This is the second short one-shot in the "Orphan of Arcadia" series. I recommend reading "I move the stars for no one" before reading this, as it sets everything up.

Hook blinked awake. His internal time sense, honed by many years answering the watch bells on a ship, told him that he had only been asleep an hour, perhaps less. The dark was as thick as cream and the world was nearly silent save for the constant low song of his ship. No breath, save his own, disturbed the stillness of his cabin.

He rolled over in his bed to find, as he had expected, the other half unoccupied. His sheets still smelled of apple blossoms and honey, however, and that odd sweet silver smell that he thought must be the scent of magic or, perhaps, the smell of faerie blood. It was always strongest when she lay with him- flushed and panting beneath his eyes and hands. Everything about her was stronger in those moments- sweeter and wilder and more intense.

The very thought had Hook throwing off his blankets and abandoning his bed to seek the object of his thoughts- his companion into eternity.

The deck was lit dimly, a few lanterns only to keep the night watch from tripping over their feet or tangling themselves in the rigging. A great mountain of a crewman with the incongruous name of Finch led the watch and it was he who nodded acknowledgment of Hook's presence on deck. During a daylight watch, attention would have been called to the Captain's presence, and all of the crewmen would have saluted him, but in the night watches, when most of the ship slept, no attention needed to be paid, for Hook was not there as Captain but man, seeking his lady.

Finch gestured to the ship's stern where a pale figure stood, back to the deck, looking out over the water. The stiff breeze over the deck seemed to eddy around her- gently plucking at her clothes and hair, but not mussing her. In point of fact, she was never mussed. Dirt and grime seemed never to cling to her skin, clothes, or hair. No matter how much time she spent working on deck or climbing ropes, her hands never blistered or bled. The sun never darkened her pale skin, and the wind never tossed her golden hair. She never slipped, nor fell, no matter how wet the decks or threadbare the rope, and Hook had noticed that, when she was on deck, fewer of his men succumbed to injury as well. And yet, not a single man of his crew seemed to think her anything out of the ordinary.

His men had taken to his lady as though she had been a member of their crew for a lifetime. Her ward Henry too, but Hook had expected nothing else- the lad was winsome and could charm even the hardest of men. Women, however, were considered unlucky on a pirate vessel, and his lady was an odd woman in any company, particularly the rough-and-tumble of a pirate's crew. And yet not a single man had ever commented on her strange speech or her odd mannerisms nor even the gown of purest swan-white she had worn as she boarded their ship for the first time on his arm. From the moment he had introduced her as his Lady Swan, not a single word of complaint or objection had been raised against her.

Hook approached the pale figure and lifted one hand from the railing to bring to his lips, inhaling the sweet aroma of apples and honey that salt waves never seemed to wash away from her.

"You should be asleep, Captain," she murmured, even as she relaxed against his side as he wrapped an arm around her. "I had not intended to wake you by leaving."

"My bed is cold without you in it, my Lady," he said in a soft voice against her temple. "I do not sleep as well without you at my side."

They did not speak each other's names. Names were, for persons such as they, valuable and delicate matters. Only in the dark privacy of their bed did they whisper to one another Emma and Killian.

"What was it took you from me tonight, Love?" he asked.

He knew that she did not sleep- eternal creatures need not- but most nights she remained at his side as he did so- watching him, protecting him, or losing herself in her own thoughts.

"The stars. I'm surprised any of you can sleep through the racket."

Killian frowned down at her, but she did not seem to be making a joke.

"What racket?" he asked.

"The stars singing. Can't you hear them?"

He shook his head. "No love. Stars don't make noise, not to mortal ears. The light can keep a man up at night, but more often it's the moon that makes him run mad."

"But you love them so- the stars. And you've never heard them sing?"

Again, he shook his head.

"Would you like to?"

Killian opened his mouth and then stopped, not sure what to say. He'd spent his life wary of magic- it had always seemed to do him more harm than good- and yet he found himself bound to a woman- a creature- whose very breath and skin shimmered with magic. She looked at him with those wide green eyes, glowing faintly in the starlight, and he could not deny her.

"Aye lass. I should like that."

She smiled up at him, then ducked from under his arm to stand behind him, pushing him forward against the railing. He could feel the blazing warmth of her through the leather of his coat as she pressed her front against his back and threaded her fingers through the fine short hairs at his temples. She positioned her hands so that her thumbs rested behind his ears and her first two fingers were on his temples, cradling his ears in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger.

The scent of salt-sea was cut by the smell of the air after a lightning strike, and then everything changed.

The stars did sing, a weird a-melodic sound that rose and fell, climbing to the heights of the scale until he thought he might shatter at it, then falling to the depths until the music seemed to vibrate in his very bones.

They did not simply sing, however, but they danced. Somehow, without moving from their positions with which he charted his every course, the stars swirled and stepped across the skies, one with another, until he was dizzy with sound and movement, drunk on starlight.

And then her hands were gone from his temples and he found himself half-hanging over the deck railing, his head still spinning, her slim arms strong as steel bands about his middle.

"I'm sorry, Captain," she was saying quietly as she pulled him upright. "I hadn't thought what such sights might do to a mortal constitution. Forgive me. Come now, my dear, to bed with you."

She was far stronger than her small, slim frame would indicate, and it was impossible for him to fight against her as she practically carried him down the stairs and to his cabin. The men on deck paid the pair of them no mind as they passed save to nod them both off.

"Why," Killian murmured as she continued to guide him through the ship and to the door of his cabin, "do my men never say a word when you do something peculiar, my dear Swan?"

"Oh they don't notice," she said, adjusting her grip on his waist to open the door and push him into the cabin.

"Is this some snide commentary on the perceptiveness of mortals then?" he asked, still feeling a bit punch-drunk, but beginning to regain his footing.

"Not a bit of it," she said, pushing him toward the bed and letting go of him so that his knees collapsed as he reached the side. "They don't notice because I have glamoured myself. Only slightly, of course, but it keeps them from questioning where I have come from or what I am doing here, or why I am sometimes very peculiar. It keeps them from noticing when I intervene on their behalf with the wind and wave and the ship as well." She looked up at him, suddenly looking worried. "Should I not have done? Is that dishonest?"

"I did never think to hear a faerie ask if something were dishonest," Killian said with a crooked grin. Emma did not smile back, so he cleared his throat and continued more soberly, "I think it's for the best- your history is hardly explained easily and it would not do to tell a band of thieves and fortune hunters that you've the power to make them endlessly wealthy. Nor to tell superstitious men that a member of the Seelie Court lives among them. If you are glamoured, however, why can I see that you are strange? Shouldn't I be as blind as my crew?"

She blinked, looking surprised. "I would never glamour myself against you or Henry. I would never hide anything from either of you. Besides," she continued, giving him a small smile, "you know I'm strange. You would find it odd if I did appear ordinary."

"S'truth," he murmured, tracking her movements through the cabin as she blew out the lamp he'd lit for their return. "In fact, I do find it hard to credit that such a small thing as a glamour could hide just how extraordinary you are. Can they not see your beauty? Your grace? No matter where you are, you draw my eye. Save that you were truly invisible, you would do so. How can they not see? Even if they can't see your magic, can they not see you?"

Her back was to him as she stood still, listening to his words.

"There is magic in words," she said softly, not turning to face him. "It is a conceit among the Fae that because mortals are so often blind to magic, they cannot charm. It's a false conceit, of course, the Fae are charmed by mortals often enough. You, Captain," with this she turned to face him, glowing in the starlight through the window, "have no magic but your words and yet you render me defenseless, for all my power."

"Have you need of defenses with me, my love?" he asked, extending his hand to her across the space between them.

"Oh yes," she whispered, stepping forward and placing her hand in his. "For a man is a clumsy steward of so fragile a thing as a heart."

He began, slowly, to draw her toward him, moving as though underwater, even as she continued to speak.

"You could destroy me utterly. Render my bones to dust and trample that dust beneath your boot as surely as the darkest, most powerful magic in all the realms with but a simple word."

She stood before him now, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body through the shirt and trousers he had donned. She began to untie the laces at the front of his shirt as she spoke.

"All you would have to say to end me truly, as sure as the sea or the stars is 'Emma, I do not love you.'"

She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, baring him to the waist before her, and began to trace the scars that webbed his back with her hot fingers.

"Emma," he murmured, and felt her hand hesitate for a fraction of a second before continuing on. She was, in truth, afraid. "Emma, kiss me, for I love you so," he whispered to her.

She did so, bending down from where she stood before him, and he was overwhelmed as ever by the heat and sweetness of her.

His hand went to her hip to draw her down toward him, and she came, drawing up the skirt of her gown and straddling his lap so that the inferno at her centre was only a fraction from where he strained for her.

"Emma," he whispered, tearing his mouth from hers and moving over her skin, chasing the spots the he knew where her skin smelled more strongly of apple blossoms- the tender skin behind her ear, the hollow of her throat, and the join of her neck and shoulder.

His hook went to the tie of her gown- nearly as dexterous as his hand- and had it undone, loose over the tops of her small white breasts. His hand was on her thigh where her skirt rode up, pushing it higher over the smooth pale skin.

"Captain," she gasped as his mouth trailed from her throat over the tops of her breasts, tasting the flush of her blood in her skin. One of her hands was on his shoulder, nails digging into his scarred back, the other was in his night-dark hair, fisted and pulling in a pleasure-pain that made him groan.

"Say my name," he said, mouth still against her skin.

She gasped as his hand on her thigh moved higher, just there, on the edge of perfection, but she did not comply.

He leaned back and looked into her eyes. "Say my name, Emma," he ordered again. "For if I have power over you, so too have you over me."

His fingers brushed over her centre, too light for what she wanted, only heightening her desire, not feeding it as she wished.

"Emma, my love, please," he whispered.

"Killian!" she gasped. Sobbed.

He shuddered with the power of it and his hand found her, stroking deeply inside of her, seeking out the magic and secrets unknown to mortals, save the lucky few, like he, who had found love among the Fair, Heartless Folk.

It was powerful, his name and hers, and the magic that bound them together. Powerful, too, the ancient rhythm of this dance. She crested around his hand in a moment, and her skin shone icy silver and she was as strange and beautiful as all the stories of the Fae had ever claimed. For that instant, she was eternal. A goddess.

Then she was herself again. Emma. And she lay, panting against his shoulder, warm and smelling sweetly of apples and magic, and he wanted her as much as he had ever wanted anything in his long life, but he did nothing. Simply held her against him until her breathing eased.

After a few moments, her hands began to trace the scars of his floggings again, warm and comforting on his night-cooled skin.

"Could you heal them?" he asked into the quiet dark.

Her hands hesitated for a moment, then continued. "I could," she said softly. "If you wished."

"And what of my hand?" he asked, turning his arm over so the hook caught the starlight. "Could you heal that?"

Emma sighed and pushed herself out of his lap, standing and beginning to remove her dress.

"I could," she said, not looking at him. "It would be difficult, for I'd need a replacement, and it would work best if I had the original."

"Well that's in the belly of a shark some two-hundred years gone," Killian said, standing and removing his own trousers.

"No, the Dark One has it," she said simply, turning and facing him, clad only in starlight without shame.

Killian blinked, somewhat distracted at the sight of her, but wondering at her certainty.

"Why would he keep such a thing?" he asked, taking a step toward her and reaching for her.

"It's a powerful magical artifact," she said, stepping away from him.

He realized, for the first time, that she was tense. Something in their conversation had her afraid.

"Emma, what is it, love?"

She looked at him, and then away, something strange and sad in her eyes. "It could-" she began and then shook her head and started again. "It would be a very powerful bargaining chip, my love. He foresaw our love across the years. Could he have seen that you would want your hand back enough that you would bargain for it? Or that I would?"

"Emma-"

"If you wanted it," she began in a rush, interrupting him, "I would do so. I would bargain- play his game. I am more powerful than he… I might win again."

"But it would be dangerous for you," Killian said, shaking his head. He crossed to her, and this time she did not shy away from his touch as he drew her to him, both of them naked, skin-to-skin.

"Emma. My love. If you can love me with but one hand, knowing that I cannot hold you as another could-"

"Killian-" she tried to interrupt, but he shook his head.

"If you can love me as I am, and know how I love you, then I will be content into eternity."

"You know that I do," she whispered. "You know that I love you so."

"Come to my bed, Lady, and let me love you."