Graphic here: tmblr . co/ZVRwvr1gaTxY7

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words.

A/N: THIS EPISODE KILLED ME. HERE HAVE SOME FEELINGS.

It had taken him a good fifteen minutes of just staring at her to build up the courage to board. Yes, he had already been inside that morning, felt that first rush of overwhelming joy but this is different. This is coming home.

The ship creaks beneath his feet as he walks, his hand grazing the railing. Slow steps. One, two. The lantern swings on his hook with every movement, the breeze ruffling his hair, the scent of the sea taking over his senses.

He runs a length of rope in his hand, letting the roughness of it chafe his skin. It reminds him that this is real, that she is here. He listens to her. The sound of the sails whipping in the gentle wind, the creak of the floorboards, the groans of her shifting, swaying upon the soft waves. These sounds had been the accompaniment, playing in the background of all his joys and his heartaches, his victories and his defeats. For centuries, this place had been his resting place, his weapon, his companion.

The Jolly knew him, the way he had been before. She was the only one left who did. She had seen him when he was a little scrap of a boy running across the deck, stealing treats from the cook. She had seen him when he was a young Lieutenant, stalwart and true, standing by his brother's side. She had seen him as the pirate Captain, disillusioned and just a little broken, barking orders at his crew, a leader now. She had seen him turn into Hook, vengeful and angry, merciless.

(She had also seen him come back for the memory of a family that could've been and a woman with gold hair and eyes that set him aflame)

He takes his time to relearn the shape of her, the feel of her. Walking along the deck, running his hand along the wheel, he catalogs the changes since he was aboard her last. Blackbeard hadn't changed much, a few trinkets here and there had been moved from their place, a few new ones added. But, she still doesn't feel right. Everything looks just a little bit off-centre, every sound a little off its rhythm. He looks up at the mainsail and frowns. He could have sworn that it used to be an inch to the left.

It unsettles him, this feeling, like he is intruding upon someone else's home instead of setting foot upon his own. His belly churns and he feels a restlessness in his heart, his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on the wood. He can't seem to let go of the uneasiness in his gut, the feeling that something was about to go terrible wrong.

(That he was about to lose her)

He punches the mast with his fist and lets out a growl of frustration. The fact that the one place that was supposed to give him comfort is failing to do so only magnifies the ache. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, taking in the salty smell of the ocean.

(At least that hadn't changed)

It is Blackbeard's fault. He is certain of it. The man had come aboard his ship and marked her, poisoned parts of her so she felt wrong to him. He climbs down into his quarters and he is struck by the same feeling of displacement. It reminds of when he had first slept in this room. After Liam had passed, he had taken the Captain's Quarters but nobody had known that he had slept on the floor for weeks before he could bring himself to lie where his brother used to. He had moved the desk, thrown away books, shattered anything made of glass during the earlier days. He doesn't remember much from then except the numbness that his drink had eventually brought him. He had broken the room until it fit him, until he had stopped seeing his brother breathe his last every time he entered it.

But, this feels like those first days when everything had been foreign. He touches everything. The candelabra on the desk, the soft blankets thrown upon the bed, the piles of books by the windows. Everything seems to be in its place, everything except him.

He walks up to the mirror and washes his face, the water a bitter cold. He looks at his reflection, droplets clinging to his eyelashes, his beard. He looks haggard, darkness under his eyes, face drawn. He wonders what had changed since the last time he had seen himself in it. He turns away, the storm in his heart only growing wilder, and sits on the bed, his face in his hand.

Perhaps it wasn't her. Perhaps it was him. He had changed. He had given her up. He had shucked his clothes. The coat that had been his armour, the boots that had walked a thousand miles with him. He had even tried to give up his hook. He had traded everything that had made him a pirate. He had traded away everything that had made him the man who had last walked this room.

A loud scraping noise makes his head jerk upwards. It is followed by footsteps and he watches as two booted feet come down the ladder. Despite himself, A small smile grows on his face.

It is her.

She comes around to face him, her smile mirroring his. The air between them is still rife with the feelings unleashed during his confession in the cabin. He feels such staggering joy at just seeing her, he cannot comprehend it. As she gets closer, her face changes to concern.

"Hey, are you okay?"

(Perhaps he is as much of an open book to her as she is to him)

(The thought warms him)

She takes his hand and kneels by him, her fingers stroking the backs of his. He smiles at her, letting her presence, her touch calm the tempest raging inside him.

"I'm alright, love. It's a little unsettling coming back after all this time."

His voice trails off at the end as he looks about the room again.

She follows his gaze and replies, "I'm glad you got it back. It belongs with you."

He turns back to face her and he can't help the sheer force of the emotion that bubbles up within him. Like his heart will burst from it all. Pulling her up to sit beside him, he places a kiss on her knuckles.

"How are you, love?"

Her eyes become a touch clouded and Ursula's voice plays in his head.

He plans to fill her heart with darkness forever.

He had told them of course, it had been the first thing he had done. They had all taken the news differently, Emma with contempt and disguised fear, her parents with much more obvious fear and a quite a bit of nervous twitching.

"I'm— ," she says as she frowns, "I'm not sure. But, being makes it a little better."

The smile on her face is a tiny thing, just a little twitch of her mouth but her eyes shine just like they had in the cabin.

(It's you)

The unease from before finally becomes too much for him. His emotions wild and his heart beating a tumultuous rhythm. He dips down to kiss her and it is like before but, longer, deeper. Her hand grips his tighter as she leans up to reach him better. His other arm comes about her waist to pull her closer, closer. They kiss desperately, open-mouthed, hot breaths filling the minimal space between them. He begins to taste salt and he isn't sure if the tears are his or hers. He only tilts his head and goes in again and again and again.

When they finally break apart, he doesn't open his eyes for a while. His forehead rests against hers, both of them breathing in shallow pants.

Her hand comes up to his cheek, wiping away the tears that had escaped. Hand moving up into his hair she pulls him in again for one more kiss. Her hand stays on his face as she speaks, his eyes still closed.

"You won't lose me."

It is a whisper in the night, a promise to stay. He breathes deep, turns a little and presses a kiss to her palm. His eyes open and he looks at her, the violent storm in his heart calming just a little. He wants to tell her then. He wants to kiss it into every inch of her skin.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

But, he doesn't.

"Stay?"

She only kisses him in response.

(She lies in his arms, pressed close to him despite her sweater and the blankets. Her hand grips his tight, his head buried in her chest. The ship rocks them to sleep and his last thought before his dreams take him is that the rhythm finally feels right again.)