These Dreams

Lost Girl

Killian rolled over, feeling the heat of the sun on his face. He could hear the waves and birdsong off in the distance. The planks of the deck were hard against his face. He put out his hand, tracing the grooves and grain of each one he could reach. He'd know this deck anywhere.

He was aboard the Jolly, that much was certain. But where? He pushed himself up to his knees, then his feet, and took a look around, staggering slightly on the steeply tilted deck. The ship was aground, and from the looks of it, on a coastline somewhere. He pulled himself up to the hatch opening, slinging a leg over and peering down inside. There was no one there. He called out a few times, then pulled himself over to the stairwell for the crew cabin and peered in there as well.

He was alone. Apparently the only one shipwrecked was him. He found a line and lowered himself over the side of the ship, into the shallow water on the beach, surveying the damage as he went down. The hull had been badly breached in three separate places; one of them was so extensive as to have cracked the keel. He stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. It was a sad state, seeing his ship like this. It damn near brought him to tears.

He let out a heavy sigh and reached into his pocket for the compass. The needle swung in a wide arc, coming to rest with a trajectory straight into the jungle. He reached down, pulling out his cutlass, and started walking.

His mind replayed the last moments of their previous encounter, and his jaw tightened at the memory of it.

Milah.

She'd looked just like he'd remembered her, and he wasn't prepared for what the sight of her would do to him. It had been centuries, after all. Her memory had faded a bit, gotten rough around the edges. To see her laying there, so perfect in repose - it was just...overwhelming. He felt a stab of guilt at the memory of Emma, trying to get him back on track. He'd let the anger rip through him at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin coming in right on top of seeing her, but he couldn't help it. All the helpless rage rushed again to the forefront, and he wanted, oh how he'd wanted to hurt him.

Why was Rumpelstiltskin still dreaming of Milah? He'd lost her long ago, and by her design, not through the act of another. As much as Rumpelstiltskin wanted to lay Milah's abandonment at his feet, he wouldn't claim responsibility for it. She'd made her decision, seeking him out and begging him to take her along. And then when given the chance, he'd refused to fight for her. Pathetic.

Killian stopped once more to get his bearings, realizing from the position of the sun that he'd been walking and hacking through jungle for hours, and he was badly in need of water. He'd seen no sign of a stream or any water source yet. He ran a hand across the sweat on his forehead, and reached down to pull the compass out of his pocket again. He lowered his head to check out his bearing, and the world went black.

###

He awoke several hours later, but kept still, parting his eyelids just slightly so that he could peer between the lashes. He could make out a shadowy figure, moving near the light of a fire, and from the feel of it, he was laying on the ground. He'd been bound up at the elbows behind him, and his ankles were bound as well. He could move his fingers, though, and if he shifted just right, he should be able to reach the dagger he kept in his boot.

He slowly moved to pull his knees up, but her voice stopped him.

"Don't even think about it," Emma said. "I already took the knife in your boot."

Killian's eyes snapped open. "Emma!"

She stepped back, pulling a gun from the back of her waistband and training it on him.