Chapter Text
Emma checked her reflection for the tenth time, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. Killian was going to be there at any moment and she was slowly coming down from a panic attack. She had already tried several different sweaters on, each one being too frumpy or too light or too heavy, finally settling on a comfy oversized plum colored one paired with skinny blue jeans. She had to keep reminding herself that this wasn’t a date so she shouldn’t worry about making an impression, right? Did he know that this wasn’t a date? Now she was starting to panic again over the fact that she would have to make that clear to him at some point. A couple of loud knocks on her front door drew her out of her irrational thoughts and she set her worries aside for the time being. Running her fingers through her slightly styled tresses, she took one last look at herself and headed out of her bedroom toward the source of the knocking. She took one last breath before unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door. She was glad she had taken that deep breath because the air quickly left her lungs the moment she laid eyes on him. He was wearing a dark blue Henley that made the blue in his eyes pop and deliciously form fitting black jeans.
He raked his eyes over her form and she suddenly felt very self-conscious.
“You look stunning, Swan,” he uttered, sounding adorably awestricken.
She smiled at him, biting her lip in the process. The action elicited a return smile and a raise of his eyebrow.
“Shall we?” he asked tilting his head toward a dark blue pick-up parked out front.
“Yeah, I just need to grab my bag and I packed a few snacks.”
He spotted the large basket sitting on her kitchen counter. “A few snacks?” he laughed.
She elbowed him lightly in the gut and he let out an overly dramatic “oomph”
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a variety to cover all the bases.”
He reached for her hand and drew it to his lips to brush a very sweet, light kiss just above her knuckles. “That was very thoughtful of you, love,” he said, releasing her hand. “Thank you.”
She smiled sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He offered to carry the basket as she locked up and followed him to the truck.
“Nice truck, didn’t think the motorcycle could handle the drive, huh?” she asked cheekily.
“Oh, I know the bike could, but I assure you, your thighs could most certainly not handle it,” he jested, popping the “t” and making her lower abdomen flutter at the obvious innuendo. He opened the door for her and offered his hand to help her into the truck, a smirk firmly in place.
____________________
The first half of the drive was spent playfully arguing over what music to listen to and silly banter. He wanted to listen to 80’s rock music, which she had no problem with of course, but found that it was just too much fun to rile him up. She suggested a country western station simply to see his reaction and when he was just about ready to relent, she couldn’t hold in the laughter anymore. They settled on Green Day, but didn’t end up paying much attention to the music anyway. They fell into easy conversation, mostly over favorite books and movies, but nothing too personal. She didn’t feel quite ready to open up completely to Killian yet and she got the feeling that he felt the same.
As they approached Maldon, Emma fell silent, taking in the scenery. Her eyes darted in all directions. The small Tudor style homes were beautiful, becoming denser as they drew closer to the water. She saw a tall steeple in the distance and realized they were headed right toward it.
“Is that…?” she inquired, pointing in the direction of the steeple.
“All Saints Parish, aye. St. Mary’s is just a few miles down the road as well.” As if sensing her next question he continued. “We’ll drop by both of them before leaving, lass.”
She smiled widely as they navigated the small roads leading to the marina. Emma marveled at the amount of vessels berthed at the Blackwater estuary. Killian pulled up to a booth that was sitting at the entrance to a large parking lot. The heavier set man flashed him a large smile as Killian rolled down the window.
“Good mornin’ to ya, Cap’n Jones. Taking the old girl out to stretch her legs?”
“Aye, it’s been too long, William.”
The man looked past Killian and nodded his greeting to her. She lifted her hand and gave a small wave and a smile.
“And I see ya have a lovely companion this time. The water is calm today, no reports of any storms rollin’ in, have a splendid sail Cap’n.” He handed Killian a tag to hang from his rearview mirror and raised the bar, allowing access.
“Do I have to call you Captain too?” Emma inquired with a chuckle.
Killian turned to face her, a devilish smirk slowly creeping across his face. “Aye, unless you’d prefer the view from the brig of course.”
Emma snorted at that. She knew he wasn’t serious, but wondered if he really had a brig on his boat.
He pulled into a spot and promptly hopped out of the truck to get her door.
“Just like a true gentleman,” she quipped, handing him the basket.
“It’s common courtesy and,” he leaned in close to speak softly into her ear, “I’m always a gentleman,” he retorted with a smirk and a wink. “Unless, of course, the lady would prefer a scoundrel,” he murmured, the smirk still firmly in place. She could feel her face heating slightly and knew she was blushing. She was relieved when he cocked his head in the direction of the marina, motioning her to follow him.
They passed several boats, most with sails that looked like they were used for racing. There were a few motorboats as well as luxury yachts, but Emma was astonished to see that there were a few older, large barges tied to the docks.
“Those are Thames Barges,” he said pointing. “They’re still used today to transport goods back and forth from London.”
They continued walking further down the dock when Emma’s eyes widened in shock. At the end of the dock was a large, renovated pirate ship. They seemed to be walking right toward it and her stomach flipped when he stopped in front of the gangplank leading to the ship.
“Killian,” she gasped, “This is your ship?”
“Aye, this is her.” He tilted his head, apparently trying to read her expression. “Is this not what you were expecting?” he asked deliberately.
Of course she wasn’t expecting a pirate ship and he knew it. She narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips. The smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to her. “When you said ‘ship’, I figured you were simply trying to make your boat or yacht sound more impressive,” she admitted. “Is she modeled after a specific pirate ship?”
“Actually, she isn’t a model at all. I restored her to her former beauty and before you ask, she did not come with a name.” He hated lying to her, but at least it was true that he had been continually renovating his ship, he just left out the part about how many years he’d been at it. The awestruck expression that overtook her face at his revelation took his breath away.
“This is a real pirate ship.” It wasn’t a question, but she just couldn’t find the words to describe what she was feeling. Killian took her hand in his and lead her up the gangplank. Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped on deck. She counted two masts with three heavy white sails billowing in the wind on each. A bowsprit held two headsails attached to jibs at the bow of the ship, ready to lead them in any direction Killian turned the wheel. Killian had obviously called ahead to have his ship prepared and ready to set sail. “Is this a sloop-of-war?” she asked, remembering her grandfather’s descriptions of some famous pirate ships.
He gazed up at her while pulling up the anchor. He looked amazed at her nautical knowledge and she mentally thanked her grandfather.
“Aye, lass,” he said while climbing a small staircase that led to the helm. “Technically, if we’re not a war, you can call her a brigantine. Have I mentioned what a bloody marvel you are yet today?”
She smiled bashfully at that and slowly followed him, taking her time to thoroughly inspect the vessel. The deck was a dark walnut, about 70 feet long. The outer edges of the ship had been painted a rich navy blue with yellow trim. She leaned over just enough to see that there was a gun deck. “How many gun ports does she have?”
Killian had just begun guiding the ship out of the harbor, his hands firmly grasping the wheel. She froze in place, admiring his form as he effortlessly maneuvered his ship, turning the bow into the wind. The reflection of the sparkling ocean’s surface in the morning sun had made his eyes shine impossibly bluer. Emma was surprised by the speed of the large ship, the marina getting smaller as they headed out into the Blackwater River. She joined him by his side, sharing in the elation that was radiating from his body. She could tell he hadn’t been sailing in a long time based on the wide smile that reached his eyes. His teeth even seemed to glitter in the sun. She jumped as his arm snaked around her waist to position her in front of him. He guided her hands with his to the same two handles his previously held. She could feel the warmth of his body and the ghost of his breath on her neck. She took a stuttering breath and concentrated on pushing ahead.
“Twenty four,” he said huskily.
“What?” she asked genuinely confused.
“You asked me how many gun ports on board, there are twenty four and fourteen cannon holds,” he clarified. “All disabled, I assure you.” She couldn’t see it, but she knew he was smirking behind her.
“Isn’t it bad luck to captain a ship with no name?”
“Aye,” he said coming around from behind to face her. He crossed his arms and lazily leaned against the helm’s railing. “But you see, naming a ship is never to be taken lightly. She had a name once, long ago, and none of the names I’ve considered seemed appropriate.”
Killian decided immediately that he very much liked the sight of her navigating his ship. Her golden hair was gleaming brightly in the late morning sun as the wind blew the heavy locks fluently from her face. Her lively eyes were focused straight ahead, with the occasional glance in his direction. He continued to admire her beauty as well as her natural ability to handle the old girl.
“So,” she suddenly spoke, breaking his trance. “you just happened to come across a functioning 300 year old pirate ship on one of your expeditions? How do you even know it belonged to pirates? And for that matter, how did you keep it out of a museum?”
She was speaking so fast, Killian wasn’t sure where to start. How was he going to explain how he knew that the William was a pirate ship without revealing that it belonged to Jack? He did have Jack’s journal stowed safely away in the captain’s quarters and wondered if he could convince her that it belonged to a lesser known pirate captain.
That could easily backfire if she begged him to let her read it, knowing full well that he would not be able to say no. Killian’s name was mentioned in several passages, seeing as he was Jack’s first mate and best friend. Thankfully, Jack was wise enough not to ever mention Killian’s condition, taking that secret to his grave. Killian’s own captain’s log was stored with Jack’s as well with 300 year old handwritten script.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. You are the expert and if you say this is a pirate ship, I believe you.” She leaned in close to his ear, nearly brushing her nose along the shell, causing his breath to stutter. “And don’t worry,” she leaned in impossibly closer and whispered, “I won’t tell anyone you’re hoarding a priceless, centuries old brigantine.”
Killian let his eyes fall shut, imagining how her lips would feel pressed against the sensitive skin behind his ear. He hadn’t felt such attraction to a woman since Anne.
Killian took over navigating the ship once they reached the mouth of the river. Emma prepared bite sized pieces of baguette with creamy gouda with sweet red grapes and fed him as well as herself while asking multiple pirate related questions. Every time he would tell her something she didn’t already know she would adorably squeal with delight, then promptly cover her mouth in embarrassment.
“So you’re telling me that Calico Jack didn’t have a relationship with either women aboard his ship?” Killian nodded his head in the affirmative. “That’s not what I read and my grandpa told me that Anne Bonny was the love of Jack’s life,” she argued.
“Well you see, Swan, as Jack was approaching his 38th year, he was ready to retire and his first mate was willing to take on the title of captain as well as his namesake.”
“Just like Wesley and the Dread Pirate Roberts,” she said under her breath.
“Dread Pirate who?” Killian asked, baffled
“What, have you been living in a cave for the last 30 years?” she ask jokingly. He scratched behind his right ear just then, a gesture that Emma immediately recognized as a nervous tell. The look on his face told her that she may be closer to the truth about his living arrangements than he was comfortable with. She decided to drop the subject for the time being, remembering that they both still had a lot to learn about each other if they were going to be friends.
“I think we need to have a movie night,” she announced as she placed the leftover food in the basket. Killian was turning them around to head back to the marina.
“So if what you’re saying is correct, Jack’s first mate was Anne’s lover.”
“Aye.” Emma noticed a shadow had passed over Killian’s features. She took the hint and gave him a reassuring smile before heading below deck to place the picnic basket in the gally and also take a moment to admire the craftsmanship put into the intricate interior. She ran her finger along the large oak desk that sat perpendicular to a four poster bed adorned with a soft, woven, deep purple comforter.
“Emma.” His sudden appearance below deck had her nearly jumping out of her skin. The last thing she needed was for him to believe she was snooping. “I’m sorry for my poor manners earlier.” He looked so conflicted and troubled that all Emma could do was place her hand upon his scruffy cheek and encourage him to look her in the eyes
“You don’t owe me an apology or an explanation,” she assured him. “We’ve only just met and you are entitled to your secrets.” He gave her an appreciative yet sheepish smile. “God knows I have my fair share,” she said with a sigh. “This is beautiful, by the way,” she complimented, sweeping her hand to indicate she meant the entire room.
“Aye, I refurbished it to be as accurate as possible, but the quarters took a great deal of damage in what I assume was the old girl’s last battle.”
“What kind of damage?”
“Cannon fire, mostly. I had to replace the entire outer wall and my brother helped me craft the bed and desk to look as authentic as possible.”
“Wow,” Emma said, raising her eyebrows high up her forehead. She studied the fine details of the bedposts, unable to keep her hands from stroking the smooth, lacquered wood. “Will I ever have the pleasure of making your talented brother’s acquaintance?” she asked, still admiring the skill that went into creating such beautiful woodwork.
“Perhaps, although he and his family tend to lead a bit of a reclusive life,” Killian explained, hoping she wouldn’t pry. She seemed to accept his answer with a resigned smile.
“Well, please pass on my compliments the next time you see him.”
Killian nodded and noticed a few yachts passing the ship through the cabin’s porthole. “I’m going to weigh anchor, love and we’ll be back to shore shortly. How do you feel about visiting my old watering hole? It’s just a short stroll from the marina.”
Emma gave him a wide smile. “I would love that.” He grinned back and jogged up the narrow stairs, or as he had corrected her earlier, ‘anything resembling stairs on a ship is called a ladder, love’.
Killian held the door to The Jolly Sailor open for Emma. She flashed him a grateful smile and stepped inside the cheesy yet cheerful pub. Of the few patrons enjoying their afternoon libations, there were two types of men. One very boisterous group, that sat at the bar with huge mugs of beer, wore slicker pants and smelled of salt and fresh fish. The other group that occupied a larger table in the back of the bar, as far from the working class men as possible, were dressed in preppy white sweaters and pleated pants. Stereotypical, privileged snobs from West Essex county, no doubt. She had come in contact with enough of them on campus to be able to single them out instantly. Killian led her to the far end of the bar and offered his hand to assist her as she hopped onto the tall barstool. He removed his jacket, placing it on the back of the stool, and sat beside her, eyeing the drink menu.
“As I live and breath,” a male voice boomed from behind the bar. “Killian Jones,” the sandy haired bartender started, “I thought you’d gone and died and forgot to invite me to your funeral.” The friendly man approached them after refilling a pint for one of the fishermen. His smile grew wider as his eyes fell on Emma.
“Always a pleasure, Rob,” Killian replied, returning his greeting with his own warm smile. “Robin, this is Emma Swan,” he gestured towards her with his hand. “Emma, this is Robin Locksley, owner of this fine establishment.” Robin held out his hand in greeting and as she placed her hand in his, he raised her knuckles to his lips to place a feather light kiss upon them.
“It is very nice to meet you, Emma.”
“Likewise,” she replied with a blush. Killian cleared his throat and Robin let go of her hand.
“Emma is a research fellow at Cambridge,” Killian explained.
“Color me impressed. What is it that you research, Miss Swan?”
“I’m a hematologist,” she began, but paused when she noticed the quick dart of his eyes from hers to Killian’s then back to hers.
“A hematologist studies… blood, if I’m not mistaken?” Robin recovered quickly.
“That’s correct. I specialize in blood disorders. At the moment I am awaiting approval from the board of directors to continue my research on a drug formula that could eradicate porphyria as well many other forms of blood disorders.” Robin’s mouth dropped open at the mention of the rare disease and Emma was about to ask him about his odd behavior when Killian cleared his throat once again, grabbing her attention.
“What would you like to drink, love?” She didn’t quite know what to think about their odd behavior so she decided to just let her suspicion die for the moment.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Killian scratched behind his ear again, clearly nervous about disappointing her with his selection. “Hey,” she said, placing her hand on his scruffy cheek, “I trust your judgment.” He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m going to run to the ladies room.”
Killian watched her disappear as she followed the signs directing her to the hallway at the back of the bar to find the restrooms. He was startled back to reality by his friend’s sudden and loud, fake cough.
“Killian, what the hell is going on? I haven’t seen or heard from you in a couple months and now you show up unannounced, with a woman no less. Who is she to you?” Robin crossed his arms and waited, his eyes warning Killian that he would know if he tried to lie to him.
Robin was Killian’s best and, until Emma, only friend and the only mortal who knew of his condition.
***
It was a stormy afternoon when Killian had been passing by the pub after docking his ship and preparing her for the impending nasty weather that was sure to hit the seaside town when he heard a scuffle and a cry for help. With superhuman speed, he followed the noise around to the back alley of the Jolly Sailor, a pub and boarding house that had been in operation for as long as he has been “alive”. He spotted the pub’s newest owner with a bloodied face, crumpled on the ground in the fetal position, trying to stave off his attackers. Killian’s blood boiled when he saw that it was three thugs against one helpless bartender. He charged at the human scum with great force, knocking two of them ten feet back against a chain link fence while the third turned on him. Killian easily dodged each attempted blow from the drunkard, kicking him in the arse and sending him head first into the side of the building, knocking him out cold. The beaten man yelled out a warning just as Killian felt a knife being jabbed into his lower back, no doubt piercing his kidney. Big mistake, Killian mused. He turned to face the startled mugger and pulled the knife from his back, turning it on the frightened man.
“Please, we was only lookin’ to rob ‘im. Me and Gerald,” he gestured to his scared companion behind him, “we haven’t been able to find work in months and we was desperate. We have families to feed.” The man was visibly shaking with fear as the owner of the business stood and cautiously approached Killian and the would be thieves. He would have a black eye and a split lip and possibly some bruised ribs, but he would live. Killian was astonished to see a flash of sympathy in the man’s eyes. East Essex was a notoriously poor neighborhood with an astoundingly high unemployment rate.
“So you believe that gives you the right to steal from others who are trying to make a living as well?” Killian asked with a little less venom this time.
“No sir. We was desperate, haven’t eaten in days, weren’t thinkin’ straight, we wasn’t.” By now, the man Killian had knocked out was starting to come to with a groan. “I… I didn’t mean to stab you,” he stuttered out, obviously afraid for his life.
Killian turned his head toward the pub owner and the two shared an unspoken understanding.
“Why don’t you come inside, get warm and dry and I’ll make some soup and bread for you to take home to your families,” the bloodied owner offered. The three men stared dumbly at him, as if they couldn’t believe what they had just heard. Nevertheless, they followed the man, Killian bringing up the rear to keep a watchful eye on them and the man, Robin, as Killian would later learn was his name, was true to his word. The five of them sat at the table nearest to the fireplace, occasionally laughing uproariously at a shared anecdote while Robin periodically checked on the soup and freshly made bread. The man who had thrust his knife into Killian’s back was Lawrence, and his two friends were Gerald and Harry. Killian did his best to explain that Lawrence was so inexperienced with a knife that he had only cut his favorite leather jacket, showing him the lack of blood to set his mind at ease.
“I’m real sorry about ruinin’ your leather trench coat, Mr. Jones,” Lawrence apologized again.
“Don’t you worry about my coat, Lawrence. All you need to worry about is getting that food back to your family while it’s still warm and finding a job. I have a few contacts at a factory in Essex. I’ll give them a call, see what I can do for you. All of you.”
“To Mr. Jones and Mr. Locksley,” Gerald began, raising his mug, “may you both live long and prosperous lives!” Killian flinched at the toast, but quickly schooled his features to show appreciation for the kind words.
Robin sent the men off, each with a basket full of warm bread and pots full of hot, hearty soup. He had since cleaned his face of any blood and approached Killian with another two mugs of frothy, amber liquid. He sat across from Killian, taking a moment to study him and making Killian feel on edge.
“Thank you for your assistance today, mate.” Killian nodded before taking a swig of the much needed alcohol. He knew that Robin was not so easily convinced by his explanation he had given to Lawrence. “Does your injury need attending to?”
“No,” Killian relented. He ran his hand threw his hair, preparing himself for the inevitable twenty questions that were sure to come.
“Robin Locksley,” he offered his hand in formal greeting.
“Killian Jones.” The men shook hands.
“Well, Killian Jones, you have just earned yourself free beer for life at the Jolly Sailor,” Robin declared. Killian could do nothing, but gape at the man he dared call a friend.
“Mate…” Killian started, but was swiftly interrupted.
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” Killian sighed in relief. “However, one day in the future, perhaps after I have earned your trust, you may find that I make a rather excellent confidant.” Robin gave him a genuine smile and Killian knew it was only a matter of time before he shared his darkest of secrets.
That day came sooner than he had expected.
“So, if I’m understanding you correctly, you were cursed with vampirism by a voodoo priestess,”
“Obeah,” Killian corrected.
“Apologies, you were cursed with vampirism by an obeah priestess because you were dying from an incurable infection and your friend, Jack, took you to her to save your life after you deserted Her Majesty's Royal Navy in 1716.”
Killian nodded his head. “Aye.”
Robin starred just a second longer and Killian opened his mouth to explain further when the man refilled his mug and slid it over to him. “Sounds feasible to me,” Robin grinned. Killian expelled a relieved chuckle and from that day forward, the two men formed a tight bond which led to Killian eventually sharing the whole sad tale to his friend.
***
The clearing of Robin’s throat tore Killian out of his reverie. He knew he couldn’t avoid his friend’s inquiry so he blurted out the truth.
“Emma is the last remaining descendant of Woodes Rogers,” he confessed solemnly. Robin’s mouth fell open and his arms loosened from their locked position across his chest.
“What the devil is she doing with you then, out in the open like this?” Robin asked with a hushed yell. Killian ran his hand through his already disheveled hair.
“Barnett knows she’s alive. I’ve been charged with ensuring her safety as well as befriending her until we can figure out what he wants with her. As far as we can tell, he doesn’t want her killed. At least not immediately.”
“Fuck,” Robin breathed out.
“Aye,” Killian agreed.
“Well, if friendship is all you’re after, you had better tone down the charm, my friend.” Killian arched his eyebrow in confusion, waiting for his friend to elaborate. Robin shook his head while chuckling, much to Killian’s bemusement. “Sometimes I forget how long you’ve been out of the game, old man.”
“Might I remind you, old man, I’m technically only 32; However, I do remember celebrating your 42nd birthday a few months ago,” Killian countered with a shit-eating grin.
“Be that as it may,” Robin leaned in, “you haven’t had much experience with the fairer sex in nearly 300 years, my friend.” Killian lowered his eyes to study the etchings in the counter top at the thought of his long lost love. “Just be careful,” Robin cautioned. “You have a fragile heart and that lovely young woman just may be the one to fix it or shatter it.”
Killian gaped at his friend, a retort on the tip of his tongue when he caught a glimpse of her returning from the restroom and it hit him that Robin was right. Emma had awakened something inside of him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time; want. She made him smile, laugh and he even found himself looking forward to today. Even now he was smiling, thinking of all the feelings she brought out of him in such a short time that he thought were long dead and buried. For the first time in centuries, Killian Jones wanted to live.