Not Broken At All Chapter 6/?
Summary:
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken by what Emma swears (but can’t believe) was a shadow, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
Rated M
Ao3
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Thank you always @elizabeethan and @the-darkdragonfly for your help with this feral fic <3 <3
*****
Part 6
“Where are we going?” Emma demands as he leads her through the hospital corridors, ignoring the strange and concerned looks thrown their way by staff and patients. He doesn’t answer, back to her, shoulders tense either from pain or to make sure she knows it’s intentional.
Emma sighs. She’s pretty sure she’s going to have to let a lot of things slide today if she’s going to get her son back, letting him be angry with her - and ignoring how he somehow knows the inner workings of the hospital - feels like the least of it.
He stops her outside of what looks like a storage closet, casting a look up and down the hall before trying the door, locked. He sighs in frustration, reaching towards a pocket before obviously remembering he’s not in his own clothes and letting out an annoyed curse. He turns to her then.
“Do you still have the keys?” She shakes her head, having left them behind at the front desk. “Too bad,” he says before turning back to face the door and kicking hard next to the handle with the flat of his sneakered foot.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demands as he moves to kick again. “You’re gonna break your damn leg! Just- hold on,” Emma tells him, reaching into her pocket and finding a once discarded bobby pin.
She gestures for him to step aside, kneeling before the door and trying to remember how to do this without her lock picks. It’s been ages since Neal taught her, the one good thing he left her with - besides Henry. Frowning as the door remains stubbornly locked, she jiggles the wire more aggressively and hears a scoff from above her.
“Give it here,” Killian demands, snatching the barette from her hand and shoving it back into the lock with practiced ease. He jiggles it twice and the door clicks open, not waiting for her as he steps inside and searches the shelves, picking through the labelled bags, tossing some to the floor, opening a few only to discard them with angry huffs and groans. “Where is it?”
“It would help if you told me what we were looking for,” she reminds him and his glare is annoyed.
“My effects.”
“You mean your clothes?”
“And my cutlass.”
“Your what?”
“My sword,” he deadpans like he’s talking to an idiot, as though everyone knows the names for swords and she’s the odd one out here.
“All of that stuff is down at the station.”
“The station?”
Emma sighs. This language barrier is becoming a problem. “The sheriff’s station. You know…” she elaborates when he frowns, “the brig.”
Killian frowns at her and she remembers a foster parent once warning her that her face would stay that way permanently if she didn’t stop. His is nearly there. “Why?”
“Because you attacked me with it.” He’s clearly not satisfied with that answer. “You’d just taken a doctor and me hostage. I hadn’t decided if I was gonna arrest you yet. I thought it was better to keep your sword…” She eyes him suspiciously, “And whatever other weapons I’m starting to assume you probably had on you, somewhere safe.”
“Take me there.”
“I thought you said we didn’t have much time,” Emma reminds him. Clearly getting his clothes back shouldn’t be the main priority right now.
He glares at her. “I thought you said you needed my help.”
“I do,” she sighs, ready to add a ‘but’ to the end of that sentence when Killian steps forward, expression stern and still angry, and she backs down.
“Then I’ll ask that you stop questioning me. This may be your realm, Swan, but Neverland is my domain. So if you want to get your boy back you’ll do what I say, understand? I give orders, you follow them.” She wants to smack him for talking to her like that, for thinking he can just demand that she do whatever he says. But she can’t, because he can. He’s her only shot at saving Henry. She nods. “Good. There are things in my possessions that we’ll need. As well as a few others.”
“Like what?”
He sighs. “What did I say about questioning me?”
It’s a test. She knows it is. And as much as she wants to tell him to go screw himself, she needs his help and challenging him isn’t going to get him to cooperate. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Emma follows him out of the room and is about to tell him where to go when he takes off down a hallway - the right one. He’s only been in this hospital a few days, only travelled from the ER to the back exit and his room to the psych ward and somehow, he has those paths memorised already. She knows because he’s currently leading her towards that same back exit where they’d had their standoff, where she’d betrayed him… The first time. Her track record with this guy isn’t great.
“Hold on,” he says suddenly as they pass the long-term care unit. Emma stops, following his gaze. She can’t tell what he’s focused on. Everything is normal. Patients in sick beds, nurses taking vitals, Mother Superior and two younger nuns handing out small care packages and sitting by bedsides. “I’ve just found something else we’ll need.”
Before she can stop him, he’s marched up to the head nun and Emma runs after him, hoping to stop whatever the hell is about to happen. But Killian comes to a halt just behind the woman, a small, knowing smile crossing his lips before he says, “Blue.”
Mother Superior jumps, whirling in surprise but then settling when she sees the two of them. She looks Killian over carefully, like she’s trying to place him and clearly can’t. But she doesn’t look afraid. Emma hadn’t realised that in his t-shirt and sweatpants and sneakers, Killian is a much less out-of-place figure, especially here in the hospital. He looks like any patient, or a visitor rather than the crazy sword-wielding, leather-wearing stranger everyone’s heard about.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asks kindly.
“We haven’t had the pleasure. But I’m acquainted with an old friend of yours.”
“Oh?”
Killian nods and Emma thinks that maybe that old friend isn’t a friend anymore. “We need something from you.”
“What’s that?”
“Magic,” Killian answers and Emma tries to hide her exasperation and her confusion as Mother Superior looks to her for an explanation. She can’t give one. Emma can see her trying to make sense of his words when finally a soft, almost pitying expression crosses the nun’s face.
“Is someone you care about ill?” Killian frowns at her, nearly ripping his hand away when she takes it in both of hers. But he pauses, looking at their joined hands as though something’s wrong, something’s missing. “Faith can do a lot,” she promises sympathetically. “And my sisters and I would be happy to pray with you and your loved one. But there’s no magic cure, not like you’re asking for. We don’t have that kind of power.”
Emma watches Killian pull his hand back, watching the woman strangely. “Aye, you don’t.” He seems surprised, like he genuinely expected her to have magic, but also like he believes her that she doesn’t have it. He looks at the two other nuns, the same kind of surprised understanding pulling at his features. Then he nods and heads off the way they came. “That complicates things,” he mutters to himself more than to her.
“What does?”
“This is the Land Without Magic - the very thing we need to leave.”
“Magic? What do you mean magic?”
He looks at her like she’s exasperating. “Magic, Swan. Spells, potions, enchantments. In our case, fairy dust.”
Emma stares at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for him to smirk or elaborate; but he’s dead serious apparently. “Fairy dust? What is that? Some kind of drug?” Is that what’s been causing his delusions? Has he been high out of his mind this whole time? Or had he indulged too much and permanently messed up his sense of reality.
“We need a fairy,” is the only answer she gets and she stares, frown deepening in confusion.
“As in tiny, magic women with wings?” As in Tinkerbell? She nearly asks but is too afraid of what his answer might be.
“Aye. That woman… I thought she would have what we need, but something’s happened to her magic - I could feel it.” ” He looks at his hand, fingers flexing as though he can still feel or not feel whatever he did when Mother Superior touched him.
“There aren’t any fairies around here. There’s no magic here, Killian.” Emma takes a deep, steadying breath. Lean into the fantasy, she reminds herself. She needs his help and if he thinks he needs to find some freaking fairy to get her to her kid then fine, so long as he does it quickly.
He thinks for a moment and then something smug crosses his expression even as she can tell he’s remembering something dark from the shadow that falls over his eyes. “That’s not entirely true.”
“Meaning?”
He smirks. “There are always loopholes.” And then he’s taking off down the hall again and she’s hurrying to catch up. Loopholes? What loopholes. Trying to keep up with him is harder than keeping up with Henry.
Henry. The weight falls over her again. She needs to find Henry. Just do whatever the crazy man wants, she tells herself. Help him find whatever loophole he’s looking for if it’ll take you to your kid. Every second longer she takes to go after him is a second longer he’s away from her, a second longer he could be in danger, a second longer he could start to worry she’s not coming for him.
“What are we looking for?” Emma asks, when she finally catches up to him, his pace slowing as his fingers hold his ribs gingerly. She debates offering to help him but knows he’s too angry to accept her help now.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who agreed not to question me.” The sharpness in his voice is a mixture of annoyance and pain as he winces.
“If I know what we’re looking for it’ll be easier for me to help you find it.”
He rolls his eyes. “An infant.”
“A baby? Why do we need a baby?”
“Do you know where to find one?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” Killian faces her with annoyance bordering on the frustration and anger from earlier.
“You’re not gonna…” she starts, looking at him hesitantly. She knows now that he wouldn’t hurt a kid, but - “We aren’t going to like, take the kid with us, right?”
“Of course not.” His face is dark as he answers, his tone sombre as he vows, “I’d never bring a child there.”
Emma nods, matching his mood. “Okay. Come on then.” She leads him to the maternity ward, the sound of cooing and crying already drifting down the hall as they approach. “Wait,” she orders when he moves to walk in. She can see Ashley, carrying Alexandra in her arms.
He sighs. “Why?”
“Look, I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from but here, people find it strange when someone just lingers around kids that aren’t theirs.” She swallows heavily, painfully before she adds, “Especially when one’s already gone missing.” The look that he gives her could almost be misconstrued as sympathy - if she didn’t know better. “Tell me what we need to do.” He looks at her like he doesn’t trust her and she doesn’t blame him. “People know me here. I have a better shot than you do.”
That seems to convince him, even if he still looks displeased. “Fairies are born in different ways in different realms. But in many, they’re born when a child laughs for the first time,” he explains, seriously.
“So we’re here…”
“To make a baby laugh.”
“So that a fairy can be born…”
“And we can capture it.”
Deep breath. “And this will get us to Henry?”
“You’re doing it again - the questioning.” She stays silent and he sighs. “I told you I would get you to your boy.”
“Okay. Okay, fine, come on.”
“Ashley! Hey,” she calls and the woman looks up.
“Emma, I heard about what happened. Have you found Henry?” Emma shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what I’d do if something happened to…” she looks down at the baby in her arms, smiling up at her, alert and happy. Emma realises she never saw Henry that way, only a glimpse of him, new and screaming, and then again ten years later. It’s like a punch to the gut. “I’m so sorry,” Ashley says again.
She nods. “This is my friend Killian,” she introduces, and Killian steps forward hesitantly. “From Boston. He’s helping me with the search.” They both smile politely at each other. “Listen, I was wondering if I could talk to you. I’m trying to interview everyone in town about whether they saw or heard anything last night.”
“Of course,” Ashley agrees, shifting Alexandra as she starts fussing. “Um, I just…” she turns to Killian then. “Could you?” she asks, before practically dumping the baby in his arms. He blinks at the mother in surprise, and then at Emma as the little bundle begins to settle and Emma gives him a pointed look. Do what you gotta do.
She tries to pretend like she’s actually asking real questions, like she’s taking note of the answers, but her focus can’t stop drifting to Killian. He’s holding the little girl in the crook of his blunted arm, bouncing her ever so slightly as he makes gentle, cooing noises, a finger reaching out to brush over her cheek.
It’s so strange and almost endearing to see him be so gentle with her, to watch the small smile tugging at his lips even as the rest of him maintains the serious demeanour he’s had all day. She remembers his fierce protectiveness over the girl he thought he had to save the other day, his patience with Henry, and she thinks maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising.
Ashley’s answering something about her whereabouts last night when Killian tickles the baby’s chin with a finger, making a silly sound that is so unexpected coming from him, before tickling her tummy. Then it happens, a small, bubbling gurgle. Ashley hears it too, rushing over as Killian makes a face at the child and she lets out another tiny, adorable giggle, this one a proper laugh.
“Oh my god, she’s never done that before!” Ashley is beaming, looking at her baby like she’s just walked on water rather than laughed for the first time. Killian pulls one more happy little sound from the kid before his gaze fixes on something and his expression turns serious and smug.
“Here,” he says, passing Alexandra back to her mom, not taking his eyes off whatever he’s fixed on, following it. Emma looks where his gaze is aimed, but can’t see anything even as Killian stalks it like a cat does a fly, eyes and head sipping around in quick, unpredictable patterns.
Then suddenly, he reaches out, quick as hell, making Ashley and Emma jump, and closes his hand around something. “Apologies,” he says when they both stare at him. “An annoying little creature.” He brings his closed hand to his chest, fingers clasped firmly but open enough so as not to crush whatever he’s holding. He nods towards the door and Emma takes the hint.
“Thanks for your help,” Emma says to the other woman. “We need to get going, more people to question.”
“Sure, good luck,” the young mom wishes them, already wrapped up in her happy baby again.
“Did you get it?” Emma asks him and he nods, holding out his hand to her. She peeks inside and for a split second she actually expects to see something. But there’s nothing there. Of course there isn’t. But whatever he thinks he’s got, he seems satisfied as he looks around.
“We need something to carry her in.”
“Uhhh,” Emma finds an empty coffee cup on a nearby table, takes the lid off to shake out the few drops left and shows it to him. “Will this work?”
“Aye, that’ll do.”
Carefully, Killian deposits his non-existent prize into the cup and then pushes her hand that’s holding the lid over the top quickly and Emma’s reminded of being a kid collecting ladybugs in mason jars, shutting them tight before they could fly out. He takes the mug from her and for a second Emma swears she sees it rattle, as though something moved inside. But that’s impossible.
“Settle down,” he tells the paper cup. “We’ll let you go soon enough.” There’s a short silence and he sighs. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going on a little trip.” Emma shuts her eyes, breathes deeply again and waits until he’s had his little moment with the imaginary fairy. “Shall we?” he asks her finally and she nods, leading them back towards the exit.
“Wait,” she says suddenly, grabbing his arm and stopping him when she spots several guards further down the hall. He hesitates but allows her to pull him around the corner when he spots the security team clearly looking for him.
“Aren’t you the Sheriff?” Killian hisses. “Surely you can dismiss your soldiers.”
“First of all, they aren’t my soldiers.” She’s honestly not sure what her authority is here. Do hospital regulations trump her own? There’s also the very likely possibility that the true authority here is Regina, and if she finds out that Emma is taking Killian out of the psych ward… it wouldn’t end well for either of them. “And secondly, I just broke you out of a mental asylum. They aren’t going to be too keen on letting you out of here. At least not without a good reason.”
“There’s only five. Can you fight?”
“We’re not fighting them! And even if we were, look at yourself. You can barely stand and you think you can take on five guards?”
“Well if you have a better idea…” His words are taunting, eyebrows raised in challenge. She doesn’t answer. “I’m waiting.”
“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Whale joins the security team then and she does have an idea. The only person who wants them out of this hospital more than her and Killian is the doctor. She can use that. “Okay. I’ve got a plan. But you’re not gonna like it.” He eyes her warily and when she pulls out her handcuffs he looks like she’s betrayed him all over again.
“I don’t think so, Swan. I’m not foolish enough to fall for your tricks.”
“It’s not a trick, okay? I need them to think I’m arresting you. Maybe if we can convince Whale that I’m taking you to the station, he’ll discharge you into my care and then they’ll have no reason to hold you here.”
“I believe I’ve been in your care before, Sheriff. It didn’t work out so well for me.”
She sighs. “Fine, my custody then. Look, it’s not real, we just need them to think it is.” He’s still not convinced. She can tell he’s seeing the reason behind her plan but he eyes the cuffs distrustfully. Emma holds them out to him. “You can put them on yourself, okay? Loose enough so that you can slip out the second we walk out that door.” Not that he’d need to. He’s already picked himself free once.
Still watching her with a narrowed gaze he hands her the coffee cup. “Careful with that!” he snaps when she takes it distractedly. Emma adjusts her grip, holding the cup more steadily, like she would if it was full. Killian takes the cuffs from her and links them around his wrists. “If you try any -”
“I won’t.” She wants to be mad at him, annoyed at his distrust, but she can’t, because he has every reason not to trust her. So instead it’s a promise. Emma takes his arm, gripping his elbow and he looks at her hand on his skin like he wants to shrug it off. “Great,” she says when he tenses and pulls away slightly. “Keep that up, we have to sell it.”
“Sell it?”
“Make them think you hate me,” she explains.
A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Trust me, Swan, that won’t be a problem.”
Killian emits a subdued kind of fury as they make their way down the hall towards the doors, the guards jumping to action when they spot them. She can hear the scratch of the radios as they alert someone that ‘the patient’s been located’, one of them running up to her, looking relieved.
“You found him,” she sighs. “Thank god.”
“Yeah,” Emma improvises. Okay cool, they think he broke himself out and she’s captured him? She can work with that. “He’s slippery, this one.” She can feel the daggers being glared into the side of her head.
“We can take him from here,” the guard says, reaching for Killian and she startles, turning wide, confused eyes on Emma when she pulls back a fraction.
“Actually… I’m going to bring him down to the station.”
“I can’t let you do that, Mam,” the woman says, sounding as authoritative as she can even as the words come out shaky at challenging the sheriff. “He’s the hospital’s responsibility until he’s been discharged.”
“I’m arresting him,” Emma cuts in. “On suspicion of a crime.” It’s weak and while she can’t see Killian she can sense his judgement.
“I still can’t let you take him.”
“Can I talk to Whale? He’s his doctor right? You’re his doctor right?” she repeats when Whale lifts his head at the sound of his name.
“Technically,” he nods, watching his patient warily and Killian smirks smugly at him. “He hasn’t been evaluated and officially transferred to the psychiatric unit yet.”
“Can you discharge him?”
“I’d like nothing more. But if he poses a danger to himself or others -”
“Then he’d be best under the care of law enforcement wouldn’t you say?”
Whale looks torn between his hippocratic oath and his desire to be rid of the man who attacked him. “Until we can make sure that his injuries are healed and we’re not liable…”
“Can’t he discharge himself against doctor’s orders or whatever?”
“Not if he’s not of sound mind to do so.”
“Not of sound mind?” Killian demands, finally unable to stay quiet. She elbows him discreetly.
“I’m putting him under arrest. You said he’s not technically under psychiatric care right? So he’s not under any kind of hold?”
“No…”
“It’s an urgent police matter.”
Whale suddenly turns curious, like he’s expecting gossip. “Does this have anything to do with the Mayor’s kid disappearing? Henry disappearing,” he amends, looking a little apologetic.
Emma hesitates. “Yes.” Killian tenses. She feels awful but it’s the closest answer she can get to the truth and a lie always sells better when there’s a hint of truth to it.
“Does Regina know about this?”
“Who do you think asked me to arrest him?”
He looks them both over carefully for a long moment, then nods. “Okay.” Emma stops herself sighing in relief, pulling Killian along behind her as she slips past Whale and the guards towards the door. “Oh, and Emma,” the doctor calls. She’s thrown by the sincerity in his expression when he tells her, “I hope you find your son.”
When they’re outside, Killian slips the cuffs off and hands them back to her roughly, his entire demeanour rigid and angry. She thinks again of the way he’d tried to save the girl in the cafeteria, of the children he talked about seeing suffer in Neverland, of the fact that he’s helping her find Henry even after everything she put him through and guilt settles heavily in her chest.
Whatever he was involved with, whoever these people are that they’re going to face, Killian’s clearly intensely protective of children, and now she’s surely started a rumour that he’s a danger to them. She doesn’t really think there’s anything she can say or do to make it better but she tries anyway.
“Look, I’m sorry I let them think that -”
“Which way to the station?” he interrupts curtly.
Right, so they’re not gonna talk about it then. “This way,” she answers, leading him towards the Bug.
“What the bloody hell is that?” he demands, looking at the car like it’s going to bite him.”
“It’ll get us to the station faster - and anywhere else we need to go.” He eyes the thing distrustfully. “ Just get in,” Emma sighs. “Please,” she adds when he doesn’t move. Killian watches her open the door and take her seat before mimicking her uncertainly and taking the cup back. He jumps when the engine starts but doesn’t comment further as they drive the few minutes to the station. When they arrive, he stumbles a little as he steps out and she decides to blame it on his injuries. “You alright?”
“I prefer ships,” is all he says. Right. Captain Hook. “My effects,” he reminds her and she nods, heading towards the building, Killian following closely behind her. It takes her a minute to dig them up. She’d sent one of the guards from the hospital to leave them here and apparently he’d decided the storage closet was the best spot.
“Here,” Emma hands him the heavy bag and he takes it with a sort of relief that makes her feel almost guilty. She knew she had to get the guy’s sword away from him but she thinks she’d be pretty stressed too if she was in a strange town and someone took all her stuff away.
Killian pulls open the bag and digs through it the same way he had the last time, removing each item carefully and then setting them down on her desk, his coat draped carefully over her chair. He frowns as he gets to the bottom of it, and she remembers that he’d been missing something last time. It’s almost as though he’d expected it to be there now - or hoped.
He proceeds to pull his shirt off over his head, making her gape at him, first in surprise and then in shock at the red and purple smudges that paint his ribs from chest to waist, the hints of more she can see on his back and arms. It’s like he’s more bruise than skin and she wonders how he’s even standing right now let alone changing into the black, gauzy shirt he retrieved from the bag. He reaches for the waist of his sweats and pauses, giving her a pointed look and Emma realises she’s been staring, turning quickly away so he can change.
It doesn’t take him long considering how many layers she knows he had on when she found him and she peeks over her shoulder when she hears the sound of his sword being sheathed, making sure he’s decent.
“That’s better.” He looks at her, and she’s biting her lip hard. “What?”
“I’m avoiding asking questions…”
“But?”
“You said you had things we needed in there. Kind of looks like you just wanted a wardrobe change.”
Killian gives her a small, sarcastic look before reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket she hadn’t found last time, pulling out a complicated-looking, gold device and setting it down on the desk between them.
“This will guide us to where we need to go,” he assures her, reaching into the same pocket again, this time pulling out a flask and smiling at it. He yanks the cork out with his teeth and takes a long drag of whatever’s inside.
Emma raises her brows at him. “And that helps how?”
He shrugs. “It’s been a trying few days. And my ribs hurt something bloody awful.”
The image of his bruises flashes in her mind again, as well as the bloody marks on his face when she’d found him. Like he jumped off a roof, the paramedic had said. And he’s been running around like that for days. Emma reaches into the drawer of her desk, rummaging around until she finds the bottle of extra-strength Tylenol she keeps in there for Regina-induced headaches. It might not help much, but it’s something.
“Here, take some of these.”
“What are they?” he asks warily.
“It’s medicine. It won’t take the pain away completely but it’ll help a little.” She doesn’t expect a thank you and she doesn’t get one but she’s honestly surprised that he takes them, swallowing a couple with his flask. He must be in even more pain than she realised if he’s setting aside his distrust of her.
“Now what?” she asks. They’ve got his things, they’ve got his little coffee cup fairy, that must mean they can go now, right? It has to.
“Now, we need a ship.”
“A ship? I don’t have a ship, Killian.” She thinks of the harbour, the closest thing she can think of is Leroy’s little fishing boat.
“Then we’ll just have to commandeer one.”
“Can’t we just take my car?”
“There aren’t any roads to Neverland.”
Of course there aren’t. She wants to yank her hair out at this insane fantasy of his. But then she realises… “It’s an island isn’t it?” She remembers the island from the movie when she was a kid. What if this place he came from was an actual freaking island somewhere off the coast? What if that’s why they can’t find Henry, because someone took him across the water on a boat while they were searching the roads and the forest? Killian only nods. “We can’t just steal a boat.”
His smirk is almost amused. “Who’s going to arrest us? You? You’re the Sheriff are you not?”
He has a point but, “Yeah and I’d like to keep that job.”
“More than you want your son back?” His words are harsh, no more amusement or mocking left and she understands his message. If she wants to save Henry she’s going to have to do a lot of things she doesn’t want to do. And she’s going to have to trust him. Emma picks up her holster and her gun, secures both firmly at her side.
“I know where we can get one.” They’re coming back. She’ll bring it back. It’s borrowing.
Killian nods, pocketing his flask and the instrument, tucking the coffee cup into the crook of his arm. “Then we’ve only one more stop to make.”
“Where’s that?”
“The Crocodile’s. He has something of mine.”
Crocodile. The word sends a shiver through her. “He’s here?” But Killian’s already heading out the door. She hurries after him, grabbing at his arm to stop him but he doesn’t listen. “Wait.” She’s ignored, his walk purposeful, his sights set now. “Killian. He almost killed you.”
He doesn’t care. “I wasn’t ready for him last time. Now I know his tricks, and it’ll be the end of him - at last.”
She tries to argue with him, that nothing can be worth facing someone who left him for dead, not now, not when he’s injured. But he won’t be deterred, her words rolling off him like water until he finally stops. For a second she thinks it’s because she’s managed to get through to him, but then she notices where they are and all the pieces start to fit together. The alley, the broken window, the shattered display case.
“Gold?” she asks but it’s not really a question. “Gold is the Crocodile?” He doesn’t answer, only glares at the sign over the pawn shop, fist clenching at his side, and steps forward.
“Killian, stop.” He ignores her again and she places herself between him and the shop, holding him back with her hands on his arms and she thinks the only reason he doesn’t push her away is that he can’t without hurting himself. “Please,” she begs and he finally looks at her.
“Why?”
“Because I need you alive!” He hesitates. “You’re my only shot at saving Henry. And Gold almost killed you once. Who’s to stop him from finishing the job this time? Please, just… wait. Until after we get my son back.”
He takes a slow breath, actually seeming to be listening to her, and then casts a glance towards the alley where she found him. “Distract him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Retrieve what’s mine.”
“Killian…”
“I won’t kill him. Not yet. But I’m not leaving without what he took.”
He’s taken off down the alley before she can stop him, before she can reason with him, and Emma stands dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk for a minute, wondering if she’s just lost her chance at saving her kid.
She looks towards the shop, blood running cold at the thought of going inside. Gold. Gold is the Crocodile. He tried to kill someone and then acted like nothing had happened the next day. He took something from Killian. Her breath catches. He also took someone. She knew the pawnbroker was shady but she didn’t think he was a killer. You’ll owe me a favour. The deal had seemed so harmless when she’d made it. She should have known better than to underestimate him.
The bell rings above her head when she opens the door. Gold is standing at the counter as always, head bent over a stack of papers and books. At first she thinks they’re records but when he looks up and sees her, he shuts them quickly, tugging a large ledger overtop of whatever he was working on.
“Miss Swan,” he greets, smile less polite than usual and she knows she’s an unwanted visitor. “How can I help you?”
“Henry’s missing.” It’s the first thing that pops into her mind, the first words out of her mouth.
“I’m aware; the Mayor was already here and I told her everything I know. I wasn’t much help, I’m afraid.”
Emma remembers he and Regina’s conversation earlier, the argument she’d witnessed and she knows he’s lying already. He clearly knew enough for her to demand his help, what she’s just learned from Killian only cements the fact that he knows much more about what happened to Henry, about the people involved, than he’s letting on. She should arrest him right now for assault. But she can’t do that without giving Killian away, without raising suspicions.
“Yeah, well, Regina’s a lot of things but she’s not the Sheriff. So we’re gonna have to do this in a more official sense.”
Gold sighs. “I’m really quite busy at the moment. And, like I said, I’ve already told the Mayor -”
“I know it must be frustrating, having me come here to your place of work. We can do this down at the sheriff’s station, if you’d rather.” Emma doesn’t try to hide the thin attempt at intimidation and he narrows his eyes at her. “There’s a lot of people out there though and it’s a bit of a walk. Wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea…”
“Here will be fine,” he allows with a small glare. But I really am quite busy…”
“I’ll make it quick.” She doesn’t miss the way his elbow settles over the ledger book and the stack of papers hidden beneath it.
“So, where were you last night?”
“At home, asleep.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
His brows shoot up. “Are you asking me if I have an alibi?”
“Do you need one?” The question hangs heavily between them and for the first time, in the silence of an unanswered threat, she wonders if he could have had something to do with Henry’s disappearance, if he could be involved in whatever is happening in ‘Neverland’.
“No,” he says finally. “But I have cameras outside my home should you feel the need to confirm my lack of nighttime escapades.”
“Cameras?” she asks, emphasising the plural. “Why so much security?”
His smirk crawls over his face, interested now, like they’re playing a game. “I have many enemies, Miss Swan. One doesn’t become successful without making a few along the way.”
“And who are they?” she presses. This may have started as a distraction, but now she wonders if she should consider this a real interrogation, if he should be a real suspect…
Before Gold can give whatever answer he had prepared, there’s a small noise from the back room and he stops, beginning to turn towards it. Emma panics, doing the first thing she can think of. The second his elbow is off the pile of papers and he’s looking away, she shoves them and a nearby snowglobe onto the floor. He whirls back around at the sound of breaking glass, looking over and cursing at the pages strewn about, some getting soaked in by the water from the globe.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Emma says quickly, kneeling down to start picking them up as he finds his cane. She uses the opportunity to snoop, trying to find anything important. None of it makes sense to her, drawings of maps, equations and letters in a language she doesn’t know.
But one thing catches her eye as she hears Gold pick up his walking stick and take a step to make his way around the counter. A single word, signed in elegant script on the bottom corner of a page. Milah. The same name from Killian’s tattoo. Without looking at it, she snags the piece of paper and shoves it in her pocket before Gold can see and begins collecting the rest into a pile, shaking the water off some as best she can.
“Leave it,” Gold says in frustration, struggling to kneel down next to her among the mess. “I think you’ve done more than enough.”
“No really, I don’t mind -”
“But I do,” he cuts her off. “If you have any more questions, Sheriff, I’ll come by the station at another time.”
“At least let me get you a broom,” she offers, realising he may keep it in the back room and her plan at distraction could completely backfire. She’s already headed that way before he can protest or get up to stop her.
Gold sighs. “It’s in the storage closet, next to the office,” he calls after her.
When she passes through the curtain, she half expects to find Killian there, rummaging through the various objects scattered around on desks and shelves. But the room is empty, no sign of anything having been distrubed and she can only hope that means he’s found what he was looking for and gone. She does a quick sweep of the space to be safe before grabbing the broom and heading back out to the front of the store.
“Here,” she says, leaning it against the counter and offering another apology before telling him she’ll call if she needs him to come into the station and leaving before he can notice that she’s stolen one of his pages. It’s only once she’s outside and around the block that she risks reaching into her pocket and pulling the piece of paper out.
It’s a drawing, a beautiful woman with dark hair, dressed in the same strange, outdated style of clothing as Killian. The paper’s old, worn and brittle, the crease having been folded and unfolded many times like the other she’d noticed in his pocket when she’d searched his things. But there’s not a smudge or a mark or a drop of anything on the page, nothing to marr the image, and Emma doesn’t have to wonder who this woman was to Killian. But she does wonder who she was to Gold.
“What’s that?” Killian’s voice startles Emma from her thoughts as he joins her, arms empty still apart from the cup.
“I found this in his things. I think it might be yours,” she says, handing the drawing to him. He looks at it for a long moment before he takes it from her gently, expression wrapped in melancholy.
“Aye,” Killian agrees, the word barely a whisper. And then, to her surprise, “Thank you.” He only lets himself stare at the image for another few seconds before folding it carefully and tucking it into yet another pocket she hadn’t found. She’s starting to think he’s wearing the Mary Poppins bag of coats.
He clears his throat. “Come on, we have a ship to steal.”
***
Stealing a boat turns out to be a lot easier than Emma expected. The harbour has literally zero security and while Killian scoffs at the selection of old speedboats and fishing boats, he ends up settling on one he says will make due for now. They board the sailboat - ‘A Cut Above’ - and Emma rolls her eyes realising they’re absolutely stealing Whale’s boat, but decides not to tell Killian. He’d probably take way too much joy in the fact.
There’s no hot-wiring needed, no key, Killian simply using the sails and the wheel to get them out of the harbour and out to sea, shouting orders to her that she has to clarify over and over again. “Release the dock lines!” “The what?” “Take the starboard side.” “Which one’s that?” She didn’t think he could get more annoyed at her, like her any less, but she’s proving them both wrong.
They’ve been sailing for hours and Emma is using all of her strength not to ask if they’re there yet, the nerves having finally caught up to her now that they’re really on their way to Henry. All the fear and the anticipation and the adrenaline hit her at once and she hasn’t been able to shake it since Storybrooke disappeared into the horizon a couple of hours ago. The sun is starting to set when she can’t keep it in anymore.
“Are we close?”
“Aye,” is his only answer from where he’s manning the tiller - she knows that word now - the coffee cup resting carefully on the dash.
“How close?”
He sighs. He’s been quiet since they left Storybrooke, since he was done giving orders. A mood’s fallen over him, dark and foreboding and heavy and she’d felt it seep into her.
Wherever they’re going, he doesn’t want to be. He’d sworn he’d never go back and yet she’s dragged him to some place that left him scarred and angry and terrified. But despite all that, he’s taking her there. For Henry. She doesn’t think there’s any way she’ll ever be able to repay him for this. She doesn’t even know where she’d start.
“We need to wait until dark.”
“Why?”
“To have the stars to navigate by.”
“Can’t you use a GPS?”
“A what?”
“Nevermind.”
When it’s dark enough out, Killian pulls the device he’d shown her earlier from his pocket, holding it up to his eye and lining it up with something she doesn’t bother to ask about until he seems satisfied. That’s the wrong word. He’s found what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t look pleased with it, he looks… grim.
“Take this.” He picks up the coffee cup and hands it to her. She takes it carefully even though it feels ridiculous. “Go stand by the main sail.” That’s the big one. “When I give the order, open it and send her into the sail.” What? Oh, right, the fairy. She’s pretty sure all that’s going to do is possibly get a few drops of coffee on the canvas and make Whale even more pissed off but whatever, finding Henry is more important.
Killian’s turning the wheel, whirling the boat around and catching the wind, gaining speed, a surprising amount considering they’re not sailing with any motor. The navigation tool is raised again, double checking before he pulls something, another sail drops and their speed increases even more, the wind sending Emma’s hair whipping into her face until she can hardly see.
“Second star to the right and straight on till morning,” he mutters, the phrase quietly familiar, lost to the sound of the wind. She looks back at Killian; he’s pulling something from his pocket and her throat goes dry when she sees it. A hook. A hook that he clicks into place where his missing hand would be. Then he’s shouting “Now!”
Emma jumps then scrambles to take the lid off and makes a show of tossing the contents of the empty cup towards the main sail. There’s a second, then her stomach drops. The ship lurches up like they’ve hit a giant wave, like they’re about to crash down hard, too hard, and she falls back against the deck. The seconds that tick by feel like those right before the drop in a roller coaster, the heart hammering, anticipation building, panic inducing wait, and Emma can feel the blood rushing in her ears.
But the fall never comes, only the weightless, suspended feeling, the jump before the plunge and she crawls over to the edge of the boat, grabs the rail to haul herself up and look out at what’s happening. Emma screams, the sea so far below them now, as she throws herself back onto the ground. Turning, she looks at Killian, heart racing, hoping for an explanation, but he only looks ahead, steering the ship towards the stars.
“What the fuck?” she screams again, looking over the edge once more and seeing the faint outline of land and water growing smaller and smaller beneath them, and still, they’re climbing. “What the actual fuck?!”
They’re flying. The ship is flying… just like in the story. This can’t be real, it can’t be real. And yet the stars grow closer, two shining bright directly ahead as they cut a path through the sky. She looks at the sail, caught by the faint shimmer that wasn’t there a moment ago, or at least that she couldn’t see.
A small, shining light zips by her, circling her head and stopping in front of her face and for a second, Emma sees something in it, a woman, tiny and glowing and angry. No.
“How are you doing this?” Emma demands and Killian looks at her solemnly.
“I told you there were things in this world beyond your understanding.” He watches her as she stares at what can only be a fairy, the small, winged woman flipping her off before shooting away towards the sky, disappearing into the stars. A grim smirk pulls at Killian’s lips when she turns shocked eyes on him. “Perhaps you do have some belief after all.”
And she does. There’s no way not to. All the fantasies and insanity that she’d accused him of, that she’d argued against, everything Henry had sworn was true… It’s real. It’s all real.
*******
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