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shady-swan-jones · 10 months

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She's Perfect But You're Mine

Summary:

Killian has a girlfriend. Emma handles it with the utmost maturity and grace.

Or not.

Ao3

Damn you, rum, was the first thought that came to Emma’s mind when she woke up, her hair tousled, wearing the inner parts of yesterday’s outfit, and already feeling angry clouds of an impending hangover. She couldn’t be more pathetic, she thought, right before noticing a thin line of saliva adorning her pillow.

Outstanding.

Why did the alcohol gods punish her so harshly? She was rightfully celebrating catching her latest skip, Felix the Fiend -Felix the Fucker if you ask her- with her friends. Her group was a patchwork of people led by her employers, the charmingly dubbed, the Charmings. The only thing that made her move, very reluctantly and slowly, from the bed, was the thought of teasing Killian. He missed her singing, or rather murdering, Michael Jackson’s Beat It. Her performance in the club was Billboard Hot 100 calibre, but her roommate skipped the whole thing for mysterious reasons.

As she rounded the corner, overlooking their kitchen, his reasons were mysterious no more. In fact, judging from the adoring looks the small brunette was giving him over eggs and bacon, his reasons became painfully obvious.

Snuggling against each other, the pair hadn’t seen her approaching. Emma had a few seconds to have a massive internal freak out over the perfect picture they made, straight from a Folgers breakfast ad.

“Swan, good morning. You’re looking particularly fresh at this early hour, if I may say,” Killian said cheerfully, totally unaware of the absurdity of the scene. It’s not that Killian didn’t have girls over, his stubble and rosy cheeks were more successful than a dog with the ladies. A scarcely clad, tousled hair girl in their kitchen wasn’t out of the ordinary. The thing is, he never had breakfast with them.

Just when she thought she couldn’t be any more surprised, the real bomb fell.

“Emma, this is my Belle, my girlfriend."

Motherfucker.

A few things had scarred her college life, catching Ruby with -and on- the TA in her Bug, spilling scalding cocoa all over Elsa’s lab coat, finding out Neal had a girlfriend, one besides herself. Her meeting Killian, knocking on his dorm door to stop him from singing “We are the Champions”, loudly, for the twelfth time, out of tune, didn’t even make the top ten. She therefore had a difficult time explaining to herself why this stupid , ill advised crush she had on her roommate wouldn’t go away.

After that day, he’d done it on purpose. Playing his guitar at full volume to taunt her -this arrogant bastard-, going so far as to play Two Doors Down , in every annoying voice he could muster. “So Emma, what do you say,” he’d teased, as his hand had left the door handle and joined the other one in the guitar, “let me take you home tonight.”

And thus began a friendship, but dammit that was almost a decade ago, including a two-year old cohabiting arrangement. Her ill-advised crush on her roommate should have been over by now.

“So, Belle,” he started as Belle leaned further into him, tickling his beard, “this is Emma Swan, my friend and roommate.”

The brunette extended her hand gracefully while maintaining eye contact. Her green eyes appeared for all intents and purposes, honest and excited.

“Emma Swan,” Emma supplied redundantly. Nice way to make a good first impression, so smooth, Emma.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you, Emma. I couldn’t believe you talked him into watching the Princess Bride. I’m a fool for those Westley types,” Belle explained while patting Killian’s chest. His pointed, and adorable ears were quickly dusted with a shade of red.

“Who isn’t?” Emma asked and smiled the best as she could, wondering if this was normal or if her awkwardness was cruelly evident.

“That’s true, but it’s also what sold me on this guy. Quoting the movie in real time? My prince!” she says, cupping Killian’s chin while he gives her his most charming smile. The lopsided one, with a hint of teeth. The charming fucker.

They make such a disney couple, Emma waits for blue little birds to start chirping around them. The sight is so perfect, it makes her want to puke through her eyes.

“Ha. Yes.” she shuffles around them and grabs the cup with the painted swans. It's tall and the porcelain handle is broken, leaving her to grab it with both of her hands, even if the inside is scalding. Killian calls it her “chalice”. He gives names to everything, it’s an inside joke. They haven’t shared one for some time.

With her -tense- back towards them, she hears Killian speak to her. “Would it be okay with you if Belle stayed with us for a few days? Her plumbing is out."

She swivels and faces them, willing her eyes not to bulge.

"I hope I'm not in the way. You won't even notice I'm here", Emma highly doubts that, with Killian choosing this moment to tighten the arm around her waist. "I can bake too, Killian tells me you have a sweet tooth".

She's never rejected baked goods in her life, but even the biggest chocolate chip cake can't wash away the bitterness in her mouth.

"And I want to get to know you. We can be friends".

They're both looking at her expectantly as seconds go by and she doesn't speak.

It's then where Killian employs his tactic to make her open up, the one that got her to share about her sordid past, the ex still haunting her dreams and her inner, most genuine need for family. He holds her eyes and speaks softly.

"Love?"

At this second two things happen: Belle opens her mouth to answer, then closes it, squinting her meticulously shaped eyebrows at him.

And Emma hears that word and pain washes over her, realising it won't be aimed at her, not in the way she wants deep inside.

Her answer is drowned by excited screams. As she recounts to Ruby later that day over a couple -dozens- of beers, she just killed her chances with Killian once and for all.

That cake better be worth it.

#captain swan #cs fic rec #cs ff #cs au #captain swan ff #ouat ff #ouat #once upon a time #emma swan #killian jones #killian x emma

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grimmswan · 10 months

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Mess

Once Upon a Time

Neal is a mess, and keeps getting messier. He has an interest in Emma Swan. But Killian Jones has his life put together more than Neal ever would.

Warning!! This is not a story for Neal fans. This is a story for those who like to see Neal being given a hard time.

No one told Neal not to shower for two days. No one told Neal to wear the same clothes three days in a row. And most definitely no one told Neal to ignore his deodorant completely.

But that didn’t stop him from blaming every single one of his house mates for why he made the absolutely worst impression imaginable on the stunning Emma Swan.

The guys of the house all knew about her. She was the best friend of Mary Margaret, who was the girlfriend of David Nolan, their housemate.

There seemed to never be a chance to talk to her. It was only through David’s and Mary Margaret’s social media that most of the house knew Emma Swan existed.

She was very beautiful. And she liked to be active. She especially seemed to love the beach.

A little scrolling through Mary Margaret’s social media photos showed a girls’ trip where all of the ladies were wearing swimsuits.

Neal was determined to meet Emma. He was sure they would have a lot of fun together.

When David said they all of the housemates were invited to a party hosted by Mary Margaret’s parent’s, one that all of her friends would be attending; Neal thought the perfect opportunity to meet Emma Swan had arrived.

The party was scheduled for Friday starting at seven. So Neal planned on showering and using his favorite scented products a half an hour before they would leave to attend. He even had the clothes he planned to wear already picked out and set up.

But he chose not to shower Wednesday night, at all Thursday, or Friday Morning. And he wore the same clothes he had put on since showering Wednesday morning all through that Friday evening.

And even though he had a brand new stick of deodorant on his dresser, he decided not to open it until after his shower Friday evening.

The rest of the housemates repeatedly, and vehemently begged for him to do something, anything, to reduce the odor that was beginning to emit from him. But Neal didn’t see the point since he would be getting cleaned up before the party.

Friday was a hot sunny summer day. Meaning by noon, Neal could be smelled from several feet away.

The only saving grace was that his greasy hair could have been excused as being damp from sweat.

He needed all of the help he could get when he met with his housemates at their favorite diner for lunch and discovered David had invited his girlfriend, and her two best friends.

“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise? It’s going to be a more enjoyable lunch with these three beauties dining with us.”

Neal had to clamp his jaw shut to prevent himself from telling Kilian Jones to shut up.

His fancy words and accent were always causing women to blush and giggle.

Ok, maybe the women weren’t giggling, but they were all smiling, And Emma looked like her cheeks had turned a little pink.

Neal got angrier. He had dibs on Emma, and Jones was ruining his chance.

David introduced everyone. “Ruby Lucus, Emma Swan, these are my housemates, August, Graham, Killian, and Neal.”

“Oh, he’s your housemate? I thought he was homeless.” Emma exclaimed in surprise.

All of the guys except for Neal laughed.

“Cassidy is taking a strike against bathing.” August said

The group was seated at a booth. Neal was made to sit on a chair on the outside of the table.

As she was moving past him, Neal noticed Emma’s nose turn up in disgust. He also noticed Killian Jones scoot in right next to her.

Her cheeks turned a darker shade as Killian spoke softly to her. He was just telling her about the best things on the menu, but he had a talent for making anything sound like poetry.

Neal could not hate him more.

Emma’s face was very expressive. Every emotion she felt was right there for all to see.

Every word Killian said, every gesture he made, earned a smile and a look of fascination by Emma.

However, everytime Neal said anything, motioned in any way to get her attention, Emma would actually lean back in her seat, putting as much distance between them as possible. Her polite smile would seem pained. And she would turn her head slightly, usually behind Killian Jones’s shoulder.

Neal wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair. If he had known he was going to be meeting Emma Swan for lunch, he would have cleaned himself up.

But he was stuck in a situation where he looked his worst and his rival looked his best.

“You did that on purpose.” He accused David when they were back at the house, getting ready for the party.

“What are you talking about?”

“You invited the girl’s for lunch just to make sure Emma saw me looking horrible. But you made sure Jones was looking good.”

“Jones always looks like that.” David retorted. “Unlike you, he believes in bathing.”

“And he's always been a stickler for keeping himself presentable. He’s been that way since before he moved in with us.” August added.

In the back of his mind, Neal remembered that Killian believed in always dressing well. Clean clothes every day. Facial hair neatly trimmed. Well groomed.

To Killian, it was important how he presented himself. So he always ensured his appearance was the best it should be for that occasion.

But while it was reasonable to believe that it was just an unfortunate set of circumstances that made his first meeting with Emma Swan to be a disaster, Neal wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

Instead, he was going to make them all pay for embarrassing him.

He scrubbed himself nearly raw, trying to get as clean as possible. While showering, he was trying to think of ways of getting Emma Swan’s attention away from Killian Jones.

He insisted on driving his own car to the party, instead of hitching a ride with anyone. And he insisted on not having any passengers.

He planned that Emma would be leaving the party with him, and he didn’t want anyone else with them in his car.

The others were more than happy to not have to put up with him and his attitude on the way to Mary Margaret’s parent’s house.

It escaped Neal’s notice that both Graham and Killian had left the house early, each in their own cars.

It turned out, Mary Margaret’s parents were wealthy. They lived in a mansion with a large yard, a massive pool, a garden maze, and an outdoor kitchen.

The whole party was being held in the back area with the pool, and all of the food was being served from the outdoor kitchen.

Neal grabbed a plate, loaded it up, got a drink, and found a spot where he could survey everything, keeping an eye out for long blonde hair.

He finally spotted Emma. And nearly cracked the beer bottle in his hand when he saw that Killian had his arm around her.

They were looking at one another adoringly, smiling and popping pieces of food in each other’s mouths.

Neal stomped over. He tried to knock the plate of food Killian was holding out of his hands, but his reflexes were just as good as his hygiene, and he got it out of the way before a mess could be made.

“Watch it, mate.” Killian growled.

The menacing look on his face made Neal take a step back. But he didn’t want to seem weak in front of Emma. So he mustered up all of his courage and growled back at Killian.

“You watch it. You knew I was interested in Emma. But you just had to push your way in.”

He turned to Emma. “Baby, you and I could be really good together.”

“You have sauce down your shirt. And all over your beard.”

There was a bark of laughter from the crowd of people Neal hadn’t noticed that had gathered.

Neal also hadn’t realized that while he was busy focusing on finding Emma, barbecue sauce had been spilling down his shirt. Adding on to the fact that he hadn’t remembered to wipe his mouth before charging to where Emma and Killian were sitting, Neal once again looked like a complete mess.

The second face to face meeting with Emma Swan in one day, and the second time he was appearing in front of her looking like a complete slob.

“The lady obviously has no interest in you. So I suggest you shove off.”

Neal’s pride would not allow him to simply walk away. Especially knowing Killian would certainly have his hands all over Emma that night.

“A slut like you wouldn’t appreciate a nice guy like me, anyway. You’re obviously a gold digging whore who prefers guys with money.”

He tried to toss the remainder of his beer on Emma, but had his vision blocked by a fist to the face.

He heard the crack of bone breaking, right before he felt a searing shot of pain and fell back on his ass.

“Apologize to the lady.” Killian hovered over him menacingly. At that moment, Neal feared there was a very real possibility of Jones killing him.

Emma went to Killian’s side. First touching his shoulder, then cupping his face to have him look at her.

“Hey, Killian, come one.” She spoke softly, as if addressing a dangerous animal.

Neal half wondered if that’s what Killian was.

“He’s not worth it. He’s not the first guy to get his pride hurt and shoot his mouth. He won’t be the last.”

“No one should talk to you like that, Swan. You’re an amazing woman.”

“What he thinks doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care what he thinks or says about me. I’m not interested in him. I’m interested in you. I care about what you think about me.”

“I think you’re beautiful.” Killian allowed Emma to guide him away.

“Now you’ve got blood running down your shirt.” Ruby shot at Neal as she walked past with Graham by her side, his arm tightly around her.

“If you're thinking about pressing charges against Killian, we’ll all say that you tried to attack Emma and he was just defending her.”

Neal had thought Mary Margaret was all sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns. But the way she spoke made him realize that she definitely had a dark side.

“I think it would be a good idea if you started looking for a new place to live.” David added. He and his girlfriend in obvious unity.

Neal got up and left. He was grateful he had brought his own car and didn’t have a passenger to deal with.

He wasn’t leaving with Emma like he had planned. And while that knowledge made him angry, he comforted himself with the belief that she would regret her decision when she saw how much of a womanizer Jones was.

He focused on that thought at the hospital while he was having his nose looked at.

He focused on that thought as he was packing his stuff and moving out.

He focused on that thought three months later when he heard that the rest of the guys had moved out of the house.

David and Mary Margaret were moving in together.

Graham was moving in with Ruby and her girlfriend Belle.

Neal hadn’t realized he should have been jealous of another one of his former housemates till he heard that news.

August was moving into a studio apartment above his new workshop.

And of course Killian was moving with Emma into a place by the water.

Neal tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t last.

He was still trying to tell himself that even a year later when he saw their engagement announcement. Their smiling faces looking out at him. Mocking him.

Angrily, he slammed his phone down on the counter. Then shouted in frustration when he heard the screen crack.

“What a mess.”

#captain swan #once upon a time #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #once upon a time au #captain hook | killian jones #killian x emma #emma x killian #grimmswanfic

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oautincorrectquotes · 11 months

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Hook: You played me like a fiddle!

Rumple: Oh no, fiddles are actually difficult to play, I played you like the cheap kazoo you are.

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eastwesthomeisbest · 4 months

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @lifeinahole27 @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke

#captain swan #captain swan forever #emma x killian #killian jones #emma swan #killian x emma #captain killian jones #emma swan jones

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alannacouture · 5 months

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Just Emma & Killian vs Jen & Colin 💖

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iamstartraveller776 · 9 months

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To Cleave Destiny: Prologue

Summary: One moment Emma Swan is an orphan who’s managed to carve out a modest living chasing down bail skips. The next, she’s the key to an age-old prophecy about the two factions which have been secretly battling for control over human souls since the dawn of time. With hardly any of the skills that should have been her birthright, she’s thrown into the middle of a race to end the escalating conflict forever—a race that involves the parents she never knew and the son she gave up for adoption. And a charming, roguish demon who helps her when it suits his plans.

Rating: T

Genre: Alternate Universe, Action/Adventure, Romance

Also on AO3

A/N: This is my entry for @cssns 2023! Special thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for beta reading this. It's been a while since I've written something multi-chaptered and so plot-heavy. So hopefully it'll turn out okay. Ack!

PROLOGUE: The Crimson Curse

28 Years Ago

Mud squelched beneath Killian’s boots as he trudged up a path overgrown with thick foliage. Rain beat a steady rhythm against the shoulders of his leather jacket, collected in rivulets that slid through his hair and down his face as he hunched forward in a futile attempt to protect the bundle in his arms. His body was weakened from the long trek, burning from a physical exertion that he was no longer accustomed to, but he resisted the clarion call of power coiling about him. Just a touch of that unseen force—hardly more than a crumb—and every pang would be soothed. No. He bloody well wasn’t going to toss all of his careful effort away over something so trivial as sore legs and an aching back.

The path curved, opening into a small clearing painted with a kaleidoscope of life in dramatic contrast to the muted grey-green forest behind. Even the clouds seemed brighter here as though cheerfully sprinkling the grass and flowers instead of weeping in a morose downpour. At the top of a gentle slope sat a small cottage with whitewashed clapboard walls, roof covered entirely with clovers. The chimney was devoid of smoke despite the cool afternoon, but he knew she was inside, sensed it through the invisible bond that connected her to him. He set his jaw with grim determination.

The door to the cottage swung open when he stepped onto the stoop. Gothel looked the same as he remembered, though it had been decades since he last required her services. Wild auburn hair framing milky, ageless features. Her pale eyes rounded in unhappy surprise when she recognized her visitor. She inched back, hand going to the door as though intending to slam it shut. He held up a finger, gave her a bare shake of his head as he pushed his foot across the threshold.

“Now, love,” he said, “is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“What do you want, Fatum?” she asked, suspicion in her honeyed alto.

“Pirate,” he corrected. He’d never cared for any other moniker. “First, I should think a little hospitality is in order. Good form, and all that.”

A beat passed before she stepped aside to grant him entry. The interior of her modest home had an open floor plan. A simple sofa and a stuffed armchair were set up in front of a brick hearth. One corner was a tiny kitchen with an olive-colored stovetop and a dining set made of Formica and chrome. The place was teeming with plants, hanging from the ceiling, haphazardly placed on dusty bookshelves, in window sills. She floated by a garland-strewned mantel, barefoot and wearing a verdant gown made of layers of sheer fabric. The fireplace instantly flared to life with crackling flames as she passed.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting tea,” she said with no small amount of derision.

“Tempting, but no,” he replied. “I have more pressing matters that need tending to.” He gestured toward the bundle in his left arm. As if on cue, the tiny thing began to stir, letting out a soft mewl.

Gothel edged toward him, gaze fixed on the knitted blanket. Killian pulled back a corner, revealing the newborn infant he’d carried for leagues. The child blinked large eyes at the sudden brightness, mouth stretching in a toothless yawn. Gothel recoiled from the babe with a hiss.

“She’s of the light,” she said, spitting the last word as the curse it was.

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I need your help to fix that.”

Gothel looked up at him, features falling slack with disbelief. “I’m not strong enough to snuff out that flame,” she sneered. “And neither are you, I wager.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, I’m perfectly capable of ‘snuffing out this flame,’” he said, “but I have no intention of doing so.” He glanced down at the pretty little thing with that wispy blond hair and rosebud lips. He wasn’t particularly keen on children, but this one was special. This one could be the key to everything he’d been working toward for centuries.

“I need a spell,” he said to Gothel. “I need to hide her from him.”

Gothel withdrew farther, flinging up a hand as if to ward off danger. “What have you done, Pirate?” she demanded. “You’re a fool if you think he won’t discover you.”

Killian’s lips curved into a deadly smile. "Is that any of your business, love?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Can you do the spell or do I have to find someone else?"

She narrowed her eyes, but there was fear written there as well. “What’s in it for me?”

He didn’t answer immediately but reached forward, feeling for that imperceptible thread that bound the two of them. There. A thin strand of dark energy that he wound around his finger. He balled his hand and yanked. Gothel’s breath tore out of her lungs in a croak as she lurched toward him, skin turning ashen, lines growing like spider webs across her smooth face.

“Don’t toy with me, witch,” he bit out in a growl. “I can send you to Infernum with the snap of my fingers.” He tightened his fist and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Electric vitality pulsed into him from her, demanding to be consumed. There were more witches, weren’t there? Others who could give him what he needed. He could drain this one, add her to the souls who gave him strength, and oh, there was plenty to take from her.

The babe in his arms cried out, shattering the feral want that had nearly overtaken him. He released Gothel, and the witch crumpled to the floor in a tangled heap, gasping for air. He despised that craving for power, always hungering, always thirsting for more. But the bleak price was one of many means justified by the end he sought.

Gothel looked up at him from her hands and knees, hatred warring with terror in her features as color returned to her skin, the cracks vanishing. He felt no pity for her. She’d known the cost when she made her bargain with him long ago. He turned his attention to the child, rocking her gently while Gothel rose to her feet.

“Fortunately for you,” he said, glancing at the witch, “I’m feeling particularly generous at the moment. As a boon for this deed, I won’t call in your debt for, shall we say, another century. I’ll even let you keep your youthful glow.”

He smirked. Vanity was one of her greatest weaknesses. She’d thought once to use her beauty against him in a woeful attempt at seducing more power from him, but he hadn’t been so easily swayed.

She licked her lips. “Fat lot of good your generosity will do me when he’s figured out what we’ve done.” She made no further argument, though, as she crossed the room to heave a large, careworn tome from a shelf. She set it on the table, spine cracking as she opened it. Muttering under her breath, she leafed through the yellowed pages.

Killian circled her home as he waited. The clock was winding down on this bold gambit, and it was only a matter of time before he was summoned by the very creature he hoped to thwart—nay, destroy. The Dark One wanted this child, so much so that he’d put a bounty out on her, something unheard of among the Fata. As Killian studied the babe in his arms, he couldn’t begin to guess why she garnered such single-minded interest from the strongest of the Fates. The soft white aura that surrounded her was dazzling, to be sure—brighter than he’d seen of her kind—but preventing the Saints from adding to their ranks was hardly cause for this feverish hunt.

Whatever the reason, it had tipped the Dark One’s hand, and Killian wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to circumvent the demon.

“Bring the child,” Gothel said. She pulled open the doors to a hutch and searched through an array of colorful glass bottles.

He swiped a large wicker basket propped against the wall and set it on the table. The little one, fast asleep once more, didn’t stir when he placed her inside. He stretched stiff arms as he scanned the open pages of the grimoire. The flowery script was in the long-dead language of the Nymphs, and that was as far his knowledge went. With a drop of power and intention, every line would become legible for him, but he couldn’t risk being tracked. Not yet.

Gothel returned to the table, grinding ingredients with pestle and mortar. “In order to cloak her luster,” she said, “its equal and opposite is required. Blood for blood, as it were.”

“I didn’t come here for riddles, witch,” Killian returned with a glower.

“I assure you that I speak plainly.” She retrieved a small dagger with a thin, rippled blade. “The darkness in your Fatum blood will overshadow the light in hers.” She held her other hand out as an indication that he should give her his.

He raised a brow, amused that she assumed he would trust her so implicitly. If he could use Sight, he’d likely find any number of enchantments on that knife. He certainly didn’t miss the twitch of anticipation in the corner of her mouth. Holding her gaze, he lifted his left arm, the end glinting with the silver hook that had replaced a long lost appendage, and dug the sharp tip into his right palm. Pain sliced through his hand as he dragged the hook across the skin in a jagged cut, though he kept a grimace from his face. He held the wound over the small bowl of herbs, and blood fell in such deep crimson drops that it splattered nearly black into the mixture.

Expression falling flat, Gothel pulled back the blanket swaddling the child and grasped her tiny foot. The little one’s face pinched, turning a brilliant shade of red, when the blade pricked her heel. She breathed out a piercing scream as Gothel pinched her foot to encourage that carmine life force to dribble into the bowl. Steam curled up in lazy coils as the child’s blood met Killian’s, and he sensed an infinitesimal tug in his chest, a whisper of a bond half-formed. Gothel flicked her wrist, and the babe’s wails abruptly silenced.

Killian took a step toward the witch, jaw set with menace. “If you’ve harmed—”

“She’s merely asleep,” Gothel said, picking up pestle and mortar and resuming her work. “There is a price for this magic.”

“There always is.” He pulled a kerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, careful not to let the fabric touch the gash in his palm as he pressed it against the small cut in the babe’s foot. His gaze caught the corner of the blanket flapped against the basket. There was a name stitched in the knitting. Emma. It seemed rather fitting for the lass.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, love,” he said, glancing back at Gothel. “What are my dues for this scheme?”

“As it is you who curses her, so it is you who can set her free.” Riddles again. Lovely. Before he could demand clarification, however, Gothel provided it. “Once she drinks this, you must keep your distance. If you touch even the hair on her head, her light will shine forth again.”

A negligible cost then, and one he certainly would have no trouble paying. Of course, the witch needn’t know it. He watched as Gothel poured out the concoction into an empty glass bottle, and he frowned. “How am I to get her to imbibe that sludge?” He nodded toward the blackened lumpy drink.

“Patience, Pirate.” Gothel raised her hands and murmured under her breath in the old tongue. Her fingers glowed with a tinge of green and the contents of the bottle swirled, changing into a deep red liquid, thin as water. Finished, she stoppered the bottle with a bit of cork and offered it to him.

He studied her for any hint of duplicity. “If you think to trick me,” he began, but she spoke over him.

“Yes, you demonstrated the consequences quite well.”

“Good.” He took the bottle, stashed it in his pocket. He grasped a handful of the blanket wrapped around Emma and lifted her out of the basket into his arms. She grunted, nestling against his chest.

Gothel scrambled around the table as he made for the door. “I can hide her for you.” She stretched her arms as if to take the babe from him, but then let them fall to her side when he glared at her.

“Don’t be greedy now, witch,” he warned. “You have your boon, and it’s more than you deserve.” He wrenched the door open and stepped out into the rain, steeling himself for another long trek.

More than twenty-four hours later, Killian sat in a quiet pub in South Dock Marina, nursing a dram of rum while he watched the bartender. The cursed babe had been spirited away to parts unknown by his most trusted man while he traversed to the other side of the world—without the benefit of his abilities. He was grateful for modern automation; a trip that would have taken months when he was still mortal was now condensed to a single day.

That said, the wonder of those airborne contraptions wore off by the third flight—when he was forced to listen to a doddering grandmother prattle on about her family for hours. He’d been tempted to offer the woman dreams beyond her wildest imaginings if she would kindly shut up. But the silver quercu she wore on a thin chain was an ample deterrent. The oak tree was the symbol of the Faithful, and they were rarely subject to the guile of his kind.

He took a sip of his drink, letting the sweet, woody liquid roll over his tongue. Fatigue had sunk deep into his sinews, refusing to be appeased by the snippets of rest he was able to steal during his travels. He’d resisted the siren song of his power for nearly two days, and he was feeling terribly human. After centuries, it was novel to experience long-forgotten discomforts. Nostalgia resurrected memories of simpler times: the wind in his hair, the crash of water against the bow of his ship, his hand on the helm as he steered his crew toward adventure.

But that was the life of another man, a ghost which haunted Killian only when he deigned to acknowledge its existence.

He set down his empty tumbler with a sigh. Denying his nature for a fleeting taste of mortality would come at an increasingly greater cost. Aches and pains would soon give way to greying hair and gnarled joints in an accelerated race toward the grave he escaped generations ago. Perhaps he would let death take him prisoner one day, but not before he finished his quest.

“Another one, mate?” The barkeep stood before him, tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest, rag draped on a shoulder.

Killian breathed in sulfurous energy, and the illusion of humanity fled, taking with it the stiffness in his muscles, the pervasive exhaustion. The scabbed-over cut in his hand knit together without a scar. Hale and hearty once more, he studied the other man with a lancing gaze. It wouldn’t be long before the Dark One’s bootlickers came calling, but Killian might as well attend to business while he waited.

He bore his teeth in a broad grin and flipped a doubloon to the barkeep. The other man caught the archaic coin, frowning as he held it up to the light.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Look closer, mate,” Killian encouraged. His smile stretched wider as the barkeep’s eyes rounded.

Time paused. The few other patrons in the establishment suddenly froze like mannequins, and ambient noise dissipated into an unnatural stillness. Killian watched his mark experience two lifetimes between one breath and the next. The first would be his fate should he continue on his path unaided. The second showed possibilities he’d only dreamt of—if he were to entertain a mutually beneficial arrangement.

James O’Leary wanted many things, but most of all, he craved revenge for his brother’s death at the hands of the criminal outfit that ran the shipyards. And vengeance was Killian’s stock and trade.

“How?” James glanced around the small pub, mouth falling open. He looked at Killian, shrinking back. “What are you?” His question was hoarse, laced with mounting terror.

“Oh, you needn’t fear me,” Killian said with a wink. “I’m here to answer your prayers.”

James shook his head slowly. “If you’re an angel, I’m the king of England.”

Killian grinned at the retort and leaned forward. “But what you want isn’t angelic, is it, James O’Leary? It’s a black, festering desire, and I find that I’m inclined to grant it for you.” He waved his hand. “For a price, of course.”

James blinked, conflict in his rough features, though Killian was certain he wouldn’t have to spell out the terms of their impending bargain.

The pub dimmed infinitesimally, the change only noticeable to Killian’s enhanced vision, and his smile fell. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that his escort had arrived. “I’m afraid I have another engagement,” he said to James as he rose from the barstool. He dropped a glossy, obsidian card on the bar, blank save for his name in gilded script. “Do call when you’re ready to retain my services.”

Time resumed in the pub as if the exchange had never happened, and Killian strode toward the exit, sparing only a glance at the pair of devotees sent to collect him. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the door became a gateway to the grand hall of the Dark One’s palace. Killian stepped through, letting the portal snap shut on his heels. He may have been summoned, but he wouldn’t be brought before the crocodile like some cowering mongrel.

This citadel had once belonged to Hades, but when the god had been imprisoned, Rumplestiltskin took the place as his own. He fancied himself the head of Fatum Praefecti, and there was no one strong enough to argue the point—yet. Killian had no ambition for the throne, but he had every intention of tearing that devil down.

Unaccompanied, Killian sauntered down the aisle toward the dais. His clothing changed from late twentieth century fashion to the leather accouterments from his days as a marauder, complete with a high collared overcoat and a saber strapped to his side. The hook he’d been forced to leave behind on his pedestrian trek across the world appeared at the end of his left arm. He could have healed that hand after his initiation into the Fata, but its lack served as a reminder of his singular goal.

Torches lined onyx walls, and Fates stood in audience by the dozens, eager to witness the bloodletting that they hoped would transpire. A few members of his loyal crew dotted the crowd, and each gave him a nod in solidarity as his gaze passed over them. He’d rather not have cause to need their aid, not if he played his cards right, but he was glad of their unwavering fidelity.

Rumple sat draped across the blocky throne, playing cat’s cradle with a glowing thread as if he hadn’t called court. The Dark One had a mottled green complexion, more scale than skin, that shimmered in the flickering torchlight, and the effect made one’s gaze want to slide away from him. Cerberus, the giant three-headed hellhound, lay slumbering at his feet, blowing tiny puffs of inky smoke from each of its noses.

Killian stopped at the base of the dais and rested his hook on the hilt of his sword. “All this pomp and circumstance,” he said, “might make a man believe he’s become important to the Dark One.”

Disdain briefly twisted Rumble’s lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t let it go to your head, Captain,” he replied, thread vanishing from his fingers. “On second thought, do. It’ll fatten that thick skull of yours right up and make it a tasty treat for my boy.” He reached down and gave one of the gigantic beast’s heads a pat. Cerberus rumbled in response.

“I’ll wager that I’m too tough to be palatable for the creature,” Killian returned. “Let’s dispense with our usual pleasantries, Crocodile, and get straight to the matter at hand. I’ve come to collect my bounty.” There was no sense in pretending ignorance for his summons.

Rumple sat up, his venomous smile revealing a set of broken, blackened teeth. “Have you, now?” He held out his hands, fingers dancing in anticipation. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. Hand over my prize.”

Killian tipped his head to the side, brows dipping in feigned bewilderment. “Your prize?”

Rumple’s grin turned into a sneer. “Yes, my prize,” he said. “The bounty was for a particular newborn babe. Where is it?”

“You wanted the child alive?” Killian clucked his tongue. “Your instructions were rather vague, and wanting to please you, I dispatched the little thing.”

“Lies!” Rumple hissed.

Killian raised his hand and hook. “Search, and you’ll not find a child of that light drawing breath on this earth.”

“That was mine!” Rumple roared, awakening Cerberus. The beast growled in complaint.

“Then you should have stolen the babe yourself,” Killian said, acrimony seeping into his words, “instead of lounging on your throne while others toil in your name.”

Rumple glared at him with reptilian eyes. “Watch your tongue, Captain,” he warned, “lest I remove it.”

“Give what’s owed to me, Crocodile,” Killian countered in an equally chilly tone, “lest the rest of the Fata think this is how the Dark One rewards loyalty.”

Rumple leaned back, affecting an air of apathy, though Killian knew his threat had struck true. “Ah, but do you have proof of your claims? You can’t expect me to take a pirate at his word.”

Killian pulled a kerchief from his pocket, the one he’d used to stem the cut in baby Emma’s heel. The blood stain had dried more brown than red, but it would do. He tossed the bit of cloth at the throne, and Rumple deftly caught it. The demon brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Yes, yes,” he conceded. “It’ll have to do, I suppose.” He crumpled the kerchief in a fist, transforming it into a glittering white dust, and poured it into the small glass vial that he’d conjured in his other hand.

“If we’re finished…” Killian said.

Rumple raised a finger, though his gaze stayed on his prize. “One more thing,” he said. “If you were so eager to please me, I wonder why it took you so long to come boast about your astonishing feat.”

Killian forced a sigh in diffidence. “The child was protected by the Saints.” Not a lie. “Understandably, the endeavor did not leave me unscathed. It took some effort in order to access my power again.”

Rumple studied him, eyes narrowed. “Yes, we’re all very happy that you’ve made a swift and complete recovery.” He held Killian’s gaze for another heartbeat before flicking a hand in dismissal. “Go on, then. Enjoy your spoils while you can, Pirate.”

Tramping down a swell of triumph, Killian spun around and stalked away from the dais, his crew filing in behind him. Against all odds, the ploy had succeeded, but it was a temporary victory. The mystery of Emma still remained, and until he could ferret out her significance to the Crocodile, he’d be no closer to getting his revenge.

TBC

Thank you so much for reading!

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