Chapter 18

Hook darkened at the mention of the name, but made no reply other than to bestow a cautioning glare upon its speaker before he began thundering back toward the road. He had no need of Smee's reminder. Of course Milah's death had already crossed his mind too many times this night. How could it not? This wasn't the first time he'd allowed a fleeing woman passage aboard his ship and grown to care for her. The last time had ended with the greatest grief he had ever known, and his share of that had never been insignificant. It had been his fault then – no one could convince him otherwise – and he would blame himself again now, should he be doomed to repeat the bleakest moments of his history.

Lost in his memories and his current purpose, he barely took notice of the hoofbeats and creaking wheels approaching from somewhere off behind them. Anyone absconding would undoubtedly be heading in the opposite direction, and the town wasn't too much further now. Hopefully one of his men would have discovered something there in his absence, something that would bring Emma back closer to him. He could already see where the way ahead graduated from a dirt path to a stone-paved street, and so he plunged onward.

That is, until Smee came crashing forward into him. "Captain! I think-"

"Killian!"

The world slammed to a screeching standstill. It was her voice. Emma's voice. Even the wind paused to take a breath.

"It's her, Captain." Smee finished feebly as Hook turned to view the only sight that could provide him any relief. Her face.

His heart beat once more, and everything surged back into torrential motion. An unfamiliar cloak clinging about her, she was already standing from her seat in the cart as its driver pulled the horse to an uneasy halt, causing her footing to falter. The man threw his arm out toward her to prevent her from falling, but it was a superfluous gesture; somehow Hook was there faster. He clutched her – the most precious of all treasures – to his chest, his hand cradling the back of her head. "Emma, love." He breathed a deep inhale of her scent, musty though it was. "I feared I'd lost you." He planted a firm kiss at her hairline before separating himself just far enough to look her over. "Were you hurt? What's happened?"

"I'm alright," she soothed, her hands placed tenderly against his abdomen while still gripping shut the cloak she wore. "It was Clark. He took me. He figured out who I really am and thought he could use me to make himself a deal."

"I'll kill the fucking bastard," Hook intoned, perhaps too harshly, for grisly and sinister scenarios were preemptively dancing in his mind. "Where is he?"

"Already took care of that for you, Captain." The cart's driver spoke. With a disquieted stupefaction, Hook realized he recognized the voice, and upon lifting his gaze, confirmed that the man wore the face to match it, albeit older than he'd last seen.

"Baelfire. How the devil did you come to be here?"

"Wait," Emma pulled back to regard him with confusion before her eyes darted between the two men. "You two know each other? How?"

"I told you," Baelfire smirked. "I know all about Captain Hook."

"Not all, surely," Killian objected, shifting his weight between his feet. "Baelfire sailed aboard the Jolly Roger for a time, many years ago, when she sailed the waters of Neverland." He explained, then directed his inquisition on Bae. "But I was under the impression the last time we spoke, that you were destined once again for a land without magic. What caused you to return here to the Enchanted Forest? And why to such an obscure little port as this, of all places? Matter of fact, how did you manage to escape Pan?"

"I think we've got a lot of talking to do," Emma interjected while Baelfire was still taking breath to respond. "And I'd really like to put on some clothes. Can we go have this conversation back on the ship, please?"

Killian felt a pang of shame that he hadn't already moved to fulfill her needs, distracted as he was by the surprise appearance. "Aye, certainly. Let's. Baelfire, would you join us aboard the Jolly?"

"Sure. Why not?" He shrugged with a halfhearted grin. "It'd be nice to see the old girl." He nodded in acknowledgment of the man Hook had all but forgotten. "How's it going, Smee?"

"It's good to see you again, Bae!" Smee beamed. He'd grown a soft spot for the boy, back when they were both sailing in the same crew. Of course, Smee was a man built entirely out of soft spots.

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Emma tugged at the shoulder of the shirt sleeve, and it lay neatly flat. Killian was larger than she was, and had no aversion to his shirts displaying his chest. Now wearing one of them herself, she'd instead deemed it necessary to pull tight the lacing near the shirt's collar and avoid exposing herself. She was finding that it still fit quite comfortably on her with the adjustment. Then again, even the smallest of comforts currently felt enormously magnified. The tension in her was beginning to soften.

It was true that she'd stepped straight back to the location where the panic of the night had begun, mere steps from where she'd felt the rag clamp onto her face, but the circumstances of the place had wildly changed in that short time. By herself, down below in Hook's cabin, she could hear most of the many exchanges up on deck. It was a queer acoustic quirk that she was sure he took advantage of often. While she dressed in privacy, she could hear him telling his men of the night's events, that Mr. Clark and Mr. Connors were dead, the latter by the former's hand, and that he would be laying down new law.

There was no longer any point in attempting to hide her identity, so he instead made a decree of proper behavior. She was not to be harmed by any means, or the offender would face his personal malice. She wondered how much of his speech was meant for her ears.

More than one voice muttered surprise over Baelfire's return. That shook her somewhat. They remarked on how he'd grown, and what a man he'd come to be. Several of these men she'd been sailing beside knew him, this shard of her history that she kept under lock and key, that she shared with no one. And yet, they didn't know it was hers. Truly, they didn't even know her. They knew Emerson. To them Emma must simply be some girl who had made fools of them, gotten their first mate murdered, and lost them their carpenter, unsavory as he may have been.

After all her time aboard trying to carve a place for herself to fit in, Bae swept in out of nowhere, and a place opened wide for him. It was typical, truthfully. Wherever he went, Bae always seemed to naturally belong. It was a gift of his. He innately knew how to blend in or stand out in all the right ways, with all types, in all situations. Back when they used to con and scheme together to scrape by, she'd always thought that while she may have played her roles impeccably, he completely became his in every instance.

At the time, it never concerned her that his adopted identities seemed as real as the one she knew to be true. She'd been young, and naive enough to believe that she was exempt from his deceit. The foolishness of that belief wasn't apparent to her until the moment she discovered he was the Dark One's son. Then it had been much to late for it to matter – for anything at all to matter.

A gentle rapping resonated down from the hatch above. "Emma?" Baelfire's voice drifted in. "You decent?"

Ropes creaked as the ship shifted, beginning to make for the mouth of the harbor, out toward sea. "Never," Emma answered in her custom. "But I'm dressed, at least, so come in. Let's talk."