Once Upon a Time 1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **My first attempt at a multi-chapter story for _Once Upon a Time. _With summer here I will do my best to stay focused and try to update regularly, but I make no promises on a set schedule. I hope that you enjoy reading it, and will let me know if the characters get too out of character. Constructive Criticism is always welcomed!

_Disclaimer: I have never and will never claim rights to _Once Upon a Time_,__ its characters or plot. I simply borrow them temporarily for amusement purposes to tide myself over until the fall season begins once again. :) _

* * *

><p><em>But you'll be rewarded<br>When at last I am given my dues  
>And injustice deliciously squared<br>~ The Lion King, "Be Prepared"_

_0-0-0_

The woman barely glanced up at the figure that entered her office. "This girl is your next target." She slid a glossy photo across the smooth, dark wood surface of her desk before returning back to her piles of reports.

"Not interested," came the reply from her doorway.

Flinty eyes finally glanced up to see the man leaning casually against the doorframe, an almost bored expression on his hard face. A sharp, dangerous smile flitted briefly across her own. "You will be with _this_ one." Legendary icy blue eyes met her own dark ones and her smile hardened. "She knows how to get in contact with Gold."

His gaze narrowed, a spark of something dark flashing behind his irises. "How?"

She knew she had his full attention now, but she merely responded offhandedly. "Ask her yourself when you find her."

"And how do you propose I should – _extract_ this information? By charm and wit or more…_forceful_ terms?" His grin was a challenge; they both knew he'd only follow her orders so far. Allies or not, he had his own set of codes and rules that he adhered to most astringently.

She gave the smallest of shrugs with her shoulders as if she couldn't care either way, but they both knew that was nothing more than show. She had tolerated his bending of her orders because of the results they produced, but she had begun to wear of his constant resistance to her authority. "However you choose, though I would prefer the former." She turned back to her notes. "When you are done with her I want her brought back here."

His brow rose in interest. "Are you branching off into kidnap and extortion now, your Ladyship?"

His tone earned him a glare in response. "My affairs are my own, _Captain._ All you need know is that the girl might have information I desire as well."

As the two stared each other down for a moment he finally gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if deciding that he really didn't care all too much anyhow. He pushed himself off the doorframe and made his way towards her desk. "Does this new target have a name?"

Amusement glimmered in her eyes for the briefest of moments. "She has had many names and aliases in her life, but the one our sources say she currently answers to is a 'Miss Emma Swan.'"

The name caused his brows to rise in slight surprise. "Swan, eh? Is she an undercover agent for the royal family then?"

A look of annoyance flashed through her dark eyes. "She holds information about the royal line, including your old enemy, Captain," her voice was clipped. "That's all you need know."

He smiled crookedly in return, soaking in the pleasure of being one of the few who could get under her skin and live to tell about it. "The less sordid details, the easier the mark," he quipped before glancing at the photo still lying on the surface of her desk. "The man in the photo with her –"

"Her hired bodyguard," she interrupted, waving the matter aside as if it was nothing more than an annoying gnat hovering around her ear.

He whistled lowly between his teeth. "Her information is that valuable? She must be quite the insider to feel she needs protection." He let his eyes roam over the figures in the photo. "Should I be concerned about this _bodyguard_ problem of hers?"

There came a sigh of impatience at all the questions before she responded with a cool assurance that bordered on arctic. "The problem will be nullified before you make contact."

He studied the powerful woman before him sitting cozily behind her desk. "Then why not simply have your 'problem-solvers' detain her?"

The woman pursued her lips in displeasure, the closest thing she'd ever come to a scowl. "This target is as tight-lipped about the secrets she possesses as she is elusive to catch. I'm hoping your," her gaze flitted over his figure briefly and her lip twitched, "_charm and wit_ convince her to loosen her lips before having to resort to more extreme measures." Her lips lifted in a mockery of amusement, the cold that radiated off her chilling the very air around her. "Failing your charm, I believe you capable enough of gaining information from her in more – _creative_ manners, though I urge you to leave her mostly intact before delivering her here."

Pale blue eyes read the nuances on the woman's face before him, making sure to keep a tight lock on his own thoughts as he replied. "So you want me to seduce the lass into giving up state secrets, but if she proves resistant to my advances you wish me to force them from her by any means necessary so long as she's alive by the end of the procedures?"

Her eyes gleamed with dark desire. "Precisely."

He glanced back briefly at the female in the photo. "And if I say I'd prefer to _not_ stain my hands in crimson with this one?"

An impatient _tsk_ sounded in the quiet room before her irritated tone filled the silence, "Patch up your bleeding heart, Captain. It's been several years since then. This is a _war_. There's no time to play the gentleman just because your target's a woman."

He stared back, his jaw-clenched in anger until she sighed in exasperation.

"If you don't find a way to break her, Captain, _I will_."

He grimaced internally, letting his gaze travel back to the woman – _Swan_, his thoughts reminded him – in the snapshot once more. _Poor lass, what ill-fated star were you born under?_ Pictures of another woman filled his mind, followed swiftly by the memories of another man, then several men accompanied by screams, blood –_pain _and he hardened his resolve. He might finally have the best shot at his revenge, he couldn't hesitate now. He wasn't about to let a mere woman get in the way of letting the spirits of his haunted past finally be laid to rest.

"No worries, your Ladyship," his grin was almost feral. "It won't be any trouble. She'll talk – one way or another, and we'll both get what we need."

Her answering smile was like that of a cat that had just caught a mouse and he tried his best not to think of who the smile was meant for – him or this Swan woman.

He took a moment to study his new target's features – wild, flaxen hair surrounding vivid green eyes in a fair face – before tucking the photo securely in a pocket inside his dark, leather jacket and making his way out of the office.

If he was lucky – if they were _all_ lucky – this Emma Swan could be the key to all their hopes and dreams, the last puzzle piece that could shift the entire course of the never-ceasing battles.

And then finally – _finally!_

_This infernal war could be over._


	2. Chapter One

**Author's Note:** This is my first time every writing about Graham... I hope I did his character justice. Let me know if I'm horribly off my mark there! Constructive Criticism is always welcomed.

* * *

><p><em>We'd up and fly if we had wings for flyin'<br>Can't you see the tears we're cryin'?  
>Can't there be some happiness for me?<br>~ Robin Hood, "Not in Nottigham"_

0-0-0

_Chapter One_

She'd made it, though she wasn't entirely sure how.

Emma sank warily into her seat on the plane, feeling as if she's aged a hundred years in the last several hours. Her nerves were strung so tight that when a plane stewardess snapped an overhead bin closed Emma jerked as if she'd been electrocuted.

Emma clenched her shaking fingers into tight fists as she attempted to sit back in her seat and hide in its non-existent depths. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes but she stubbornly pushed them away.

The sharp ache of loss lanced through her and Emma turned to curl her legs up onto her seat to face the gray-filtered light coming in through the tiny hole of a window on her right. Even as she sharply reprimanded herself for it, a few hot tears slid loose and trailed down her pale cheeks.

_Graham…_

Emma hugged her arms tightly around her chest to keep the anguish inside where no one could see it.

Graham hadn't just been her bodyguard and guide; he'd also been her friend. He had been a friend of her parents' since before she was born; she couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been in her life.

Oh god, _her parents_. What was she going to tell them?! _How_ was she going to tell them?

_If you ever get to tell them_, a dark voice whispered in her mind.

Emma slid her fingers up underneath her hair and pressed them to her ears, trying to shut out the hideous voice that all too readily reminded her of her realities with horrifying clarity and brutality.

_This _has_ to work. It can't all be in vain. His death can't be in vain._

Emma watched, helplessly, as all the events of the morning replayed like a cruel home video in her head.

"_Emma! Get up! We have to move."_

_Emma started awake in an instant, her eyes automatically sweeping the hovel of a room they had checked into in the dead of night mere hours before for signs of imminent danger. "What is it? What's happening?" _

_Graham's dark gray eyes swept the shadows once more before motioning for her to grab everything she needed as he snatched a torn and battered backpack from the corner it had been flung into for her to shove it all back in. _

"_They've set someone on our trail," his answer was tense and low from strain. _

_Emma winced. "Another one? Can't they just give up already?" _

_Graham's answering smile was tight. "We're almost there. Once we're on that plane and out of this land, they'll have their hands tied; they wouldn't dare risk continuing this war once your family knows you're safe." _

"_If my family is even still alive," Emma muttered. Gentle fingers slid under her chin, lifting her startled eyes to meet his stern ones. _

"_They're alive, Emma," his tone left no room for argument. "You saw the letter yourself; they're waiting for you." _

_Emma's eyes welled as she fought back against the swell of hope that threatened to rise in her chest. "Are we _sure_ this time?" Her voice was thick. "Remember what happened last time we followed a lead?" She closed her eyes against the pain of watching her godmother staying behind to stave off their attackers as Graham pulled her forward with every ounce of his strength, Emma fighting like a wildcat to stay behind and help. _

_When she opened her eyes again, her voice was small, hating herself a little for showing her weakness, for showing just how desperately lost she was. "I don't think I can stand to lose much more." _

_There was nothing but empathy in Graham's eyes as he pulled her into a warm, steady hug, wishing he'd been able to spare her even a fraction of the pain she'd already been through in her young life. She'd held herself together beyond all expectations, but her cracks were beginning to show. If he didn't get her back to her family… _

"_They're alive, Emma," he whispered roughly in her ear. "You _have_ to believe that. You have to hold onto hope." He pulled back to hold her at arms' length, holding her eyes steady with his. "I'll get you on that plane, if it's the last thing I do. You _will_ be reunited with your family. I promise you that." _

_Graham's thumb skated over Emma's cheek as he brushed away a stray tear, catching on the slight upturn of her lips. _

"_Thanks, Graham," Emma smiled as she thanked whatever providence had kept Graham at her side through all the darkness and chaos. She would've been lost long ago without his guidance and steady, solid assurances. _

_Graham's smile was answer enough as he stepped away to check their supplies in quick, confident movements, letting Emma collect herself again without hovering. Something else she would always be thankful for. _

_Emma raked a hand through her tumble of blonde hair with a deep, quiet exhale as she pulled herself back from that brink of despair that was all too quick to appear at her feet as of late. "Who is it this time?" _

"_Who is what?" Graham asked, distracted as he triple-checked the names and information on their new identity cards against the plane tickets he had purchased from a shifty-eyed man with a scarlet cap the day before. _

"_You said there was someone new on our trail," Emma elaborated, her brows drawing together when she noticed the slight tensing of muscles in Graham's back. _

_He turned to her with a grimace and a sigh. "Yes, there is a new tracker on our trail, although I hesitate to call him a person. He's more of a demon with the guise of a man." _

_Emma's brows rose in surprise at the dark look that filled Graham's eyes, it was an emotion rarely seen in the usually gentle and compassionate man. _

_Graham sighed heavily before meeting Emma's eyes with an expression that had her mentally and physically bracing herself. "It's Hook." _

"_Hook?" Emma echoed, unable or unwilling to believe what she was hearing. "As in _Captain_ Hook?" _

_Graham nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving her as Emma swallowed the new information like a cup full of arsenic. _

"_And you said I should still hold onto hope?" Emma's small burst of laughter bordered on hysterical. _

_Graham's hands were on her shoulders in an instant, his honest eyes boring into hers. "He won't harm you Emma, I swear it. You _will_ be on that plane!" His eyes darted to the chipped clock hanging crookedly on the wall where it swayed slightly from its rusty nail. "But we have to move now. We've wasted too much time as it is. Do you have everything you want?" _

"_Everything I _want_ is far from here," Emma's lips curled in a humorless smile. _

_Graham placed a hand over his heart with a wounded expression. "Right in the heart, Emma! I thought we were friends. Why do you even keep me around if you do not want me here?" _

_Emma rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop the tiny smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. "To carry my things, of course," she replied and swung the battered backpack into his arms without preamble. _

"_A pack mule," Graham muttered with a pout. "I knew it. You only see me as some kind of animal." _

"_You got it, Lassie," Emma quipped as she swept her eyes once more around the damp and dirty room. _

_Graham sighed exasperatedly. "If you're going to use a canine analogy, could we at least try for something a little more appealing?" His eyes lit up as inspiration took hold. "How about a wolf?" _

"_For you?" Emma snorted in amusement. "I don't know, I think that's a little too manly for you, Graham. With those puppy dog eyes you're always using to get me to do things, I think something along the line of a basset hound would suit you better." _

_Graham choked on air as he looked at his charge in disbelief. "That's not fair, Emma!" _

"_All's fair in love and war," Emma quoted as she wagged her finger back and forth before her. "And we _are_ still in the middle of a war." _

_Graham's smile tightened at the ever present reminder as he pulled open their door and scrutinized the surrounding area thoroughly before waving Emma outside behind him. "Why not a golden retriever? They're known for their loyalty," he continued, determined to keep the air light and her thoughts distracted even as the adrenaline began coursing through both their bloodstreams. _

"_You're seriously asking to be compared to a happy-go-lucky dog that constantly has its tongue hanging out and its tail wagging?" Emma's brow rose in amusement at the image in her head as she crept along behind Graham at a clipped, steady pace. Not too fast as to attract unwanted attention, but a purposeful stride that wouldn't allow someone to sidetrack them into a friendly conversation. Granted, people weren't always so keen to stop and say 'hello' to strangers on the streets these days…_

_Graham winced. "Okay, maybe that one's a bad choice. How about a –"_

_But whatever Graham had been about to suggest, Emma never found out. _

_She saw Graham stumble before she ever heard the crack that split the air like an evil beast that was trying to rend the world in two. _

_Emma watched, stupefied, as his hand flew to his chest to clutch at the scarlet petals blossoming across his faded blue shirt and patched brown vest. _

_Her body moving faster than her mind, Emma's arms reached out to catch and slow his descent as his weight dragged them toward the ground at their feet. _

"_Graham?" His name slipped off her numb lips in question, her mind refusing to believe what her eyes were telling her. "Graham? Graham! Graham!" She wasn't sure how much of the force behind her shaking arms was from desperation or an all-consuming grief. _

Not him too,_ she begged whoever was still listening to her prayers. _Please, I can't lose someone else that I care about.

"_Graham! No, Graham!" Emma continued shaking her protector and comrade as if his life depended on it, knowing full well that the motion was the only thing that was keeping him tethered to her for just a few precious seconds more. She felt a sob bubble up and burst out. _

"_Graham! Come on!"_

_Hazy gray eyes fought to focus on her vibrant green ones as his hand struggled toward her face. One final word was exhaled with the last breath in his lungs before his arm fell heavily onto his chest, head lolling to rest in the comfort of her warm, shaking embrace. _

"_Go." _

"_Graham!" Emma couldn't stop the sob that ripped through her lungs. Another shot rang out and her body instinctively curled to cover his with her own. With her ear pressed against his chest, the deafening sound of no heartbeats left her own trudging through the gelatinous overload of an exhaustion and grief too deep to ever be described in words. _

_A third shot rang out, this one whistling so close over her head that Emma swore she felt the air move as it passed her. '_Go_,' he had said. _

_With a desperate, jerking motion she tugged the backpack out from beneath Graham's body and jerked it onto her own back, it's solid embrace not the one she wished for so desperately right now. She gazed at his face, intently memorizing every last feature and placing a gentle kiss upon his brow before, with a whispered, "Goodbye" and "I'm sorry" she threw herself to the side as a fourth shot rang out, rolled, found her feet and sprinted for her life. _

_Emma never would be able to rightly recall the events of what took place after she'd been forced to leave yet another loved one behind._

_If she thought hard enough, she could remember ducking into the forest behind the rundown motel, darting around trees and thrashing her way through the bushes and branches that reached out to snatch at her hair and clothing, trying in vain to hold her back. But Emma was running from a grief that threatened to overwhelm her and a pure, wild instinct to survive. _

_She managed to lose the assassin in the woods, dart in front of a car that screeched to a halt at her sudden appearance on the road and through incoherent babbling, convinced them to take her into town where she hailed a cab to the airport. _

_Emma was sure there'd been questions. The dirty tear trails on her face, tangled hair and frayed clothing were dead giveaways for someone up to their ears in undesirable trouble. But whether it was the fierce, wild look in her eyes or the tense-set shoulders of someone who was coiled too tightly and ready for a fight, she'd staved off the more pressing inquiries with terse, clipped responses that answered nothing. _

_She'd dashed into the tiny airport's bathroom to attempt to fix herself up before heading through security. After squeezing herself and her bag into the small room and locking the door firmly behind her she'd pulled out a soft gray shirt from the top and hurriedly changed out of her rust-colored and stained olive one. _

_Gagging on the smell, she'd then proceeded to wash any lingering remnants of blood, sweat and tears from her arms and face. She snatched a handful of rough, brown paper towels from the dispenser and dried her skin, stuffing her ruined shirt into the bottom of the bin before throwing the wet towels on top. With a quick look in the spotted mirror she assured herself that any traces of blood were now gone as she threaded her fingers quickly through her hair in an attempt to tame the tangles into something halfway decent. _

_With a frustrated sigh, Emma had then reached into the bag again in an attempt to find a hair tie. She froze, her eyes welling up in a sudden onset of tears, as her fingers curled around an old frayed shoelace. _

_She had made him purchase a new pair of shoelaces at a convenience store last week when one of his shoelaces had snapped during yet another mad dash through the thick, almost suffocating forest by a very determined pursuant. _

_As a renowned tracker himself, Graham had managed to get the jump on the man, but had nearly stumbled when his foot had tried to come out of its boot just as he'd been about to pounce. Emma had berated him for not looking after his own needs when he'd later admitted to her that he had noticed the fraying some time ago. She'd been livid at first, yelling at him about how _stupid_ it would have been to die because of a _shoelace_, to which Graham had sheepishly replied that they'd come from 'home.'_

_His answer had brought her up short, even as the pain of it had echoed sharply in her chest. In response, she'd merely marched him into the store, picked out a new pair, and had sat quietly by as he'd threaded the strong new laces onto his boots. She'd made no comment when she'd noticed that he'd thrown the broken lace away, but had quietly settled the other in the depths of their single bag. _

_They had precious little from home except that which they could carry with them, and even that was mostly memories. _

_She hadn't been able to begrudge him the need to save the old frayed string if it kept him tethered just a little bit more to the place they missed with too sharp and fierce of an ache._

_In that quiet little bathroom, Emma had pulled that dirty, beat-up shoelace out of the bag and hugged it to her chest with a silent scream of pain as the tears had burst forth, the adrenaline rush from her frantic race to the airport had finally begun to ebb away and her overwrought and abused emotions were bursting forth like a dam. _

_She'd sunk to her knees right there in that cramped little room and wept, one hand clutching the shoelace in a white-fisted grip, the other stifling her sobs in a desperate attempt not to attract attention. The last thing she'd needed was someone overheating her hysterics and calling security. _

_Emma had eventually grasped onto a port in the storm as reality sank in and she felt the press of time upon her shoulders. With trembling limbs she'd hauled herself to her feet, splashed cold water on her face from the faucet, scratched at her skin with the sandpaper textured paper towels, and with blurry eyes, tied the old shoelace around her wrist. _

_Grief was still too near to place it back into the bag. _

_As she'd tied one final, tight knot she'd felt a – not a comfort – but a familiarity settle upon her, as if, instead of a shoelace, it was Graham's fingertips gentling encircling her wrist in a silent gesture of friendship and solidarity. _

_It hadn't eased her bereavement, but it _had_ felt like she hadn't left him completely behind at that dingy hotel on the edge of town either. _

_She knew the guilt from _that_ would follow once the initial onset of sorrow settled, just as it had with her godmother, Ruby, but this time she had a tiny piece of her loved one still with her. _

_After that, it had just been a simple matter of blending in with the other people mingling about in the tiny, local airport as they all waited for their planes to begin boarding. _

_When her plane had finally pulled up to its gate, Emma had handed the flight attendant her ticket with a tight, forced smile, walked down the short aisle, thrown her bag into the space at her feet in front of her chair and sat down, doing her best to hold it together long enough so that she could disembark at her destination without being noticed. _

_Alone. _

_So very, very alone. _

Emma nearly jumped out of her seat when she felt something slide across her lap.

"Easy, love," an amused, placating foreign lilt sounded from her left. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Heart in her throat, Emma stared at her bench partner, alarmed that she'd been so deep into her own thoughts and lamentations that she hadn't even heard him sit down.

"They're asking us to buckle in as we're about to taxi out from the gate," he'd continued as if nothing was amiss. "I wasn't sure you'd appreciate one of our lovely flight attendants waking you, so I tried to settle you in without disturbing your slumber. It would appear that I've failed miserably on that end, however." A flirtatious smile pulled at his lips, causing Emma to blink slowly, her grief-stricken mind trying to play a quick game of catch-up.

Failing that, Emma simply nodded her abrupt thanks, buckling herself in, and shifting in her seat so that she could keep one eye on the man but not enough to encourage him into further conversation.

Emma wasn't in the mood to _talk_ let alone even attempt to flirt.

"So where you headed to, love?" The man next to her asked, his body language open and inviting, but something about his smile didn't entirely reach his eyes.

She narrowed hers. "That's my business."

His grin grew, something sparking to life behind his blue eyes. "No need to be so defensive, sweetheart. I was just curious. We've a good few hours on the plane together, and I was simply trying to start a friendly conversation."

Emma's head tilted slightly as she studied the dark-haired stranger next to her. She'd always had an almost alarming aptitude for being able to detect lies, and while he hadn't been lying _per se_ it hadn't been the entire truth either. It made her shift in her seat again, positioning her body so that she faced him fully, her back resting against the window.

"That's better," her companion's smile was inscrutable as he studied her features. "First plane ride?"

Emma likewise took in every detail of the man in front of her, from his slightly tousled dark hair and impeccable clothing that spoke of an awareness and pride in his appearance to the intense stare of his bright blue eyes and the seemingly casual way with which he held himself. What she observed at first glance only seemed to highlight the wary niggling in the back of her mind instead of putting her at ease like she surmised it was supposed to do.

Undeterred by her lack of a response, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you never forget your first."

"Look buddy," Emma started, her tone clipped and brokering no room for misunderstandings. "Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not interested. Try the flight stewardess who can't seem to stop looking over here; I'm fairly positive you'll have better luck with her."

A quick glance of his eyes and resultant eyebrow rise were the only indications that she'd taken him by surprise. "You're an observant one, aren't you?"

Emma couldn't stop the roll of her eyes. "You'd have to be blind to miss it."

He made a noncommittal answer before fixating his too blue eyes on her green ones once more. "Tell me, love, what are you running from?"

Emma bristled immediately. "Who says I'm running from anything?"

A small quirk of the lips. "You're a bit of an open book, darling. It's written all over your face."

She crossed her arms in front of her defensively, her own brow rising in challenge. "Oh really?"

A definitive nod before he tapped a finger against his lips, reading her like one would a page from a thrilling mystery novel. "You have that look in your eyes," he spoke in answer to the obvious disbelief in her tone. "The look of someone who's been abandoned once too often." His eyes lit up with a sudden devious mischief. "Old lover, perhaps?"

"Who says I've ever been in love?"

"Have you?"

"Who's Milah?" She deflected without as much as a blink of her eyes.

Her dark-haired plane companion froze in his seat, his teasing smile vanishing in an instant. Emma could _feel_ the scrutiny of his gaze, his utter stillness was almost unnatural, like that of a hunter suspecting he had become the hunted. It sent a chill racing through her veins.

For all his mischievous eyes and playful smiles, this was not a man to be trifled with.

"On the tattoo," Emma elaborated when the silence became too heavy.

His eyes darted to the spot where the sleeve of his right arm had slid down to just above his wrist from when his finger had tapped against his lips in his teasing.

"Perceptive lass," he muttered almost to himself as he lowered his hand away from his face, sleeve sliding down to partially obscure the tattoo once more.

"Where is she?"

A small, humorless smile. "And a tough one too," he commented to no one in particular before his eyes flickered to hers briefly. "Someone from long ago."

Feeling the weight of Emma's stare he sighed quietly, refusing to meet her gaze as he shifted in his seat to face forward as their plane approached the runway. "She's gone."

Emma felt a sharp pang of empathy prick her overly abused heart, memories of a more distant past rising from the depths of her mind.

A mop of unruly brown hair, gentle brown eyes so full of love.

First love.

First loss.

_Pain_.

Emma snapped the lid shut on those memories before they could overwhelm her. She'd spent _years_ getting to where she was now – to a place where she was finally mostly numb to an agony that had threatened to swallow her whole.

"I'm sorry," Emma's voice was soft, full of a quiet reciprocal kinship that caught her companion's attention.

She missed his questioning, curious gaze as she shifted to fully face forward in her own seat, tightening the belt as she did, the engines on either side of the plane growing to a deafening roar as they picked up speed.

Emma closed her eyes, letting the bouncing of the plane racing down the tarmac lull her into a temporary numbness when there was a deafening explosion of noise. Her eyes snapped open at the same time the plane's brakes screeched louder than the shrieks of the voices all around her, her seatbelt digging into her hipbones as she was thrust face forward toward the seat in front of her.

Fortunately her seatbelt caught and held, preventing her from getting an unplanned facelift. Emma struggled to sit up, her deployed oxygen mask narrowly missing her eye as she reached out with both hands to brace herself as the plane began to skid. One arm braced itself against the wall on her right, the other automatically latched onto the shoulder of her bench mate, instincts reaching out for the nearest human life in a sea of chaos.

A second explosion ripped through the plane and Emma's unbound hair flew forward into her face as wind rushed to fill the empty space left in its wake.

Emma's panicked eyes met her companion's alarmed ones before they turned at the same time to look over the heads of their seats.

Emma felt nausea churn in her stomach at the sight that met her eyes – almost the entire back end of the plane was _gone_. She turned forward abruptly, desperately breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth before she threw up. The continued spinning of the plane was not helping matters.

A hand reached out and grasped her shoulder.

She looked over in surprise to see that her companion had taken a firm grip on her, his head pressed to the back of his seat, his eyes fixated on the ceiling above but she knew he was looking past it, to what couldn't be seen as lips moved in what could either have been an oath or a prayer.

Sensing her gaze, his eyes met hers and he gave her a brief reassuring squeeze on her shoulder that she knew he didn't feel. She returned the gesture before returning her attention to her churning stomach and whirling mind.

The firm, steady grip on her shoulder from the man seated next to her felt like the only real thing in the world anymore as everything fragmented into complete disarray.


	3. Chapter Two

**/Author's Note:** I began writing this story several months ago - long before the tragedy of the Malaysian Airlines Flight MH17. I mean absolutely no disrespect to the victims of that horrible loss - both those who died and those left behind in its wake. I wrestled with the idea of changing the beginning of this chapter, but as the events were already set in motion during the previous chapter, I decided to plunge ahead. Something akin to this happened with the release of the LotR: The Two Towers, which occurred shortly after the events of 9/11 and the Twin Towers. As they stated then, so do I now - this was the way the story was written, and long before similar live events in the world. No disrespect or ill-intent was made in producing this here.

As always, Constructive Criticism is welcomed.

* * *

><p><em>Hellfire<em>_  
><em>_Dark fire  
><em>_~ "The Hunchback of Notre Dame, "Hellfire"_

0-0-0

Chapter Two

Chaos.

Sheer utter chaos was all that registered in Emma's mind as the plane came to an abrupt, jerking halt. The motion flung her towards her dark-haired companion, his arms automatically wrapping around her shoulders to steady her.

There was a brief moment of ringing silence as the remaining survivors on the plane registered the fact that they were no longer in motion. Then panic set in. With fumbling fingers, passengers released their seatbelts and began surging toward the exits.

Emma jerked out of her companion's grip, one hand reaching for her seatbelt, the other for her bag as instinct screamed at her to run, to escape. As she stumbled to her feet, a warm hand steadied her and she looked up, startled to see that her seat companion was waiting for her. With a tight smile of gratitude they made their way toward the nearest exit, his hand hovering near the small of her back though he refrained from touching her again.

Emma shifted from foot to foot, as people crammed into the small opening on the side of the plane. There was a sudden shove from behind as hysterical passengers tried to thrust forward, throwing Emma headlong down the inflated ramp to the ground.

The world tumbled and turned as she rolled down the bright colored inflatable, not stopping until she rolled onto the pavement itself. Slightly dazed, Emma laid there for a moment, trying to catch her bearings. The mass confusion wasn't helping as people ran around screaming amidst pieces of the flaming remains of a plane. There was a funny popping noise that had her wondering if the metal was heating faster than she had originally assumed with the jet fuel inside beginning to boil.

Thick, black smoke engulfed her for a moment and Emma coughed violently to clear her lungs, wiping at her stinging eyes as she rolled over onto her stomach to hide from choking air. She started at the sound of echoed coughing just behind her and looked over with blurry eyes to see her seat companion, his hand over his mouth and nose as he joined her on the tarmac.

"Alright there, love?" He coughed, as the wind shifted about wildly.

Emma nodded, gathering her legs underneath her and pushing herself to her knees. "We need to move," she wheezed. "I think the engine's going to blow. You can hear it boiling."

Blue eyes looked at her in confusion.

"The popping noise," she elaborated. "Can't you hear it?"

"Popping noise?" Dark eyebrows drew together as he began to look around for the source of the sound. Eyes widened in alarm, his head whipping around to take in the airport's grounds around him. The screaming from survivors of the crash having increased to an almost animalistic hysteria. "That's not the fuel boiling! That's –"

Emma watched in dumbfounded shock as her companion cried out in pain, grasping at his arm. Nausea rose sharp in her stomach as crimson grew and spread in a spot just below his shoulder, a rivulet of the life-giving liquid trailing down his hand and dripping onto the pavement.

It was then that Emma realized the popping sound she had thought was the fire and jet fuel was actually the sound of gunfire. Her head snapped up, eyes widening in horror as her brain fully registered the scene around her for the first time. The survivors of the explosion were being picked off one-by-one by gunfire. She watched, transfixed in morbid fascination as people stumbled in mid stride, falling to the ground without bracing themselves, and lying utterly still.

A hiss of pain from her right had Emma jerking out of her stupor as she reached out, grasped the man's good arm and yanked him toward the ground next to her.

As her heart pounded in her chest, her mind cleared, focusing on a single thought of clarity – she was getting out of this mess, and this time, she wasn't going to be alone.

She still didn't trust him – not by a long shot, but if she could just save _one_ life, just one, maybe she could salvage something of her own after all the loss, pain and sorrow she'd already been forced to endure.

Keeping low to the ground, mindful to stay hidden in the thick, choking smoke, Emma dragged her dark-haired companion away from the slaughter, tears streaming down her face as her eyes burned from the ashes dancing around them.

The airport had been carved out of the surrounding wilderness, just like the rest of this country, and she only needed to get to the edge of it undetected. Once she was able to cross that boundary, these attackers, whoever they were, would have a hell of a time spotting her – too many years of survival by Graham's side had near made her as much of an expert as him.

_Graham._

Emma's heart clinched painfully in her chest, but she shoved down the emotions that followed, knowing that if she lost her concentration and focus now, it could well mean her life and the life of the one she was dragging behind her.

Fortunately, whether blinded by pain or an idiotic trust, said companion didn't put up a struggle as she led him further and further away from the wreckage, the thick dark smoke acting as the perfect camouflage.

She felt it.

The moment that the ground shifted from smooth pavement to shifting dirt and debris, and she reached out desperately to grasp onto the foliage just behind it. With a grim smile of relief, Emma grasped at the surrounding flora and pulled herself inside, her companion stumbling behind as he too realized they were no longer on the tarmac.

Emma shifted plants aside until she was positive that they couldn't be seen from the airport and dragged the dark-haired man forward, leaning him against a tree. With heaving coughs, he settled back against the trunk, hissing at the pain in his arm as Emma fumbled with the zippers on her bag. Through blurry eyes she managed to locate her canteen of water, twisted the cap and poured a little bit of its contents into her eyes.

She gasped at the burning sensation as her eyes blinked furiously at her, water and tears streaming down her face to leave long dirty trails behind. But once her eyes focused again, she could see nearly as clearly as before. It wasn't perfect, but it would do until her eyes naturally cleared on their own.

Emma shuffled over to her companion's side, her fingers gently brushing hair and ash aside from around his eyes.

Startled, blurred blue eyes opened wide and Emma grimaced. "This is going to sting a little," she warned before dropping a little of the liquid into his right eye.

She rocked back onto her heels as his eyes scrunched shut tightly in pain, water making gray tracks down one side of his face. She sighed quietly before forcing him to sit back up; one hand grasping his chin firmly to tilt his head toward her, the other had a firm grip on her canteen. "Sorry," she murmured. "Just once more," she promised. "It helps."

Her lips pressed into a grim line as she used her fingers to gently open his left eye to clean out the ash and grit.

With a muttered oath he shook his head out of her grip, blinking rapidly as the stinging pain cleared and his vision slowly refocused.

While he tried to regain his eyesight, Emma shifted her attention to his arm. Gently but firmly removing his hand from the grip he had on his upper arm, Emma tore at his dark shirt sleeve to better inspect the bullet wound. What she saw had her nearly sagging in relief. It was just a flesh wound – the bullet had grazed him enough to make his bleeding worrisome, but so long as it was patched up and there was no infection, he'd be fine.

Her brows drawing into a determined crease, Emma ripped away at the fabric surrounding the wound so that she'd have a clear view of it.

"Trying to undress me already, love?" Her companion asked with a hacking cough that couldn't quite wipe the smirk threatening on his lips. "And here we've only just met."

Emma rolled her eyes before grasping her bag and tugging it forward. She unzipped the front pocket and began searching for her sewing kit. Her lips pressed into a hard line as her fingers traced over the smooth red case, memories assaulting her.

"Didn't take you for the home economics type," her companion quipped.

"I'm not," Emma answered back tightly. "It belonged to my godmother."

Something in her tone of voice told the man sitting next to her to back off, and he did so, something that had relief sighing through her. Emma grimaced as she opened the kit, eyeing the small array of sharp, silvery needles and clean, sturdy thread.

"She was always saying it would be worth its weight – that you never knew when an emergency would arise, be it a fashion one or…" She trailed off, not even sure what had prompted her to speak about her godmother in the first place.

_It's the grief, _she decided. With Graham's death all too fresh, and then the horror of the plane explosion and resulting massacre, it was little wonder she couldn't hold her tongue, reaching out for the nearest sympathetic ear. She scowled at herself, admonishing herself for her weakness as she placed the kit gently on the ground and turned back to her bag, searching for antiseptic. Finding none, she cursed quietly under her breath.

"Something the matter, lass?"

"I can stitch you up, but if infection takes hold…" She continued searching through her bag, her movements abrupt as she grew frustrated. It would just be her cursed luck to save the man from burning wreckage and gunfire only for him to die anyways because of her lack of supplies and skills.

"Will this work?"

Emma looked up, blinking slowly at the tiny glass bottle in the man's dirty hand. He dropped it into her warm ones with a smirk. Emma read the label.

"Rum?"

"Aye, and a bloody waste of it, too," he sighed deeply as he leaned back against the rough bark.

"Where the hell did you get this?" Emma asked as she unscrewed the lid and sniffed at it tentatively.

"The flight stewardess was rather accommodating," he half-shrugged before frowning, his eyes drifting toward the direction they had crawled from. "She was a rather sweet, young lass. Too young to be caught up in this chaos and mayhem."

Emma glanced up in surprise at the quiet, sincere tone of his voice, but remained silent as she poured a little of her water onto her hands to clean them, drying them off on a spare white undershirt from inside her bag before ripping the clean parts of it into strips.

Her motions caught her companion's attention once more, his head tilting towards her in curiosity. "You certainly seem to know what you're doing, love. Not the first time, I take it?"

Emma's lips tightened into a thin line before she responded. "No."

"Trained in the medical profession for a bit?"

Emma sighed gustily at his probing questions, but knew if she kept silent he'd only ask more. "More like field training," she answered curtly, eyes trained on the needle as she pulled the thread through its eye. "If you hadn't noticed, there's a war going on."

"Ah, yes," he grimaced. "That I did." His eyes darted about, scanning their location before settling back on her. "Was that what you were trying to escape, love? This infernal war?"

"Isn't everybody?" She countered before darting her glance at him with a frown. "And could you stop with the pet names? I'm not your 'love.'"

"Aye, that you aren't," he replied, traces of a dark hollowness ringing out from his voice that had Emma glancing at him again.

"How'd she die?" Emma ventured, unable to contain her curiosity as she brushed his sleeve aside, rum firmly in hand.

"Victim to this thrice-cursed war," he replied bitterly. "Just like so many others." He hissed as the alcohol hit his open wound, muttered curses slipping past his lips.

"Sorry," Emma murmured.

He glanced up at her, sensing the apology was for more than the burning sensation of his flesh.

"You never did answer my question," he continued, watching a little warily now that she was taking her needle firmly in hand.

"Which one?" She countered, partially distracted as she steeled herself for the plunge.

"Ever been in love?"

Emma paused, the needle hovering right above his flesh, her hand automatically drifting towards her neck as painful, bittersweet memories floated forward. She paused midway, forcing her focus back to the task at hand. "Maybe I was, once."

The unconscious gesture hadn't gone unnoticed by sharp blue eyes. His eyebrows quirked up in surprise at noticing the necklace there; he hadn't pegged her for the jewelry-wearing type.

"A swan?" He hissed, teeth grinding together as the needle pierced through his flesh.

"It's my name," Emma responded automatically, distracted by her ministrations and inwardly balking at causing the man more pain.

"Your name is Swan?" He asked through his teeth, eyes clamped shut but determined to focus on something else.

She paused, hesitating with her words, even as her nimble fingers maintained an even pace. "It's Emma. Emma Swan."

"Ah," he half-grinned, eyes peeling open to watch her face closely. "Well, Emma Swan, it's a pleasure to meet you. Killian Jones, at your service."

Emma snorted, her lips quirking up slightly at the corners. "Really? I'm sewing your skin together in the middle of a forest after we just barely managed to escape a field of carnage at the hands of mad men, and it's _really_ a pleasure to meet me?"

"Absolutely," he responded with no hesitation. "Without your lovely assistance, I'd have bled to death out there on that tarmac."

Emma rolled her eyes. "It's a flesh wound."

"Still, it's not every day that I get to play patient to a doctor with a lass as beautiful as yourself."

Emma couldn't help the snort of disbelief that escaped her lips. "Do people really fall for that?"

"Emma, you wound me!" He brought up his free arm and held it over his heart in a gesture so similar to Graham's mere hours before that she almost ripped the knot she was tying in her thread.

Intelligent eyes caught the movement and frowned. "Everything alright there, Swan?"

"Fine," she muttered, before pouring the remaining rum over the wound, wincing as her companion hissed in air through his teeth. "Sorry," she mumbled as she gathered the clean strips of cloth and began to bind them around the stitches. After double-checking the knot, she sighed gustily before placing her hands on her thighs and pushing herself into a standing position.

"There, that should do it. I recommend getting it checked out at a hospital as soon as possible though," she warned. "I did what I could, but I don't know that it'll be enough."

Killian rotated his arm experimentally. "Seems fine to me." He flashed her a bright grin. "You're quite handy in a pinch, Swan. It's good to have you around."

Emma made a noncommittal noise as she began placing everything back carefully in her bag, zipping up the pockets she hefted the bag onto her back and stood. "Well, Jones, this is where we go our separate ways."

"Are you abandoning me, love?" Blue eyes watched her carefully, even as a teasing smile remained fixated on his face.

Emma winced at the choice of words, but turned on her heel all the same. "You'll be fine."

"You can't just leave me here like this! A devilishly handsome, wounded man in the middle of a forest?"

Emma glanced back over her shoulder, her response deadpan. "It's a flesh wound. You'll live." She paused, her gaze traveling back the way they had come, feeling the silence pressing down upon her.

"It's quieting down."

Emma met Killian's gaze and he nodded, as if reading her thoughts. "They'll be combing the area soon, looking for survivors."

He gave a one-armed shrug to the look she sent his way. "There's a war going on, love. You'd have to be living under a rock or cushy upon a throne behind castle walls not to know how to survive out here."

"I'm not your love," she responded automatically, her eyes searching the foliage around them. "And being royal doesn't make you safe. Seems to me that it only makes you a bigger target."

He studied her closely, eyes watching every minute shift of expression and gesture. "Does it now? And how would you know, Swan? Been around royalty yourself?"

Emma glanced at him, her eyebrow rising in curiosity and suspicion. "The entire royal family of Enchanté has gone into hiding, fled or been killed. You'd have to be living under a rock not to have known that."

Killian's lips quirked up as she threw his own words back at him before he nodded in agreement. "True enough, but this still fails to explain why we must part so soon after surviving that massacre together."

"We can escape and hide more easily alone." Emma grimaced against the flash of memories, her voice almost too quiet for him to hear as she continued. "And it'd be dangerous for you to stay with me."

Dark eyebrows rose high above questioning blue eyes.

Emma caught the look and bit her lip, cursing at herself for letting the words slip past her lips in the first place. "People seem to get hurt around me," she tried to elaborate as quickly and clinically as possible, but wasn't entirely able to keep the pain out of her eyes and voice.

Killian's brows furrowed together, frowning as the words rang all too familiarly through his own head. Unsure if the feelings he could all too easily relate to were going to be an asset or hindrance to his mission.

Emma's lips rose in a humorless smile. "I'm beginning to think I'm cursed somehow. Bad luck follows me everywhere I go, like a poison." Her gaze strayed toward the direction of the wreckage and horror. "If I hadn't been on that plane, all of those people might have lived."

"Maybe you're the cure, not the curse."

Emma turned toward her companion, blinking rapidly in surprise at the frown on his face.

"If you hadn't pulled me out of the way, that bullet or the ones that would have surely followed, would have been the end for me. Seems like Lady Luck was smiling down on me when I sat next to you on that plane today," he smiled at her open look of bafflement. "Besides, how can you take responsibility for the actions of other men and their own decisions? You didn't order them to shoot down that plane any more than I did. Who knows _what_ their target was?"

_Or whom_, he thought darkly, his suspicions rising sharply. He knew he was rather infamous in his line of work, but Killian had thought that no one knew he was on that plane except for one.

_Well, if that's the case, seems like the ambitious Queen will have done nothing more than made herself another enemy. And a powerful one at that. I may have made a number of enemies myself, but her deck of cards is stacked to tightly whereas I have nothing else left to lose. _

He smiled widely at his companion, hiding his dark thoughts. "And like I said, darling, you saved my life out there. If it is bad luck you've been experiencing, perhaps it's beginning to turn around?"

Emma's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, as if she wanted to believe his words were true, but had become so jaded by her experiences that she couldn't quite bring herself to hope for things to be otherwise. "Perhaps," she allowed.

"Then what do you say, Swan? Let's stick together a bit longer? At least until we reach relative safely." When she looked ready to continue arguing against the idea, he tried a different tactic. "It's easier to have someone watching your back, especially when you need to sleep. We can take turns keeping watch."

Emma hesitated. She didn't _want_ another companion, another person who could all too easily get caught in the mayhem and tragedy that was her life, but could she really just leave him here to fend for himself? She eyed her dark-haired acquaintance, taking in his fit, physical condition and sharp blue eyes and once more felt that insistent niggling that said he was more than whom he seemed. She had little doubt that he'd be able to take care of himself.

Her eyes caught the stark white bandage standing out against his dark ashen clothes and frowned. Perhaps, in normal conditions, he could very well look after himself, but with his new wound certain things might be a challenge. Especially if he was caught unawares by those who were hunting her, another innocent victim to a long, bloody story.

She sighed, guilt squirming through her. "Fine," she finally relented, her frown deepening when his grin only widened. "But only until we reach relative safety. Then we part ways."

"As the lady wishes," Killian rose to his feet, before making an elaborate bow.

Emma shifted uneasily on her feet, already regretting her decision – feeling as if she'd just agreed to something much bigger than mutual protection.

"Which way should we go then, Swan? I'm afraid I don't know these parts too well."

Emma gestured to a dense growth of ferns off in the shadows to their right. "If we travel that way for a bit, we should run into the chain-link fence that surrounds this place." She hefted her bag higher on her shoulders as she began to lead the way. "It should be fairly easy to scale, even with your wound. It's probably rusted down and out of use, hence why those men were able to get inside the airport grounds so easily."

"Do this kind of thing often, Swan?"

Emma shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "I've traveled a lot in my life. I've seen enough to figure things out."

"Hmm," he made a vague response, causing her to turn her head just enough to glance back at him in question.

"How about yourself?"

"Me?"

Emma nodded, keeping her eyes open as she found a trail almost impossible to see through the thick foliage. "Have you traveled a lot?"

"Aye, I've been to my fair share of places. Some better than others."

"Business or pleasure?"

Killian felt a dark grin light upon his lips. "A bit of both."

When she turned to glance back at him, the subtle tones in his voice catching at her ears, he made a show of eyeing her up and down. "Whenever there's a fair lass such as yourself around, there's always been quite a bit of _pleasure_ involved."

Emma rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the forest. "Keep dreaming, Jones. It's not happening with this one."

"What's the matter, Swan? Afraid of a challenge?"

Emma snorted. "Please, you wouldn't be able to handle it."

Killian's grin grew in mischief. "Perhaps it is you who couldn't _handle_ it."

Unwittingly, Emma felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to, Jones. It's not going to work."

He shrugged. "It was worth the shot. And who says it's not working? You'll warm up to me eventually. I can feel it already."

_Cocky_, Emma muttered internally, already knowing not to speak the word aloud.

They kept up a steady, even pace, restricted as they were by the undergrowth in the thick, shadowed forest. And while the conversation was largely full of easy, light banter that revealed little, if anything about themselves, it was what wasn't said that revealed more. They studied each other as they trekked through the forest, noting the strength, ease and grace that they used as they made their way through the unknown. The easy avoidance and change of subjects answering loudly for what was left unsaid – old wounds best left untouched and darker pasts lingering too closely to the surface.

When they finally came upon the fence, Emma sighed. It was indeed in need of repair but the loops of barbed wire at the stop would cut all the same, and the amount of rust coating each corroded point of metal made her wary. They were nowhere close enough to a hospital if they needed a tetanus shot. Had she been on her own, she might've been able to manage it with careful footing and protective layers of clothing. With an injured companion, it was too stupid to even consider.

"Up and over?"

Emma shook her head. "With your wound, I wouldn't risk it. One false move and you'll slice open something larger than I can sew back together. Besides, I don't particularly savor the thought of watching your muscles start to spasm when tetanus begins to settle in."

Killian's eyebrow rose in amusement. "That concerned about my welfare already, Swan?"

She glanced at him in exasperation. "I thought the point of us travelling together was to help keep each other alive, not for me to watch you pull stupid stunts that would end in your painful death."

"I can feel your confidence in my skills from here. Please, don't hold back on my account."

Emma couldn't stop the small smile that threatened on her face at his tone. She eyed the fence critically. "If we just had something to cut the fence open wide enough at the bottom to peel it back we could crawl underneath it."

"Would these work?"

Emma blinked at the item in his hand for the second time that day. "Wire cutters? How'd you manage to get those on the plane?"

Killian's smile didn't reach his eyes as he bent down, and began snapping wires in two. "I have many skills, darling. You're more than welcome to try a few for yourself." He flashed her a suggestive smile.

Emma merely crossed her arms in front of her and rolled her eyes, watching him work away steadily and methodically. Her brows furrowed. "You seem to know what you're doing."

"Like I said, many skills, Swan."

She watched him work for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek before finally venturing a question. "What is it you do for a living, exactly?"

"A little of this and a little of that," he responded airily. "How about you, love?"

"Currently?" She gestured in front of her. "Saving your life and guiding you through this forest."

Blue eyes sparked in appreciation at how she answered the question in much the same way he had – answering without really saying anything. He grasped the metal fence and peeled it back, revealing a sizeable gap where it had once met the ground. "Ladies first."

Emma looked like she was about to argue before shrugging and stepping forward. She removed her pack, shoved it through the hole and shimmied her way underneath the opening. Once safely on the other side, she brushed off as much of the dirt as was possible before turning to extend her hand towards the man trying to crawl through as delicately as he could so as not to stretch his stitches too far. He glanced at her hand in genuine surprise for a moment before grasping it firmly and allowing her to pull him through, eyes shuttered once more when he was on the other side and repeating the same motions as Emma had.

"Where to now?"

"We'll continue eastward," Emma replied after a moment's deliberation.

"As you wish." He picked her bag up off the ground, offering it to her in a silent gesture, which she took and slid about her shoulders before pressing on.

As the light started to fade from the sky, Emma finally called for a halt.

"If we don't make camp soon, we'll have a hell of a time of it in the dark."

Killian nodded his agreement. "Dare to try a fire?"

Emma shook her head. "We don't know how quickly they'll pick up on our trail. It's best not to give them a beacon to guide the way."

"Good plan." He discreetly watched as she selected and arranged a little area for them to take shelter in for the night, noting the ease and practice of her skill. "Got anything to eat in that bag or yours, Swan?"

"What, no stashed bags of peanuts from the plane?"

A tight smile. "That particular service was interrupted, if you recall."

"You managed to get your hands on some rum."

"Fair enough, but the rum is a special calling. I'm afraid all I have is some breath mints." His lips curved. "Care to share one with me?"

"Thanks but I think I'll pass." Emma rooted around in her bag. "I have some trail food that will do for now, but if we don't find real food soon, we'll be rationing pretty quickly. I don't know about you, but I tend to get a little testy when I'm hungry."

"I'd hate to see that," he grinned. "Guess tomorrow's order of business will be finding some sort of civilization again."

Emma nodded absently as she pulled out some granola bars, apples and strips of dried meat. She handed half of it to Killian. "It's not much."

"It'll do," he assured her. "Much obliged, Swan."

They ate in silence, settling down further into their spots as they watched the shadows begin to steal over the forest. When she had finished, Emma wiped her hands on her pants while shooting covert glances over at her companion.

"Go ahead and ask, lass. I promise I won't bite." He turned to her with a mischievous grin. "Unless you want me to, of course."

Emma had a moment of unsettled nerves about how easily he had read her before deciding to follow through on his taunting. "Careful, Jones, I bite back."

"I await in eager anticipation for the day," he replied smoothly before motioning for her to ask away.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Thought we already discussed this one."

She huffed in exasperation. "You didn't answer the question."

"Nor did you."

Emma eyed him until he sighed. "Stubborn lass." He shifted his shoulders in an attempt to get into a more comfortable position, winced when it pulled at his stitches and stopped moving. "Alright," he allowed. "To satisfy the lady's curiosity. I am naught but a simple blacksmith. I was on my way to help out a new client. Hence, the wire cutters. Though, I admit I have many other tools hidden where you cannot see. Care to try searching for a few, Swan?"

Killian froze into absolute stillness when he felt the cold press of metal against his throat.

"I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. Care to try that again?" He voice was soft but there was as much steel backing her words as the blade kissing his neck.

Killian took a moment to savor the strength and assuredness of both her tone and her hand – she didn't twitch or waver. He hadn't even heard her remove the blade from her boot until it was too late. Had he not been shot in the arm, he'd have little trouble tumbling her onto her back – an appealing idea to contemplate another time. As it was, however, he had a mission to complete. Revenge to enact. And making his target his enemy wasn't the wisest of paths to traverse down so early in the game.

Finally, Killian relented, fixing her with his stare. "Well done, lass. I can count on one hand the number of people who have bested me."

Emma pressed her knife a little closer, a few beads of red showing where the blade kissed skin. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"It was a compliment, I assure you." He tried to shift away from the steel cutting into his neck. "There is very little about this situation that I find amusing at present."

"Care to try again, then?" Emma asked softly. Killian watched her with a mix of fascination, respect and caution.

"I find things that are presumed lost or highly elusive, and secure them for interested parties."

Emma's eyes narrowed, watching every minute tick of Killian's face. When she was satisfied that she saw no lie in his eyes or heard it in his voice, she eased the tiniest bit, allowing him to breathe without risking blood. "What kind of things? Treasure?"

Killian nodded, very shallowly. "Among other things."

Emma eased back after a long moment, settling down onto her heels, knife still held at the ready in her hand. Her brows scrunched together as she thought. "A treasure hunter, huh?" She exhaled gustily. "It would be my luck to save a pirate. Typical."

He grinned in delight. "That's one I haven't heard before. I rather think I like that. Killian Jones – pirate!"

Emma couldn't resist the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation as Killian wiped at the small trail of blood about his neck.

"You know, you're a rather tough lass. Don't take this the wrong way, but you'd make a hell of a pirate yourself."

Emma's lips tightened into a firm line, refusing to apologize for her actions but unable to stem the slight feeling of guilt the sight of his blood in the growing dark brought her. Keeping an eye on her new acquaintance, Emma reached inside her bag and tossed him one of the remaining strips from the field bandage she had made earlier. "Here. It'll help stem the bleeding."

Killian nodded his thanks before pressing the cloth in place.

When he made no other comment, Emma began to fidget. "You're not going to ask?"

"Ask what, love? What profession you're into? Or why you held a knife to my throat?"

Emma felt a flush rise on her face, grateful that the darkened twilight hid it remarkably well. She shifted awkwardly, but otherwise stubbornly refused to answer.

"After having a blade held to my neck without so much as a whisper of sound, I admit I am a little apprehensive about asking after your line of work. In regards to aforementioned incident – I lied. You caught me fair and square. And with the world in the state it is, I can't entirely fault you for following your instincts to protect yourself first and ask questions later." He crossed his arms across his chest as a thought occurred to him. "Actually, you _did_ ask the question first, then even allowed me the chance to correct my mistake. Good form." He nodded toward her in gratitude, a move she returned haltingly. "No worries, Swan. I won't make the same mistake twice. I'm a quick study."

"All the same, I think I'll take the first watch."

"Not going to leave me to fend for myself the instant I fall asleep, will you?" He teased.

"I would have left you on the tarmac if I'd truly wanted to do that, or as soon as I'd stitched you'd up." She countered. "You wouldn't have been able to keep up if I wanted to leave you behind."

"Something tells me I'd eventually find you again." Killian's teeth flashed white in the darkness. "Pirate, remember?"

"Right." Emma murmured, unable to see the look he threw her in the dark, but a wariness settling over her all the same. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours."

With a murmur of agreement, Killian rolled over on his side, his back to Emma as he attempted to drift off to sleep. He knew she wasn't lying – she wouldn't leave him to face the horrors of their day alone just because he'd lied to her. But he'd sharply miscalculated her ability to read through his façade, setting back his plans a few steps. He'd have to be more careful around her, choosing his words wisely.

From what he'd been able to glean from this Emma Swan, in the little amount of time he'd been around her, Killian was surprised to find that he liked her.

She was a challenge – all tempered-steel and fire, behind a cold, glass front that did nothing to hide the pain of loss and heartache reflecting out from her eyes. She was stubborn but quick on her feet and skilled in all manner of things.

This would not be an easy mission.

Something he would normally have delighted in.

He'd gladly take this strong, defiant woman over the long line of sniveling cowards he'd met for other directives. He found that he liked her. Liked sparing with her in words; wondered what it'd be like to fight her one-on-one in a physical match. She just might be cunning enough to give him a run for his money.

It was too bad he'd have to hand her over to someone else once he'd gleaned all the information he needed from her that he could.

He took a discreet look over his shoulder to see Emma's dark silhouette, her hands working quickly but efficiently in their cleaning of her knife. Flashes of starlight reflected off the small but wicked blade.

Killian felt a grin spread slowly across his face.

_Yes, too bad indeed. _


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the wonderful responses. :) Hope this was quick enough for you! Constructive Criticism is always welcomed.

* * *

><p><em>I know<em>

_You mean well, but leave me be_

_Yes, I'm alone, but I'm alone and free_

_Just stay away and you'll be safe from me_

_~ Frozen, "For the First Time in Forever (Reprise)"_

0-0-0

_Chapter Three_

Emma sighed gustily making Killian grin.

"What's the matter, love? Too used to being in charge?"

Emma crossed her arms over chest. "The agreement was that if we didn't reach some sort of civilization by noon, I'd agree to follow _your_ direction. But, apparently, you have no better idea where we are than I did."

Killian's eyebrow rose. "Does it really matter which direction we go in? It's not like we have a map to follow."

Her hesitation caught his eye.

"What is it?"

"I don't want to go too far east."

"Any particular reason why?"

"It's Cora's land."

Killian glanced back at the blonde following behind him. "Aye, and what of it? Get caught stealing from the Lady's treasure room, and have a run-in with her local law enforcement?"

Emma snorted. "That would be you, not me, pirate."

Killian chuckled. "I'm not so daft as to try and pilfer from the Queen of Hearts. I rather like mine right where it is." He patted the mentioned area of his chest. "Little too bloody for my taste."

She grimaced. "Are the rumors true then? She really has the heart of her enemies ripped from their chests?"

His expression darkened. "Unfortunately that particular one is all too true. She's definitely not the squeamish type."

Emma shuddered, revulsion running through her. "How do you know so much about her?"

Killian sent a quick glance her way before turning forward and continuing their tromp through the flora. "You travel a lot in my line of work; I've spent some time in Mirlando. Can't say I'm overly fond of the place."

"I can't imagine why," Emma muttered, pushing aside a frond dangling near her face. "So you can see why I'm not too eager to get close to her lands."

"No worries, love, it's not her land you have to worry about. It's coming face-to-face with the bloody queen herself."

"That's comforting." She scowled and Killian couldn't stop the grin curling at the corners of his lips. She sighed again, halting in her steps as she studied the dimming light coming through the trees. "Either way, looks like we're stopping here for the night."

"Don't want to try and push further today?"

Emma shook her head. "Not when neither of us really knows where we are. It'd be stupid to try and find our way through the dark unless we had no other choice."

"Do you think we shook any pursuant then?"

Emma's eyes filled with exhaustion. "I hope so."

"Where do you want to make camp then, love?"

She looked around. "Here's as good a place as any."

With a nod of acquiescence, Killian helped Emma clear a spot for them to tuck down in for the night. Emma rustled through her bag, handing out rations of her remaining trail food, her lips a tight, fine line as she eyed the remaining contents. They ate together in companionable silence, Killian insisting he take first watch this time. Emma agreed, with slight reservation, before shrugging her shoulders, rolling over and discreetly pulling her knife close.

Emma felt as if she'd barely closed her eyes when a sudden noise had her bolting up right, her blade held at the ready.

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder, her wrist caught in a firm but gentle grip before her knife ended up in his chest. A flash of white teeth and dark hair had Emma's racing heart relaxing fractionally when she recognized Killian's profile in the dark.

In a flash of irritation she opened her mouth to ask why he had awoken her when the hand on her shoulder moved to her mouth, stifling her words as he motioned for her to keep quiet.

Emma heard it then – the rustling of something moving through the underbrush. Several things, if she was hearing correctly. Whoever they were, they were good. If she hadn't spent so much time trying to survive by running from such pursuers, she might have brushed off the sounds as the usual nightlife. But the stealth was unnatural to her ears and all too human. Her thoughts darkened. If such creatures could even be called human anymore. Ruthless, cowardly racketeers with no remorse that they were.

Killian motioned for her to keep low to the ground and follow him, which Emma did as quietly as she could. She was confident in her own skill of evasion, but, admittedly, was curious to see how he'd handle the situation. _Yes, great time to test out someone else's survival skills, Emma. Right when you're both trying to flee for your lives through some gods-forsaken forest in the middle of the night. Brilliant._ She admonished herself.

On near silent feet, the two crept forward, Killian making for the gap in their foes' perimeter. As quietly and gently as he could, Killian shifted hanging branches and leaves aside, waiting until he felt that Emma had grasped a hold of them before releasing the foliage and moving forward.

He felt a spark of surprise that she so easily knew where to follow in his footsteps, seemed to know exactly where he wanted her to be positioned next even in the darkness. It was a little enthralling and more than a bit alarming that she appeared to be reading his mind. He hadn't felt that since – _No, don't go there, Jones._

There was a loud crack as something crunched underfoot.

Killian winced even as he and Emma froze into absolute stillness.

"Over there!" No longer intending to keep cover, voices and gunfire sprang out from all around them.

Without a second thought, Killian grabbed Emma's hand and pulled her after him, heedless of the noise they were making now. With all the noise their attackers were making, it wouldn't have mattered anyways.

Running and crashing through the undergrowth, Killian cursed himself to all seven hells for losing his concentration at such a vital time.

"Jones."

How could he be so weak as to let his memories assault him even now? Years later?

"Jones!"

True, his revenge was for those in memoriam to begin with, but he couldn't afford to indulge in the past when the present was trying to off him before he'd ever get the chance!

"_Killian!_"

Killian froze mid-step, Emma crashing into him from behind, muttering curses as she rubbed her nose from where it had made contact with his back. Both their chests were heaving from their frantic sprint, but while Emma's heart was coursing with the adrenaline rush, Killian's had stuttered and almost stopped when Emma had called his name with that slightest touch of desperation.

Memories of the past surged and he pressed a hand tightly over his face, trying to push back the images.

They weren't here. Neither of them. It was long ago. They were gone. Nothing could hurt him now, no one could touch him.

He only had one goal in his existence now; the hatred that fueled it teaching him how to think, how to eat, how to breathe. He just had to survive until then. Outwit and outlast every last one of them until his revenge was complete. Only then would his soul be sated and the ghosts of the past finally laid to rest.

Killian jumped when he felt cool fingers skitter over his own. His first reaction was to knock the phantom fingers away, his heart hammering in his chest until he realized that the hand he had felt was real, attached to the lithe figure of a woman who was looking up at him with a mixture of alarm and concern. Starlight reflected in her eyes. He stared at her, entranced, blinking slowly as if waking from a dream until her words finally registered in his ears.

"Are you okay?" Her hand moved as if to reach for his face again, but she hesitated, drawing her hand back to her side as she studied his wide-eyed expression. If Emma didn't know any better, she'd say he'd just seen a ghost.

_Not all spirits can be seen with the eye. Some memories haunt longer than any specter._ Emma winced, as much from the thoughts she knew all too well as from the tight grip Killian still held on her wrist. She looked up to see him still staring at her, his wild eyes beginning to calm, brows drawing together in an effort to pull himself back to the present.

"Could you let go?" She cringed at how soft her voice was – not because she was trying to stay quiet in an effort to not have her voice carry, but from a surge of unwanted emotions that had bubbled up to the surface.

Sympathy she could handle. Empathy was another thing altogether.

She had enough of her own demons to fight. She wasn't about to add to her overburdened load with someone else's.

When Killian continued to stare at her uncomprehendingly, Emma waved at his vice-like grip on her wrist. "I'm rather attached to my hand, and would appreciate hanging onto it for the foreseeable future. So, do you think you could let go? Or at least ease up?"

Understanding dawned and Killian jerked his hand away in embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled. His hands clenched into fists, silently chiding himself for acting like this was his first-go-round with a target instead of what would hopefully be the end of a long succession of missions.

"No harm, no foul," Emma replied lightly, trying to be discreet as she rubbed at the sore area, her fingers tingling as blood rushed back into her appendage. She'd probably sport a bruise later, but it was just one more in the collection. She smiled wryly. Their dash through the forest had certainly added a few new ones. Her shins may never forgive her after this last chase.

Emma brushed her hair out of her face, frowning as bits of leaves and twigs fell out. "Perfect."

Killian turned to her with an eyebrow raised in question, but Emma just shook her head. "I think I spotted a light back that way a bit," she indicated by pointing her thumb over her shoulder. "It might not be much, but it could be worth a look."

Killian nodded and indicated for her to follow, keeping as close to her as a shadow as they crept back through the forest, keeping quiet as the silence around them now echoed alarmingly.

Emma held up a hand to signal a halt before she crept forward stealthily, brushing aside stray branches and squinting to see better in the dark.

There was a large metallic container sitting in a tiny clearing. What light there was in the night sky was reflecting off its surface – that's what had originally caught her eye. Emma also spotted a few windows placed evenly along the sides before realizing what she was seeing. "I think it's a trailer."

Killian studied the object beyond Emma's shoulder with a frown. "Why would anyone want to live out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Maybe they like the quiet." She shrugged and pushed forward into the clearing. "It looks abandoned."

"Swan," he caught her arm, causing her to turn to him with a questioning brow. "Do you really think this is such a good idea?"

"I'm just going to take a closer look." She glanced back at the camper that had definitely seen better days. "Even if no one's there now, they might have left some food or supplies behind that could come in handy."

"And if there is someone still there?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying we go in guns blazing. We could wait until they leave. Besides," she patted his shoulder. "That's why there are two of us, right? Two against one. Being a team and all that."

"And the men on our trail?"

Emma bit her lip, contemplating. "We should have a few minutes, at the very least," she decided. "Just enough time to scope it out and hightail it out of here before anyone else comes stumbling along."

With great reluctance, Killian let her go, but followed her to the edge of the camper. He wasn't letting her out of his sight – not with danger from unknown forces being still too close at hand for his comfort.

"Give me a boost?" Emma's voice whispered back as she tried to stand on tiptoe to see in the windows.

Killian grinned. "Are you giving me permission to place my hands on you, Swan?"

She glared. "If either of your hands move so much as a millimeter where I don't want them to, you'll be losing them. Are we clear?"

A stern nod that did absolutely nothing to hide his mischievous eyes and impish grin. "As the lady wishes."

Emma glared at her companion for a few seconds before stepping into his entwined hands, pausing right before he made to lift her. "Wait, your arm."

"It'll be fine for a few moments." He stopped again when she pushed down on his shoulder.

"I don't want you ripping your stitches."

"Concerned for my welfare, Swan?"

She scoffed. "I put a lot of work into patching you up. I'd hate to ruin it, and know I did nothing but waste my time in the first place."

"Well, unless you're suggesting I give you a piggy-back ride," he paused. "Well, now, there's a rather fond idea. How about it, Swan? Care to climb on?"

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Go ahead, sailor, keep it up. See how long it takes before I –"

Emma jumped; Killian's hand automatically reaching out to shove her behind him as a door just a few feet away from them swung open with hardly a sound. Killian's arms rose in the universal sign of supplication and surrender as he stared down the barrel of a shotgun.

"Easy there, mate," Killian called quietly. His eyes almost crossing as he stared at the muzzle of the gun pointed directly at his nose.

"Just keep your hands where I can see them," a subdued, masculine voice warned. "You too," he motioned slightly with the gun to Emma who had been hidden slightly behind Killian. She raised her arms up so the man could see them.

"You two make enough racket to wake the dead," the voice continued, body hidden by the shadow of the door. "You're either the worst thieves I've come across or the stupidest."

Emma gaped, affronted at the accusation, even if it was partially true. "Excuse you, I am _not_ a thief."

"So you weren't going to break in and take whatever you wanted with no intention of returning it?"

Emma's mind worked furiously to come up with a response but came up with nothing.

The gun rose a little higher, keeping both Emma and Killian in its sights.

Killian shifted subtly, blocking most of the aim away from Emma. "You caught us fair and square. How about a parley before you decide to blast us to pieces on your front doorstep. Just let us in and we'll talk about it like civilized gentlemen." Emma cleared her throat. "And woman."

"And why would I ever invite you in?"

"If you hadn't noticed, mate, we're not alone." Killian's voice had lowered as crashing sounds began edging closer to the clearing. Emma tensed immediately, her head whipping back and forth between the gun in their faces and the ones that were soon to be trained on their backs.

"Please, just let us go," she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice as the sounds drew closer.

The trailer's occupant paused, listening to the noise. "Sounds like you're bringing even more trouble to my doorstep then I'd like. Maybe I should signal for them so they can take you away, let them soil someone else's doorstep."

Killian felt his teeth grinding as he struggled not to overtake the man. He wouldn't risk an itchy trigger finger, especially when he didn't know how many others there might be left hiding further in the shadows of the dingy trailer.

"Please," Emma felt the lines of strain going right between her shoulder blades. "Just let us go."

"Don't bother, Swan, the coward's not going to listen." Killian glared at the shadow.

"Swan?" The voice paused in confusion, the gun dropping just the tiniest bit. "Emma?"

Emma's head snapped up in alarm and bewilderment. "What?"

"Swan?" The voice repeated. "Emma Swan?"

"How –?"

"Get in, quickly!" The gun vanished from view and the shadowed figure stepped back into the trailer.

Killian and Emma exchanged suspicious glances, hesitancy on both their faces but the sounds of men's voices were becoming too clear for comfort. Throwing caution to the wind, the two scrambled inside, Killian shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him. He halted behind Emma who stood in the middle of the cramped camper, looking down in confusion as their host worked frantically to throw back a ratted carpet, fingers prying at hidden lines in the floor and lifting a section of it.

"Get in, both of you," he waved them forward.

"What is it?" Emma questioned, hesitant.

"Smuggler's cache," Killian replied, recognizing it almost instantly.

"It'll be a bit cramped," the voice apologized. "But it's better than what'll await you if you hesitate for much longer."

Voices outside the trailer had Emma jumping. Her face still read how vastly unsure she was about it, but seeing no other choice, she slid down into the dark, gaping hole, Killian right behind her after tossing her bag into the small space of a corner at her feet. As soon as the two were in, the lid was shut snuggly, not even a trace of it behind as the figure hurriedly threw the old carpet back over the top.

Meanwhile, Emma did her best not panic at the thought of being trapped in a tiny, compressed space with a man who was still largely a stranger, wondering if this was all just a clever ruse to hand deliver them to the men hot on their trail. She flinched when she heard the pounding begin on the door, only the smallest part of her brain registering the comforting weight of an arm wrapping itself around her waist.

What felt like a tornado ripping through the place above sounded all around them as things rattled, shook and broke. Loud angry voices joined the cacophony, but they couldn't make out anything distinct with all the other noise.

Emma turned her head into the shoulder next to her, burying her face in an attempt to block it all out; with little more left for her to do then pray to whatever deity would listen as they waited. The arm around her waist tightened, and while it didn't exactly help her relax, it did let her know that she wasn't alone and that was enough to ease her fears.

She began silently counting each of her breaths, focusing on each intake of air in an effort to calm her racing heart.

When something shattering above her head made her lose her count, Emma cast out frantically for something else.

She felt the steady thrumming of a heart near at hand and realized with a shock that it wasn't hers – hers was racing too wildly to be beating _that_ calmly. Emma focused in fascination at the heartbeat beneath her fingertips and began to count each one, forcing her own into the same rhythm until she eventually relaxed. She breathed in a quiet, shuddering sigh as her tension began to leave her, the smell of salt, spices and sweat mixing together to remind her of sailing on the high seas. There was another scent hidden amongst them that she couldn't identify but was uniquely pleasant, and she realized with a start that all of it was emanating from the man currently tucked so close to her in the cramped space.

Emma couldn't even recall the last time she had been so close to another being. Even with all her travels with Graham and Ruby, she hadn't been this physically close to another since –

She squeezed her eyes shut in the complete darkness in a vain attempt to push back the memories. The ghostly whisper of voices in bed during long, passionate nights, faces full of love and hope for the future, lingering kisses and touches that ignited sparks in her eyes and a fire in her belly, childish laughter that lit her face up as if the sun itself was shining from the heavens.

The sudden overwhelming desire to hold and be held fell upon her with no warning and Emma's heart ached fiercely, her muscles near-rigid with the need to grasp onto the shadows of her past with both her arms and hold them tight.

A warm, quiet hand drifted comfortingly up her back and Emma's eyes snapped open, startled into believing, just for a moment, that her desperate wishes and desires had manifested themselves physically. When logic and reality caught up with her Emma wasn't sure _what_ to feel when she realized it was Killian's fingers tracing lines back and forth across her back.

It was as familiar as it was foreign.

Where normally she'd back away in a hurry from such intimacy with another – especially a near stranger at that! – she found that a small, selfish part of her was all too willing to revel in the touch. Too desperate and fierce of a desire coupled with nowhere to go, and Emma finally decided to allow herself to indulge in the sensation, if only for a moment. Besides, if these were to be her last moments in this world, she might as well enjoy _something_ in it, right?

As Emma relaxed to the alluring combination of a steady heartbeat and a warm, comforting embrace, time passed.

She must have drifted at some point, eventually caught in the realm between sleeping and waking when a rustle of movement directly overhead in otherwise complete silence had her as rigid as board in an instant. Killian's body tensed as they both waited in pained silence as the lid above their heads rose on quiet hinges.

"All's clear," the vaguely familiar voice sounded, dark figure standing back in the graying dawn. His hand reached out to help a very stiff Emma crawl out of the hidey-hole before turning to help Killian as Emma groaned, stretching her muscles and joints.

She looked over the cramped, but much larger than her hiding spot, space inside the camper and winced at the mess.

The trailer's owner followed her gaze and sighed. "There wasn't much to begin with, so cleaning up won't be much of an effort. Don't worry about it."

Emma pursed her lips but nodded.

"I'm not sure why you did it, but I'm grateful all the same," Killian sounded from his corner where he was working on getting the kinks out of his neck.

Emma's brow rose as she turned back to the figure who's features were becoming more clear with each passing minute of the rising sun. "You recognized me." She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice. "Or at least my name. How?"

She felt more than saw Killian stiffen behind her as the moment filtered back into his awakening mind. The man before her looked between the two of them for a contemplative moment before he sighed deeply.

"I knew Bae."

"Neal?"

The man nodded solemnly.

Killian watched in gross fascination as the name alone sent a staggering blow to the woman before him. She paled almost instantly and had to brace herself on the counter for support. He jumped to his feet immediately, ready to catch her should her world suddenly tilt sideways.

Emma barely felt her lips moving, a numbing sensation overtaking her body. "How?"

The man studied her critically, concern in his eyes before he decided to continue. "He was an old friend, someone I've known since we were kids."

"I don't remember –"

A tiny smile curled at his lips as he indicated his trailer. "I'm a bit of a recluse – a writer by trade. I like the quiet; less distractions and temptations when you're out in the middle of nowhere most of the time."

"Booth, August Booth," The name slipped from Emma's lips before she even realized she'd said them. Her brows furrowed as she thought, allowing memories to carefully slip forward. "You were his friend. You made that beautiful book of fairytales for –" She bit her lip, both unable and unwilling to continue.

August nodded solemnly, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for your loss." He took in the way her shoulders seemed to curl in toward her chest as if trying to shield herself from the reminder, from more pain. "For all your losses."

Killian watched the exchange with a practiced eye, witness to a private moment of shared pain and felt empathy wash through him. He blinked rapidly at the feeling and shoved it aside roughly.

Sympathy was one thing.

Empathy was another.

It led to attachment, and he couldn't afford any more attachments. Not when all they did was bring you pain. And _especially_ not when that attachment was for your intended target from a mission given by a precarious, ruthless woman who's notoriety was the stuff of legends.

Killian was known to push his boundaries with her, but her patience would only go so far. And he highly doubted it would ever extend to _this_.

Whatever _this_ was.

He looked up to see that August was watching him with keen, intelligent eyes. Killian had the distinct feeling that the man knew more than he was letting on, but as to exactly how much was yet to be determined.

Killian shifted casually to place his hands in his pockets, fingering the items he had tucked away inside; ready for his usage in an instant should the need become necessary. He relaxed minutely when those eyes moved back to Emma, her hands at her temples, rubbing away at an apparent headache.

August frowned. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine."

"Listen to the man, Swan; get some rest whilst you can. It'll be another long day, I can feel it already," Killian added when August looked ready to argue.

Emma glared at the two men, her stubbornness rearing up, but when she took a step away from the counter and would have stumbled to the ground had Killian not caught her she finally conceded. With a flushed face and eyes that dared them to make one smart comment, Emma extracted promises that they wake her in a few hours, nothing more.

August led her to the back of his camper, allowing her to rest on his bed. Emma sank into the mattress with a relieved sigh and was out near instantly.

When he came back into the kitchen area, a brow rose at seeing Killian picking up some of the clutter.

"Never pegged you for the 'doing things for others' sort," August commented offhandedly.

"I'm not," Killian replied easily. "I do very well on my own and intend to keep doing so. That being said, some habits are hard to break, and as I figure I owe you my life it's the least I can do to repay the debt."

"I'm not quite sure this would cover it, but it'll do as a down payment I suppose." August sighed quietly as his eyes raked over the mess before rolling up his sleeves and diving in.

"Since you owe me a life," August began after several moments of quiet companionable cleaning, "I'm going to ask you to give me one."

Killian froze mid-grasp for a tattered paperback novel thrown on the floor. He looked at August in incredulity. "I beg your pardon?"

"A life for a life," August continued without so much as glancing Killian's way. "Seems fair to me."

"Sorry, mate, but I have no intention of fathering children."

The comment finally made August pause, his brows drawn together in stark confusion. "Why on earth would I want your child?"

"Oh, I thought that's how these kind of things go," Killian quipped. "You save my life and want the life of my first born child in return and all that." His grin showed teeth.

"As tempting as the offer is, I was thinking of one a little more present already." August returned to his work with a shake of his head.

"You're asking me to off someone for you then?"

At August's raised brow, Killian shrugged his shoulders. "If it's not the first born child, it's usually a demand to rid oneself of an old enemy." As the other man simply stared at him, Killian turned away with a grin. "For a writer, you're not very well read, are you?"

"More tempting than the first offer," August admitted. "But what I had in mind was _protecting_ a life, rather than disposing of one."

"Lost relative, is it?"

August sighed, tired of the games already. "It's Emma."

That brought Killian up short. "Emma? What does she have to do with it?"

August turned to stare at Killian's confused expression, surprise lighting his own. "You truly don't know, do you?"

"What? Have a childhood crush on your old mate's girl?"

August was already shaking his head. "She's much more than that." His eyes drifted towards the closed door. "So much more." He looked back to Killian, blinking at the expression there and felt a small lift of his lips. "You have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about."

"I would, if you'd bloody well tell me." The soft, awed tone of August's voice in reference to Emma had struck a chord in Killian. And it annoyed him. He was also growing increasingly frustrated with all the mysterious allusions and questioning of his intelligence.

Killian felt his fist clench at his side, recalling how he'd always made it a point to only know as much about his targets as was absolutely necessary to get the job done – usually a face and a name. He'd built quite a reputation on getting the work done with so little, but as he'd often pointed out, you needed little else with a good enough shot. And it was just such this reputation that had always led to assignments that were messier than most.

Apparently, this fine kettle of fish was even bigger than had been originally alluded to.

_What has that bloody queen gotten me into this time?_

August watched his guest carefully for a long moment, allowing the dark haired man to stew as he continued to tidy up the place. The movement caught Killian's eyes, and he narrowed his gaze at the man.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"I'll tell you something if you promise that you'll protect her."

"Doesn't it look like I'm already doing that?"

August nodded. "But things aren't always what they appear to be, nor are people all exactly what they claim to be. Are they?" Intense blue eyes met guarded cerulean as tension rose between them until it was a near physical thing.

Killian smiled suddenly. "No idea what you're referring to, mate."

"Don't bother, Captain, there's no one here you can fool."

Killian's smile became predatory. "I suppose the joke's on you then, if you let me into your home knowing full well who and what I am."

"Who's the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him? Your guard is slipping, Captain." August smiled at Killian's glare and tense-set jaw. "When I pointed my gun at you last night, your first instinct wasn't for your own life, and you followed her right into the cache without a second thought. If she wasn't who she is, I would have easily handled you over to your pursuers with a clean conscious for all that you've done."

A muscle ticked in Killian's jaw as he crossed his arms across his chest defensively. He didn't like what this man was implying, even if the thought had been crossing his mind more than once since the door to their secret compartment had closed over his head. Yet, lying there in the dark with her, he hadn't been as concerned about it as he should have been. And there in lay the problem.

"You're drawn to her," August studied the agitated profile of the man standing in his cramped kitchen. "For reasons you can't rightly explain." His smile was quick and brief. "Don't worry, you're not the first and you certainly won't be the last."

"Are you implying –"

"Only that she has something about her that draws people to her naturally; something intrinsic that reaches out and touches others. Call it what you will – her heart, her aura, her soul. It's still very real and all too present." His smile grew slightly at the corners. "It changes people for the better." His eyes flickered to the closed door once more. "She's touched all of us." He glanced back to see clear blue eyes also looking at the door, an unfathomable look written across them. "I daresay she's even beginning to change you."

Killian bristled at the implication. "Spout all the flowery words you want, mate. But I'd only risk my life for two things: love and revenge. I'm not about to risk my neck for someone I've just met."

"You already have, Captain. Even if you're too stubborn to acknowledge it yet."

Killian scowled.

The quiet click of a door sounded and both men turned to see a sleep-tousled blonde head stumbling out of the room. She paused, noting the tension in the room and felt her brows rise. "Everything alright out here, gentlemen?"

"Just wondering why you're up and about so early," August countered smoothly. "You can sleep longer if you'd like."

Emma shook her head. "I've slept enough." Killian frowned at the shadowed, haunted look in her eyes before sensing someone else's stare he looked back to see August's knowing smile and scowled once again.

"There's a shower in that little room off to the side there," August indicated with a wave of his hand. "I'm afraid it's only cold water though."

Emma's eyes darted between the shower, the mess and the two men before Killian smiled at her. "Go for it, Swan. We'll finish tidying up in here, pack our things and be on our way shortly after. Best not to linger."

Emma nodded, grabbing some fresh clothes from where she had thrown her bag after the upending they'd received by uninvited guests and disappeared into the broom closet-sized room. When the sound of running water started, Killian glared at the man across the space from him, already sensing the smug countenance all but oozing off of him.

"Not going to tell her who I am then?" Killian inquired.

August began pulling out fresh supplies, piling them on his counter to place in Emma's bag. "Your business is your own, I suppose, so long as it doesn't involve harming her, and from the little I've seen, I see no reason to believe you'll harm her intentionally."

"I try to make it a practice not to hurt the womenfolk, not when there's so many others to pick and choose from." He grinned. "I prefer much more agreeable activities with the ladies."

"Her death really hit you hard, didn't it?"

The very breath in Killian's lungs stilled, his every move almost predatory as his grin turned feral. "Care to try that one again, mate?"

August barely spared the lethal man so much as a glance. "I told you, I'm a writer. And a rather secluded one at that. That means I keep my ears to the ground, alert for any new stories or signs of danger. I've heard yours. As I've heard hers."

Killian's look darkened. "I thought you said you were a friend of hers."

August shook his head. "Not of Emma's. Of Bae's – Neal's." He handed his gathered supplies into Killian's arms, eyeing the man directly. "And just as he was willing to go to any lengths to protect her, so will you."

Killian glared but didn't bother arguing against the thick-headed man. It appeared this August Booth had a block of wood for a brain, rather than anything practical if all he did was spout nonsense.

August smiled, knowing he'd won as the shower water turned off and Killian turned to roughly shove things in Emma's bag.

As Emma stepped tentatively out of the little room, her hair damp but clean for the first time in days she let a tentative smile show. "Thanks, I can't tell you how much I needed that."

August waved aside her gratitude. "Happy to help. Your companion is welcome to take one too. I have some spare clothes that should fit him in the left-top cupboard of my room." His eyes flitted over the mess of his bedroom, courtesy of his uninvited guests. "Or well, he can take whatever he can find."

With a nod of stilted gratitude and Emma's assurances that a few more minutes weren't going to hurt, Killian relented and entered the cramped room himself after picking over a few items of fresh clothing, sorely missing the bag he'd had checked into the belly of the aircraft.

Emma immediately turned to help August clean up the rest of the mess. "I'm sorry about all this."

August smiled. "Like I said, Emma, it's no trouble." She looked from him to the mess and back again with a raised brow of disbelief and his smile grew. "Okay, so the mess is a bit inconvenient, but it's happened before and it'll happen again. You should have seen this place after a raccoon family got in here once when I left the top hatch open by mistake. Now _that_ was a mess."

Emma couldn't help the smile that lifted the corners of her lips.

"Any word on your family?"

Emma stilled out of reflex before continuing with her cleaning, determined to keep her hands busy. "Plenty of leads that never panned out," she told him, exhaustion evident in her voice.

"Nothing promising?"

She hesitated before sighing deeply. "They always seem promising until I find that they lead absolutely nowhere, and I'm right back to where I started, but with less hope than before."

"You'll see them again, Emma. I know it." August smiled reassuringly, but she could only give him a forced, half smile in return. Everyone always insisted she would. And look how many of them were left standing next to her now.

The shower water turned off, both their eyes flicking toward the door but for different reasons.

"Emma? How well do you know this Killian Jones?"

"Hardly at all," she admitted. "I met him on our plane, saved his life and we've been running ever since." Her lips twitched at his baffled expression. "It's a long story."

"One you'll have to sit down and tell me one day. Might make for a bestseller." His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled good-naturedly.

Her lips quirked up half-heartedly.

"All the same, I think you should keep an eye on him, just to be safe."

Emma nodded seriously and thanked him for his advice just as Killian stepped out of the little room, muttering about having more elbow room in the smuggler's cache, earning a more genuine grin from his blonde companion as she agreed.

"Ready to go then, Swan?"

Emma nodded. "Ready." She turned to August, her eyes sweeping over the straightened camper. "Thank you, again, for everything, and I'm sorry for the trouble we brought."

August held up a hand to halt her words. "While I'd rather not go through such a fun-filled evening again anytime soon, I was glad to help."

Emma slipped on her backpack, comforted by the slight weight to it and let August guide them to the door. He held it open wide as Emma and Killian blinked at the bright morning sunlight filtering in through the branches above, leaves stirring slightly in the breeze.

"Take care, Emma," August smiled. "And be careful. The men on your trail are no fools. They –"

A loud _bang_ was heard, its sound echoing off the trees and sending birds scattering in alarm in all directions.

Killian grabbed Emma's arm and yanked her to the ground, shoving her under the trailer and rolling in beside her as more shots were fired. There was a muffled _thump_ as something large hit the ground and the pair turned as one to see August's body, his blank eyes staring at them in suspended surprise.

Emma's terrified green eyes locked on the deadened blue that stared back and choked on a strangled sound that managed to escape her lips.

"Move, Swan!" Killian yelled, tugging at her arm as he half-dragged her towards the opposite end of the trailer, checking for darkened figures lurking in the forest's shadows before pulling her the short distance from the camper to the undergrowth, rolling through the ferns on the edge of the clearing and charging headlong into the forest.

More shots were fired, but Killian knew they were coming from a solo rifle. The group of followers must have left a single man behind to stand watch.

Killian cursed at himself. How could he have been so stupid as to not check the surrounding area before stepping into it?

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Speaking of stupid decisions. He looked over to see terrified, uncomprehending green eyes who struggled to keep up with his relentless pace in her disconnected state.

He'd done exactly as Booth had said he would. He'd protected Emma without a second thought. This golden haired, green eyed, stubbornly complex woman that he had only met a few days ago and knew next to nothing about!

He'd protected her on instinct, as if he'd been doing it for years.

He hadn't lied when he told the man that he'd only risk his life for two things, so…

_What in the seven hells am I doing?!_


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Notes: **Constructive Criticism is always welcomed.

* * *

><p><em>No words can describe a mother's tears<em>

_No words can heal a broken heart_

_A dream is gone_

_~ Tarzan, "Two Worlds"_

0-0-0

_Chapter Four_

They'd run until they could physically go no further.

Nearly collapsing onto a tree, Killian grabbed at the stitch in his side, gasping for air. His throat was dry and he was coated in sweat. He felt a sharp pull as Emma yanked her wrist out of his grasp. She stumbled a little further away, hiding half of her body behind another tree as Killian sank to the base of his own. He was just about to inquire after her when the distinct sounds of retching reached his ears. He winced but didn't comment.

Death was all too common in his life. He'd watched many a man and woman die as a result of this never-ending fighting. Most were from unknown foes, a few were at his own hand.

Some were innocent. Others were not.

The lines seemed to blur more and more the longer this war dragged on.

He glanced at his companion, listening to the now dry-heaving as her stomach's contents held nothing more.

He'd never taken pleasure in his kills. They were a means to an end, nothing more. And he'd learned to tuck away all his emotions when dealing with the aftermath. He supposed that made him largely indifferent to the deaths of others, of seeing people die in front of your eyes, but even he was having a difficult time stomaching this latest one.

True, he'd only known the man a few short hours, but things changed once you got to know a person. When you sat down and talked with them, found out about their past, their thoughts, their feelings and dreams, something inevitably shifted.

And it was for this _exact _reason that he only ever asked for a face and a name.

Less connection, less attachment, easier kill.

Killian grimaced as he pushed himself to his feet, treading carefully as he headed toward the blonde woman who had collapsed to her knees, her body visibly shaking from its exertion.

"Easy, love," Killian started as he eased her away from the mess and settled her on the opposite side of the tree. He frowned when she put up little resistance, her face pale and sweaty, every limb and digit quaking.

What could he say? Nothing about the situation was "alright." He couldn't promise her that things would get better or easier.

If he was perfectly honest, he was amazed she'd lasted this long in the seemingly endless string of horrors that had all started on that cursed tarmac. His brows furrowed as something clicked into place.

While the attack on the airplane could have been deemed an act of war, even allowing for the slaughter of those who had survived, the men on their trail were relentless. Why would they go so far as to exterminate every last living soul who had been on board? Unless…

They were looking for someone.

He watched her carefully as Emma raked a still shaking hand through her tumble of blonde curls, exhaustion etched into every surface of her being.

Only one person had known he was on that plane, and she wasn't so stupid as to try and off him after she'd purposely sent him on this mission to begin with. That left only one other person of interest onboard.

And the recently departed had informed him none-too-subtly that the woman he was traveling with wasn't all that she seemed.

Killian felt frustration rise within him. It coupled with the sheer anxiety and confusion of his own earlier actions from when he'd thought nothing of protecting her during the chaos.

_Nothing_ was more important to him than his revenge. In order to fulfill it, he needed to stay alive. And yet here he was, on a never-ending sprint through some gods-forsaken swath of forest with a pack of wolves breathing down their necks and shadowing their every footstep.

"Mind telling me what the _bloody_ hell is going on here, Swan?" Killian grit his teeth, trying to tamper down the anger coursing through him as part of him took in her complete fatigue and the other part yelled at him for even thinking about being considerate of it in regards to the entire convoluted situation.

Emma's head fell back against the tree trunk, her tired eyes shut. "I don't know."

"Like hell you don't!" Killian could feel his temper snapping. "We've been chased nonstop since that explosion ripped through the plane! Those men are after something. Or more pointedly, _someone_." His gaze narrowed as she winced. "Your friend hinted at as much during an earlier conversation."

Green eyes opened wide to look at him in surprise. "August told you who I was?"

Killian's arms crossed across his chest, hiding the clenching and unclenching of his fists in his agitation. "Alluded to something most heavily, but was entirely vague on any specifics." He eyed her closely. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly," Emma muttered. When she caught the tight set of his jaw she sighed heavily. "Does it matter who I was?"

"When I'm getting shot at daily, it does."

Emma glared. "I didn't _ask_ you to come with me. If I recall right, I told you it was better if we split up. That people only get hurt when they're around me. And _now_ look at what's happened! This is _exactly_ why I tried to go it alone!"

"And if you _had_ you'd probably be as dead as your friend right now!"

Emma gaped at the man in front of her, the anger and accusation in his voice.

Killian winced, knowing he had struck a low blow. Her friend's death was still too near. It wasn't fair for him to use the man's death as a weapon. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Bad form."

Emma wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She could feel something very akin to hysteria bubbling up inside her, and knew without a doubt that if she didn't share something with someone soon, she wouldn't be able to contain it any longer. And being a hysterical, wretched mess in the middle of the forest with gunmen intent on bringing her and everyone involved with her down wouldn't be the brightest of ideas.

She eyed the contrite but still agitated man in front of her. August had cautioned her to be careful around him.

_But August isn't here anymore, is he? _An insistent little voice whispered. _And he knew full well what was going on. You're leading Killian around in the complete dark. He deserves to know exactly what he's gotten himself into._

She sighed. _And if he's smart, he'll ditch me at the first opportunity. _She caught his clear blue eyes with her deep green ones. _I would leave me behind too, if I could._

"My name isn't Emma Swan."

Killian's eyebrow rose, a silent gesture for her to continue.

Emma breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly as she braced herself for what had become the inevitable. "My name is Emma Cassidy. My husband gave me the nickname 'Swan' after he gave me this necklace. It was initially a bit of a joke with my mother's maiden name meaning 'White'." She glanced down, only half surprised that her fingers were already nervously playing with the piece of jewelry, fingering it the way a monk did with his prayer beads. The motion always managed to sooth thoughts that accompanied her memories of Neal and the life they could have had – _should_ have had.

"Before that, my name was Nolan, daughter of David and Mary Margaret Nolan. Although, my mother usually went by," she frowned, "_goes_ _by_ the name 'Snow.'." Emma forcibly made the correction, holding onto that slim bit of hope, even if it was only a fool's hope.

"Snow?" Killian echoed, his mind rapidly trying to fit the pieces together, wondering why it all sounded so alarmingly familiar. And then it clicked. "_Snow White?!_ You're the daughter of Queen Mary Margaret and King David?!"

Emma's lips curved at the incredulity in her companion's voice. Looking at herself now, she had a hard time believing it herself. "Snow White and her Prince Charming," she quoted back the now infamous newspaper headlines that had sparked a phenomenon when her parents had first married. "Quite the scandal in their day. The princess and heir to the throne of Enchanté having a not-so-secret liaison with a commoner from the countryside. Royalty marrying a man without a single title to his name. And let's not forget that she had been betrothed to King George's son, James, since birth at the time.

"Then to top it all off, as if only being a few days over the age of eighteen when they wed wasn't enough, their daughter was born a little…_earlier_ than expected." Her mouth quirked into a half smile that wanted to choke on the sobs threatening in her chest. "I suppose I was a scandal myself."

She dared to risk looking at the dark-haired man in front of her, her lips twitching at the flabbergasted expression he wore. He couldn't look more dazed if someone had decided to knock him upside the head with a golden compass. It wouldn't have been any less ludicrous then the seemingly-impossible story she was telling now.

She frowned in concern when he stumbled a few feet away from her.

Killian could only feel numb shock coursing along his nerves. _Emma Cassidy née Nolan! _

_She holds information about the royal line alright. 'Undercover agent to the family' my arse. She's the fucking heir to the bloody throne! _

_How could I have been such an idiot as to believe a word that woman says. Has her own bloody agenda. _His expression darkened. _The bitch played me like a fiddle, sending me on what amounts to a suicide mission – what a farce this has turned out to be. Of _course_ Emma would know about that reptilian creature of a man – Gold's the princess's father-in-law for gods-sakes! Everyone knows that! He went mad after watching his son fall during battle with – _

Killian's eyes widened, his mind whirling as he spun back toward the blonde with her concerned face and inquiring eyes.

"You're Emma."

"Yes."

"Emma Cassidy."

"Yes."

"Neal Cassidy was your husband."

Emma nodded, more hesitantly this time as she wondered where this was going.

"The same Neal who died in the Battle of Lost Souls? About ten years ago now?"

Emma felt a twinge of pain lance through her heart, her voice soft when she answered. "Has it been ten years already?"

"What happened?!"

Emma looked up, startled as he lurched toward her, his eyes slightly wild.

"What happened to your husband? How did they say he died?"

Emma tucked her legs up, her arms wrapping themselves around her knees in an effort to give her something to hold onto. "He was shot through the heart. It was near-instantly fatal. His father was there in his son's last moments." Her arms tightened around her knees, her eyes trained on the ground as terrible memories ghosted past. The disbelief, the anger – the _pain_. "I didn't really ask for more details at the time."

"I was there."

Emma's head snapped up. "Did you see –?"

Killian shook his head, his gaze fixed on a point in the past, blue eyes clouded in remembrance. "No. I saw the aftermath. The sight of his son falling in battle sent Gold over the edge – like a demon, he was. A beast from the stuff of nightmares. There was no reasoning with his rage and grief."

Emma bit her lip, curiosity flaring up inside her for the first time in a decade. She opened her mouth to ask the question that now burned in her mind, closed it again upon noting the look on Killian's face, and then finally blurted it out with a silent apology. "Do you know who killed Neal?"

She watched as a special kind of agony consumed her companion's face, and suddenly wished she could take the question back.

"I was…distracted," he finally told her through deadened lips. "My brother was killed that day; died right in my arms."

Emma's hand flew to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

Killian nodded curtly, accepting her empathy, knowing her words were sincere. She'd felt a similar pain and for just as long. He wouldn't be so callous as to say she shouldn't apologize when she hadn't been there – hadn't seen or felt the horror. The shriek of the dead and dying, the sickening suffusion of blood that permeated the air, the mind-numbing grief as the only family you knew lay gasping for his final breaths in your arms.

Emma may not have known that _exact_ kind of torturous pain, but he'd seen and heard enough in the last few days to know she was no stranger to the acute, suffocating feeling. It reflected back all too brightly in her haunted eyes.

His gaze darted quickly to hers and away. His mind yelling at him to garner the information he so desperately desired, knowing she might hold the final answers he was seeking. But the sorrow and grief carved into her face made him hesitate.

_This is why you only learn a face and a name_, a voice hissed angrily in his head. _You get attached. Things always become more complicated when you become attached._

_Right,_ he argued back. _Because this entire sordid affair has been a walk in the park from the beginning. _

His eyes flicked back to her, his nerves fraying as he deliberated. Finally, hating himself a little for it, Killian decided to press forward. "Did Gold say who killed his son?"

Emma shook her head, tangled blonde curls bouncing slightly in her face. "He didn't say much of anything when he returned. He took his wife and left. Said they wanted to live in peace, far from the battlefields – that he'd had enough bloodshed for a lifetime." She shrugged her shoulders. "Or at least that's what my mother told me. I wasn't entirely myself by the time Gold returned from the front lines, for various reasons." Her brows furrowed as something tugged loose from a vague memory. "I overheard rumors, whispers from the servants when they thought I couldn't hear them. Returning soldiers said a Captain fighting under King George's banner was the one who killed Neal." She rested her head on her knees. "But it sounded like no one really knew for sure; no one saw who fired the shot."

Killian felt his fists clenching and unclenching as memories of that day assaulted him. Ten years of pent-up rage and vengeance simmered to the surface, but one look at her slumped figure had him holding the demons at bay.

She was as touched by the tragedy of that day as he was.

"Any idea where the Dark One is now?"

Emma flinched at the distasteful nickname her father-in-law had earned for himself in battle. "Not entirely." She tried to make her shrug appear nonchalant. "I don't know where most people are these days. Hell, I don't even know where _we_ are exactly."

"Last I heard, he was headed toward King George's kingdom," Killian prompted, his thirst for knowledge unquenchable now that it tasted so close.

Emma nodded slowly as she tried to scrounge up the memories. "I think that's where they were headed, but I don't know if they still –"

She looked up then, caught the look of hunger in his eyes and stilled. "That's what you're searching for, isn't it?"

Killian raised a brow in question, a small part of him in the back of his mind fascinated to watch her put the pieces of the puzzle together so quickly.

"Gold," she elaborated. "He's the one who took your brother from you, wasn't he?"

"Aye." He didn't bother trying to deny it, simply crossing his arms across his chest as he waited her out.

"That's why you became a treasure hunter – to find things that are lost or highly elusive," she quoted back to him. "You're looking for Gold."

He didn't flinch under her gaze. "And what of it?"

"What're you going to do once you find him?"

Killian's grin was all teeth. "Why, skin myself a crocodile, what else?" At her look of confusion, Killian elaborated. "The Dark One is a cold, unfeeling reptile, caring for nothing and no one but satisfying his own wishes and desires. Well, he's about to find that that greed comes with a price."

Emma's brows furrowed, unaccustomed to seeing such darkness in his eyes. "And his wife, Belle?"

"While I'd love to hurt his heart as dearly as he did mine, I'll not touch the Lady Belle if she doesn't get in my way. I have an aversion to killing women, truth be told."

"What a gentleman." Emma's tone said it was anything but.

Killian's resulting smile didn't reach his eyes. "Pirate, darling, remember?"

"Gold – He didn't know what he was doing. Grief can make you do crazy things. And Belle, she had _nothing_ to do with it. After Gold's first wife left him with a baby to raise alone…he was lucky to find Belle. To find love again. They raised Neal together. She was more his mother than the woman who gave birth to him ever was. Losing Neal – it ripped her heart out. Hasn't she been through enough? Haven't they _both_ been through enough?"

"He took my brother from me! Right in front of my eyes!" Killian rounded on Emma, his fury flying. "You said it yourself, _princess_, no one knows who fired that shot! And yet he killed my brother for it all the same. Was Liam any less innocent than your Belle? Why should he have been murdered for a crime that wasn't his? What Gold did was monstrous!"

"And it appears to have created a monster."

Emma's quiet accusation pulled him up short, words failing him momentarily.

"Did your brother deserve to die? No. But neither did Neal." She hissed back at his glower, her shaking hands finding purchase on the tree behind her and using it as a crutch for her to stand on unsteady legs. "I'm sorry that you lost your brother, but I lost a husband. And you don't see me seeking out his killer with nothing but murder on my mind!" Her voice rose steadily. "I was happy! I was in love! I had _just_ gotten married when he told me he was going to the front – so that he could _protect_ me. To make sure nothing happened to me or our family. He _died_ and I _never _even got the chance to say goodbye! He sacrificed his life to protect his kingdom, his citizens, his parents, my parents, our –"

She closed her eyes, biting off her tirade, the silence echoing around her for a moment before fierce green eyes met startled blue. "Neal died a hero. He sacrificed _everything_. His father knew that. Gold knew that he couldn't take that away from his son, knew that his own actions that day had only caused more pain, more bloodshed, more sorrow for those who had been left behind in his wake. He regretted it. _That's_ why he went into self-exile, denouncing all connections to the royal family, all titles, all honors… He tried to go alone, but Belle loved him too much, had already had to endure the loss of her son. She refused to lose her husband as well.

"Your brother may not have deserved to die on that battlefield, but how is harming people in the name of your vengeance doing honor by him? Killing Gold won't bring your brother back, Killian. It'll only soil his memory further." Vibrant green eyes held her listener captive. "It won't lay the ghosts of your past to rest."

The forest echoed in the ensuing silence. Even the usual chatter of birds had gone quiet.

Emma's words rattled about in his brain, warring with his rage and grief, grappling with a vengeance that had fueled his every moment for the last ten years.

"Passionate words, Princess," he smiled but there was no amusement or humor in it. "Befitting of one pampered from birth, surrounded by parents, servants and adoring citizens. Someone who didn't have to scrape and scramble to survive as a child alongside the only family he knew, the only family he _had_ in the world." He scoffed in derision. "Safe little royal with no blood on her hands."

Killian was pulled up short when Emma's response wasn't to bite back, to engage him in his pent-up anger, but to double over in laughter.

He scowled. "Something funny, Princess?"

Emma tried to put a stopper in her laughter, but it was either laugh or cry and she sure as hell wasn't about to start crying in front of _this_ man.

"Pampered little royal?" She spread her arms wide about her. "Do I look spoiled to you?"

Killian bit his tongue, refusing to comment even as his eyes took in her too skinny form, evidence of a lack in proper nutrition, poorly hidden by her wrinkled and worn clothing. Dark circles lay under her eyes from having to sleep with one eye open or risk not waking at all the next morning. Her skin was pale but crossed with scrapes and scars, her limbs only bone and muscle, giving her a lithe but hard figure.

Her arms dropped halfway back to her body as her expression deepened and darkened. "And after all the time you've spent with me, especially knowing what you do now, how can you say there's no blood on my hands? Or did we just imagine all those innocent people being slaughtered? How about August? Can you tell me that had I not been there, he still would have died? Or any of the other people who have lost their lives willingly or not because of me?"

Her arms dropped back to her sides, her eyes steely. "Tell me again, Killian, how there's no blood on my hands when I can count the number of lives lost in the hundreds."


End file.
