Prompt: I found a cute little message in a bottle you wrote when you were little and decided to come find you and share it with you but god I didn't expect you to be so hot wth AU

October 23, 1992

Dear Prince Charming,

Well, you'll probably be Captain Hook anyway, knowing my luck. My name is Emma Swan, it's my birthday today, and I'm in 4th grade. My teacher says we have to write these letters so we can throw them in the Charles River and see how far they go once they make it to the ocean. I don't think anyone is going to find mine. Nothing cool like that ever happens to me, so it doesn't really matter what I write.

I'm living with the KlockKluczk "Klutch-cow-skies" this month. They suck. I miss living with Mrs. Welch. Her husband wasn't around that much, and I guess it's cuz he liked another lady better. But he was better than Mr. Klocz… he wants me to call him "daddy", but I don't have one of those. Or a mom.

Anyway, we're supposed to ask a question so that you have something to answer when you find this. In the ocean. Which is huge. So it's never gonna happen. Caroline's will probably get found. Or Mikey's. The cool stuff always happens to them. They each have a mom and a dad and Christmas presents and brand new clothes that no one else has worn. I bet they never had to pack in a trash bag.

So my question is this. If you're reading this, and you are a Prince Charming… or even if you're Captain Hook, can you come save me or kidnap me or something? Come take me away, I don't care where. I just want someone to adopt… never mind, this was stupid anyway.

Emma Swan
10 Guest St
Home for Little Wanderers
Boston, MA

Emma sealed the letter in her bottle with a violent shove to the cork before the teacher could read it. All the woman had to know was that Emma had actually written a letter, not that she hadn't written a good one or that she'd put (and then crossed out, she wasn't stupid, no one was coming for her) the address where someone could adopt her from. She wasn't going to last at the Kloczkowski's anyway, she didn't even want to learn how to spell their name.

She smiled disarmingly at her teacher, shaking the bottle to show that she was done with the assignment, and then took out her silent reading book. If she looked like she was busy, maybe no one would bother her.

When they took a field trip to the Hatch Shell the next week, Emma threw her bottle in with everyone else's. If she didn't watch to see it sink, then she would never know it was crushed in the bottom of the river instead of floating off to the Enchanted Forest and her knight in shining armor.

Right?

Nineteen years later…

Killian Jones wrapped the line around the cleat instinctively, his mind on anything but securing the 90-ton brig affectionately called the Jewel of the Realm to the pier. He and Liam had just sailed her up from North Carolina after a winter in drydock for the start of the tourist season. She was a beauty, her two square-rigged masts towering high over Storybrooke Harbor and dwarfing his own motorsailer - the Jolly Roger. The rest of the crew would be reporting for work in the morning, decking out the tallship for the Memorial Day shakedown cruise that would take place that weekend.

Killian just wanted to curl up in his berth on the Jolly and sleep until it didn't hurt anymore.

Milah was gone. She took her son and went back to Gold - too afraid of what the man would do otherwise and to Hell with what Killian wanted. It didn't matter that she had torn the family he was trying to be a part of from his grasp. It didn't matter that his heart may as well be a squashed reminder of their "fling" under her heel.

It mattered that she and the boy were safe. He'd have to make do with that.

He'd have to learn to be happy with that.

It was Liam who had suggested they fly down after the Jewel by themselves, keeping Killian so busy with the sail back up the coast that he wouldn't be able to think about Milah. About her son. About how no one good in his life stayed.

Except for his brother.

Liam had been there for it all. He had been there when their mother died - so long ago now that all Killian remembered was that she smelled like sunshine. When their father abandoned them - don't worry, little brother, I'll look after you now. When foster home after foster home threw them back because two rambunctious boys who could only be calmed by the sea were just too much to handle. When the Royal Navy sent him on a deployment that cost him his hand and his commission. When he found Milah only to lose her again.

Killian kept forgetting that he just wasn't allowed to have nice things.

"Come on, little brother, we're going to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate our journey." Liam's voice floated over the bow of the ship and Killian hung his head. So much for a rum-soaked night alone in his cabin.

"I think you meant 'younger', Liam. And I…"

Liam's head popped over the gunwale. "Don't want to hear it. We're going. And then Elsa is expecting us at home." He paused, holding up his hand to stall Killian's sputtering. "You're staying, Killian. We haven't seen to the state of your vessel yet and Elsa will want to see you."

Killian looked longingly towards the Jolly before nodding. It really wouldn't do to upset Liam's wife on his first night back in Storybrooke.

He was drunk.
He hadn't meant to.

He had been good the first few nights back in Storybrooke, staying with Liam and Elsa, working on cleaning up the Jolly Roger so he could resume living there over the summer. He had planned on having one drink at the Rabbit Hole with Smee before heading back to his boat for the night. They were set to take the Jewel out with the evening tide the next day - he and Liam both refused to leave port on Fridays, so they were heading out Thursday before the holiday. Everything was set and stowed aboard for the long weekend sail, nothing needed to be done until they reported at noon to start getting ready. Time enough for one drink and an early walk to the Jolly. But Milah walked into the bar with her bastard husband and didn't so much as look at him. So one drink led to another which led to a few shots and now Killian was most certainly drunk.

And stumbling.
And heading to the town's small beach.
At midnight.

He wasn't sure where the tears came from, or why his brain was trying to tell him that his left hand was on fire, or even why the full moon was glinting so awkwardly into his eyes off that patch of sand when the reflection on the water was soothing.

Sand didn't glint.
What was that?

He should probably see what it was - make sure it wasn't a danger to the town or to his brother or… what had he just been thinking? Right. Something funny was just down the shoreline and he needed to know what it was.

Killian was sure that the beach wasn't this long. He had run it just the other morning, chasing the neighbor's dog down after it took off with Elsa's glove that she had dropped on her way out the door.

That dog hadn't been so hard to catch as… what was he after again?

Oh. Right. The glinty light.

Killian turned back to where he'd started, a bit giddy when he saw his weaving path in the sand. He could usually hold his liquor better than this. But he hadn't eaten before heading out, and then Milah, and his hand.

There was a glass bottle half buried in the sand.

It wasn't broken, it had a cork and inside it looked like there was a… but no, that kind of thing only happened in the movies.

And certainly didn't happen to him.

But he reached down to pick it up, anyway. The paper inside rattled against its glass cage and Killian stared, transfixed, for a good long moment.

He'd found a real, honest to God, message in a bottle.

He grinned.

The glass itself was clear, it looked like it had once held wine, and the cork was saturated and covered in ocean scuzz. There was a nautical term - and he knew what it was, thank you very much - but scuzz would suffice for the moment.

So it was older than just a few days - maybe it had even traveled across the ocean, much as he and Liam had after…

No, not going there.

Message.
In a bottle.
That's where his thoughts were focused.

He put the bottle in his pocket.

The light in his cabin was dim enough that it didn't hurt his eyes, but bright enough that he could see some of the scrawled writing on the yellowed paper, peeking out from where the roll wasn't tight enough. Part of him thought that he should leave it for the morning, when the words wouldn't swim around the page and he could make sense of it.

But he was curious.

And sobering up. The night's walk had done some of the work, and time did some more. He was too curious to sleep, so he grabbed the cork between his teeth and pulled.

The glass neck shattered in his hand and sent him flying from his chair.

"Bloody HELL!"
Well, he was certainly sober now.

Blood welled up in his palm and dribbled out as he clenched his fist to staunch it.

Liam was going to kill him if this was bad.

He could feel the glass shards between his fingers as he moved to the ship's head, running water first over his clenched fist and then over his palm. The cold was startling, but helped to slow the bleeding and he was relieved to find the cuts were jagged, but not too deep. Picking out the glass with his teeth was unpleasant, and soured him on the sender of his mysterious letter, so he wrapped gauze around his hand and resolved to chuck the whole thing out in the morning.

October 23, 1992

Dear Prince Charming,

It was the writing of a child, but it was the hastily scratched out "Prince Charming" that caught his attention. There was a violence to the pen marks that resonated with him. He didn't believe in happily ever after, either. Hadn't for a long, long time.

And neither had this "Emma Swan", if the rest of the letter was to be believed. She was nine-years old when she wrote this. Had been for all of, what, a few hours if she wrote this in school? He remembered that age. He couldn't forget.

The families who kept them for so short a time that he didn't even know their last names - much like this Emma lass.
The foster parents who hit Liam because of what Killian did.
The ones who didn't care one way or another.
The families who were torn away from them right when they started to fit in - to hope for stability.
The parents who locked Liam in his room for stealing food to feed his little brother.

The one family who suggested they might change their name to Darling before the social worker came and brought them back to the group home - Killian never did find out why.

No, he didn't much believe in happily ever after.

But he hoped, in a way he hadn't hoped in years, that someone had come to rescue this little girl.

He hoped, whoever she was now, that she had found her happy ending.

He woke to pounding. In his head, in his ears, in his bunk.

In his bunk? That wasn't just the hangover, then.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

No, not just the hangover, his brother stomping over the deck of the Jolly and down into his sleeping quarters.

Killian mumbled something about pirate treasure, not entirely sure what he meant, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Liam grabbed him by the ankle and yanked.
Hard.

The floor of his cabin was rock solid and cold, sending spikes of pain shooting through his skull as he attempted to reach up and root through the bedclothes for his pillow.

Whether to put it under his head or over his face, he still wasn't sure.

Before he could find the object of his search, Liam reached over and smacked him with it.
Also hard.
Killian would glare at him if he didn't think it would hurt too much.

Instead, he suffered himself to roll over and use his arm for a pillow. Whatever his brother wanted, it could wait until he had to report at noon.

"You're an hour late, Killian. Have you been sleeping all this time? What the ever-loving-"

Killian's head shot up, and he almost could ignore the dizziness for his shock. "What did you say?"

Liam looked concerned, then sympathetic, and then annoyed. "Have you been drinking?"

Killian hung his head, and nodded. Loathe to upset his brother further, and knowing the rules that the two of them had set together for the crew, he pushed himself to his feet and sat heavily on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Liam."

Liam continued to stare him down for a long moment, and Killian resisted the urge to squirm. He forestalled the lecture he knew was coming with a quiet, "No drinking the night before we sail, and early for muster. I know, Liam. I'm sorry."

A hand rested on his shoulder, and then it squeezed. Liam was quiet when he asked, "How bad was it, little brother?"

Killian just shook his head. His voice cracked more than he'd ever admit to when he replied, "She didn't even… she pretended like I wasn't even there."

"Killian," Liam's voice was barely a sigh. "Killian, you have to stop this. It's going to become a problem if you don't."

He nodded. He remembered those families, too - the ones torn apart by dependence on alcohol or worse. The ones he didn't want to remember. The ones who… Killian was determined never to be one of those statistics. But every once in a while, he couldn't help it.

"I won't let it happen to you, brother. I swear I won't." Liam was adamant on this, and he spoke with a conviction that buoyed Killian enough to get him moving. He knew his brother couldn't promise that - only Killian could make that promise - but it still helped.

So he slid the brace on over his stump, wincing at the abrasions he must have made trying to rub out the fire his brain helpfully conjured up the night before, and clicked in the prosthetic that would help him man the ship on her way out of port.

He hoped he'd last the day with it on.

"Killian," Liam spoke up before they could make their way out of the cramped cabin. "What did you do to your hand?"

Stupidly, he looked down at his left hand. It hurt, every time someone asked about it. Whether they knew the story or not, whether they were legitimately concerned or not. But Liam… Liam knew the story. In more detail than anyone else in the world - the doctors and surgeons, the men on his ship, Milah. He knew about the nights when Killian forgot his hand was gone. He knew about the nights Killian wanted to cut it off again - the fire assaulting his senses too much to bear, too much to rationalize that it was already gone. For Liam to be asking now was-

Liam grabbed Killian's right wrist and waved the bandaged hand in front of his face. "What did you do to your hand?"

Oh. Oh.

It all came back to him, then.

The night's journey to the beach, looking for comfort.
The bottle in the sand.
The little girl's letter.

Come take me away, I don't care where.

Wondering who she was, whether she was happy.

He gestured helplessly towards where the remains of the bottle had been carefully swept into the trash can by his desk. "I found a message in a bottle. The bottle broke when I got the message out."

Liam just continued to stare at him. "You found a… message. In a bottle?"

Killian nodded before grabbing his jacket and climbing out of the cabin. His duffel bag was packed and ready in the bow, so he hefted it over his shoulder. He leaned back down to see Liam staring at the broken glass, and called out, "Well? Are you coming or not, brother?"

His prosthetic was under his bunk and the brace had been thrown clear across the cabin. He rubbed lotion into his stump, trying to massage out the lingering soreness from the day's sail. The abrasions littering the skin, from unconsciously rubbing it against anything that would make the burning stop the night before, were stinging fiercely. The pain focused him, allowed him to concentrate on the task and not the need for it. They'd put in a good day's work, the entire crew coming together with only a few hiccups after months on dry land. If they kept this up, it would be a good summer.

Liam had graciously offered to take the night's watch even though the first night at sea was usually Killian's. For once, he couldn't help being grateful that his brother was as observant as he was. Between the previous night's activities and the long day fighting with his brace, Killian wanted nothing more than to crawl under his covers and sleep until morning bell.

Finally done with his arm, Killian snapped the top shut on the jar of lotion and set it on the shelf above his bed. He folded his shirt neatly and shucked his pants in favor of the soft pajamas Elsa had given him for Christmas last year. Draping his work pants over a chair, Killian had just turned back to his bunk when he noticed the slip of paper falling from a pocket.

He hadn't even realized that he'd brought the letter with him.

Killian wasn't sure what it was, but something about the words on the page called to him. He couldn't get them out of his head. Couldn't get her out of his head. According to her birthday, she was not quite two years his senior, and he wanted - needed - to know that she had made it. He didn't know why, he didn't know how to find out - she could be anywhere in the world by now - but he couldn't let it go.

And he didn't know why.

Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately considering his need for sleep - there was nothing he could do about it until they were back on dry land. And even then, he had things that he needed to do, responsibilities to himself and his brother.

I don't think anyone is going to find mine. Nothing cool like that ever happens to me, so it doesn't really matter what I write.

Could he really afford to expend the time and effort to track down the woman this nine-year old lost girl had become?

He fell asleep before he could come up with the answer.

The weekend flew by with only a few unforeseen hitches - fraying lines that should have been replaced and greenhand crew members who didn't realize they got seasick until the middle of the cruise.

Emma's words kept echoing in his head whenever he had a spare moment.

Anyway, we're supposed to ask a question so that you have something to answer when you find this. In the ocean. Which is huge. So it's never gonna happen.

He had to give her that one. It was highly unlikely that her letter would have found its way to him, but it had. And, at the very least, he wished there was some way he could give her that.

So he looked up the Home for Little Wanderers, called them, and was told in no uncertain terms that if there had ever been an Emma Swan in their system, that they couldn't and wouldn't tell him.

Right, he should have expected that.

There was no Emma Swan listed in the White Pages for Boston, and Google gave him so many listings for her that he had to admit defeat.

He went back to work on the Jewel, and it was the end of June before he knew it. The early season cruises were mostly school groups and weekend cruises around the harbor. Killian preferred the former to the latter - something about teaching the local high school kids the ins and outs of old time sailing called to him.

But high school students presented their own brand of problems - snide remarks from the ones who didn't want to be there, and the girls who were more interested in watching him than the sails. The weekend charters were undeniably less stressful, but also left him with time to think. And more often than not, he thought about her.

Well, you'll probably be Captain Hook anyway, knowing my luck.

He'd heard the comment that one of the women on their "Thirty Before Thirty" cruise (he doubted a single one was under thirty) this morning. Swooning over him and his brother as they greeted the group, the women had been all too willing to unbutton a few too many buttons on their shirts.

But then Patricia or Melinda or one of them had noticed the claw-like attachment that he used to secure the rigging. "It's too bad," he'd heard her whisper. "He'd be so good looking otherwise."

It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, and it certainly wasn't anything he hadn't thought himself - that he hadn't come to believe himself - but it stung all the same.

He'd climbed high above the deck after that, spent hours among the sails and lines, just trying to forget.

June turned into July and brought the brothers to Newport for the Tall Ships festival. It was more subdued this year than in the past as the majority of the ships were still on the west coast, having just completed the Pacific Coast challenge. Regardless, Killian enjoyed the festive atmosphere, the ability to show off the Jewel with the pride she deserved. He loved telling stories of her beginnings, entertaining the children and families who boarded their vessel in search of adventure. He could hear the street musicians throughout the day, smell the food the vendors were peddling, feel the sun on his face and the spray of the ocean in the wind. There were fireworks at night, when the crew was free to wander the town. It was the most freedom he'd felt since he and Liam had moved from England.

And still, he listened intently to every conversation around him. Hoped someone would call out for "Emma", wondered if she were here - walking the same streets and sampling the same local fare.

He hadn't forgotten about her, no, just put finding her to the back burner as the summer got into full swing and the Jewel was out on the water from dawn until dusk - if not on multi-day charters north to Canada or down around the Cape. July became August, and then it was Labor Day. Every time he was on shore, he searched the internet, looking for any kind of trail that would tell him what had happened to her.

Was she married?
Was that why he couldn't find her?
Was she alone, living frugally and keeping to herself?
Was that why she was unlisted?

He wouldn't consider the worst option.
That she was another statistic in an overworked system.

"Little brother, you've got to let this go." Liam's voice echoed through the basement where Killian was scouring the internet again. He jumped a good foot off of his chair, then whirled around, slamming the laptop shut as he turned.

"I'm not-"

"You are. You're looking for her again. You're not going to find her, and I need you to let this go. I need you to focus," Liam said as he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

Killian seethed. "Focus? Have I been anything but focused these last few months? I've done everything you've asked, we've been more successful this year than any time in the past. I've stopped drinking. I've been early. I've followed all of our rules."

He paused, catching his breath. "I've ignored every last person who has felt sorry for me or been disgusted by me or not left us a damn tip because they didn't expect to deal with a damn cripple. I need this. Let me have this."

To say Liam looked shocked was an understatement. His mouth hung open, and there was a look of utter dismay on his face. Killian could see his brother trying to form a thought, trying to come to terms with what he had missed. There was nothing he could do now.

"Killian, I… I didn't know."

Killian smiled grimly. "I didn't want you to. But this? For whatever it's worth, it helps."

September flew by in the blink of an eye, and before Killian knew it, the schools were back in session and they were scheduling the last cruises of the season. The days were getting shorter and the sunset cruises were their most popular bookings, but the crew was itching to be done for the season.

Killian hated the end of the season.

When the Jewel was winterized and shut down for the harsh winter.
When Elsa started to pester him about when he was going to close up the Jolly and come winter with them.
When the nights grew longer and the per diem repair jobs he and Liam took on to supplement their income didn't have the same hold over his thoughts as sailing did.

It was too much.

October brought the official last cruise of the season, a rare Indian Summer weekend that allowed the crew one last sail – just for themselves, no patrons to worry about or cater to.

It was heaven on earth.

But it was also the last time Killian was going to sail on the Jewel until Memorial Day, so when they pulled in and he tied off the line to the cleat, his heart was heavy.

He moped around for a week before Liam had enough.

"I need you to go down to Boston for me," Liam began. "Some of the crew have signed on with the Liberty Fleet down there for the winter. I'd bring them down myself, but you look like you could use some time out of town. If you take them on the Jolly, it shouldn't take you more than a couple of days to get there. Take a week, or even two, lose yourself in the city for a while. The weather looks good for the next few weeks, so come back when you're ready. Then, we'll figure out the plan for the winter."

The sail was fairly uneventful. He dropped the crew at Long Wharf, picked up some supplies from Liberty, and headed down to Constitution Marina where he moored his boat for two weeks.

And he wandered. He walked the city and just lost himself for a few days. There was history here, rich and rampant, and he loved every moment of it.

He did not love the multitudes of people who crowded the sidewalks in the morning and evening, so he stuck to his boat then. But the harbor was just as calming as the evening walks, and with no set agenda in mind, he was able to relax – somewhere other than the Jewel – for the first time in years.

He was scrolling through the Yellow Pages app on his phone, looking for a new place to eat – he had a craving for a good British meal – when he saw it:

Emma Swan
Bail Bonds

It couldn't be.

The odds that he'd found her, while not looking and on his vacation of sorts, was preposterous. But he'd never forgive himself if he didn't try. So he stuck her letter in his pocket, donned his leather jacket, and locked up the Jolly.

At the very least, if she wasn't the same woman he was looking for, maybe she'd at least have a dinner recommendation for him.

The office was a little hole in the wall, and he passed it twice before finally noticing the small placard on the door.

What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? Was he really going to just walk into this woman's office at what was clearly the end of her business day with no plan? Just ask her if, perhaps, she was the orphan who was looking for Captain Hook to come and save her?

Judging by the fact that he was already opening the door, yes – that was exactly what he was going to do.

He stopped breathing.
His brain must have short-circuited.
It was the only explanation for the way he stopped dead in his tracks.

The woman sitting behind the desk was beautiful. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back severely, but it did nothing to hide the length and the sheen of it. She was staring at him, one eyebrow raised high on her forehead, and the jade of her eyes was captivating.

But it was the fierce look in her glare - the one that spoke of years of heartbreak and walls so sky-high that no one could see the lost girl hiding behind them - that called to him.

A lost boy knows a lost girl, after all.