Just a little idea that kept playing over and over in my head. So... If you guys like where this has started, please let me know and I will continue.

If I do continue, I don't think this will be a long fic. Oh, do please let me know what you think might happen-and some things you would like to see happen; aside from the obvious CS-love.

This is therapy to get through the two-week haitus... For all of us, I hope.

I hope you enjoy.

Please, R&R!

Love,

Annaelle

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Across Time And Space

She's going insane.

That's the only explanation.

There's no fucking way that any of this—not the ship, not the people on it, not the smell of the ocean (or the crew)—is real.

None of it.

Especially not the young Lieutenant that's on his knees next to her, his clothes as soaked as hers, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, making his eyes seem even bluer—Jesus, Emma, no! She scolds herself internally.

"Miss, are you alright?" His voice is soft, quivering slightly, as though he is as confused as she is—he probably is too; she'd be surprised if he has to fish seventeen year old girls out of the ocean every day—, his hands hovering over her shoulders, almost touching her…

But not quite.

He repeats the question when she remains silent, and she nearly curses her own luck, because really?

Irish? He just has to be Irish?

She sits up carefully, still a little shaky and dizzy, nodding slowly as she tries to process what the hell had happened.

Her gaze slides over the crowded deck—everyone's staring at her, and she suddenly feels even more self-aware than before. Her clothes are drenched, clinging to her skin, and she is in the presence of at least thirty men, all of them leering at her.

Well, all but the Lieutenant, who is still on his knees next to her.

She swallows thickly, because as much as she wants to be though and strong, she's well aware that if the men decide to team up against her, she won't stand a chance. She isn't sure what is going on—or why the fuck they are dressed like they are sailors in 18th century England—nor how she dropped herself onto her shabby bed in the orphanage and then suddenly found herself falling into the freaking ocean, before being dragged out by Mister-Lieutenant-Playing-Hero, but the only conceivable explanation she can come up with is that she is hallucinating.

Or she's finally lost her mind.

She wouldn't be surprised—she'd honestly expected to lose it a long time ago.

"I'm—" her voice hitches, and her teeth chatter as the cold wind blows across the deck, reminding her just how cold and wet she is. His blue eyes widen, and for a moment, she thinks she can see genuine concern for her pass through his eyes, but then she reminds herself that nobody cares about her—a dirty, thieving little orphan—and that he probably just doesn't want to look like a fool before his crew.

"Someone wake the Captain! And fetch warm blankets!" He shouts suddenly, and the men scatter across the ship as he helps her to her feet gently, and he's too sweet and genuine as he leads her below deck, chattering non-stop about how he's so sorry for not realizing how cold it was sooner, and that he hopes she'll forgive him, but that he's quite shaken up about suddenly seeing her adrift in the middle of the ocean, and that his Captain will certainly help her, and it makes her want to scream.

She just wants him to shut up, and to let her go, and to stop being so goddamn sincere—because he makes her want to trust him, and she can't.

She can't trust anyone.

She doesn't need anyone—especially not a straight-laced, prim and proper, 18th century Lieutenant who probably has a whole lot of better uses for his time than to be concerned about her.

Before she honestly really realizes where they are going, he ushers her into a large, neat cabin, closing the door behind him. She looks around, still a little dazed, and quite overwhelmed by everything, unsure of what is going to happen now.

"Please," he says softly, rushing towards her again and leading her towards a small, cushioned bench that seems to be a part of the ship rather than a piece of furniture that was brought onto the ship later on, "Please, sit. I'll—" he flails a little, looking around the cabin desperately, and for the first time, she realizes how young he is.

She's sure he's not much older than she is, and somehow, she finds that a little comforting.

He looks as out of his dept as she feels.

She catches his hand in both of hers, wincing at how cold his skin is—he must be freezing as much as she is—and smiles tentatively. He's staring at her now, once again on his knees before her, his eyes large, and concerned and so goddamn blue, and his voice is like fucking music to her ears as he mutters another apology for his 'bad form'.

She's not sure what he means by that, but she gathers that he thinks he's being stupid—which he is, but it's cute, and it's not really bothering her—so she smiles at him and squeezes his hand softly. "Thank you," she says slowly, a little put off by how foreign the words feel as they fall from her lips, "For diving in and saving me."

His answering smile is wide and radiant, and her heart skips a beat as he squeezes her hand in return. " 'twas the only proper course of action, miss," he smiles, "I would rather be damned than let a beautiful lass such as yourself drown."

Her eyes widen a little at the compliment, and a heartbeat later, his cheeks flush, and he starts stuttering again—Emma really can't help herself; he's just so adorable.

She giggles, dropping his hand to press both of hers to her lips, to stifle the giggles that fall from her lips, the weight of the situation finally dawning on her, her giggling transforming into heavy, hysterical sobbing—she had no idea where (or when, for that matter) she is, what is happening, whether she's dreaming or whether she just lost her mind and all she can think about is that the Lieutenant is too fucking adorable for his own good.

Before he can do more than gape at her, his hands rising hesitantly, as though he wants to pull her closer and comfort her, the door slams open, banging against the wall, and she jumps, whimpering softly as a tall man strides into the cabin, his hair disheveled and his vest not properly buttoned. "Killian!" He exclaims, not yet looking at her, only at the Lieutenant—whose name is Killian, apparently—as he scrambles to his feet clumsily.

"Liam—" Killian breaks off hesitantly and then shakes his head, "Captain." Emma wonders briefly why he switched from informal to formal, but then realizes it's probably because of her—and then she just doesn't care anymore and curls into the soft cushions as much as she can, shivering a little, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

Liam finally seems to notice her, his eyes widening a little, and she cowers under his intense gaze, unsure where this vulnerable, frightened, emotional side of her is suddenly coming from.

"I'm sorry," he finally breaks the silence, approaching her, "I was concerned for my Lieutenant for a moment; I do hope you will forgive me for my poor manners. Are you quite alright?" Emma frowns a little at that—she really doesn't get why they are all so nice and concerned and so fucking polite.

She just wants them to tell her where she is and what the fastest way back home is.

Her eyes fall on the young Lieutenant again, who's standing slightly behind the captain, his cheeks still flushed and his hair and clothes and everything as soaked as she is—and the sight of him just makes her burst.

"No!" She cries, jumping to her feet—only hindered slightly by her tight, sticky jeans—, "No, I'm not okay! I have no idea where I am, who you all are and why you're dressed up like it's fucking Halloween—" both men simply look confused at that, but she ploughs on, because she needs to fucking say this before she explodes, "—and I just want to go home."

Tears are blurring in her eyes and she's breathing heavily as her voice breaks on the last word. "And you!" She whirls to glare at Lieutenant Killian, "You're as fucking soaked as I am and you're only talking about how cold I must be while your own balls must be freezing off by now because your lips are fucking turning blue—what the hell is up with that?"

Though obviously dumbstruck by her tirade, the Captain turns to look at his Lieutenant speechlessly, taking in his appearance slowly, before shaking his head. "Killian, go change into something dry, you fool."

Emma watches as Killian's head snaps back and forth between her and the Captain a few times before he nods and hurries from the room, stumbling over his own feet three times before he manages to straighten up. She can't stop herself from giggling a little—she always pegged naval officers for a bunch of stuck up morons; but these two seem okay.

She's not sure what to make of the Captain just yet, but her Lieutenant seems … Okay. She supposes she could … maybe… possibly… ask him to help get her home.

She swallows thickly and drags her eyes away from the door, shivering a little as the sticky cold fabric of her shirt drags across her sensitive skin. She jumps when someone suddenly drapes a thick, warm blanket across her shoulders, and she looks up, slightly startled by the Captain's suddenly proximity. "How did you end up so far from shore, miss—?" He trails of a little, and she's shaken from her stupor when Killian slinks back into the room.

"Swan," she says shakily, looking at Killian—who looks decidedly warmer and less blue—, "Emma Swan. And I—" She shakes her head. "I don't know. I mean, one minute I was fine, and sitting on my bed, and then the next I was…" she gestures around vaguely, shivering a little, "Here," she finishes lamely.

Despair washes over her again and she blinks furiously, pushing back the treacherous tears that are burning in her eyes. She looks up at the two men before her, her lower lip trembling slightly as she hugs the blanket tighter around her. "I want to go home," she whispers, "I don't know how I got here, or where I am, I just really want to go home. Please."

The two men exchange a look before Killian approaches her, kneeling before her again—that's really becoming his thing, isn't it?—and taking her hands in his hesitantly. "We can help you," he says slowly, glancing over his shoulder at his Captain again, "Just tell us where you need to go. I'm sure we can…" he hesitates and looks down at their hands, "I'm sure we can find a way to your home."

"No," she shakes her head, unsure of how to voice her dilemma, "no, you don't get it, this isn't real—in my world, none of this is real, and people don't act and talk like you two do anymore, and I don't know where I am… How can I tell you where to go if I don't even know where we are?"

Her voice rises in level as she speaks, and by the time she's at the end of her sentence, she's basically yelling at him—again—that really is becoming her thing now, isn't it?

Despite how ridiculous and psychotic she's being, he stays calm and smiles at her, telling her that she will be okay, and that they will find a way, rubbing his thumb over her palm slowly, trying to soothe her—and damn him, but it's working.

She's feeling calmer.

"Okay," she nods, squeezing his hand a little tighter—because even if she can't trust anyone, and even though she knows she should just rely on herself, she really, really wants to be able to lean on someone right now—because she can't handle everything.

And being sent to a world where gentlemen and heroes still exist is one of those things she just can't process on her own.

Her eyes lift to meet his—his impossibly blue eyes—and she tells herself it's okay to rely on him for now. He makes her feel safe; and though that's absolutely terrifying, it's also strangely comforting. She wants to feel safe, for once.

He nods, smiling happily, and jumps to his feet again, starting to rummage in one of the hidden cupboards—she doesn't know how she missed that huge-ass cupboard—watching slightly confused as he exchanges a few whispered words with the Captain before the latter nods and leaves her and Killian alone, Killian rummaging through the cupboard for a few more moments.

The silence is almost too much for her—it feels heavy and thick and she really hates it.

"So," she drawls slowly, snuggling into the blanket a little deeper, "What are we doing now? I mean… I'm sure you guys have better things to do than look after a stray girl you fished out of the ocean." Killian turns around and shakes his head at her. "We would never put trivial business such as errands above someone's life, miss Swan."

When he's standing in front of her again, she realizes he's holding dry clothes, and furrows her eyebrows confusedly—she's never going to fit in those.

He looks down with a slightly sheepish smile and mutters, "Well, your garments cannot dry like that, and I would hate for you to fall ill." He holds up the shirt and breeches and adds, "At least in these, you will be warm and dry. We can purchase clothes for you in the next harbor if need be—and you can wear your own clothes until you do. Once they're dry, of course."

She smiles a little, but allows him to ramble as she takes the clothes from him; he's right, those'll be more comfortable than her own soaking wet jeans. He takes a deep breath and gestures around the cabin. "You may spend the night in here—I will sleep with the crew—you should be quite comfortable here; it is the best bed besides my broth—the Captain's."

She stares at him for a good moment after that, unsure of what to say. "You're… You're letting me sleep in your room?" she asks in disbelief, because from what she knows about the crew's quarters—which isn't all that much, to be honest—they're quite uncomfortable and smell like hell, and if he's willingly sleeping there to let her sleep here…

That has to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for her.

And the scariest.

He nods, the smile still lingering on his lips, though he does look confused. "Of course," he replies, "It would be bad form of me not to give up my quarters to my guest."

She opens her mouth and then closes it again immediately, looking down at the floor, her cheeks burning. She honestly doesn't know why she's responding like this to him calling her 'his' guest—it's not like he means anything special by it.

It's like he said; it's just good form.

She manages a weak smile when he nods tersely and wishes her goodnight, and tells her not to hesitate to find him or the Captain if she required anything.

"Hey," she managed to choke out, "You know my name… It'd be nice if I knew who to ask for tomorrow morning… Lieutenant sounds so..." she bites her lip a little, because she really can't believe that she's flirting with someone she's probably just made up with her completely cuckoo mind, but then decides that it really doesn't matter.

If this is all in her head, she might as well enjoy it.

"… Impersonal," she finishes, trying to hide her smile when his cheeks turn bright red.

"K—Killian," he stutters, "Killian Jones." He manages a sweet, sincere smile as he opens the door. "Goodnight, miss Swan."

Emma grins, hugging his clothes to her chest as she mutters a soft, "Goodnight, Lieutenant Jones."