Chapter 22

Emma pulled the soft sheet above her head in an attempt to shield herself from the blinding streams of light that assaulted her through the window. It didn't help much. Even the usual motions of the ship that she'd grown accustomed to elicited angry protests from her stomach, and a thick film coated the inside of her mouth. Its taste was thoroughly unpleasant against her tongue, which had taken on a sandy texture. She yearned for the blissful relief that more sleep would grant her, but try as she might, she was unable to drift off again. Instead, she was left awake, clenching her whole body into a ball and shoving her face into the pillow, hoping that would suffocate the throbbing migraine.

She breathed as slowly and as fully as she could, finding it reduced the sensation of bile in her throat. She had to fight harder to keep it down as a flood of memory from the previous evening washed over her. At the end of the night, she had drunk away all the details that she was now forced to recall – facts she would need to face once she set foot again in the light of day. It had been so much for her to process. In truth, she wasn't sure that she had, entirely. Her emotional state combined with the unexpected revelations had made for some interesting dreams, to say the least.

Peaceful dreams of motherhood had washed over her before they were torn away by hauntings of the night when that potential future had been taken from her. In the intervening time, she'd come to believe that her body would forever refuse to bear another child, and had seen no evidence yet to the contrary. Throughout the whole night, visions of what could have been intermingled with what was, and both bled into what could still be one day. All told, the subconscious chaos had created a near-unbearable conflict within her after she had witnessed variations of the life that she had once planned unfold before her, but also watching lives play out beside Killian, or in solitude – lives lived with and without children, in castles and forests and hovels and at sea. In the moment, each felt as though it nearly fit her. Almost.

There was one fragment that clung more firmly than the rest as her mind made the reluctant transition into the waking world.

I have now grown to love Emma.

The words made a beautiful sound when played in Killian's voice as they had been. She replayed it in her head again and again, wishing it would drown out the rest of the cacophony that was her thoughts. Alas, it was only a dream. (A strange one at that – something about Baelfire's mother?) Hook may have taken her under his protection, but she was under no delusions as to what kind of man he was. He was a pirate captain, and one who sailed beneath the crimson flag at that. He was a merciless man who forced his surroundings to succumb to his whims through bloodshed, and took great delight in doing so. Eventually, he would tire of her and seek fresh excitements elsewhere. It was best to not pretend otherwise to herself. She'd learned well enough by now that letting her guard down on a pirate ship was dangerous. She already had more than enough physical injuries on her body to prove that point. She didn't need a wounded heart to go along with them.

Captain Hook wouldn't have any interest in helping her find the answers she needed now, anyway. The deal they had struck was that he would allow her to avoid risk by transporting her to a corner of the world where she would likely be safe. There was no way that the fearsome pirate captain would be willing to assist her on a quest to discover the whereabouts of an infant stolen by the Dark One himself. Her mind had concocted a great number of wild fantasies while she slept, but it was time to be realistic and do what she must to protect herself. Maybe one day she would be able to take off her figurative armor, but not yet, even if it did feel good to loosen it from time to time.

She hadn't even finished forging it the last time she'd seen Baelfire. He'd once known her as well as she'd known herself. No one before him had taken the time to truly learn her, and no one since had been given the opportunity. As guilty as it had made her feel, she'd found a small comfort in his death amid her grief and fury because at the very least, all of her secrets and intimate moments had died with him. She had done everything she could to send all traces of her vulnerability along with him into the grave. She'd expected the grave to stay shut.

It wasn't only Baelfire that had come back, and he hadn't only brought the reminders of who she used to be. He brought the future they'd lovingly charted and the family she'd given up on ever having. They just had to go find it. Maybe they would, and maybe they wouldn't, but she couldn't pretend that it didn't exist. She had to know. She had to find her child. There had been a hungry emptiness inside of her ever since she had suffered its loss, one she had calmed only through years of practice. It had roared to voracious life the instant Baelfire had told her of the child's continued survival. She knew that if she did not go with him to seek out answers, the pit inside her would ultimately swallow her whole and digest her alive.

With a quiet grumble to herself, she disentangled from the sheets. First and foremost, she found the flagon of water that was always kept in the cabin, and poured some down her throat to soothe the dry burn. It felt wonderful. She drank long and deep, until she came up gasping for air. The protesting pains of her body turned dressing into a frustratingly slow process. Thankfully, she no longer needed to bind her chest to hide her secrets. She wasn't sure whether she would be physically able to this morning if she did. While she did wonder how the crew would respond, a simpler state of dress was a welcome change. However, it didn't help her state of mind that the only clothes for her to wear belonged to Killian. They carried his scent, and she was not looking forward to inhaling the smell of him as she announced the need for her departure, but she would be strong and she would be hard. She had to be, and she'd gotten very good at it over the years.

Emma tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, but it continued in its attempts to choke her. Life aboard the Jolly Roger these past months hadn't been easy by any means, but she'd found an anomalous joy in it. She'd never been one to answer willingly to authority, and the ocean offered a singular and unparalleled freedom. That alone was temptation to stay before Killian Jones even factored into the equation. This was not going to be easy, not in the slightest, but it had to be done.

She took a lingering look around the cabin where she'd grown so comfortable, knowing that her time there was coming to a close. This intimate space was where she'd shared her meals with him and then much, much more than that. One steadying breath wasn't enough, nor were several more. She would have to blame any shakiness on the after effects of the rum. So long as she shed no tears while she disclosed what she intended to do, she would make it through.

As steeled as she could be, Emma filled her lungs with air once more and headed above.