Tin Hearts
T
Romance/Adventure
Emma/Hook/Graham

Summary: Hook and Emma encounter an unexpected and familiar face on their journey to rescue David from Oz. What will this mean for the future of the pirate and the princess? Post 3x11. Future Fic. Emma/Killian & Emma/Graham.

Author's Note: The hiatus has me over-inspired with Captain Swan fic ideas. I may be biting off more than I can chew with this one, but if all goes as planned it'll be in 5 parts.

Part One

"In adventures such as this, is it not traditionally the princess that is need of rescue?" he asks, shooting a cheeky grin her way.

Emma fights the urge to roll her eyes for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour.

"I thought you and David were 'mates' now," she says, trying her best to imitate the playful lilt of his voice.

"That we are, love," he says, his smile softening a bit.

As strange as it seemed, it was true. In the year she had been away, a weird sort of kinship has sprung between the prince and the pirate. Apparently being cursed was cause enough to bury the hatchet.

Not that any of that mattered now. Not if they couldn't get David out of this hellhole.

"We'll find him, Emma."

She glances over at the pirate, who is watching her carefully.

That can-do optimism coming from any one else *cough * her mother *cough*, would have set her teeth on edge.

But from him it meant…well it meant something.

Hook wasn't a man to blindly believe good would always conquer evil, and he wasn't a man to suffer fools. If he believed they could rescue David, that she could do it, then it was probably true.

"Enough stalling, pirate," she says, eager to change the subject. "We need to find our way out of the forest before it gets dark."

"After you, love" he says, gesturing with a dramatic flourish for her to lead the way.

She punches him in the shoulder before moving ahead on the path, a small smile on her face.

She is grateful he is here. She had not asked him to come. He had simply been there when Jefferson opened the portal, ready to jump into a dangerous new realm alongside her without question.

It was still all so strange.

Less than a week ago she had been Emma Swan, bail bondsperson. Her biggest concern was getting Henry to school on time and the only battles she fought were against her super about fixing the clog in the kitchen sink.

Now she is Princess Emma, curse-breaker and savior extraordinaire. Her father is in mortal danger, and she needs to defeat green-faced menace on a broom that Regina so encouragingly described as "the strongest magical being she has ever encountered".

Peachy.

And while she is nowhere near ready to consider the implications of the pirate's place at her side (not to mention the implications of his ill-timed kiss in New York), she is glad she does not have to face this new evil on her own.

"Didn't we pass this crossing already, love?"

She follows Hook's gaze to the worn sign at the fork up ahead, indicating the path to "The Munchkin City".

The very same sign they had passed twenty minutes ago.

Emma spews out a string of curses that would make a trucker blush. She caps off her unprincess-like display with a petulant kick to the sign's pole.

"Quite a mouth on you, Swan," Hook says. "Worst than even the roughest of me crew."

Emma's first instinct is to be irritated. However, her comeback dies on her lips when she catches the affectionate twinkle in his eye and the flask extended in his good hand.

Her lips quirk upward at the familiar gesture.

She reaches for the flask, ignoring the warmth that shoots through her as their fingers brush, before she takes a generous swig. The rum burns her throat, but the taste brings back memories of pirate ships, jungles, and 'as you wish'. She takes another sip.

She will never admit it to him, but she's missed this. She's missed him.

Even after a year apart, it was nice to know that when the shit hit the fan she could count on her pirate and his flask.

"Still defacing local signage, deputy?"

Oh shit.

. . .

Hook tenses.

Stepping in front of Swan, he scans the forest for their newest threat. He doesn't have to look too far.

The intruder is casually leaning against a tree, not ten feet off from the forest path. At the man's side is a large grey wolf with one eye as red as blood.

Hook draws his sword.

The beast raises its hackles, its teeth bared in a snarl.

He spares a glance at Emma. She is unarmed, still clutching his flask in her hand. He's about to snap at her to draw her cutlass, when he catches sight of her face.

Swan seems entirely unworried by the fanged creature growling in their direction. Her focus is on the stranger.

It's clear that she knows this man, though Hook can't imagine how, as he takes note of the familiar black uniform of Regina's palace guard.

No matter how they are acquainted, Swan seems surprised to see this man again. No, upon second glance, it is more than that.

Swan looks as if she has seen a ghost.

"Hello Emma."

Something in Hook's chest twists at the ease this stranger has in using Swan's given name. It's as if he has said hundreds (thousands) of times before. Maybe he has.

The man takes a step in their direction, and whatever stupor had been cast over Swan seems to break. In an instant, her cutlass is out.

"Who are you?" she asks, her blade pointed at his throat in warning.

"You know who I am."

The man seems unfazed by Emma's suspicion and the weapon aimed in his direction. In fact, if Hook didn't know any better, the idiot almost seemed amused by the turn of events.

"Graham's dead." Emma's voice is clipped and official. Every bit the no nonsense sheriff he has come to know and love. And yet, out of the corner of his eye he sees her stance waver.

"I'm looking pretty good for a corpse." The man grins, looking down at himself appraisingly before focusing back on Emma.

"You're not real."

"Emma-"

"No! You're not real!" Emma's eyes are wild, her sword hand noticeably shaking now. "You're some kind of trick. You're not real."

There are tears in her voice.

Hook stills, torn between the desire to comfort Emma and the desire to run this Graham git through with his sword.

Graham is undeterred by Emma's growing hysteria, continuing to edge closer.

Finally close enough, he takes Emma's free hand in both of his, drawing it to his chest. Emma freezes, staring at their joined hands.

"Emma," He says, his voice so quiet Hook has to strain to hear. "This is real, Emma."

Emma snatches her hand back as if it had been burned, though her earlier frenzy seems to have died down.

"How?" Hook has never heard his Swan sound this broken. He begins to seriously rethink running Graham through.

"It's a long story."

"Try me."

Graham hesitates, clearly unsure of how to proceed in convincing Swan. Good luck with that, mate.

"There's an old friend of ours who can do a better job of explaining everything," Graham says, scratching at the back of his head uncomfortably. "Her cottage is just at the edge of the wood."

"Who?"

"Around these parts they call her the Good Witch of the South," Graham says, smirking in amusement.

"You've got to be kidding me," Emma says, her arms crossed in front of her.

Whether or not she knows of this witch is unclear, but Emma obviously is not impressed with the suggestion. Frankly he can't blame her. Good, bad, or anything in between, witches were not things with which to idly trifle.

"Hook?"

Hook is startled at being directly addressed. He meets her eyes. She is looking for counsel, he realizes.

He tries to bury the giddy buzz that seems to thrum through him at this gesture of trust. Instead, he turns to assess the man before them.

Despite being dressed as one of the Evil Queen's lackeys, Graham's face is open, friendly even. And while the wolf pacing at his feet is hardly a welcoming sight, his sword is still in its scabbard, untouched.

"At the very least it would get us out of this forest, lass," Hook finally says, sheathing his own blade.

Emma nods.

"Fine," she agrees.

Graham smiles.

"It's not far," Graham says, heading into the forest, wolf at his heels. He moves through the trees effortlessly.

They follow him off the dirt forest path, stumbling over fallen trees and rocks in his wake.

"She can't just get here by bubble?" Emma grumbles under her breath.

"Afraid not," Graham calls over his shoulder, apparently having heard her in spite of the wide berth Emma has put between them. "No ruby slippers either."

Emma does not respond, but Hook notices the small smile on her lips. With that slight twist of her mouth he feels the bottom of his stomach drop.

Hook can't make sense of this odd exchange, but then, little about this strange land of Oz seems to make sense.

Silently he follows, trekking through the undergrowth.

Nothing more is said.