I’m having a lot of feelings right now, and if I have to feel this pain, so do you. (You can blame @thesschesthair. I read her story this afternoon, and the feels just won’t stop.)
Whatever you do, don’t think about Killian 2.0 sneaking into his daughter’s tower every night as soon as darkness falls.
Don’t think about him loving her and spoiling her and bringing her treats and playing chess with her.
Don’t think about him telling her tales of all his outrageous adventures, edited to be appropriate for a child.
Don’t think about her sniffing back tears every time he has to leave, because she wants to be papa’s big girl, but she misses him sooooo much whenever he’s gone.
Don’t think of his heart breaking every time he has to leave, because he sees her tears and he’d cut off his other hand himself if it would save her from pain.
Don’t think about him vowing with everything in him that he will be back the next night, same as always.
Don’t think about the witch catching him and cursing him.
Don’t think about his little girl’s heartbreak when daddy doesn’t come the next night...or the night after that...or the night after that.
Don’t think about Killian’s panic, knowing he can’t keep his promise, he can’t go see his little girl, and the thought of her missing him and crying just about kills him.
Don’t think about him going through every realm he can looking for True Love because he has to find his baby girl again. He has to save her, no matter what he has to do to get there.
Don’t think about Killian finally finding Emma again and thinking he’d found the one way to get back to his daughter.
Don’t think about him hearing about Emma and Killian’s baby to be and his heart sinking, because he can’t separate another father from his child, he just can’t.
Don’t think about any of it, because you will cry so very, very much.
A/N: I may have gotten ridiculously emotional at 4am last night thinking about Wish!Killian and his daughter. Then this happened. Completely unbeta’d and written on a serious lack of sleep, so forgive me for any errors.
AO3
The moon shone bright overhead as Killian snuck up to the base of the tall tower. In any other circumstances, the captain would have felt exposed by it, but the thick brush and vines that extended the length of tower provided the perfect cover. Anyways, he was certain that the coast was clear; he had spent the past few hours making damn sure of it, in fact.
A quick flash of light, followed by two long ones, two short ones, and another long one, repeated over and over. Just as he’d taught her.
Mindful of the sharp thorns that protruded in the usual areas from the web-like growth, Killian began scaling the stone wall of the tower. It was a climb he had made numerous times before, and he would have sworn he could have made it to the top window just as quickly even without the glowing sky to guide him. Still, he found himself nearly puffing with exertion as he hauled himself through the paneless window, rolling over the edge and collapsing in a graceless heap on the stone floor.
The room was pitch black, the moonlight at just the wrong angle to provide any illumination and no sign of the candle that had beckoned him, though he thought he could smell the faint hint of extinguished smoke. He squinted, peering into the darkness as he listened for any sound of movement. There was none.
For a moment, the feeling of terror and dread washed over him. Where was she? He straightened up, reflexively moving his hand to where his sword was strapped to his hip.
Just as he made to take a step into the room, anxious to find its occupant, he felt something move behind him. Before he could react, a body slammed into him from behind him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. An arm came up across his throat, pulling his head back against his attacker’s shoulder. A pair of short legs wrapped around his middle, squeezing tight.
“You’re getting slow, old man,” came the playful whisper in his ear.
In a move almost as quick as his assailant’s, Killian reached over his head and hauled the small body over his shoulder and into his arms. The small girl squealed in laughter, wriggling in his grasp until she had regained her footing on the floor. It didn’t last long, and a second later, Killian found himself enveloped in another bone crushing hug, this time from the front. He returned it eagerly, resting his cheek on the top of the ten year old’s head.
“You know,” he said finally, kissing the top of her head, “some days I regret having taught you that move.”
Even in the dark he could feel the radiance of her smile. “No you don’t,” she countered.
“No, I don’t,” he admitted, his own grin widening.
The young child scampered off into the darkness then, and Killian waited patiently until the spark of the candle being reignited illuminated the room once more.
The room was small and circular, the only pieces of furniture being the small cot off to one side, a wooden stool with a water pitcher sat on top, and a basket of clothes stacked neatly against the wall. The walls were covered in markings and drawings, some clearly depicting scenes from stories that he had told her, while others were new and unknown to him. He would need to ask her about them later.
(Killian blatantly ignored the markings of the tallied days of her imprisonment. It was something she had thought to begin on her own, and he hadn’t had the heart to stop her.)
He ran his eyes over her quickly, surveying his daughter’s slight form where she stood in her nightgown. It hadn’t been that long since his last visit - three days and only two nights, the longest since her entrapment - but his mind never ceased to worry until he saw her again. Though her hair had clearly not been brushed since the last time he’d visited, she appeared well enough. Her eyes were bright, her arms and legs were strong and solid, and there was a splash of colour in her cheeks. She was just as perfect as he remembered. It was only then that he let out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
“Did you bring them?” She asked excitedly.
“Aye, I did,” he responded with a wink.
He dug around in his pockets, emptying the contents on the floor between them. Twenty eight small chess pieces, old and cracked from lack of care, and half of a stick of chalk.
The little girl dropped to the floor, snatched up the chalk, and began drawing out a checkerboard on the stone floor, just as her father had once shown her. Killian sat across from her, easing himself down a little more stiffly than his daughter had. The years that had been suppressed during his time in Neverland seemed to be catching up with him slowly each day, it seemed.
“You’re missing some,” she noted, picking through the small pile.
“Aye, well, it’s all I was able to gather,” he said, reaching back to scratch behind his ear. “I’ll see if I can’t track down some more for next time.”
Once the board was drawn up, Killian divvied up the pieces and began placing them on the board. They were short by a few pawns and a white bishop, but they made do with a spare button and some doubloons. He passed the black to his daughter’s side; they had played enough times before for him to know what her preference was.
The game began as it often did; Killian choosing careful and tactical moves that easily gobbled up his daughter’s messily sprawled pawns. Small, she might be, but his daughter’s competitive side rivaled only his own, and letting her win out of hand would have invoked a fury that Killian was not prepared to handle. That said, if he turned a blind eye to the safety of his own pieces, sacrificing a few pawns of his own, the little girl didn’t have to know.
But the game quickly took an unusual turn, and before long the little girl was left with a dwindling set of players and a king only a few moves away from checkmate. Killian frowned as he watched his pile of captured pieces grow, and the crease between his daughter’s eyebrows deepen. His knight moved ahead again, putting the black king in check. The little girl barely seemed to notice, her eyes glazed over where they were fixed on the board.
“Ah, darling,” he prompted with a tight smile, hoping to regain the girl’s attention. “You see? You’ve left your rook open for the taking.”
Killian’s heart sank in his chest when she didn’t even flinch, his smile fading. For all his past talk of his ways with women, he had never actually known any girls in his youth, and far fewer children. In fact, aside from Liam’s makeshift role, he had never even had parents.
He sighed, resisting the urge to rub his hand over his face in frustration.
Perhaps everyone had been right. What did Captain Hook know about being a father?
Sure, he had tried his best over the past few years, with some degree of success. The few days when the games and gifts were all it took to bring a smile to his daughter’s face were easy enough. Her eyes would light up at the sight of a sweet treat he had swiped from a marketplace, or she would gasp in wonder at a card trick he had picked up from a pickpocket. On days like those, when she was beaming up at him with nothing but joy in her face, he felt like a real father. Like he could possibly - by the grace of God himself - be the father that his little girl wanted. The father she deserved.
But more often than not, he was faced with the other days. The days that left him feeling a failure, made worse by the horrible circumstances that had befallen them. His daughter was as strong and beautiful a girl as he could have ever dreamed of having, but he could see the sadness that lingered behind her eyes, even when she tried to hide it.
And that, of course, was the worst part, wasn’t it? Instead of exploring the world and becoming the woman she was always meant to be, his little girl was trapped in a tower, feebly attempting to hide her disappointment for the sake of her father. She had had everything taken away from her, and yet she still felt responsible for putting on a brave face.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought. He was the one that was meant to protect her. That was his duty as a father - more so than the gifts and the treats and the visits. And yet he couldn’t seem to get even that right. And yet, he still had no idea how to fix it. Hell, he didn’t even know where to start!
Killian Jones had never felt so alone.
“Perhaps we should start again, shall we?” He asked weakly, trying to mask the pain in his voice.
Much to his relief, she did speak this time.
“No, no. It’s just that...” she sighed, reaching across to tip the small black castle on it’s side in defeat. “I wish it were that easy.”
His heart twisted further in his chest.
“Hey, now. Look at me,” he urged, gently catching her chin with his finger to peer into her eyes. “Look at me darling.”
She looked up, and Killian felt a lump form in his throat as he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes.
“They will never be able to keep us apart. Not really,” he promised, his voice stern. When she appeared unconvinced, he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Even now, look at us. Thick as thieves, we are.”
A single tear spilled from the corner of his daughter’s eye, and it sent a stab straight to his heart. He moved his thumb quickly moved to swipe it away before leaning forward to press a light kiss to her head.
“Now, no more tears, darling.”
She sniffed, but she wiped her eyes. “Yes, papa.”
The little girl glanced back at the board before her, her eyes lighting back up mischievously as she spotted an opening. Reaching forward, she moved her queen forward until it reached the spot where the white horse head figurine sat, kicking it over with the bottom of her piece.
“And now I have your knight,” she giggled, her voice sounding lighter already.
Killian smiled fondly back. “You can keep that, darling. And I will keep this,” he said, picking up the fallen rook between two fingers and slipping it into his breast pocket.
The last remains of sorrow disappeared from her face, as she snatched up her piece in her hand, beaming at it as though it was the best gift she had ever received.
“You can be my white knight!”
Killian made a face.
“Wouldn’t you rather me be your dashing pirate?” He teased.
She tilted her head, looking at him intently as though she were trying to see her father as the swashbuckler he was meant to be. “No,” she shrugged, holding the piece close to her chest. “I just like you as my papa.”
Well he’d be damned if he didn’t admit his heart skipped a beat at that. The old captain flushed, turning his attention to the abandoned game on the floor.
“What say we get you into bed, princess?” He said gruffly, scooping up the pieces and replacing them in his pocket. The little girl made a face, but fetched a handkerchief from the basket in the corner and began wiping down the stone floors. When all traces of their game were gone, she crawled into bed, scooting to the far edge of the wall to make room for her father. Once she was settled, Killian snuffed out the candle and made his way through the dark to sit beside her.
It took a bit of maneuvering to fit them both on the narrow mattress, but after a bit of wriggling, his daughter was curled up into his side, the blankets tucked tightly around her small body.
“Tell me a story,” she asked, her voice already full of sleep. It had always amazed him how easily his daughter was able to fall asleep. He hoped it was normal. Not that he would have any idea of what to do anyhow.
“You’ve heard all of my stories already a thousand times over.”
“A song, then?” She encouraged.
Killian sighed in mock defeat but nodded, thinking as his eyes flickered over the stone ceiling above them. He settled on an old sea shanty, one that he had learned in the navy centuries ago. It wasn’t the happiest of songs, but it was soft and slow, and there wasn’t as much cursing as the other ones. The repetitive verses had a certain sway to them, like the gentle rolling of waves on a calm morning. It was a song that he had used to sing her to sleep a million times before, and though he was sure she knew every word by heart, she only listened patiently as her father’s voice rose and fell with the words.
The darkness never quite seemed to reclaim the room as the shanty came to it’s inevitable slow conclusion, the echo of the last note hanging in the air. He could feel the gentle puffs of his daughter’s breath where her head rested on his arm, and for a moment he thought she might have fallen asleep. But a moment later, her small voice broke the silence.
“Will she come back?”
He didn’t need to ask to know who she meant. There was only one other person who ever came to the tower. Her jailor.
“Yes, lass,” he admitted, brushing his hand through her hair to help soothe her.
“Will you stay with me?”
“I will, love,” he promised, placing another kiss to the top of her head. “Go to sleep.”
Killian Jones and Emma Swan have earned from the show creators, therefore it is canon, two titles: Kindred Spirits and True Love. These two emblems define their relationship. Now, I have read on my dash people debating about the Soul Mate category. This is just my opinion but, if we think about semantics, kindred spirits and soul mates seem to refer to, practically, a similar type of deep connection. Technically, one seems to be related to the spirit, the other to the soul. The challenge becomes, then, to establish a comparison between spirit and soul. This is a subtle task and I don’t think the writers of Ouat go so deep in their narrative, it is not their usual, actually they are known as mixers of symbols, tales, legends and mythologies, they make a full salad with them.
The discussion I saw came out because of Killian 2.0, the Wish version of Killian 1.0. Considering that both are equally real and share the exact same story up to the point where Wish Regina did not cast the first dark curse, would Killian 2.0 be allowed to find his True Love? His Soul Mate? His Kindred Spirit?
For me, the answer is yes, and I do believe that her name is Emma (maybe not Swan, because of a divergent story in the Wish Realm, but she is the daughter of Wish Snow and Wish David (who, unfortunately, have passed away thanks to Regina). I believe that she is his deepest connection of soul and spirit, she is his true love, the same way as he is hers.
I insist that the best solution for the Wish Mess, under a narrative perspective, to fix its major plot holes would be if there was a Wish Emma, somehow trapped somewhere, maybe in an object carried by Wish Hook (could be the rook) and because of that she would be, now, also cursed in HH. Maybe trapped in that Fremont Troll to where Rogers, Alice and Weaver use to go - maybe she is the Guardian!! (dreaming too much, I know). If the Wish Emma plot could become true, though, there could be another small problem, but easily sorted out by tracing for her a parallel with the paths’ divergence, similarly to the paths for Killian 2.0 and Killian 1.0. Wish Emma is not Emma Swan, but Killian 2.0 is not Killian 1.0. The Wish version of Captain Swan could still be Kindred Spirits (or Soul Mates) and True Love.
Wish Emma is a dream of mine, a wish that, unfortunately, I don’t believe will become canon.
Just realized why I can get into S7 Hook. He has real Hooks face to satisfy the fan girls and is a one dimensional boy scout. This could've been brilliant. Colin loved playing Wish Hook. Don't Do three hours of make up, but some grey, a little paunch, modernize Wish Hook. Give me some of the sass and humour! Give me some conflict about who he is and was. Tempted by alcohol, etc. You don't just turn noble after a moment with Emma. I'm done with the show and Tumblr but I will still read your FF!
You do what you need to do Nonnie. Some people like the season and Wish Hook, some don’t, and there’s nothing wrong with making your choice about watching or not accordingly.
Personally, I really like Wish Hook. The rest of this explains why. Feel free to read or not as you see fit. (Disclaimer: this is just my opinion; it’s not meant to say anything negative about anyone who disagrees.)
I think you have a point about his sass and humor, but for me, it’s important to remember that he’s currently cursed. Just as David was much more wishy-washy as cursed David Nolan, Wish Hook is...much different from the wish Hook we saw either in 6x11 or in 7x2. I think we’ll get his sass in alternate EF scenes, and also once the curse is broken, but for now, he doesn’t know he’s NOT the straight-laced “eagle scout”.
Even so, I think there is more to Detective Rogers than the lieutenant or Weaver give him credit for. He’s tenacious, and he’s his own man, willing to defy the powers that be to get justice and futher his objectives. He’s also not afraid to get his hands dirty and intimidate those who need to be intimidated (and I’m not going to lie; Killian in intimidation mode is hot). It’s that deeply ingrained sense of honor and “good form” that both our Killian and Wish Hook had before their paths diverged, and continued to have no matter how far into piracy and villainy they ventured.
As far as Emma, I don’t think it was really Emma that led him to change; I think it’s the daughter he’s searching for. Emma just helped him to believe that he could be a good man and still find/be reunited with his daughter. In a way, she’s his north star, just like she’s our Killian’s (even though she’s not wish Hook’s TL).
I’m finding him and his story about searching for his daughter to be one of the most compelling parts of season 7, and the reason I’m still as involved as I am.
Okay, as The Great Tag Controversy of 2017 seems to be in full swing right now, I figured I should figure out how I plan to refer to Colin O’Donoghue’s characters on OUAT. Here’s the plan:
Emma Swan’s husband who’s back in Storybrooke: Killian Jones
One of the good things that season 7 brought up but they are going to cut off in the finale, it seems (from spoiler pictures): Roger/Killian 2.0 with a modern prosthetic/"robotic" hand, doing things more normally with two hands thanks to high tech. That is unbelievable and ridiculously forced: making him switching back to a medieval (iconic?) hook is one of the dumbest things in the Pantheon of Dumb Things of OUaT. I guess that might be something contractual due to trademark, some kind of legal right obligation for "using" the character “Captain Hook”, I can't see any other reason for such retrograde “replacement”. It's similar to not making Emma using Light Magic for giving Killian 1.0 another hand, or not making "redeemed" Rumple giving back and restoring his original hand - which we know, because we have been told, he had kept in his shop, probably until leaving SB with Belle.
So Rumple went to the realm where the Guardian was, he would go straight to him/her, even if he/she didn’t know yet about his/her condition...
In the scene below they are leading us to deduce that Alice is the Guardian or is connected to him/her...
So, maybe she is the one Rumple is looking for, or maybe.... Killian Jones (2.0) is the Guardian, which would be quite interesting given that Rumple and Killian have such a strong connection of FATE/DESTINY, no matter in what realm, in what reality, or time or space.
OR, maybe, in a wildest speculation, the Guardian is someone trapped in an object carried by either Alice Jones or Killian Jones 2.0 - could be her Rook, or his Knight. This someone could be (my wildest dream) Wish Emma, trapped since the Evil Queen wished for Emma Swan’s wish of never being a Savior to become true. Well, Wish Emma may not be born as the Savior but she may be born as... (tan tan!!!), the Guardian!!!
That would be so good, one can, by free choice, dream....
