I do not own OUAT, I'm only borrowing. Sigh!

Background: Set 3 years after Pan and Gold are destroyed in Neverland (not Storybrooke), leaving our favorite gang free to return to Storybrooke without ever facing Pan's curse.

This is a story set in the past, present and future, a convoluted history of sorts, and even though it begins in Storybrooke, this is not a story about our favorite sleepy town. There will be an adventurous quest, and of course true love will hang in the balance. AU

An Age Cannot Sate Love

Chapter 1: A Pirate for Hire

Our universe unfailingly adheres to laws at work in and around us. Much speculation surrounds the origin of these natural forces, although there is little proof to support any one claim. It usually boils down to belief. And belief is strong indeed, creating or destroying our own cosmos at will.

A miracle is said to occur when something happens contrary to the laws of nature.

Redemption occurs when something unequivocally wrong is made right.

This story is about miracles. And redemption.

====o0I0o====

Three days ago.

Emma casually walked down Main Street on her way to the station. She planned on stopping into Granny's for a coffee and a quick word with Red about the girls' night out planned for Friday.

Emma's life had finally settled into a comfortable routine. Henry was sixteen now, and he shared his time among his three parents' households, never missing a beat, and loving his bizarre family dynamics. Her parents had just had a little boy, her brother Leopold—Leo for short—who was so tiny and yet yelled with the lungs of an opera singer.

And she was married, in a union she never thought she'd find herself, the biggest wonder being that she was happy, really happy for the first time in her life. Everything worked and it worked well. She had married Killian Jones over a year and half ago in an outdoor wedding ceremony on the beach. He worked part time as deputy at the station, where she was still Sheriff, and part time running charters on the Jolly Roger for people looking for a day-sail or an overnight fishing trip. They kept busy, but always made time for each other.

A secret smile played across her lips as she thought about her handsome husband, how just that morning he had woken her with his unending supply of passion, his adoration for her never ceasing to surprise her. She never tired of allowing her mind to linger on her pirate, and so as she walked down Main Street, images of Killian Jones fitted together in Emma's mind like the pieces of a much-loved patchwork quilt.

Those were her last thoughts before Emma disappeared.

====o0I0o====

Three days. Emma had hiked for three lonely, rotten days through what looked like the Enchanted Forest, although she couldn't be sure, since every time she asked about Mulan or Aurora or Robin Hood or Prince Philip, racking her brain for the names of anyone she could remember from her last time there, all she got in return were blank stares.

Thank God she had a history of stealing. She had managed to pilfer a cloak from the back of a cart parked on the outskirts of a small village, covering herself with it immediately since her jeans, tank and red leather jacket stood out noticeably from the attire of those she came across. She had been wearing her boots the day she fell through, lucky that at least her footwear didn't attract attention underneath the hem of the brown garment.

After three days of hardly any food except a couple of apples and a pastry she'd been able to swipe when the vendors were looking the other way, and even less sleep, Emma was done. She missed her husband, his smell, his arms, his companionship, everything about him. She missed Henry, his animated exuberance about life in general and the way he never failed to make her smile. She missed her crazy family and her brother who screamed all the time. She missed showers and beds and hot chocolate and modern conveniences. She was tired, crabby, and had no idea where she was or how she was going to get home.

Sometime around early evening, she finally stumbled into the first actual town she had seen, her boots echoing on the cobblestones of the main square. Must be a port town she thought, listening to the squawking of seagulls and scrunching her nose at the smell of rotten fish.

The raucous sounds of a bustling tavern rang through the square, and Emma sat down on a bench outside, waiting for someone, anyone to emerge. She didn't have to wait long.

A rough looking man with brown homespun clothing shuffled out the door of the busy pub, looking back over his shoulder at someone inside, waving his hand in farewell. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that he was drunk and probably heading home for the night.

Knowing this was her chance, Emma sidled up to the wasted man. "Hey there, fella, lookin' for a good time?" She encircled his waist with her arm.

"Huh? Whu…what?" He looked confused, then inhaled sharply when he saw her face, obviously surprised that she would be hitting on him.

Emma found what she was looking for, and patted him gently on the back. "Hey man, maybe next time."

"Oh, alright then." He looked dejected, but as though he had expected it from her, and Emma felt sorry for the pathetic man, watching as he turned around and continued shuffling away.

She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't wanted a fight, and that he had been carrying his coins in his pocket. Giving the coin purse a slight toss, she caught it and opened the door of the tavern, ready for a hot meal and a bed to lay her head. She'd look for a way home tomorrow.

The noise was deafening after three days of solitude, and Emma had to stop in the doorway for a moment to get her bearings. That's when it hit her, the overwhelming stench of unwashed bodies wrinkling her nose. She remembered it from the last time she'd been in the Enchanted Forest, and she had to breathe out of her mouth so she wouldn't lose what little she still had in her stomach.

She ambled over to the bar stretching along the right hand wall, shouldering her way between two large men with their backs to each other. The rest of the joint was filled with crowded tables. There was a fireplace on the wall now behind her, although no fire had been lit—so many bodies clustered together kept the place almost uncomfortably hot.

"Hey!" she shouted over the din, trying to get the attention of the bartender by waving her hand at him.

He either ignored her or didn't hear her. She tried again to no avail. Frustrated, she turned around and faced the tables, leaning back against the counter. That was when she noticed one of the patrons steadily making his way over to her, his eyes trained on hers, a smirk on his face that left nothing to the imagination about what his intentions were. Emma rolled her eyes in disgust.

As soon as he was at her side, he asked, "Can I hep ye wit somthin', lil' lady?" He leered at her, baring his yellow crooked teeth, while his eyes raked the front of her body through her open cloak.

"Yeah, get the attention of the bar-man," she said with a straight face. She moved out of his way, allowing him access to the small piece of real estate she had carved out of the press of men.

He put his fingers between his teeth and whistled very loudly. Everyone in the near vicinity turned at the sound, all eyes alighting on her since she was one of very few women in an establishment filled with drunken men. She groaned in aggravation, sinking her shoulders and rolling her eyes again, averting her face to stare at some unidentified spill on the floor until everyone had lost interest.

The bartender came over and the man stepped back, allowing Emma her place back at the counter. "Thanks," she said over her shoulder.

"What can I do you for?" The bartender asked with a smile.

"I need a bowl of stew, a tankard of ale, and a bed for the night," she said tiredly.

He nodded once and left to get her food and drink.

Relieved, Emma stood for a minute, allowing her mind to clear, the cacophonous sounds drowning out all thought. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the man who had helped her.

"So, don' I git some kind of a thank ye?" He stared at her mouth, his unwashed body stinking with his proximity.

"Yeah, I thought I already gave it." She waited for him to make his move.

"Well tha' don' seem like enuv thanks to me." His grip started to turn a little painful, and she seriously wondered if they were going to do this here, with people all around.

"Seriously, dude, take your hand off me." She picked up his wrist and threw it off her shoulder, turning back around to wait for her food.

He returned his hand to the same spot, leaned forward and whispered low in her ear, "Come now, tha's no way to treat a gen'leman."

He was persistent, she'd give him that. "Gentleman my ass." And with that, Emma hooked her ankle around the back of his knee, waiting as his body fell forward into hers. She bucked her head backward and caught him right in the nose, satisfied when she heard the crunch.

"You wench!" he shouted.

She whirled around fast, hand up to deflect the punch that was aimed at her face. She stopped his momentum with a well-aimed kick to his knee, causing him to buckle in pain. Balancing on his other leg, he made to punch her again, this time in her stomach, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder, roughly pulling him away from her and tossing him to the ground, as the blood poured from his broken nose. The man scrabbled up and moved away as fast as his body would allow.

"Bad form to strike a lady."

Emma had been watching her attacker's hasty retreat, panting from the effort and the adrenaline. Her breath caught at the sound of his voice and Emma looked up wide-eyed into the face of Killian Jones.

"Oh, thank God!" She launched herself into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. "You came through too? Where are we?" She spoke quickly, her earlier anxiety and fatigue melting into relief.

.

.

Moments before, Killian had looked up from his rum to see a man he knew as Travis, a deckhand from one of the ships in port, pushing himself on the pretty blond Killian had been silently admiring since she'd come in the door all alone and with an obvious attitude. Travis was a brave man to chance a meeting with her. When he saw her throw Travis's hand from her shoulder, he knew he'd been right; she could take of herself. But when he had seen Travis's fist raise in retaliation, Killian had made his way over to the pair as quickly as possible. He didn't tolerate violence toward women.

He had easily thrust the lunging man to the floor, but he hadn't been prepared for her leap of faith into his arms, her soft body molding into his as her hands gripped the back of his collar and her face burrowed into the crook of his neck. Her hair smelled like leaves and twigs with an undercurrent of lavender, and he found himself responding to her embrace by comfortably linking his hands behind her back and resting his chin against her head, liking the way she felt in his arms.

She hugged him for a long minute, breathing him in as her pulse calmed.

Clearing his throat, he asked gently, "Do I know you, lass? Not that I'm complaining, mind you." He pulled back from her, curious about her identity, but surprisingly reluctant to break the embrace, the intimacy of her touch warming him more than his rum had.

She looked up into his tender blue eyes, swatting at his leather jacket. "Always teasing, pirate. Just hold me for a minute okay?"

He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he did.

Her soup arrived a minute later and she moved out of his arms as soon as she heard the bowl scrape the wood behind her. "I haven't eaten in three days. I'm starved. Have you had anything? Because I have some money if you need something."

He shook his head and she ate her stew quickly, taking a deep breath when she was done, stepping back from the counter with a contented sigh. She twisted back around to face him, and he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, trying to decide what to make of her.

She smiled easily at him at first, and then her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she tilted her head to the side in obvious confusion. "Killian? Why are you dressed like that?"

"Aye, lass, that's my name. Would you be so kind as to tell me yours?" Her eyes were traveling down his body and back up again, and he couldn't suppress the smirk that came so easily to his lips.

Her clear gaze met his blue one unflinchingly as some realization dawned on her. She looked away quickly, staring at the floor. "Damn it!" she said to herself.

"Come now, it can't be all that bad," he said conspiratorially. "You don't look like a Mildred or a Philomena or a Maren. I knew a Maren once, frightfully dull woman with a large mole just on the side of her…"

"What are you even talking about?" she demanded, looking up with a beautiful scowl scrunching her face and accentuating her impatience.

"Your name, still waiting." He smiled a toothy smile, greatly enjoying the byplay, and stroked his chin with his left hand, allowing his eyes to rake her form, lingering on her chest for a moment too long before meeting her steady gaze with a full-blown smirk.

Her eyes dropped to his hand, her mouth gaping slightly. Gathering it in hers, she turned it back and forth, inspecting his palm and scraping her fingers across his own like some sort of fortune-teller. She picked up his right hand and then compared the two of them. After she was satisfied, she gazed up at him sheepishly, as if suddenly aware of how peculiar she must look.

He couldn't help staring at her in disbelief. She was mad. A stunning lass, but a mad one nonetheless. Relapsing into his usual cocky attitude, he said, "See something you like?" and pulled his hands from hers, wishing he could take her to a quiet place, just the two of them, where he would literally charm the pants off her, mad or no.

He watched as she pulled herself together, the wheels turning in her lovely head. She ignored his comment and offered her right hand forthrightly. "Swan. Emma Swan."

He shook her hand in greeting. "Well, Swan. Emma Swan, it's been lovely meeting you. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He made to step away from her, knowing full well she wasn't going to let him go. He had used that move on the ladies so many times it hurt. If they thought he was walking away, they would suddenly become very willing to keep him there. He wasn't disappointed.

He felt her hand grip his arm. "Wait. Don't go. I need your help."

"Do you now?" he simpered, turning back around to meet her gaze, wondering what excuse she would have for detaining him.

"Yes. I-I'm from a different realm, and I need help getting back."

He knew she wasn't from around there, her clothing told him that much, but a different realm altogether? He hid his surprise at her response behind sarcasm, "Oh, is that all? Just a spot of realm jumping, eh?"

"Come on, Killian, I know you have a soft spot for damsels in distress. 'Good form' and all that." She smiled coyly, batting her eyelashes and tossing her hair over her shoulder in a phony invitation.

She was mocking him! Twice in the past five minutes she had managed to confound Killian Jones, and not much puzzled him about women anymore.

His eyes narrowed and his tone was sharper than he would have liked. "You hardly strike me as a damsel in distress, love. But you do realize that I'm a pirate. I don't answer to anyone except myself, and realm jumping is quite complicated, especially this time of year." He waved his hands around wide, mocking her in return.

Her face reddened in frustration. "God, why do you always have to make everything so difficult? Can't you just say, 'Aye, I'd be happy to help you, love.'?"

He chuckled at her vocal impression of him and said, "Well, Emma Swan, since you seem to know me so intimately, you must also realize that I only hire out for a price." He stepped closer to her, hoping to unsettle her a bit with his oppressive proximity.

Surprise followed by marked aggravation marched across her delicate features in tandem, and he smirked in response, impressed by her apparent gall at thinking she could persuade him with just her pretty face.

"I… I don't have anything I can offer you," she spoke incredulously and with a hint of defiance, her chin jutting out, challenging him to come up with something she would consider reasonable.

"That's not true." He raised an eyebrow and her lips formed a tight line; she wouldn't give him what his seductive expression suggested. He chuckled, enjoying her discomfort and picked up her left hand, looking at the thick gold band, a large emerald surrounded by diamonds resting comfortably on her finger.

"What? No, you can't have my wedding ring!" She snatched her hand back.

"Married, are you? Fascinating. Would have never guessed with the way you were clinging to me only moments ago." The smirk never left his face and he realized he was back in control as he watched her face dissolve into fatigue.

Her tone however, still held some annoyance. "I so remember doing this with you, and I'm really not in the mood for all the games. So let's just cut to the chase. Will you help me or not?" The dark circles under her puffy eyes stood out in stark relief to her alabaster skin, catching the light as she turned away from him slightly to look about the room as she waited for his answer.

Determining that he was up for a little adventure, and intrigued by the gorgeous woman asserting so much fortitude even when she was obviously exhausted, he decided to humor her. "For the price of the bauble on your finger, I will help you, milady." He bowed to her, "Killian Jones at your service."

She waved her hands to get him to straighten his posture. "Finally." Her shoulders relaxed in consolation, having gained a sought after respite from the banter. "So, what's first?" She looked confused, a questioning frown settling on her face.

"First, you come and have a drink with me. Then, well, who knows?" He licked his lips indecently, and she grimaced like she wanted to punch the smirk off his face, although she was unable to keep a glint of humor from her eyes.

Killian Jones led her to his table, his steady hand on her back a clear indication to all in the tavern that he had claimed this lass for his own.

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