Chapter 2

'Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore'

Killian unbolted the latch and shoved open the hatchway door. A gust of cold air struck his face. The coamings—a raised wooden frame around the hatch—kept water out in a storm, but did nothing to stop the wind. He paused on the steps unprepared for the chill, regretting the decision to leave his coat behind. He contemplated going back for it, but Emma's irritated shout changed his mind.

"Hook, I know you can hear me. Front and center right now, buddy, or I swear you're in for a world of hurt!"

He grinned at the threat. Touching the curve of his hook to his chin, Killian recalled Lake Nostos. At the portal, Emma had proved she had no qualms about causing him pain, and, despite being cold-cocked into oblivion, he couldn't deny having enjoyed her efforts. She was fun in a tussle. He knew Emma would find him eventually, or freeze to death trying. Giving himself up now was the best way to save them both from 'a world of hurt'.

On deck, the weather had gone from dreary, to blustery hell. Wind clawed at the rolled sails and whipped through the rigging. The ropes zinged. Tackle and blocks knocked together with loud, hollow, pops. Even the seagulls had abandoned flying, resorting to bobbing up and down on the white-capped bay. Lucky for them, the water was probably warmer.

Killian approached the starboard railing. His shirt plastered across his chest, pulled by unseen hands. He was bloody frozen, but for a moment he forgot about the pins and needles in his extremities. Emma stood on the dock below, facing the invisible hull, her hands in her coat pockets, her nose crinkled –frustrated.

It was the first time Killian had laid eyes on her since the Enchanted Forest, and she looked stunning. Her skin was blanched porcelain white in the bleak light; her long blonde hair was pale yellow. As a bonus, her cheeks burned an attractive red in the bitter air. He watched her lips part and guessed her teeth were chattering. His were, too. He considered inviting her aboard and warming her up, but decided against it. Meeting her on the pier, and telling her to "shove-off" in no uncertain terms was best for everyone. It would keep things simple. Unattached. And he needed that.

Killian's gaze swept her from head to toe, and he wondered. What made him want her gone so badly?

The question remained unanswered. A movement farther up the dock distracted him, and he spotted a swirl of purple smoke aft of the ship. His teeth clenched at the sight. The tendons in his neck tensed.

Auburn hair trussed atop her head, the only person—aside from the Dark One—in the entire world he couldn't stand, suddenly emerged from the violet mist.

Killian wavered on the deck, unsure. He saw Cora's eyes came to rest on the unwitting sheriff. A part of him demanded action –to warn Emma. It would not be hard; a quick shout would do the trick, to let her know the danger. A younger, more reckless, version of him would have intervened, but this version of him had wised-up in the last few centuries. This version didn't pretend to be a hero. He had nothing to gain by warning Emma, and being in a new kingdom, meant there were new rules. His current motto was strictly: non-interference –except in matters concerning the Crocodile.

"Hello, darling."

Cora's voice carried. Killian watched Emma turn her head, her body gone rigid in shock. He understood her surprise; Cora was the last person she was expecting to see. But by the time her hands tore free from her pockets, it was already too late. A burst of magic hit Emma square in the chest. The explosion threw her backward, slamming her down at the edge of the dock. She rolled. Her foot struck a nearby lobster trap. The crate teetered and fell, splashing into the water.

Killian winced. Emma would be joining him on the bruised and battered brigade. He saw her struggle to recover her feet, and silently willed her to stand. The wind had clearly been knocked out of her, but to his aggravation, Cora showed no mercy. With another twist of her wrist, she wrenched Emma clear of the pier and high into the air, sending her somersaulting into the bay.

Bloody hell!

The bonds inside him snapped, and Killian took off running. His boots clapped the decking as he navigated his way to the bow. Hooking one of the ratlines attached to the bowsprit, he hauled his weight up onto the forward rail. Planting his legs apart for balance, he stood looking down. The water gurgled and churned. White foam rode the grey-green swirls. Emma should have resurfaced by now, spluttering, and angry as a wet cat. But there was no sign.

Something was wrong.

His fingers uncurled, deciding his next move. Killian released the rope, and drew a deep breath, aware he was breaking his rule. But why? All this personal risk for a damned blonde he barely knew? It bordered on heroic.

Or moronic.

The choppy waves capping the bay rushed up to meet him. Killian gritted his teeth and dove in.

Figuring out right-side-up was the easy part, finding Emma was another story. It took him precious seconds to get accustomed to his murky surroundings. The sunlight lancing the surface in pallid ribbons did little to help. Thankfully, he had been right about the water. The temperature was tolerable, but he wouldn't want to linger. His foot found the keel, and he pushed off, propelling himself downward. A stream of bubbles escaped his lips, and the salt stung his open eyes. To make matters more difficult, his bruised shoulder throbbed in protest with each broad stroke.

Time passed infinitely slower underwater, and after what felt like forever, Killian found her. Her eyes closed, face serene, Emma drifted, suspended in a shaft of light that turned the world a greenish-brown. Three hearty kicks, and he reached her side. He hooked the back of her coat, pulling her to him. Sick of holding his breath—he was damn near dizzy—he turned them both around and headed for the surface.

They broke through, the water parting in belligerent waves around them. The cold air slapped Killian in the face again, and it hurt to breathe. Dragging oxygen into his straning lungs felt like swallowing needles. His heart was beating a mile a minute.

Killian remembered to shut his mouth, but not before swallowing the whole sodding ocean. He choked on the bitter brine, and worked to hold Emma's head above water. She was completely conked-out. They were a mere six yards from the dock, but toeing Emma's weight seemed to double the length. When he managed to shoulder her onto solid ground, he finally decided he hated everything about Maine: the water, the wind, the nosy sheriffs —everything!

Cora stood watching as Killian hefted himself out of the bay, scrapping his knees on the barnacled piling, to collapse on his stomach in a wet heap at her feet. "Bravo, Captain." Her shadow blanketed him, and he shivered. "I came to offer you some advice, but what a divine little show."

"What?"

He coughed and forced his limbs into submission. Sitting up, he rolled Emma onto her back. They were both soaked to the skin, but she looked like a drowned rat. Putting his ear to her lips he listened.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

His fingers, chalk-white and shaking, strained to unbutton her coat. Killian found her neck and searched for a pulse. He felt a faint beat, but it was fading.

He panicked. "Fix it."

"Pardon?"

Anger scoured every nerve. The cold in his bones evaporated.

"Fix it!" Killian bellowed. His hand shot up, and he grabbed Cora's arm in a vice-grip. In a single motion, he yanked her down and pressed his hook to her throat.

They were nose to nose above a dying Emma. Killian, dripping, stared daggers into Cora's kohl-rimmed eyes.

Killian's jaw flexed. His steel dug into her wrinkled flesh. It took all his control not to rip open the blue-green jugular vein exposed on the side of her neck. Cora may not have had a heart, but this time, no magic would save her from his wrath.

This time, he had the advantage. And she knew it. "You did this to her," Killian said. "Now fix it."

Cora's lips clamped defiantly together.

"Do you trust your spells are quicker than a flick of my wrist?" He asked. His voice dropped an octave. "I don't."

Cora glared, and Killian imagined himself as bait on his own hook. By the look on her face, she would throw him to the fishes the instant this was finished. Goodbye Crocodile, hello sharks, but for the moment, he had her whipped.

Extending a hand, Cora let it hover over Emma's motionless chest, and Killian saw a glimmer of blue beneath her palm.

Seconds later, Emma started coughing. Her throat gargled, and she gagged up a mixture of salt water and bile. Killian released Cora and moved to steady her head, keeping it from banging on the damp dock.

"Easy, love, easy" He said. She moaned and relaxed. Her breathing settled, and her eyelids fluttered, but she remained unconscious.

"Hmm, I guess I threw her harder than intended." Cora stood, smoothing her skirt.

Killian rolled his eyes. Damn straight. "Will she wake?"

"In time, if she doesn't freeze first. My, it is nippy out here."

He did not know what disturbed him most: Cora's evil glares, or her sickly-sweet small talk. Killian pulled himself into a crouched position. The witch was right. Both he and Emma should be somewhere warm, and quickly. Gathering a limp Swan in his arms, he shoved them to his feet with an awkward grunt—she was heavier than she looked—and started for the gangplank. A foot from his target, Cora suddenly materialized, blocking his path.

"I should kill you," she said. "But I believe your schoolboy crush is affecting your judgment, so I think I'll wait and see how you behave once you've gotten this," she waved a hand indicating Emma, "infatuation out of your system."

"And what do you suggest?"

"You're the pirate, dear, be inventive."

Now it was his turn to glare. "I wouldn't hold my breath."

"Oh, I'm not worried. You'll come back to me. You always do."

Killian wished he had gone with his first instinct and ripped her throat out. But it was too late for that now, and with Emma cradled like a baby against his chest, all he could do was flash a charming smile. "Please, Majesty, if you'd be so kind...?"

Despite his cordial behest, Cora didn't budge an inch.

"Hook, take my advice," she said softly. "You should kill the girl."

TBC! Thanks for all the reviews, favs, and alerts. You guys rock! And thanks to Lena, for her thoughts on Milah/Hook -Captain Swan forever! :D