhh,” Ruby admonishes, waving at Emma, “not so loud, my Granny doesn’t know about us yet.”

“Why would she care? He seems like a nice guy. And you’re old enough for him.” Now that she knows he isn’t a pervert, Emma can acknowledge the man is attractive. She has eyes, after all.

Ruby shrugs. “Well, he lives here in the inn. Granny likes that he does, says he makes her feel safe, especially with the girls she takes in. If she found out I was sleeping with him . . . “

“Oh come on, Ruby, Granny seems more understanding than that.”

“Maybe,” Ruby gives Emma a sly grin, “but there’s also something thrilling about sneaking around.”

Emma rolls her eyes.

Ruby waggles her eyebrows. “Enjoy your lunch.”

*******************************************

The envelope is fat with bills and Emma smiles at the heft of it before she slips it beneath the panties in her underwear drawer. Not the most original of hiding places, but it works. Granny offered to take her to Storybrooke Savings & Loan to help her open an account, but Emma had declined. It’s too permanent, for one, like making a commitment to this quirky little town. But Emma also knows that plastic can be traced, and she has no desire to be found.

Or does she?

The pop and boom of fireworks shatters the silence of her room, and it's followed by a chorus of oohs from the families gathered below in the streets of Storybrooke. Emma merely crosses the room to draw her drapes closed before plopping down on her bed and turning on the tv. Fourth of July celebrations are playing on almost every station, but the last thing she wants to look at are families in the crowds with wide eyed children balanced on their hips. She could walk downstairs and out the door for that.

After she flips through the main four stations and PBS, she finally finds movies instead of fireworks. She’s not surprised by her options: Independence Day (naturally), Top Gun (of course), and a western she’s never heard of before. What’s more American than a western, right?

She settles for Top Gun, though she’s seen it so many times she can quote it by heart, wriggling beneath the covers and propping the pillows behind her head. Ruby had ragged her about living like an old woman, Granny had given her a reprimanding glare over her bifocals, and Graham had gently asked why she insisted on hiding. She supposes he’s right - she is hiding, but it’s for the best. This is merely a stop on her journey, and it’s best for everyone if she doesn’t get too attached.

She may live like an old lady, she won’t deny it, but Emma is still only nineteen years old. Going to sleep when even toddlers are gazing in wonder at fireworks is something Emma finds physically impossible, and by the time the smoke fades from the harbor, she’s antsy and slightly claustrophobic. She crosses to the window and sees the crowd slowly dispersing but not in any hurry to get home. She lets the curtain fall back into place and plops back down to watch Maverick and Goose for a bit longer. Once the credits roll, Main Street is finally empty, the few remaining revelers having headed down to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma grabs a light sweater that’s draped over her desk chair and heads quietly downstairs.

This isn’t the first time she’s made her way through the quiet streets and headed to the docks. It’s one of the things she’ll miss when she leaves because Neal had been wrong. Emma looked it up - Tallahassee isn’t on the coast of Florida. The nearest beach will be over an hour’s drive away.

Emma sighs as she reaches the boardwalk, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself as a cool breeze sweeps across the water. She leans against the railing, looking out at the barges from which they’d shot off the fireworks. She can hear faint shouts from the crew as they clean up from the festivities. She glances over to her left and sees a sailing ship bobbing in the water where it’s tied to the dock. She thinks of a boy from years ago with sea-chapped lips, messy hair that smelled faintly of salt water, and bright blue eyes.

Three years ago, that’s when she saw that boy last. Has he changed as much as she has? Emma crosses her arms upon the wood railing and bends over to rest her chin atop them. As she often does when she comes here, she thinks of the first boy she really kissed and wonders if he’s still sailing the ocean. Maybe he’s a lieutenant now, like he had hoped. Maybe he has a nice, sweet girl who waits for him at the end of each voyage.

Emma isn’t sure why she entertains these fantasies of a boy she knew so briefly. Perhaps because it’s better than other places her thoughts could wander.

Only when her eyelids begin to droop and goosebumps rise on her arms does she leave the docks. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a penny. She holds the copper to her lips and whispers “Tallahassee.” Why she needs to get there so badly, she can’t even say. Nevertheless, she says it like a promise before tossing the penny into the waves.

Killian: Age 19

“Bloody fairies,” Killian mutters as he makes his way deeper into the thick jungle. Tiger Lily and Tink just had to bring up Milah and the need to avenge her death.

He stops at another thick tree truck; the only ones on the island that grow so large and tall. As the fairies had instructed, he slashes his hook across the smooth bark. He leans close on bated breath, and within minutes he has his answer: thick, black viscous liquid seeps from the tree. Hook retrieves a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal from his duster pocket and makes a mark. So far, he’s counted two dozen dead pixie dust trees like this one and only half a dozen that are still producing.

Half an hour later, sweat is trickling down his back as he hacks his way through the dense bush. Suddenly, Killian spins, his hook at the ready as someone or something comes crashing through the jungle foliage to his right. He takes cover behind another thick pixie dust tree and waits. Pan’s crew are breaking in a new lost boy, most likely. Killian is shocked when it’s a girl, not a boy, who stumbles into the small clearing near his hiding place. Her blonde curls are a matted mess filled with bits of leaves and bracken, and her white gown is tattered and stained. As she scrambles to her feet, the moonlight hits her face, and Killian can make out the sheen of tears. Her blonde hair reminds him of Emma so long ago, and he can scarcely breathe for a moment. Then he blinks, his eyes clear, and he obviously sees that this girl’s hair is darker than Emma’s was.

Killian is so distracted by this strange turn of events, he doesn’t even hear the lost boys coming. They have the girl surrounded before Killian can get a bearing on the situation. The girl spins in a circle, frantically searching for an opening of escape, chest heaving in panic.

Félix stalks towards her, smacking his club repeatedly into his open palm. A phantom pain throbs where Killian’s hand used to be as the urge to pummel Félix with both fists surges through him.

“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”

“Please,” the girl begs, “just leave me alone.”

What happens next is a blur of white hot rage. The boys advance, Wendy is on the ground screaming, and Killian is suddenly in their midst, flinging lost boys right and left. Félix has Wendy on the ground by the throat, and Killian turns on him next.

“Run!” Killian yells, but Wendy simply stares at him with wide eyes, trembling as she curls herself into a ball. An image of a nine year old boy, cowering behind the barrels in a ship’s hold, swim up in Killian’s memory.

Félix stalks towards him, the rest of the lost boys regrouping at his back. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Captain?”

That’s all it takes to send Killian over the edge. He swings with his hook, slicing down the side of Félix’s face. The young teen howls in pain, and stumbles backwards, blood gushing from his wound. The other lost boys falter as Félix stumbles to the ground, then turn and flee. Wendy has backed herself against a tree, still cowering in fear. Growling in frustration, Killian hauls her to her feet and commands her to run. When she makes no move to obey, he plunges into the jungle, hauling her along with him.

A few moments later, Wendy comes to herself and begins struggling in his grasp. “Let me go!”

He stops, turns, and snaps at her in frustration, “I’m trying to help you!” He gives her a small shake, but stops when he sees the terror in her eyes. He looks down at his hook, still dripping with Félix’s blood. He suddenly realizes what he must look like to her. Trembling slightly, he drops her arm and steps away from her. He points towards a faint trail to his left. “There’s a fairy nearby. Her tree house is that way. It’s hidden from the lost boys. You’ll be safe there.”

Wendy narrows her eyes. “You’re . . . saving me?”

The sound of lost boys echo through the jungle. “Weeeendyyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! We only want to play!”

Killian gestures with his hook, “Go!”

Once Wendy is heading for the tree house, Killian takes off in the opposite direction, crying, “Wendy! Run!”

He can hear the lost boys behind him, following him far away from the little lost girl.

The sounds of the lost boys are distant once he stumbles onto the beach where he’s left the dinghy. He hasn’t finished his task with the pixie dust trees, but that will have to wait. The lost boys were never supposed to know he was here.

“Bloody fairies,” he mutters again as he scrambles into the boat.

“Going somewhere, Captain?”

Hook’s blood boils as he turns to find Pan hovering nearby, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted at a cocky angle. “Do you have a death wish, boy?”

“You can’t kill me,” Pan scoffs, “or you would have by now.”

“I can try!” Killian growls, leaping from the boat and onto the sand.

Predictably, Peter flits about around Hook’s head, but his taunts aren’t what the pirate expects and makes his blood run cold.

“You can’t save them both, Hook.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re old friend Tiger Lily or your new friend Wendy? Which should die today?”

Killian gives a feral yell as he grabs ahold of Pan’s ankle and flings him to the ground. He pins the demon there, his hook to the lad’s throat.

“What game are you playing now?”

Pan smirks, as if cold steel at his jugular is of no consequence. “Wendy was a gift for Felix, and you ruined it.”

“You hate girls.”

“But teenage boys have needs, unfortunately. It was long overdue.”

Killian presses his hook just enough to break some skin. “Wendy is safe, and what do you know of Tiger Lily?”

Peter laughs. “My crew has Tink’s treehouse surrounded. And as for Tiger Lily, well . . . let’s just say I hope she can hold her breath long enough for you to save her. Skull Rock fills up with water when the tide comes in, you know.”

Killian hauls the imp up and tosses him across the sand as he plunges back into the jungle.

“You don’t have time to save them both!” Pan calls after him. “The tide is coming in soon, Hook!”

Killian ignores him as he slashes his way through the thick brush towards Tink’s place. He’s racing so fast to get to the innocent little girl that he doesn’t see the flash of two blond heads coming from the opposite direction. He collides with Tinker Bell with such force, she tumbles to the forest floor, taking Wendy down with her.

“What the bloody hell, Hook, are you trying to kill us!”

“Tink, thank the gods!” Killian exclaims as he hurriedly pulls first Tink and then Wendy to their feet. “Pan said -”

“That the lost boys had found my hideout?” Tink finishes for him. “Yeah, I got that already.”

“Hurry!” Wendy screams when they hear shouts in the jungle behind them.

“Let’s go,” Tink orders, yanking Wendy by the arm down a ravine nearby. Killian brings up the rear, his sword at the ready in case he needs to slow down the enemy. Soon they’re racing along the bed of a trickling stream, and the sounds of the lost boys fade into the distance.

Tink stops in front of a large boulder covered in moss and pushes at a curtain of thick vines to reveal a shallow cave.

“This doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Killian mutters.

“Do I look dense to you, Hook?” Tink snaps.

Killian arches a brow and tilts his head at the fairy. “Don’t answer that,” Tink mutters, and Wendy giggles. He winks at the child and is pleased when he elicits a blushing smile from her. Tink taps on the back wall of her cave with her wand, and a door appears.

“Bloody fairies,” Killian says for the third time that day, but this time with affection. That makes him think of - “Tiger Lily!” he cries. “Will you two be okay?”

Tink rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

He gives a tremulous smile to them both, then turns back, taking a different route back to the beach from the way they had come.

*********************************

Skull Rock is a hulking menace in the distance, staring at Captain Hook with vacant eyes as he rows across the choppy waters. Rowing isn’t easy with one hand, even with his hook, and he wishes he’d thought to bring one of his crew along today. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be performing a rescue mission.

Killian curses himself, because – once again – he has mucked everything up. Just like with Milah, he has put a friend in danger. He just hopes Tiger Lily forgives him for going to rescue Wendy first. If she lives, that is.

Curse that wretched demon of a boy! His stomach turns remembering the lad’s mocking laughter on the beach.

The tide is rising faster, filling up the cavernous, yawning mouth of Skull Rock. Killian rows harder and swears again as the waves crash against boulders as he draws closer to his destination. Killian’s row boat is almost knocked sideways as he makes his way through the mouth of Skull Rock. There’s Tiger Lily, lifting her chin to call for help. The water splashes into her mouth, and her thick braids float on the surface of the water. Killian abandons the boat; there’s no more time. He dives beneath the waves, kicking his way to where Tiger Lily is tied to a rock. He comes up for air in time to see Tiger Lily’s wide and panicked eyes just as the tide completely closes over her. Killian inhales deeply and dives back under, hacking at the thick rope with his hook. Finally, it breaks free.

Killian grabs Tiger Lily around the waist and kicks upward. When they surface, they both gasp for air. The waves are beating harder, sending the row boat farther away from them. If they don’t catch up to it soon, water will completely fill the cavern, and they’ll both drown. Tiger Lily doesn’t need any instruction; she kicks her legs and swims alongside him. When they reach the side of the boat, Killian pushes her inside, then shoves the row boat through the opening of Skull Rock that has become the narrowest of exits. Killian dives under to follow the boat.

He swims with long strokes as far as he can, hoping he has cleared the rocks. When he breaks the surface, gasping for air, he’s relieved to find himself in the open air. A hand reaches down, and Tiger Lily hauls him over and into the boat. He barely has time to catch a breath before her hand connects with his cheek. The sound of her slap echoes across the water.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he shouts.

“Hook, you are a dirty pirate, and I never want to speak to you again.” She yells, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What did I do? Pan was the one who tied you up in there!”

Tiger Lily glares at him, her arms still crossed. “And the only reason he found me was because YOU told him where I was!”

“Why the bloody hell would I do that?”

Tiger Lily deflates slightly, her brow furrowed. “In exchange for some of your crew.”

Killian arches a brow. “And you believed him?”

“Well, I . . . “

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to rescue Wendy.”

Tiger Lily shakes her head, even more confused. “Wendy?”

“A girl Pan had his shadow bring to the island. To . . . entertain his teenage crew.” Killian can barely get the words out.

“Pan hates girls, and he’s never cared . . . unless . . . “

Killian’s eyes widen. “Unless Wendy is bait.” He thinks of Mason and Felix telling Pan that he didn’t have the mark. “He’s looking for someone specific. He’s looking for -”

“A little boy,” Tiger Lily finishes for him, “very young.”

“But why tie you up in Skull Rock?”

Tiger Lily’s eyes widen as she takes up the oars. “A distraction. Where is your crew?”

Killian shakes his head as he too takes up the oars. “The ship is docked in Pirate’s Cove while I’m gone.”

“Exactly. No pirates to rescue lost boys from the shadow. Does Wendy have any brothers?”

Killian scowls. “I’m guessing the answer to that is yes.”

*****************************************

“Don’t they ever sleep?” Tiger Lily mutters from their hiding place behind a large rock. In the clearing, the Lost Boys are hunched around the blazing campfire, dipping spears and arrowheads into the sticky black sap of dreamshade.

Killian arches a brow at Tiger Lily. “Not much. Not without a mother.”

Tiger Lily tilts her head in confusion. “What?”

He shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind.”

The fairy crouches lower and tightens her hold on her bow as she draws closer to Pan’s camp on soft feet. Killian follows her, his palm sweating as he grips the hilt of his sword.

“They’re preparing for battle,” Kilian hisses to his companion.

“But why?”

Killian doesn’t reply; he’s too distracted by the rustling in the branches above them. He scowls when Tink drops to the forest floor beside him.

“Bloody hell, can you warn me before you drop out of the sky like that?”

“Tink,” Tiger Lily admonishes, “there isn’t enough pixie dust left for you to flit around like that!”

“Shut up both of you, and listen to me! I had to fly here, it was an emergency. Wendy is gone!”

“What do you mean she’s gone? ” Killian snaps. “I left you not an hour ago!”

“She was dirty and covered in scrapes, so we went to the stream for water. She swore she heard her little brother crying. I turned around for a second, I swear -”

“Shit,” Killian mutters, “it’s not a battle they’re preparing -”

“-it’s a hunt,” Tiger Lily finishes for him.

The three of them split up, knowing that covering more ground is the only hope for Wendy and her brother. His heart pounds in his chest as he makes his way up Dead Man’s Peak, thoughts of his brother swimming up from the dark recesses of his mind. He can’t let Wendy lose hers. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. Barreling around won’t help the children; he needs to focus.

Holding his hook aloft and using his sword to push aside the foliage, he continues his search. He wishes he had a lantern, but the risk of drawing the Lost Boys’ attention was too great. Thankfully, the moon is full tonight, and its light bathes the ground more and more as he ascends the peak, the foliage becoming sparser. His eyes scan the meager sized clumps of bushes, hoping for a glimpse of Wendy’s white nightgown.

Yet it’s a pair of green eyes that halts his steps. For a moment, his heart slams against his ribcage. The shade is so similar to Emma’s from long ago. As his gaze lands on those green eyes, they widen and he hears a small gasp. The bush from whence the sound came rustles, and he recognizes Wendy’s voice as she whispers, “hush!”

Killian sheathes his sword and lowers himself to his knees, not wanting to startle the children. “Wendy,” he hisses.

“Hook?” she asks in a wobbly voice.

“Yes, it’s me,” he says gently, easing around the bush. It grows right up against a wall of rock, and beyond it he hears the gurgling of Rainbow Falls. He pushes aside the foliage shielding the children, and the moonlight falls across them both. Wendy has her arms around a little boy of about four. For a moment, he looks up at Killian with wide, light green eyes, but then he shudders and buries his face against his sister’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Michael, the pirate is our friend.”

“Come, children, quickly. The Lost Boys are on the hunt for you.”

“They don’t want me,” Michael says hoarsely, peeking out at Hook again. “I’m too little, and I don’t have marks.”

Killian’s brow furrows. “Marks?”

“Here,” Michael says, holding out his arm.

Killian blinks, thinking back to Felix yanking at Mason’s arm a year ago. He doesn’t have the mark. Yet he has no time at present to contemplate it further as the shouts of the Lost Boys echo from the canyon below. Killian reaches for the children, urging them to hurry, but he stills when he sees a large palm leaf resting near Wendy’s knee. Water shimmers in the center of it, reflecting the moonlight.

“Where did you get this?” he asks Wendy.

“From the falls,” she tells him, “we were thirsty.”

“You drank from Rainbow Falls?” he asks, his heart plummeting to his stomach.

Wendy tilts her head. “Yes, of course. Why?”

Killian puts on a brave smile as he scoops up Michael. “No time for that now. Let’s get you back to the fairy’s cave.”

“I want to go home,” Michael whimpers as he clutches the edges of Killian’s coat.

“Hook will help us,” Wendy says with so much faith, that it makes Killian want to weep.

He says nothing in reply. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they doomed themselves the minute they drank from Rainbow Falls. They will never be able to leave the island.