It’s never truly peaceful, but they manage to keep the air of it around the country. Avoiding wars and civil disputes, demanding answers to every piece of unruly behaviour they find. Truly, Dark was never meant to have so much power, meant to be a noble ruling over a small collection of villages. Each one managed themself, and there wasn’t the need for any interference.

Until the two heirs disappeared along with their parents while sailing to the neighbouring country. A sudden drop and scramble to put someone in charge invoked chaos, one that the new liege Dark had barely settled after two years.

Reports of coastal towns being plundered stir up the memories of the disappearance, so Dark assured that they themself will take care of it. Continually wearing an outfit of royal mourning, as they board the ship. Apparently, a ship had been attacked, and the pirates had fled. Leaving behind something extremely valuable; the captain.

Patiently sitting in the captains cabin, they sit and wait for the capture to be escorted.

@monochromatically-inclined

He should've known. As soon as they started loading the ship without him. He should've known they'd betray him. You can't trust anyone on the sea, not even the ones you'd die for. They'd leave you in the dust. For dead.

Which is how he ended up here, walking with his feet and ankles chained up, being escorted by 2 royal guards. Decked out in armor that he knew would make a pretty penny in the right markets. It must be a funny sight, to see the ever-so-feared Wilford M. Warfstache being led around... As if he were a mere pet.

He smiles at everyone he passes, admiring the looks of anger and disgust he receives right back. As if they'd never seen a golden tooth before. When they bark at him, he barks back. To the point where they need to quiet him themselves.

He's led to the captains cabin, where he's pushed onto his knees, unable to get up, or speak around the dirty piece of cloth in his mouth. It's humiliating.

Nejiten Month 2020

Day 15 - Pirate AU (Final Part)

I am so late with the final part of this little story. I sort of lost my groove, and gave up on many of the AU prompts (which I really wanted to do at first), but I’m back! I hope you like the final rendition of my little pirate AU. I’ll be posting a couple of things tomorrow to get back on track.

Word Count: 2,906

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Despite the warm day, Tenten shivered against the breeze, her clothes soaked through from the seawater. One of the crew members hauled both her and the captain up and she found herself once again on the deck of the pirate ship. Which, after almost dying by both her fiancé’s hand as well as the sea, Tenten wasn’t in the mood to complain. These people—these supposedly barbarian people—had been kind to her. The kindest anyone had been in a very long time.

The fighting had stopped some time while Tenten was in the water, and pirates were binding their enemies with rope before sending them back to their ship by means of a plank set up between them. Tenten was curious to know how the pirates had won, but she was too cold to ask. Instead, she let herself be led by the captain as he escorted her across the deck.

At first, she thought he might be taking her back to the brig, but surely not, with the hole gaping in the middle of it. She would freeze to death if she had to spend any more time there. But when he steered her towards what she suspected was the captain’s quarters, Tenten began to worry that he might want something in exchange for saving her life. She was still his captive, after all, and he had every right—at least in his mind—to demand compensation. Especially once he found out that the attack had happened because of her. She had no idea how many men he had lost in that battle, and what feelings and emotions were swirling around inside his head.

Neji opened the door and she walked inside to a spacious room. It contained a desk near the entrance along with a bookshelf that she suspected was bolted into the floor. Further inside, a bed leaned against a wall with a small window above it. Just beyond that lay a door where Tenten figured held the bathroom.

The room was significantly warmer than outside, and Tenten shivered at the abrupt change in temperature, but was grateful for the warmth. She wouldn’t be surprised if her lips had started turning blue by this point. She had been in the water for longer than she would have liked, and she was exhausted from treading water for so long.

Neji spoke to a cabin boy at the door before turning back to face her. His own clothes were drenched, his long dark hair plastered to his skin, and he didn’t look any better than she felt. No doubt the last thing he wanted to do was look after her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his soft voice loud in the quiet room.

Tenten shook her head in response. “No, just cold.”

“Konohamaru is fetching some water for a bath, so you can warm yourself soon.”

Not expecting that comment, Tenten was shocked. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you drawing a bath for me?” She figured he would give her a change of clothes at best. She hadn’t even contemplated receiving a bath from him, especially since he had refused every time she had asked him up until this point.

“If you do not get warm soon, you will become sick.”

Tenten didn’t doubt it. Already she could feel her nose starting to run. She was extremely grateful for being allowed a bath, but she didn’t quite know how to tell him that. It wasn’t as though they were suddenly best friends after surviving such a harrowing ordeal. She stepped aside as a boy, no older than twelve, walked in and out of the cabin, carrying buckets of water to fill the tub as he went.

“While it is getting ready,” Neji said, opening a trunk by his bed and pulling two small towels from it. He threw one to her. “I believe you owe me an explanation. Why were you running from your fiancé?”

Tenten wrapped the towel around her shoulders, her heart sinking at the topic of conversation he chose to go with. But she supposed she owed him an explanation. “He was a cruel man. He hid it well and he was respected by many within the navy, but he had an evil about him that my father noticed straight away. He quickly became my father’s right-hand man, doing many of the dirty jobs a mayor would never do himself. Amongst other things, he killed people.”

Neji was sitting at the edge of his bed, listening quietly, but he didn’t look convinced. “Many of us kill people. That does not necessarily make a person cruel.”

“No, that’s true. But enjoying it does. I heard him speaking to my father about how much he enjoyed planning his kills, of how he relished the blank look of death on people’s faces when the deed was completed. He was a man unhinged, though he hid it well from much of the populace.”

Tenten fidgeted where she stood, eyeing the bath through the open door to the bathroom as it continued to rise with each bucket the cabin boy poured in. She could see the steam rising from the tub and absentmindedly wondered how they were able to heat the water so much. She was grateful for being able to bathe, to get truly warm and clean, but she was still wary of her pirate captain. What would he do with her now that the danger had passed?

Neji caught her looking at him and he frowned. “You are looking pale. Are you unwell?”

.

.

.

Neji hurried Konohamaru along in his mind, knowing his cabin boy could only go so fast. Thankfully, the bath was almost ready, and Tenten could soon warm her chilled bones. Her lips were blue, and she had gone pale in the last few moments, making him worry for her wellbeing.

She shuffled from foot to foot, her hands wringing in front of her, and Neji got the impression she wanted to say something but was too scared to ask. “What is it?”

“What are your plans for me now? Are you going to demand money from my father? Are you going to kill me? Or—” she glanced towards the bed quickly, “—do you want something else from me?”

“Why should I demand ransom from your father?” If she believed he would harm her now, after he had saved her life, she was dafter than he thought.

His captive had the gall to glare at him, much to his relief. If she still had spirit, she must be feeling better.

“Surely you must know who I am, now that I’ve told you my name.”

Neji pondered over her name, having brushed it aside when she had first told him, having had more important things to focus on. Her family name was familiar, and it only took him a few moments to realize why. Neji had once considered plundering the mayor’s storehouses, having had heard the man’s habit of demanding more tax from the people than was needed. He was incredibly wealthy, so much so that Neji knew he could afford losing some coin. In the end, though, he had decided to pass on that endeavour, since the risk, if the job had gone south, would have outweighed the reward.

“You have no need to fear,” Neji assured her, trying to keep his voice placating. “No harm will come to you on my ship. Nor will you be held for ransom.” Even if the coin was tempting, Neji wouldn’t want her to find her way back to her father. No doubt, he had been the one to orchestrate the marriage alliance between her fiancé and her, and anyone who would pair a woman such as she with a beast didn’t deserve her in their life.

Neji saw the tension fall away from her shoulders and when she met his gaze, the relief shining in her eyes was evident. “Thank you. Though, even if you were to demand ransom, he wouldn’t have paid. The only loss he will mourn will be the loss of an alliance of any kind, not the loss of his only daughter. I am glad to be away from him and his violent tendencies.” She smiled, but Neji could tell the words hurt her to say, and he felt anger rise in his chest that she had experienced such cruelness in her life.

“The bath is ready, Cap’n,” Konohamaru informed him, the boy’s small frame gazing up at him with admiration. Neji gave him a brief smile, nodding his thanks, and Konohamaru left the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

Neji walked back to the chest by his bed and picked out a plain white long-sleeved shirt before handing it to Tenten.

“Two baths in one day? I feel like I’m getting the royal treatment.” Her voice was amused but her smile was shy, and Neji found he enjoyed the combination.

His smile was brief but genuine. He wanted to continue the banter, say something to make her laugh, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Lee would know, but Neji wasn’t known for his sense of humour. Instead, he only said, “Take your time,” and turned towards his desk.

.

.

.

The bath was heavenly. Tenten had only been at sea for about a week, but already she had forgotten just how amazing a hot bath was. She took her time, washing her hair twice with some soap she found, as well as her aching body. She leaned against the edge of the tub, enjoying the way the heat soothed her sore muscles and warmed her from the inside out.

It was only when the water had cooled that Tenten pulled herself out and dried off. She slipped the shirt over her head, thankful for the captain for providing it for her. If only she had asked for pants, though. The shirt didn’t quite reach her knees, and Tenten suddenly felt very self-conscience. She had never been in the presence of the opposite sex with so little on.

Opening the door slowly, she peeked out into the cabin. Neji was sitting at his desk, concentrating on something he was writing. Tenten took a deep breath and walked into the cabin, but immediately became shy when he looked up and ran his gaze over her.

She wasn’t sure why, but his gaze heated her skin more than the bath had, and she quickly averted her eyes from his, finding the knickknacks on his shelf extremely interesting.

“Konohamaru will arrive soon with some food,” Neji said, causing her to glance at him again. “You may eat while I bathe.”

He stood up and made his way to the bathing room, and Tenten suddenly felt contrite.

“Will he not fill it again for you?” she asked. She hadn’t even been thinking of the captain, and she hoped she hadn’t just selfishly used all the hot water on him.

“Hot baths are a luxury on a ship. It would be a waste to use more water than necessary by emptying the tub and filling it again.”

“I’m really sorry,” Tenten apologised. “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have spent so long in there. The water will be cold by now.”

“It is fine. I am used to cold baths. Besides,” he added, that small smile gracing his lips again briefly. “You needed it, after the ordeal you have gone through.”

Tenten felt her heart warm at his words, at this unexpected gift from this pirate captain. “Thank you. I’m very grateful.”

They gazed at each other, unmoving, until a knock at the door made Tenten jump. Neji closed the bathroom door behind him and Tenten opened the cabin door to see the young boy with two trays of food in his hands.

“Food for you and the Cap’n, miss,” he said, squeezing past her into the room. He set them down on Neji’s desk before giving her a small bow and leaving again.

The smell of stew—yes, stew!—made Tenten salivate. She was sitting at the desk in a heartbeat with the bowl in her hands, breathing in the delicious smell. She ate ravenously, and the food was gone much too soon for her liking. She eyed the captain’s meal longingly, her stomach still rumbling pathetically.

“You are welcome to mine.”

Tenten whipped her head up and around, her cheeks pinkening at both his words and the sight before her. His hair was damp, and his pants rode low on his waistband. He was shirtless, and Tenten tried not to ogle his muscular build.

She shook her head and pushed the bowl towards him. “I couldn’t possibly. I already stole all the hot water. Besides, I’ve had my fill.”

On cue, her belly rumbled and Tenten flushed, embarrassed. Neji’s lips tipped upwards at the noise, and he pushed the bowl back to her. “I insist. Eat.”

She did as she was told, though she ate the second bowl with more etiquette. While she ate, Neji leaned against the door of the cabin, in front of her, watching. After some time, he asked, “What are your plans now?”

“My plans?” Tenten glanced at him, a frown on her lips. “What do you mean?”

“Now that your fiancé is dead and you no longer live with your father, what do you plan on doing? What was your objective when you came aboard my ship?”

Tenten worried her lip, thinking. “My plans were to get off at the next port you stopped at and start a new life. Though, I admit I don’t have much in the means of money. Or clothes,” she added with a glance at her attire.

Neji nodded. “You are welcome to leave the ship at the next port if that is your wish. Although, our next port will be Kirigakure, and I have to warn you that it is not the safest place for a young woman by herself.”

Tenten had heard of Kirigakure, and nothing she heard had been pleasant. If she were to set up in a new town, she didn’t want to start a new life in a town rampant with violence and theft. “Maybe I should wait for a friendlier town,” she murmured.

“You are welcome to stay onboard until we make port at a more suitable village.”

“Would I be welcome to…” she let her words peter out, knowing she would be insane to voice them. But if she was going to be staying onboard for the foreseeable future as it was, maybe the captain wouldn’t mind. Taking a deep breath, Tenten asked, “Would I be welcome to stay and work onboard? I think I would enjoy some time at sea after my sheltered life at home.”

Neji’s eyebrows had raised almost to his hairline as she spoke, but he managed to school his features back into a blank line. “I do not hire women.”

Her heart dropped and she looked down at her lap. “Of course, forgive me for asking. I know about the superstition about women on ships.”

She felt him push off against the door and walk towards her, but she didn’t look up. “I do not care for superstitions, Tenten.” Her name on his lips made her heart race and she glanced up at him, who was now directly in front of her on the other side of the desk. “I will not hire you, but you are welcome to stay onboard.” His lips tipped up, just slightly. “If you wish for adventure, you will see plenty of it aboard my ship.”

“I can stay?” Tenten couldn’t quite believe her ears. “Can I help with the chores? Learn how to use a sword?” Her father had refused to let her learn, though she had wanted to since she was a little girl. She had held a sword, only once, and Tenten had known in her gut that she would have an affinity for the weapon if only she was given the opportunity to learn how to wield it.

“You wish to work with my men and learn to fight?” He looked at her, incredulous.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please. Even if you don’t hire me, I will work. I’m not going to sit around doing nothing while others work. I’ve spent my whole life bored in a house that was much too large for me, so this will be a pleasant change of pace.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you forget that we are pirates?”

Of course, Tenten had loathed him and his crew when she first came aboard—not just them, but all pirates. And she had no doubt that there were pirates out there that were truly horrible, but Neji and his men had shown they were decent people. They killed when necessary, but not excessively, and the few she had met had been kind to her. If the captain was a good person at heart, she had no doubt he chose similar men to work with him.

She smiled. “Yes, but I also believe you are good people. I would very much like to stay onboard for as long as you will have me.”

“Very well. He nodded his acceptance, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome to the Crimson Night, Tenten,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Pirates!

I said I’d write something and here it is! I hope it’s not too far from your original au

Written by: @schnano

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It was a beautiful spring afternoon complete with a blue sky and a warm sun. Antonio knelt in the garden, tending to his vegetables while his son scurried about the yard, shouting incoherently and having a blast. Antonio would frequently pause his weeding to check on the ball of energy. Alessandro was such a lovable little boy who could make such a mess, like Lovino. Antonio winced when Ale slipped and fell, his knees skidding in the grass. He was up and at it again quickly, relatively unharmed. The same could not be said for his pants, stained green. Antonio would have to soak them before washing them, and returned his focus to the garden before he could dwell on that chore.

Bad idea.

He hummed a song as he worked, listening to Ale’s shouts to be sure he was safe and close by. He was very close. He had one gloved hand in the soft dirt and one gripping onto a stubborn dandelion, ready to pull it from the earth it clung to.

BAM!

Little Ale slammed into his side with a running start. There was enough force to knock Antonio on his side. He glanced up at his boy and pouted. There was something about his wide stance and wicked smirk that reminded him of himself and Lovino. Cute but unwarranted.

“¡Mijo!” Antonio whined. Ale scoffed and pointed a chubby finger at him accusingly.

“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, Papi!” he forced a scowl though his lips were twitching upward and there was a hint of a giggle in his voice.

“Captain? Are you a pirate, Ale?” Antonio asked with a grin. He sat up and Ale nodded furiously. He was going to get dizzy! No, wait, he stopped.

“You’re part of my crew now! We’re going to steal treasure!” the child laughed. Antonio got to his feet and crossed his arms.

“Ale, stealing is wrong, even if you’re playing pretend.” he said sternly.

“But you steal kisses from Papa all the time! He said so!” Ale whined, making him flush out of embarrassment.

“Maybe stealing certain things in certain contexts isn’t that bad.” Antonio relented awkwardly and rubbed his neck. Ale beamed and bounced in place–as if he could ever sit still!

“Yay! So you’ll be part of my crew and help me steal the treasure from the kitchen!” Ale cheered. Antonio smiled–Lovino was making chocolate chip cookies! That was worthy plunder!

“Lead the way Captain!” Antonio beamed and removed his gloves. Ale then grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the house. Antonio followed, hunched over so he could hold the toddler’s hand. He giggled to himself, causing Alessandro to turn and shush him. This was a stealth mission with no room for failure! Didn’t Papi know that?!

They approached the back door–one of those sliding glass ones–and tried to peek inside. The problem was that the vertical blinds were drawn so the kitchen was not visible. Antonio squatted next to the wall and opened his mouth to say something. Ale was right in front of him and he covered Antonio’s mouth (or most of it) with his hand. He brought his pointer finger to his lips and stared his Papi down. Antonio held up his hands in defeat, which was enough for Ale.

The boy pressed his ear to the glass and listened. There was no music or humming coming from inside. Lovino had a habit of humming when he was baking and he always played his music when he was cooking. Silence He wasn’t there! Perfect.

He cautiously slid the door open and peeked inside. The scent of gooey chocolate hit him hard and made him drool. He scanned the room in search of the treasure. To his right the countertop, sink, and stove were cleared, except for a few used cookie sheets. As he shifted his gaze to his left, he saw the fridge and the entryway to the rest of the house, but no cookies. Then his eyes landed on a round wooden dinner table with four chairs and a blue and yellow booster seat. On top of the mostly clear table he saw it–El Dorado de Alessandro! A large platter of slightly cooled cookies sat next to the salt and pepper shakers. The steam wafting from the baked golden-brown mountain solidified Ale’s resolve–those cookies would be his!

“It’s clear, Papi!” he said as he wiggled his way inside. Antonio stood up and followed, shutting the door behind them. Ale climbed onto a chair and was about to reach for a cookie when—

“Wait!” Antonio gasped, “You know that every good pirate basks in the glow of his treasure when he gets it! You should celebrate, Captain!” Antonio approached the table. Alessandro stared at him with wide, understanding eyes—how could he forget that pirate rule?!

“Delicious!” Antonio sighed after taking a whiff. Now he wanted a cookie too! He and Ale looked to each other with wicked grins and nodded to each other. At the same time they reached for their prize, until.

“What the He–a–hot fu–udge sundae!?” Lovino yelped in the entryway, careful of his language. Both Papi and son sheepishly glanced at him. He had his arms crossed and he was tapping his foot impatiently.

“Lovi!” Antonio chuckled, “You look—“

“What are you two up to?” Lovino cut him off.

“We’re pirates, Papa! We’re stealing treasure!” Ale grinned, “Join my crew!” Lovino plastered a dramatic pout on his face, with some effort. His son was so cute! Antonio could see he was struggling to keep his façade. He wanted something much sweeter than that cookie.

“You’re stealing from me! No way!” Lovino huffed. Ale’s jaw dropped–he didn’t want to make Papa sad! What had he done!? He did the only thing that might remedy the situation–he flashed his best puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry Papa!” he whimpered. Lovino smirked–that damn adorable face would be the death of him!

“I forgive you.” Lovino hummed, “And you both can have a cookie now–just one. The rest are for dessert.” Ale gasped and grabbed the biggest, most chocolatey one he could find and promptly plopped down on the chair. Antonio, on the other hand, moved toward Lovino.

“You came in for cookies, why aren’t you eating one?” Lovino asked with a frown. Antonio chuckled and pulled Lovino into his chest, making him blush.

“Don’t be silly Lovi! We came for treasure! And mine just so happens to be a handsome man who made those cookies!” Antonio hummed. Lovino turned so that they were nose-to-nose.

“You dork!” he scoffed. Antonio quickly kissed him and then wiggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork!” he giggled. Lovino rolled his eyes and pulled his head down for a longer sweeter kiss.

“Ew!” Alessandro whined and scrunched up his face. Lovino and Antonio paused to look at him. He broke into a goofy smile with half a cookie in his hands.

“Ew to you too!” Lovino teased. Ale stuck out his tongue and jumped to the floor. He scurried past his fathers to go to his room. Antonio kissed Lovino’s cheek once Ale couldn’t see. Lovino giggled and held him close. They were a family, two lucky men with a beautiful boy. That was the real treasure.

Between Now and Nether :: Ch 11 :: A CS AU

Title: Between Now and Nether by @artistic-writer [full res fanart]

Summary: On their way to a Nolan Charity Gala, tragedy befalls Emma and Killian who is given just seven days to set things right.  Can he make Emma believe and escape the Nether before he is lost forever?

Rating: T+

AO3 Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] Fanart Full Resolution: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11]

A/N: Graham and Emma follow Killian’s instructions and head to the bank - what’s inside the safety deposit box?  What will they find?  How will it all tie into Killian and Liam’s murders?

Future updates will be Sundays AND Thursdays! (providing I can get the art made in time)

Forever thanks to @kmomof4 for beta’ing the shit out of this thing!  You are seriously the best!  And a massive thank you to @hollyethecurious who has been there to listen to me bitch and scream about this thing, and all the while she has had a smile on her face (i hope…there is an ocean between us - YOU’D BETTER BE SMILING!)

Taglist: @mariakov81 @rouhn @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke@hookedonapirate @galadriel26 @aye-captn @the-captains-ayebrows @yayimallamaagain @i-nvr-wrote-it @officerrogerss @kiwistreetswan @wellhellotragic @depechemode75 @distant-rose@yrellow-bugs-and-pirate-ships

If you would like to be added please let me know for ch 11!

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Graham wasn’t quite sure how Emma had persuaded him to escort her to the bank. She had made very little sense, ranting about some files that Liam had on Gold and how Killian had hidden them away on his brother's death. Graham considered himself a good detective, and although still very green, he would like to think that if a colleague was undertaking some off the books investigation, he would have noticed.

Apparently not.

Emma had continued to try and convince him on the way to the bank, her eagerness to get there making her words tumble from her mouth in quick succession, her hands flailing wildly as she tried to explain. Everybody knew about the Jones murder. How could they not? A cold case where two boys were left orphaned, their lives taking them in exactly the same direction where they became cops and fought for justice in the world.

Now that Graham thought about it, the fact that both Jones brothers had been so eager to not mention their parent’s cold case should have been a red flag.

He wouldn’t have been able to do anything about Liam because he was still a beat cop when Liam was alive, but he knew them both through Emma. Graham had met Emma at the policy training academy and they had become good friends as they completed their training, even going as far as renting an apartment together. Both of them were as competitive as the other, and so they bounced off of each other constantly, using their entire training as a way to prove who was better once and for all.

As it turned out, Emma was slightly better. She always got better scores, was always faster and more adept at combat, and she had been promoted long before Graham to the role of detective. Emma had a rough start in her own life, and Graham always wondered if that was what had given her the inspiration to succeed. Failure was not in Emma Swan’s vocabulary. And when she was promoted, that was when she had met Killian Jones.

The younger Jones brother was a detective like his big brother, both of them working out of the same precinct. He was a few years older than Emma and when she had been given the paperwork explaining that she was to report to Det. Jones the next day, she had sat up all evening the night before, unloading all of her worries onto her friend. What if he was mean? She had heard stories. What if she wasn’t good enough to be a detective? What if all she was destined for what writing parking tickets and arresting drunkards from fast food restaurants?

Graham had not minded one bit, having loved Emma for as long as he had known her, but never quite having the courage to ask her if his feelings were reciprocated. He had told her that she was perfect, a great cop and she would make an even better detective. He knew it. She had passed the detective’s exam with top scores, could chase down a perp until they were out of breath before she was and could empty an entire clip into a center mass bullseyes leaving minimal spacing between bullet holes. He had meant every word and wished he had the confidence to kiss her.

As it turned out, all of his own worries were alleviated that night when, under the influence of a few glasses of red wine, Emma had in no uncertain terms told him that he was a great friend and she was glad that’s all they were. Uninhibited by her alcohol, Emma had told him that whilst he was absolutely gorgeous, he didn’t make her tingle. Graham hadn’t really understood what she had meant by that until the next evening when she had returned home, a grin plastered on her face and a spring in her step.

Like an arrow to his heart, Emma had told him that her new partner, Killian Jones, made her tingle.

The last three years had been much of a blur. He and Emma were still friends, but they had drifted apart a little. After a year of dating Killian, she had decided to move out of the apartment. Graham was supportive, helping them move with his truck and even carrying boxes into their brand new home, but he couldn’t help but wonder if everything was moving so fast for them. They had only been dating a year after all, and Graham knew Emma well enough to know that she didn’t normally rush into anything so headstrong.

Two years into their relationship, Graham was surprised they were still together. They were happy, keeping a professionalism at work that gave no indication into their private lives, but Graham couldn’t help but hope that he would be the shoulder Emma cried on when Killian finally broke her heart. Graham had heard stories of the Jones brothers, like pirates, plundering their way through the women in the precinct and despite Emma’s assurances, he hoped that the rumors were true. He had hated himself for being such a bad friend, a jealous friend, who secretly wished for the destruction of his friend’s happiness so he could muscle into her life and make it all better.

And then he had felt even worse when Liam Jones, Killian’s older brother, had been murdered whilst on duty, the case still laying cold and unsolved. He had comforted Killian, stood at his shoulder whilst he had saluted his fallen brother at a funeral full of honors. He had comforted Emma and joined the rest of the precinct in heading to the local bar to commemorate their fallen colleague, but that was when his life had taken a darker turn.

Years of pent up, unrequited love for his friend, fuelled by far too many whiskeys, had ended with him opening his mouth to tell Emma how he really felt. She had slapped him, he remembered it like it was yesterday, the sting on his cheek almost as painful as the stab to his heart. What had made his situation worse was the fact that, at Liam Jones’ wake, he had told her how Killian was no good for her. That had earned him a little more than a slap and he and Killian had to be dragged apart as they brawled, emotions raging, and Emma stepping between them and unleashing a tirade of profanity his way that he absolutely deserved.

From then on, their relationship had been strained. They only really interacted at work and as if anyone needed any more proof as to how perfect Killian was, he had walked up to Graham one day and shook his hand, telling him that despite what was going on between them, Emma didn’t have to lose her friend because of it. Graham hated Killian for his chivalry but hated himself even more.

“Emma, slow down!” Graham pleaded, narrowly avoiding traffic and offering the annoyed driver an apologetic smile as he struggled to keep up with her across the busy street. Emma had just been missed by the car and it had skidded to a stop just as Graham had tried to follow her, cutting him off from his pursuit.

Emma strode confidently forward, ignoring the honks and shouts from motorists as she stepped out into the traffic again. She clutched at the charm around her neck, letting the metal dig into her palm as she determinedly headed towards the bank, heeled boots scuffing the ground on every step.

“You know, I could write you up for jay-walking,” Graham panted, finally catching up to her across another lane.

“Go for it,” Emma huffed, her hair whipping behind her as she reached the curb and looked up at the bank. The building was huge, mammoth, the largest building on the block, and reminded Emma of a courthouse with large white stone columns at the top of round edge stone steps.

“Don’t be annoyed,” Graham implored, clutching his sides as he fought to catch his breath. It seemed Emma was still fitter than he was.

“I’m not,” Emma shrugged, not looking back at him. “Why would I be? I told my friend that I could help solve the murder of my boyfriend, possibly the murders of three other people, and he laughed it off.”

“I didn’t laugh…” Graham began but Emma spun to face him and cut him off.

“You laughed,” Emma jabbed her finger into his shoulder, pushing harder than she needed to. “I told you Killian was still with me and you laughed.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Graham relented, holding out one hand in defense while he rubbed at his shoulder with the other. “But look at it from my perspective, Emma,” Graham stepped towards her. “Listen to yourself.”

“You don’t believe me,” Emma said, hurt lacing her words.

“Emma, you told me the spirit of your dead boyfriend has possessed my body and was telling you how to solve his murder.” Graham looked at her, the words sounding even more irrational coming out of his mouth.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Emma said gruffly, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

“Crazy doesn’t cover it,” Graham sighed, resting his hands on his hips and licking his lips. “It sounds…”

“Don’t you think I know how it sounds?” Emma snapped. “But how else do you explain your lost time? The deja vu?”

Graham paused, considering her words with a frown. He had lost time, twice, and both times he had found himself inexplicably in Emma’s kitchen.

“Plus, you’d remember kissing me, right?” Emma prodded him, grabbing his attention.

“We kissed?” Graham sounded shocked and Emma nodded.

“And you would have remembered that, right Humbert?” She grinned at him and his features paled. “It’s like, the one thing you have always wanted, if I remember Liam’s wake correctly.”

“Not my finest hour,” Graham admitted dryly. “But yes, I would have remembered that.”

“And you would have definitely remembered kissing me more than twice, right? Taking me in your arms and holding me?” Emma told him.

“God, Emma, you’re killing me here,” Graham laughed nervously, shaking his head and looking back down to his feet as she relayed the information to him that he had done these things and the reason he couldn’t remember was that it wasn’t actually him.

“Which reminds me…” Emma said finally and Graham looked up at her again, his soft, curled hair falling over his forehead. “..When the hell did you start manscaping?”

Laughter erupted between them and Graham’s face flushed hot with pink. He wasn’t sure exactly how Emma would have known that, but it was true. In an attempt to make himself more appealing to the ladies, and try and forget about Emma, he had begun to shave his chest and body hair. And it had worked. If only sleeping with other women could make him stop thinking about Emma.

“How did you…?” Graham eyed her suspiciously.

“Killian,” She said simply. “Believe me now? This isn’t just grief,” Emma told him more seriously. “I know you and Killian didn’t always see eye to eye, but I am asking you to trust me, as my friend.”

“Is that what I am?” Graham narrowed his eyes.

“Of course you are,” Emma said firmly and his cheeks began to flush as he looked down at his shoes. “And I’m sorry if you ever thought of us as anything more.”

Graham looked up at her and inhaled hard, his body finally catching its breath and fulling inflating his lungs to satisfaction. He stared at her for a second and didn’t know how to respond. She could have blamed him, told him that it wasn’t her fault that she never loved him back, but she hadn’t. She could have said so many things, but she apologised, and Graham felt the desperation in her voice hit him like a truck.

“I’m sorry too,” He smiled. “For what happened. I put my feelings and jealousy above our friendship and it was selfish.”

“Yes, it was,” Emma nodded, crossing her arms.

“And I was a total arse,” Graham smirked at her, her stance and expression a reminder of the Emma Swan he had once known so well.

“Yes, you were,” Emma agreed.

“Alright, alright,” Graham rolled his eyes and waved her forward, following her as she began to ascend the steps to the bank. “Let’s see what’s in the box.”

After having to flash his badge more than once at some of the bank staff, Graham and Emma were led through a back room by the manager. The room they had ended up in was lined floor to ceiling with tiny, envelope sized slots, each one numbered with a tiny polished brass plate with a number etched into its surface. There was a huge table in the middle of the room and the bank manager offered them a seat with a gesture of his hand.

“Mrs. Jones,” he smiled but it was forced, a mixture of pity and sorrow.

Graham looked at Emma with a quizzical look, but she ignored him and nodded. “That’s right,” she agreed, clasping the charm around her neck even harder.

“Your husband left us very strict instructions with this box,” he told her matter of factly, moving around the room as he spoke. “I was only to give you access if…”

“...If he died,” she finished for him and he let out a thankful sigh at not having to have to say the words.

“Exactly,” he nodded, thrusting his key into the numbered box on the wall and turning it with a click. Graham watched him slide the long, metal box from its crevice and carry it to the table. The manager slid it down onto the surface, its weight causing it to almost fall from his hands as he did so. “I trust you have the key already?”

Emma nodded. “Thank you.”

“Then I will leave you to it,” he nodded at Graham, a little nervous as to why the police were present at all. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my office. The door will lock when I leave, but you can leave at any time from the inside.”

“We’ll be fine,” Graham told him with a fake smile and irritation in his voice and with that, he was gone, the door sliding closed with a soft click and locking itself with a sliding sound.

Emma ran her hands over the edges of the box, the metal cold under her fingertips. She was nervous. She knew what was inside, but she wasn’t sure if she was prepared to know the why behind Killian’s murder.

“Number thirteen? Are you kidding me?” Graham laughed as he read the number on the box. “If only Killian knew he would be sending us here from beyond the grave.”

Emma ignored his words, hands resting on the box in front of her with a pale stare.

“Emma, are you okay?” Graham asked with a cocked head and a frown.

“Hmm?” Emma hummed, looking at him quickly. “Oh yeah. It’s just…” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and Graham put his hand over hers, tracing her knuckles with his thumb.

“You don’t have to be here,” he offered her an out. “I can open it if you’d like.”

“It’s just…” She said again, taking a deep breath. “...I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Graham said softly, grabbing the chair beside her and sinking down into the seat silently. The room was so quiet there was a distant hum in the air that rang in their ears. “Killian would have told you about this if he thought you’d be safe, you know that.”

Emma nodded, quickly wiping the tear that had rolled down her cheek. Graham was right. Everything Killian had ever done was with her best interests in mind and he had made sure she was safe from Gold by never telling her about this box. It made Emma turn cold, knowing that whatever was inside had actually got not one, but two Jones’ killed. She took one last deep breath and fiddled with the necklace around her neck, pulling the sword from its sheath and exposing the key.

“Huh, look at that,” Graham smirked, impressed. The tiny key slid from the charm effortlessly and the only way you would realise it was a key was the tiny teeth along one edge and the number thirteen etched into the blade in black lettering. “Jones, you sneaky son of a bitch.”

“Ready?” Emma asked, sliding the key into the keyhole and looking at Graham. “This might put you in danger, Graham. You can still leave if you want to.”

“No going back now,” Graham smiled weakly.

Emma blew out a breath and turned the key, the mechanism springing open and the lid popping loose.

The Long Way Home (1/10)

OMG, it’s finally here!  I started this story in 2015, back when I was writing for pleasure with no intention of ever sharing any of my work publicly.  It fell to the wayside when I finally got around to joining the fandom and began writing fic formally, and it wasn’t until the opportunity to do the Captain Swan Big Bang came around that I remembered I had it and decided to try to flesh it out and turn it into a completed work.  7+ months later (after a LOT of consternation and whining and “Why did I ever agree to do this?”) it’s HERE.  And I’m SO relieved that it’s done, LOL.

Special thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and the amazing @lifeinahole27 for their help and patience with me, to @clockadile for lending her sword fighting experience, to @ladyciaramiggles for her feedback on early drafts, to @phiralovesloki for heading this year’s CSBB and fielding my questions, and to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader.  Thanks also to everyone who took my nerdy little survey on nautical terminology in fic (yes, that was for this project), and those of you that sent me words of support about it.

Lastly, deepest thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for giving feedback on early drafts and providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic!  Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - please be sure to go show them some love!

Thanks to you all for reading.  I hope you enjoy.  XOXO

Find it on AO3.  Nautical terms glossary here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance & Adventure.  Rated E.)

Warnings: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

“Captain! Captain!”  

The sound of pounding feet approaching the door to his quarters causes the gentleman in question to lift a heavy, dark eyebrow, even as his gaze remains on the leather-bound inventory log he’s hunched over with the ship’s quartermaster.  The Jolly Roger is preparing to pull into port at Vicarstown, and he always prefers to finalize the list of supplies they need to acquire at a stop prior to docking.  It would go better without interruption.

“Captain!”

He gives a long-suffering sigh and drops his head resignedly, his weight pressed forward on his right hand.  “Yes, Mr. Smee?” he drones.

Having been waiting for permission to enter, his slightly pudgy first mate flings the door open, the bearded man’s features twisted into an anxious grimace.  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but a ship’s been spotted in port.”

He looks up sharply. “Who?”

Smee swallows and licks his lips nervously.  “Blackbeard.”

A muscle twitches in the Captain’s jaw as he considers this information.  It’s not welcome news, to be sure, but there are worse things. Prominent pirate crews like his and Blackbeard’s do not always do well in close quarters, but while their last encounter just under a year ago was tense, no one died.  There’s no outstanding beef between himself and the other captain (that he’s aware of), and frankly, the Jolly sorely needs this stop to resupply and to refill her coffers with the sale of their most recent spoils.

“Do we continue in, Captain?”

The Captain’s steely blue return stare is resolute, his expression bordering on a scowl as he straightens.  “The Jolly does not turn tail for anyone, Mr. Smee,” he snaps.  “Particularly not for that lout.  But inform the men to remain on guard, and assign extra hands to stay behind on watch. No strangers are to be allowed anywhere near the ship, understood?”

His confidence seems to reassure his first mate, who accepts the orders with a hasty bob of his head. “Yes, Captain.”  

As Smee pulls the door shut behind him, the Captain turns and retrieves a sharpening steel from the drawer of the small desk in the corner, running it in practiced strokes along the tip of the polished metal hook that sits where his left hand once was. He signals the wiry quartermaster to resume their discussion with a curt nod and hums acknowledgement now and then as the other man talks, even while his thoughts remain elsewhere.  A less experienced captain might view the presence of the other ship as an opportunity to poach her best crewmen or plunder her loot, but he knows there’s truly little to be gained by starting a feud with a loose cannon like Blackbeard.  The more prudent course is to simply remain alert and hope, for once, for an uneventful visit to port.  

*             *             *

Maggie, a plump woman with graying red hair, plasters on a smile as a large group of bawdy customers pours into her tavern – pirates, by the look of them.  Her suspicions are confirmed when their leader, a tall man with a curly black mane, matching beard, and a tricorn hat brings up the rear. Maggie winces inwardly at the sight of him.  She doesn’t turn paying customers away unless they get out of hand, but it’s nearly happened with Blackbeard and his crew on more than one occasion.  Pirates, on the whole, tend to be an unruly lot, but Blackbeard and the men he generally chooses to sail with are some of the worst of the bunch; it’s no feat to think of half a dozen other crews she’d rather have at her tables.  

Maggie urgently seeks out her newest serving girl in order to shoot her a look of warning.  She took the young blonde in only six weeks ago, and unless the poor thing is even unluckier than they already know her to be, it’s doubtful she has any experience dealing with Blackbeard or his crew. Not that the girl would recall such an encounter, having mysteriously appeared in the middle of their little port town with no knowledge of her own name, much less any other details of her life.  Dubbed “Swan” by one of the tavern regulars as much for her prickliness when harassed as for her enviable beauty, the girl’s entire past is one enormous blank to her, and it’s anyone’s guess why.

Their eyes meet across the tavern, and Maggie watches Swan survey the new crowd with appropriate apprehension before the girl nods back her understanding.  One thing that’s been fairly clear from the start is that Swan has good instincts that make her quick to read a situation and adept at dealing with aggressive drunks who want her services to include something other than bringing them food and libations.  Maggie prays those instincts serve her well tonight, because between Swan’s physical charms and Blackbeard’s reputation for causing trouble, things could get ugly very quickly.

*             *             *

It seems a small miracle when the first hour passes without too much fuss.  The pirates arrive famished and sober and more focused on addressing both those maladies than stirring up trouble.  Though most of them openly leer and make the usual assortment of lewd comments, no one does more than pat or pinch Swan’s ass, offenses that she does her best to ignore.  

Nevertheless, the tension grows as the hours creep by.  Some of the men depart after eating, no doubt heading for the brothels, but half a dozen remain behind, including their captain, a man with glittering dark eyes whose lingering gaze abrades her skin worse than the rest.  Perhaps it’s simply the obvious authority he wields over his men, but there’s something far more intimidating about him than the others, and she does her best to avoid eye contact and keep out of his reach.  Nevertheless, the rum continues to flow, his stare grows increasingly lustful, and by half past ten, she knows by the lascivious curve of his lip and the increasing harshness of his laugh that it’s only a matter of time before he does something one of them is going to regret.

The shoe finally drops a short while later.  He calls her over and invites her to share a drink with him.  She politely demurs, saying that she has other customers to tend to, but he jovially waves off her excuse and rises partway out of his seat, grabbing her skirts as she moves away and yanking her down on to the bench beside him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you?” he rumbles gruffly, his kohl-lined eyes slightly glassy.  “There’s only one answer to an invitation from a pirate captain.”

Lips in a thin line, Swan fixes him with a scorching glare that causes some of the men behind him to look nervous.  To her utter frustration, the Captain himself seems unfazed as he continues to gaze up and down at her assets.  “Still pretty sure it’s some version of ‘no,’” she retorts, springing off the bench. She gasps when his fingers close around her wrist.  

For a drunken fool, he still has decent reflexes, and his coarse laugh is menacing as he rises to his feet, staggering only a little, and hauls her over none-to-gently.  One beefy hand clamps tightly around her narrow waist, pinning her shoulder to his chest, and he chuckles lecherously as he buries his face in her neck, his acrid breath surrounding her and the sensation of his tongue on her pulse point tempting her to scream.  “Come now, girl,” he growls in her ear.  “Let me show you a good time. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their pleasure with the legendary pirate Blackbeard.”

He moves to paw at her breast, and Swan lets out an angry snarl and tries to wrench out of his grasp.  Her free hand flails to his chest to push him away and lands on one of a trio of short knives the Captain wears girded to his torso.  With a grunt, she yanks it free, flips it to adjust her grip, and whips the blade up against his neck, nostrils flared and chest heaving.  “I’ll pass,” she hisses through her teeth.(*)

It takes Blackbeard’s rum-soaked brain a moment to catch up with this turn of events, but he stills and slowly pulls his face back from her golden curls, eyes rolling sideways to lock warily onto the blade pressed firmly to his skin.  

“Perhaps you’d best unhand the lady before she gives you a shave, Blackbeard.”

They both look up to see an amused-looking man walking toward them.  He’s rakishly handsome, young and tall with short dark hair, three days of scruff on his chin, and blue eyes.  Clad like a man with money, he wears black leather from head to toe, his long, heavy duster swaying gently as he walks, a heavy silver buckle, clasps, rings, and chains glinting in the firelight.  He holds his head high, his swagger and the hand poised casually at his belt helping to camouflage the threatening square of his shoulders and the deadly weapons on his person, and Swan realizes with a small start that the curved silver hook he appears to hold in his left hand is actually a replacement for the hand itself.  Whoever he is, Blackbeard’s men obviously recognize him and do not attempt to get in his way.  

The interloper stops a sword’s length from them and smirks.  “I’d hate to have to circulate the news that your throat was slit by a tavern girl using your own dagger.”

“Hook.”  Blackbeard sneers, though his eyes remains fixed largely on Swan and the blade.  He reluctantly releases his grip on her waist, exhaling when she pulls away and the steel leaves his skin.  “It’s dangerous to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, boy.”

Hook gives a dark chuckle. “Yes, you’ve demonstrated that quite nicely.”  

With Blackbeard’s attention now occupied elsewhere, Swan silently backs up, her heart drumming furiously against her ribs as she keeps the dagger held at the ready and makes a beeline for safety.

*             *             *

Out of the corner of his eye, Hook watches the barmaid slip away, quick as a shadow, to the far side of the tavern with Blackbeard’s weapon still in hand.  She finds refuge behind the counter in seconds, and he satisfies himself that she seems unhurt even as Maggie rushes to fuss over her.  

“The girl is lovely, but she seems like more trouble than she’s worth,” he remarks to Blackbeard. “Best let sirens be.”

His rival growls, swiping a hand across his neck resentfully and checking his fingers for blood.  “I get what I want, Hook.”

“If you want a knife in your belly rather than a roll in the sheets, I’d say she’s happy to give it to you,” he replies cheerfully, allowing himself an admiring glance toward the bar.  “But no sense risking your neck for something easily got elsewhere.”  He steps closer, arching an appraising eyebrow.  “Unless,” he drawls with a wicked grin, “you can’t afford more willing company?”

“Watch your tongue or lose it.” Blackbeard grunts testily and knocks back one last shot of rum before pointedly tossing a small bag of coins on the table.  “There’s never a day my coffers don’t put yours to shame.”  He barks at his remaining crewmen that the brothels await them and stomps toward the door and out into the night without so much as a look back, his men trailing in his stormy shadow.  

Thankfully, the girl is nowhere to be seen as they make their exit.  The palpable tension in the tavern eases and the din swells back to normal levels when the heavy oak door shuts behind the last of them.  Hook inhales deeply, chin tipped slightly upward, and snags Blackbeard's money before going to the bar to pay his greetings to the tavernkeep.

She meets him with grateful eyes and pushes a full bottle of rum in his direction.  “On the house, Captain.”

He favors her with a wide grin and tosses her the little satchel.  “Think nothing of it, love.  My evening will be much better without having to share space with that bloody fool.”

Maggie chuckles and goes back to draining a cask of ale into tankards.  She cocks her head sideways at him.  “You must be in a generous mood tonight to bother talking him into leaving.  I hear the two of you never hesitate to cross swords.”

He harrumphs.  “The bastard’s no challenge when he’s drunk. Plus I’d hate for you to have to wash blood from your walls when time’s better spent making food and ale.”  He pops the cork on the rum with his thumb and takes a healthy swig, humming appreciatively at the sear of quality liquor down his throat.  “With a little luck he’ll leave your new girl alone now,” he mutters.  

Maggie arches an eyebrow, a discerning glint in her eye.   “I’m sure Swan’ll be glad of it,” she replies coyly.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward at the odd moniker.  “Swan?”

“That’s what we call her. Poor dear appeared in Vicarstown over a month ago without any memories; just woke up in an alley with no idea how she got there.  Doesn’t even know her own name.”

He leans forward, frowning. “Really.  Injured?”

“Or cursed.”  Maggie shakes her red curls with a shrug.  “Nary a trace of what did this to her, but she’s good help, smart as a whip, and easy on the eyes, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, so I took her in.”  She sets another brimming tankard on a tray with five others and wipes her hands on her apron.  “Have a seat, Captain.  I’ll send her along with these presently, and we’ll see if she’ll indulge your curiosity.”  She winks.

Hook gives a courtly bow as he backs away with rum in hand.  “I do so enjoy your hospitality, Maggie.”

True to the older woman’s word, several minutes after sitting down with his men at the corner table he favors, Hook spies the girl’s golden head coming toward them.  To her credit, she no longer looks shaken by earlier events, managing a pleasant, professional smile.  It’s no mystery why Blackbeard wanted her; she’s easily the most enchanting creature he’s seen in months, if not years.  Lustrous blonde hair spills in loose, thick waves around her shoulders, firelight dances across graceful high cheekbones and a perfect nose, and long, dark lashes frame her big, mossy-green eyes.  She’s slender with curves in all the right places, and though not dressed as provocatively as many barmaids he’s met, she cuts quite the figure in her tight-laced russet bodice and dark blue petticoat, with more than one man at his table regarding her (and the swell of her breasts) with interest.  

She navigates her way toward them bearing her tray of drinks and sets it down on the table with a murmured greeting.  “Hello. Here you are.  Now, would you all like food, more drink, or both?”  She listens intently as the men begin ordering, intelligence obvious in those lovely eyes.  Then she turns her gaze fully upon him, her expression going solemn.  “I should thank you for earlier, Captain.”

Something about her sincerity causes him to feel almost shy, but he acknowledges her thanks with a tip of his head.  “Yes, well, I’ll have you know your quick thinking deprived me of a dashing rescue.”

His words cause her to smile – this time a real, gorgeous, self-satisfied smile that reaches her eyes and causes his throat to tighten.  She shrugs, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks.  “Sorry.  The only one who saves me is me, I guess,” she says with a slight blush.

He chuckles.  “Tough lass.”  He holds out his hand.  “Captain Killian Jones.  They call me Hook.”

“They call me Swan,” she returns.  Her palm is soft as it slides into his rough one, but the handshake she gives him is confident and solid.  

He turns her hand over and presses a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles before letting go, enjoying the way the color in her face deepens.  “So I hear.”

The next few hours are something of a blur to him as he spends it eating and drinking and playing dice, all the while trying his best to keep from openly staring at the Swan girl as she goes about her work.  She’s a delight to watch – graceful, observant, efficient, and savvy when it comes to handling the rougher clientele.  Her fierceness doesn’t end with her encounter with Blackbeard – a grin tugs at his lips each time she uses a baleful stare or a sharp quip to put a presumptuous man back in his place.  She’s fascinating, this woman – a bright jewel in a dingy setting – and so he passes the evening stealing glances and keeping one ear open for the sound of her voice.

It’s just after midnight when the tavern quiets, most of his men having gone off to the brothels or back to the Jolly to sleep off their well-fed, drunken stupor.  Even Maggie has retired upstairs to her apartments, leaving Swan behind to see to the stragglers, most of whom are dozing at the tables.

“Are you not joining your men, Captain?” she asks while gathering dirty dishes from a nearby table.

Hook looks up at her from the supply purchase list he’s reviewing and smiles.  “Why would I do that when the company here is so much more interesting?”

She rolls her eyes, but even in the firelight he can discern another subtle flush in her cheeks. “‘Interesting’ is hardly the right word. I don’t have any stories to tell.”

He hums noncomittally, seeing her modest comment for what it really is.  “Maggie mentioned that.  You’ve no memories at all?”

Swan appears only half-surprised that he’s been told of her situation.  There’s a split-second before she folds her lips ruefully and shakes her head.  “None.”  With an apologetic smile, she carries the plates back to the kitchen.

Hook stares into the fire crackling in the hearth, all of the nightmarish memories that occasionally still haunt his sleep – memories he’s spent decades trying to drown in cheap drink and loose women – coming to mind.  “What is that like?” he asks quietly when she returns, running a finger around the lip of his rum bottle absently.  “To not have any memories?”

She pauses and turns to survey him, and he gets the sensation that she sees deeper into him than he wants to let her.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked.  It feels as though he’s just showed his hand.  But his unease is replaced with elation when she sighs and sits down at his table.

“It’s very strange,” she answers, her face honest.  “Empty. I don’t know who I am or where I come from or how I got here, whether I have a family, what my life was like...” She gives a sardonic laugh.  “It’s unnerving.”

Her sad eyes make his heart twinge, and he studies her thoughtfully.  “Well that’s not true; we know some things about you, Swan.”

“Oh, so you’re a pirate and a fortune-teller?” She tosses him a dry look, a delicate eyebrow raised.  

Hook grins at her sarcasm and shakes his head.  “Just experienced.  I’ve traveled the realms for a long time.”  He reaches across the table and gestures at one of her hands.  “May I?”

She blinks, surprise giving way to dubiousness, and considers him for a long moment before finally acquiescing and gingerly setting one of her hands in his.  He tries to ignore the tingle that shimmers down his spine and the uptick in his heart rate that comes from her touch, pointing at her upturned palm with the tip of his hook.  “Look. You have a few calluses, but not enough to suggest a life of hard labor.  The color of your lovely skin in the heart of this summer suggests that either you came from a northern country or you spent most of your time out of the sun,” he continues, thinking aloud.  “The way you speak also rules out half a dozen lands I can think of.”  He smiles back up at her. “See how this works?”(*)

She’s leaning forward now, the skepticism in her eyes fading as she swallows and nods.  She glances at her hand in his and pulls away, clearing her throat and rubbing her palms together self-consciously with pink in her cheeks.  “That’s, uh, that’s actually pretty clever.”

Hook curls his empty fingers.  “Well, I didn’t get to be a pirate captain on my good looks alone, you know,” he quips, flashing a rapscallion’s grin for effect.

She laughs and chews on her lip in a way he finds endearing.  “Anything else?”

He shrugs.  “Well, I think it’s obvious that you’re not from anywhere near here, or someone would have recognized you by now.  No one could forget a face like yours, I assure you.” He winks, savoring her recurrent blush, and his finger taps the table as he continues to muse.  “Have you tried looking at maps?  Perhaps something might look familiar.”

Her eyes light at the suggestion.  “I hadn’t thought of that, but there are maps over at the bookshop.  I can make a trip there tomorrow afternoon.”

He scratches behind his ear. “You know, I also have a very large assortment of maps on my ship which will cover many more lands than what you’ll find at that shop,” he volunteers.  “Perhaps you’d like to come aboard?”  He lifts his eyebrows hopefully.

This earns him an incredulous sideways glance.

“For the maps, Swan,” he says, feigning innocence with a boyish grin.

“I’m sure.”  

His heart falls when she gets to her feet, but his disappointment is tempered by the way her eyes dance.

“I’ll try the shop first, thanks.  I think there’s one thing I can tell you about myself, Captain.”

He arcs an eyebrow.  “Oh?”

She hums knowingly.  “I don’t think I’m the kind of girl you’re hoping I am.”

He chuckles, letting her words sit between them for a moment before rising and pressing a handful of coins into her palm to cover his bill, marveling again at the softness of her skin.  “Perhaps,” he says softly, dipping his nose so it’s inches from hers, “you don’t know what kind of girl I’m hoping you are.”  He savors the nervous flutter of her long lashes and her failure to pull away this time, and he grins, stepping back and giving her a military-style bow.  “The Jolly Roger will be in port at least until Friday.  I hope to see you again soon, milady.”

Swan watches him retreat with wide eyes.  She licks her lips and swallows.  “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight, Swan.”

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Until The Sea Takes Me

(Authors Note: Pricefield pirate!au where Chloe is a siren and Max is a captain, plus a lot of other favs along the way) Wooden floorboards rocked gently under Max’s worn leather boots while she stared out into a thick grey fog crawling towards her ship on the horizon. Seafoam crashed against the ship's sides, spraying her hands lightly where they rested on the ledge and bring the familiar scent of salt with it. Her blue eyes squinted against the wind as it plastered her short brown locks against her cheeks. Above her, a crewmate sat readily in the crow's nest, looking for any sign of refuge. It had been weeks since the last storm took them off course, the exact area they now sailed unknown. Supplies were getting low, and the Prescott’s jewels would not be helpful to a crew full of starving stomachs. She had been so caught up with evading capture for their deeds to get the jewels, attention to the skies was lost. From the failure to properly plan for a storm bred the situation she and her crew now faced. A familiar voice spoke up behind her, dragging her attention from the sea. “Captain? I've been charting our course as best I could since the storm, and I believe we should be coming to some islands soon enough.” A scrawny boy, barely eighteen, spoke to her, his large brown eyes hopeful as he held out a map marked with his notes. Max glanced it over before nodding at him. “Are there any villages you know of there? Some place to restock?” Her calm, but stern, tone dimmed his enthusiasm slightly. “Not that I know of, but there's still a chance. Besides, I’m sure we could find something from the land itself, if not.” A cheerful smile played on his lips as he tried to remain positive. He always helped Max to see the brighter side of things. “Thank you, Warren.” She spoke softly and dismissed him with a nod of her head before turning her attention back to the horizon. Max’s gaze squinted into the mist that had now begun to close around the ship, slate fingers of fog dancing around her ankles. Cold breezes rushed over her body to bring goosebumps to her skin. A low hum caught her ear gently, practically hidden among the sounds of the waves. Max furrowed her brow at the odd sound while straining to decipher the noise. It ebbed and flowed in time with the sea, humming turning to high notes that filled her head. Her feet took steps without her knowledge towards the edge of the boat while her arms held onto the side to help her stay steady as she was rocked. Max peered over the edge as her head became as fuzzy as the air engulfing her. Just past her clear view lay a flash of bright blue, floating slightly above the water's surface. As the ship sailed closer, pale skin appeared on thin shoulders, but it was the piercing blue eyes that would haunt Max. A woman sat naked, leaning her arm against a rock peeking out of the dark waters. The bottom half of her body remained unseen, for it was hidden by the sea as well. Her lips parted to allow a song to escape, twisting around Max’s mind like a serpent. As the woman's icy eyes met hers, the song stopped, and a look close to confusion crossed over her face. Max leaned further over the edge of her ship, somehow needing to be closer to the woman, yet also unaware of her surroundings. The blue eyes widened as Max lost her balance, leaning too far towards the sea. A hand firmly grasped both her shoulders, pulling Max back as she watched the blue haired woman dive forward under the water. As she went under the waves, behind her a brilliant tail the same color as her hair flipped out from the water with a splash. Max gasped from both the sight and being thrust backwards so suddenly. A voice broke through the haze she had been, filled with worry. “Captain! Are you alright?” Max turned to see one of her crewmates staring at her with large eyes. “What? Oh--Yeah, I'm okay Dana. I just...thought I saw something.” As Max spoke she looked out to where she had seen the strange woman. “Must have been a pretty sight to go overboard for it, Ma’am.” “Yeah…” Max agreed returning a lighthearted smile to Dana. “I came down here to tell you that Brooke spotted something not too far ahead. She thinks it's land.”   “Right, tell Juliet to set a course for it then.” Max instructed as Dana gave a small verbal agreement before taking off. ‘Hopefully we can find our way out of this endless sea,’ Max thought to herself as she began her way back to her cabin, ‘Obviously my time out here is beginning to take its toll.’ ______________________ A dark quill scratched along cream parchment as Max detailed out the crew's next heist. She always took time to think most of their crimes through, as not to get anyone on her team caught, unlike some pirates who plundered any which way they pleased and ended up hanging from the gallows for it. So far, her track record for keeping her mates alive was spotless. Max intended to keep it that way. As her quill slashed out one idea of the plan, the ship jumped, causing her to knock over a bottle of ink across the paper. She cursed before rising to her feet only to be met with another tip. Max kept her balance as she rushed her way out of the cabin to be directly on the deck. Outside, gusts of wind snatched the sails violently out of the hands of crewmates who tried to tame them with ropes. Juliet violently steered the ship towards safety as they came closer to the island Brooke had noticed. Springing into action, Max quickly took hold of ropes to keep the sails pushing towards their destination as her crew yelled orders at each other. The rope in her hands fought, slipping through her fingers and leaving hot trails behind it. Max maintained her grip with the help of Dana and Stella though. Just as the wind died down and Warren released the anchor for their ship, a crash from the front flung Max over the edge. Her hands grasped wildly for the rope, but there was nothing but frozen air to clutch. Her back smacked into oncoming waves with fever, the water eagerly gobbling up her entire body. As the waves tossed her over and over, Max found no breath to inhale, choking on the mouthfuls of salty water that forced its way in. Her world was darkness until her eyes noticed a flicker of iridescence  move past her. Max closed her eyes out of fear some sea monster she had heard tales about was finally hear to take her. Then, something cold parted her lips, sucking out the water that had been in her lungs and replacing it with air. With surprise, Max flung her burning eyes open to see that same pair of icy blue ones illuminating her face. Max realized the cold feeling giving her air was actually lips. In the next moment, strong arms took her by the waist, pulling her what she imagined was upward. Light from the surface shown through as they approached the top, showing the face of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Blue hair floated like a halo as the light touched it, but Max found her vision darkening around the edges despite herself. The only image left before she lost herself in the touch of those chilly lips was the woman's eyes looking at her as if pleading.