#little crumbs we do get. the pieces he does choose to engage with us with. yeah i’m kicking my feet and twirling my hair okay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emilycollins00 · 4 years

Note

omg it's now open!! can i ask for the tenma and izumi's sister street act pretty please? hehe uwu thank you very much!

Wish I could hug you so bad love, I’m so sorry this one took so long!

I’ll be honest, I had for a long time an idea but I just wasn’t feeling it, didn’t like it. So I waited to get some other ideas and honestly I’m much happier with this version! Hope you like it too.

Note this is another short of the Izumi’s sister!reader Series. I know for sure it will be a mess if I start to link each previous post, so I will put the link to my Masterlist HERE and if anyone wants, you can look for the previous parts there.

Once again, thank you so much for your patience 💕 Please enjoy!

Izumi’s little sister! Reader. Pt. 4. Street act and thoughts

“Wait, you mean THAT'S why everyone keeps Masumi from talking to me?”

Izumi laughed awkwardly inside her coat, small clouds coming out of her mouth due to the cold. “It's fine, Y/N. He’s a good kid and most of the time it only gets a bit weird.”

“Most of the time?”

“Anyway!" Izumi clapped her hands and looked at you with a big grin. "I'm so excited you are staying tonight. We should have done this sooner!"

You raised your eyebrows. It was as clear as day she was trying to get out of the conversation. Sighing, you decided to humor her and let it aside for now. “Are you sure it’s fine though? You said the winter troupe was rehearsing for the upcoming perf-”

“Of course it’s fine! Everyone was delighted when I told them you were coming,” she insisted as you both crossed the Veludo district. “Besides, thanks to you we’ll even get to have curry sooner than I counted for!" as she lifted some bags, you couldn’t help but laugh at her expression.

“You look more excited about the spices and ingredients I brought than me staying over, you know”

“Hey! Not true" Izumi pushed you lightly with her hips, making stumble and giggle. You had been sceptic, but it felt nice having some sibling quality-time with your sister again.

A few minutes later, you two finally arrived at the dorm’s entrance. Izumi took out the key to enter when someone slammed the door so loud you even let out a shrill screech.

“Yes! Yes, I am deeply sorry!” you blinked with a mixture of worry and wonder at the manager of Mankai talking on the phone feeling a deja vu. How could someone bow so fast while moving around? “Of course! Yes, I'm already on my way!"

“Matsukawa-san?!” Izumi called out worriedly, but he was already out of her reach. The man did seem to hear her though, turning slightly but not stopping.

“Everything’s fine, director! Please don’t worry, I’ll make sure…!”

Neither of you got to hear the end of the sentence, the silhouette of the man getting smaller and smaller. You saw your sister looking at the distance with a tired expression “You don’t look surprised”

Izumi shook her head at your comment, pulling the door knock and allowing you to enter “If I had to question everything that happens around here I... Anyway, let's-“

“Here comes the tour guide! Here comes so don’t move another step!”

She pressed the bridge of her nose.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Ah, welcome back you two,” you heard Omi’s voice coming from the kitchen as Izumi opened the lounge door with you behind. “You arrived just in time. I’m finishing some scones.”

“Omi-kun, did Matsukawa-san say…”

“Y/N-pi!” Kazunari’s voice vibrated from the living room’s couches. “Come here, we missed you! I’m sure you’re looking as bomb as always though!”

“Took you long enough, Wild Currian Performer.”

Tenma turned to you as well to talk but stopped halfway. “What the hell.”

Looking up, you were thinking the same. Kamekichi had yet to move from your head “Uh, thank you for… bringing me inside.”

The bird flapped its wings vigorously. “Of course, took you long enough! I am the tour guide!” after that, he took fly and left.

You stared at the hallway visibly confused. What was up with this dorm.

“Wait, was he waiting at the entrance all this time?” a blond man with a phone frowned from the couch. “No wonder I couldn’t find him to bring me- shit, advertisements,” he groaned, glancing at you and then turning his attention back to the screen. “Anyway, nice to meet you in person, Y/N-san. Although Citron and Sakuya talk so much about you I feel like I was there the first time.”

“Uh… thanks?”

As if summoned, the spring leader popped his head into the room “I heard the door, did- Y/N-san! Welcome back, I’m so happy you could come to visit us again!”

You smiled at the boy.

“Okay everyone, help yourselves, there’s more if you want.” Omi walked towards the table and left the plate of scones in the middle, allowing everyone to grab a piece.

You took one, humming delightedly at the sweet flavor. The autumn member chuckled “Would you like anything special for tonight’s dinner, Y/N?”

“Ah, we already covered that, Omi-kun! Y/N brought spices from home, this curry will feel so nostalgic!”

All the actors in the room flinched.

“I see…”

“F in the chat. Why am I not surprised” Itaru mused to himself.

“I-I am sure it’s really good…!”

“You two really are family uh…no, wait!” Tenma shook his head. “Forget about curry!”

“Hey! What’s with everyone dissing curry?” you frowned as you cleaned the rest of the crumbs from the scone, raising your eyes to everyone in the room.

“That’s not what I mean” he rubbed his forehead. You and director were too alike. At your confused stare, he pointed at you indignant “You owe me a street act, remember?”

“Ah, that!” taking another scone and biting it, you nodded. You hadn’t really done street acts before, but you would lie if you said you weren’t interested. “Sure, if you still want?”

“You bet I do.”

He had heard Taichi and Juza commenting on your acting during that autumn rehearsal too- there was no way he would pass the opportunity to test it himself.

“U-um!” Sakuya stood up, his eyes shining “If you are going out to do a street act, I’d like to join too!”

You tilted your head at the boy, curious why he seemed so eager. Didn’t they usually do acts outside?

“All right then, let’s do this.”

Tenma smirked walking towards the door, looking somewhat excited too. Well, they wouldn’t be living in a theatre dorm if they didn’t enjoy acting after all, you concluded shrugging it off.

“GG guys.”

“Tenten, do your best!”

“Yeah, try not to embarrass yourself, hack.”

“What does that mean?!”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time you all three walked out of the dorm, jackets and everything on, the sun had started to set up. You shivered. Maybe you should have brought more clothes.

“Was the winter troupe in rehearsals?” you turned to the troupe leaders walking alongside you “Izumi told me they are doing a mystery play of some kind.”

“Yeah, Hisoka-san is the lead and whenever he’s not sleeping he’s pretty good… so they’ve been going all out.”

Sakuya agreed at Tenma’s statement “I’m excited to see them perform!”

As you all continued sharing some light talk, you arrived at Veludo. Looking around, one could see winter was almost there. There weren’t many kids around, just adults and teens returning home walking faster than usual given the time and cold weather.

A bit later, you finally decided to stop on a roundabout next to a fountain to perform.

“What do you guys usually do?”

“We normally just pick a theme and go along with it!” the spring member answered smiling while Tenma stretched. “Do you have anything you’d like to do, Y/N-san?”

You looked around humming. You weren’t usually given the freedom to choose so nothing really came to mind except… “How about doing something similar to the winter troupe? There are not many people around, but maybe we can engage them.”

Sakuya might as well have started jumping.

“A winter-like street act sounds perfect! I don’t think I’ve ever done something similar to what they do. What do you think, Tenma-kun?”

“Not bad. Let’s go with mystery for our theme.”

“Wait, I know I just said that but if the point of a mystery is to solve it, shouldn’t we plan how to-”

Ignoring you, Tenma walked to the middle of the road and turned to you and Sakuya knowingly. His eyes shone with expectations.

You frowned confused still. None of you hadn’t decided anything, was he really-

“You can’t be serious!” Tenma’s tone of voice changed, cutting through the somewhat calm street like a knife. You also noticed his whole demeanour turning hostile, making people look his way. "I have better things to do than wait here to be murdered!”

Even faster than you had anticipated, Sakuya ran to him. "P-please wait, uncle Miles! I won’t move from here until I know who killed my brother. I’m sure the detective must have a reason for having us stay here!"

“Oh?”

“What’s this, a play?”

“Hey, these guys are from Mankai!”

As expected, people stopped noticing the performance.

You felt a thrill in your stomach, engines already turning inside your head. So you had indirectly gotten the part of the detective and therefore in charge of being the one to solve it uh.

Walking slowly, building anticipation, you placed yourself in front of them, blocking out the noise.

Tenma and Sakuya were awaiting, as well as the crowd surrounding you now and it was a strange feeling, if you were honest. Who knew what their next sentences would be after you spoke? You had no idea what could happen, and somehow, that made you smile. This really was a street act.

And so, you chuckled dryly but with elegance “I can assure you, gentlemen, this won't be a problem.”

She’s good. "HA!” Tenma crossed his arms, looking grim “Bet this is just another plot, typical of Marshall and his-”

“Uncle, please!”

And so, it began.

You didn’t notice how long you had this push and pull of allegories, fake names or places. At this point you were just a detective in charge of solving the death of Marshall Jones, a fraud who had been the successor of the Jones Industries.

...And that the biggest suspects were the two people in front of you; his younger brother, William Jones and their uncle, Mr Miles.

“This is stupid, I have men working for me on the government! They will turn a blind eye if I command it I-!”

“Just tell us who did it! I need to know who killed Marshall!” Sakuya trembled anxiously.

You just nodded calmly at both of them “You are right. This has taken too long and I apologize for it.”

Tenma and Sakuya both held their breaths. Acting with you was being a mental workout to keep up, but none of them could dismiss the thrill that came with it.

“However, I feel like I shouldn’t be the only one apologizing. Isn’t that right, Marshall?”

‘What?’

Confused, Tenma followed your pointing finger towards the crowd, and Sakuya almost let a gasp when a shadow made his way towards them. The crowd whispered furiously at the sudden change of flow of the act.

‘M-Misumi-san?!’

‘Since when was he there?!’

While they stared at the summer member, Misumi didn’t look that surprised, to which you inwardly breathed in relief.

Everyone’s eyes laid on him, his attitude perfect for the act, gloomy and mysterious.

Nothing like the happy young man who had wanted to show you triangles the first time you met "I was wondering if you would call out for me at some point, detective."

"Thought I would let you enjoy yourself for a while" you shrugged, and Misumi laughed huskily at your comment.

“Thank you for taking the job.”

“Yeah, yeah. Next time just try to not hide in such a melodramatic way.”

“B-brother? Is that really you…?" Sakuya walked slowly to Misumi, almost making it look like he was about to break into a cry.

Tenma took advantage of the situation to step in. He wasn’t about lose there "Y-you were supposed to be dead! I made sure of-!" he stopped half-way, covering his mouth. "Shit."

“Turns out you should have stayed in the room to check the works of the poison, Mr. Miles.” you made it look like you pulled two sets of handcuffs “As tender as this familiar reunion after death might be, I'm afraid you will have to accompany me. You are both been placed on a charge of murder… and inflicted fraud.”

And scene.

A few seconds passed and you swallowed. Had this been too much?

As soon as the first stupor faded, the now quite big surrounding crowd erupted in applause.

“T-that was amazing!”

“Wait, what?!”

“Didn't think another actor would be hiding!”

“That was Mankai, right? Wanna check their next performance?”

After thanking the audience, you hurried to the boy with a triangular earring, embarrassment running through you, noticing now what you had done. “I-I’m sorry for pulling you in! My body moved on its own and when I saw you…”

Tenma just scoffed, but you could tell he was proud. “Yeah, well- if there’s someone who shouldn’t have any problem with what you just did, it’s him.”

“It really was great!” Sakuya approached you both. “I almost broke character for a second there. Where you watching the whole time, Misumi-san?”

“Not really! I was looking for triangles and then I heard Tenma’s voice… and when I got closer I saw you guys acting!”

“Still, sorry for...”

“Mhm! It’s okay, it’s okay!” suddenly, Misumi started patting your head. “Good job, detective Y/N.”

You felt a blush rush to your cheeks at the touch and so you stepped back, laughing embarrassed. “I-I was also surprised how good everyone is! I mean of course you are, you guys are real actors but-”

"Let’s do another one."

“Uh?” you squeezed your eyes at Tenma. Maybe you hadn’t heard correctly. “But we just-“

“We have time. Misumi, you stay too."

“Okayyyy!”

Turning back to Sakuya the boy laughed nervously, but didn’t look surprised.

Ah, you were so screwed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The streetlights started lighting up when you made a decision to finally head back to the dorm.

“That was great!” Sakuya was moving as if he had received a burst of energy “It’s so much fun acting with people outside Mankai, isn’t it!”

“Everyone’s applauses were really suuuper loud too!”

“…and you say you only go sometimes to your theatre club?" Tenma saw you nod and shoved his hands into the pockets of his winter coat, groaning. "Just what's up with people like you and Misumi?"

"Hmh? Y/N and I are similar? Yaaaayy!"

"Misumi? it didn't sound like a compliment to me."

Sakuya laughed at the exchange. It truly had been an amazing experience. "Did you do theatre with director when you two were younger?"

You hummed, thinking about it. To be honest, theatre had always been around but you hadn’t really... When was it that you started acting again?

A scream stopped your train of thought.

"M-Misumi-san?!"

“You scared the daylights out of me, Misumi!"

Turning to the young man, you noticed him making a triangle with his hands and, while using it as a telescope, suddenly speeding up the pace. "It's a triangular cloud!"

"Misumi-san, please don't follow the cloud, we’ll be late for dinner!"

"Tri-triangle, tri-tri-triangle…!"

"Oi Misumi, quit singing and stop! I know you can hear us!"

Watching the interaction, you couldn't help but laugh, running after them.

They were a weird bunch… but in an endearing kind of way.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Oh? If it isn’t our cute Y/N” Azuma smiled softly as you all walked in.

“Did you guys go do street acts?” Tasuku lifted his head from the script in his hands. Sakuya nodded eagerly at the older actor, explaining the performances and the audience reaction.

Tsumugi laughed after the spring leader finished. “Seems like you all enjoyed yourselves out there.”

“Ah, youth! If only time would let us stop our bodies to enjoy the real pass of time of our souls!”

“Arisu… you’re annoying...”

“Okay everyone, let’s call the rest and start plating everything, okay?

You spent the rest of the night with the majority of the dorm.

You had a banter with Masumi about not giving your blessing, being cut by Citron’s weird proverbs and him being at the same time stopped by Tsuzuru. You laughed at Banri’s and Juza’s not so passive aggressive comments, heard some more stories about everyone and of course, you talked about acting and performances.

You shook your head amused. They really were acting addicts.

By the end of dinner, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

Closing your eyes, you splashed water in your face, deep in thought. “Living in this dorm must be amazing though…”

They all seemed to work so hard on any act they did… that it confused you. Izumi had always been insistent about you doing theatre and, while you appreciated it, you never took it seriously.

You enjoyed it, sure, but was it maybe because it came naturally to you? …What if you chose to act for real and then didn’t feel the same way after seeing the bad aspects of it?

Your mother was another matter too. She had made it clear she wouldn’t say anything, but you could tell it didn’t… exactly enthusiasm her. She barely mentioned Izumi’s work at home.

However, acting with everyone in Mankai had been fun. Every time.

Even you were surprised. Just how many street acts had you done after the first one today? You hadn’t practiced that much improv in a long time, not even in your theatre club.

It wasn't as of you didn't enjoy your own theatre activities, but surely there had to be a reason why you found yourself so awestruck by everyone here.

Or maybe not. Your mind was a mess. Closing the bathroom door, you sighed before noticing a figure walking towards you.

“Hey, I got the money ”

Without skipping a beat, you ‘tch’ed at Tenma. “First you’ll have to show me the body.”

“I have to see the money,” he pointed at you with his chin.

“First the body… or yours.” A few seconds passed and you both finally sneered. Tenma sighed, shaking his head.

“Thought I could get past you, dammit. You really should consider acting.”

Bullseye.

“Actually- Tenma, I was thinking” you faltered. “Um, did you… always want to be an actor?”

“Well- I was pretty much always in the industry since I was young, so yeah, I’d say so?”

“You never thought it could have been your parent… you know, telling you how you had talent what might have made you start acting?”

The summer leader thought about it, looking at the ceiling. However, he soon shrugged “If so, what?” noticing your confusion, he kept talking. “I mean, I guess they did have some influence… but in the end it was me who decided to stay. For me, not for them.”

You nodded. That made sense.

“Why the question?”

“Ah, nothing it’s just- I think Izumi tends to overreact saying I am like dad, you know, with acting and all. I didn’t think much about it until these acts made me feel…”

“Fulfilled?” The summer leader finished for you. Seeing he was right by looking at your face, he shrugged again in response. “I don’t know Yukio-san to say you are a copy of him, but yeah, you are good. Still though, you should do what you want above everything else.”

You nodded again.

You both headed back to the living room as a heated karaoke discussion between Citron and Banri while a few others tried to act as mediators.

Izumi turned to you and smiled “Everything okay?”

You faced her. The thoughts about acting and theatre could wait. As Tenma said, you didn’t have to rush and for now. You decided to let it aside and enjoy the warm feeling of being reunited with your sister and her weird, but lovable group of actors.

You took her hand and squeezed it. “Yup!”

_________________________________________________________

Hope you guys liked it. Have a wonderful day! 💕

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jonsastan · 5 years

Note

For a jonsa prompt, how about: jon is king of the 7k and is grateful to all the help Sansa is giving him in ruling. He's actually trying to court her but Sansa just thinks he's showing gratitude. OR if you don't mind a modern au: both of them work on a cruise ship. Sansa as a dancer and jon as bar staff ❤

Thank you for this prompt (Also I love your writing and you’re amazing)!

I really loved the idea of oblivious!Sansa but think this turned out a bit more serious than I was hoping for, so maybe I’ll write something a little more playful in the future!

Send me prompts!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon stared at the drawings in front of him. They all depicted the same general thing, a crown, but each was vastly different.

One was large and golden with a wolf and dragon rising above all the other house sigils. Another was more of a circlet made of deep grey silver moulded into sharp spikes, almost mimicking the Iron Throne itself, but each spike encrusted with diamonds and dragonglass. The third was almost grotesque in its use of gold, silver, and other precious metals and stones in a monstrous twisted crown.

“Fuck.” Jon muttered, thumping his fist lightly on the table.

“Choosing a crown cannot be the worst of your duties.” He could hear the smile on her voice but did not turn to her.

“I don’t think I even need a crown.” He replied.

“Your Hand insists you do.” He felt the warmth of her body as she moved and stood next to him, looking over his shoulder at the designs.

“It’s Lannister’s revenge for insisting he wear the Hand of the King sigil.”

Sansa chuckled at that.

“You know what some of the commoners have been calling him?” She asked, leaning closer, her voice hushed as if she would be scolded if caught.

Jon shook his head.

“The Hand without a hand.”

Jon chuckled and turned to her. Her eyes were light and laughing, a rare sight.

“And what do they call me?” He asked. Sansa’s eyes changed and the mood shifted to something more solemn.

“Their saviour.”

“No one should be seen like that.”

“But you did save them Jon.” Her hand reached out and rested on his forearm and his skin tingled even though fabric separated them. “You saved everyone.”

“I-” He felt that lump in his throat and the blush on his cheeks and the shame in his heart. He didn’t do it Westeros, or the people, or even for honour. He did it for her. Since the moment he’d held her in his arms, her body so thin and fragile like a baby bird, her spirit bold and brave and insurmountable, he knew he would do anything to keep her safe.

That promise had sparked the Battle of Bastards, the alliance with the Dragon Queen, the defeat of the Night King, the overthrow of the Lion Queen, and the death of the Dragon Queen. And he did it all and did it gladly because he needed Sansa to be safe, not for the greater good, not for the people. Simply, for her.

And for his love they’d crowned him King.

“I still don’t like it.” Jon said, pulling his eyes from her face and back to the designs on the desk before them. “And I don’t like these.”

Sansa shuffled the papers about, pausing on a few of the designs.

“They’re not right.” She frowned and moved, sitting in his desk chair. Jon smiled at this.

Somewhere between finding each other at Castle Black and Jon’s coronation as King in the North their boundaries had been re-defined into something more casual. They did not stand on ceremony as Jon might have suspected of a younger Sansa, and he was glad this hadn’t changed since he’d been proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“You need something more… subtle. It should not be a proclamation of greatness, but a reminder of the duty and burden that comes with ruling.” Sansa looked up from the multi-metal monstrosity Jon had been eyeing with apprehension earlier. “Did you ever hear about Robb’s crown?”

“No.” He answered simply. He tried not to dwell on the fate of the man he still thought of as his brother.

“I did. They spoke of it at court.” Sansa’s eyes seemed to be looking through him, into a past neither of them truly wished to remember. “It was a bronze circlet. It had runes of the First Men carved into it and nine iron spikes forged into the shape of long swords.”

“Sounds like the crown of the old Kings of the North.”

Sansa smiled sadly. “He probably based it on that crown. He loved stories as much I did, even thought he’d never admit it.”

A smile twitched at Jon’s lips.

“Do you think I should have a crown made like that?” He asked.

Sansa stood and moved back toward him.

“No. You are Northern, but you are also a Targaryen.” That sad smiled Jon loved and loathed was still on her lips. “And your queen will probably be southern, you would not wish to alienate her.”

Jon frowned at the mention of a queen. Jaime had mentioned it as well recently.

She grasped his hand in hers for a moment, causing heat to run up his arm before walking toward the door.

“Oh, Ser Jaime wanted to see you.” She called over her shoulder.

“You can tell him I haven’t chosen a stupid crown!” Jon called after her.

But I’ve chosen a queen.

~~~~~~~~~

Ladies like sweets, and poetry, and flowers, and pretty baubles. A much younger Sansa had told him once. Oh! And you must always compliment a lady on her name. Tell her it’s pretty.

Jon felt rather ridiculous standing nervously, watching as crate after crate of lemons from Dorne being brought into the kitchen.

“Lemon cakes.” He said to the plump head cook. The woman had not met his eyes and had stayed kneeling longer than the others when he had entered the kitchen. “For every tea that gets sent to Lady Sansa’s rooms.” The woman nodded and Jon thanked her.

Later that day Jon knocked gently on Sansa’s door.

“Enter!” Her voice sounded slightly muffled as Jon pushed the door open.

She was seated on the window seat, the pale winter sunlight coming through the glass causing her hair to shine brilliantly. She had a finger to her lips, her tongue dashing out to greedily take in the last of the lemon cake crumbs.

“Jon!” She smiled at him and gestured to the space on her seat. “We have lemon cakes!” Her smile was radiant, she looked almost like the girl who had left Winterfell dreaming of knights and maidens and lovely songs.

“I know.” He smiled gently back at her, resting a hand on the seat to keep his balance. As Sansa moved to place her empty plate on the small table next to her, her skirts covered Jon’s hand but he didn’t move. He enjoyed the warmth and softness of the sun-warmed fabric that he knew would smell like Sansa.

“I suppose this means the negotiations with Dorne have been going well.” She turned back to him.

“Aye, they have been productive.”

In truth, it had been like pulling teeth. Almost as bad as negotiating between the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch, but Jon had a powerful motivation. He needed lemons to have lemon cakes made for Sansa and Dorne had the most bountiful supply of lemons. Of course, the new Prince of Dorne may think the King of the Seven Kingdoms had inherited some Targaryen madness for having an annual shipment of lemons drafted into the treaty, but Jon didn’t mind.

“I had hoped you’d like the lemon cakes.” Jon said, unable to bring himself to look at her as he spoke. He looked out of Sansa’s window over the sea. She’d had her pick of rooms when she had offered to remain in the Red Keep to help Jon settle into his reign.

“You had them made for me?” Her voice was full of genuine shock and awe. Jon found his eyes were drawn back to her, to see her face and every expression that might cross it. “Oh Jon.” She reached out and took his hand in her own, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t have to do that for me. I know you appreciate my help.”

Jon’s brows knitted together for a moment.

“I do appreciate you, Sansa.” He said slowly. “But-”

“I’m so glad -” Sansa said, pulling her hand from his and turning back toward the sheaf of papers she had been reading. “that the negotiations were successful. If all continues like this, I may be able to return to Winterfell sooner than expected.”

Jon’s heart stopped for a moment.

“I still need you here.”

Sansa looked at him with that lovely sad smiled.

“Not for much longer, I’m sure.”

~~~~~~~~~

Jon fiddled with the folded piece of parchment, trying to get it to stand straight next to the bouquet of flowers. He looked at the arrangement. The flowers were from the Red Keep’s gardens and he’d picked them himself this morning after training with Brienne. She had been helpful with the note.

“Ser Brienne?” Jon began hesitantly, suddenly very aware of the weapon and skill this woman possessed. “How does one… compliment a lady correctly?”

The knight, for the first time Jon could recall, dropped her guard.

“I’m sorry, your grace,” Her eyes darted between himself and Podrick as if they were in on some joke she was not. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

Jon felt himself blush and hoped the others would just see it as exertion from their training.

“If a man, a gentleman,” He glanced at Podrick who was moving closer. “Wanted to leave a note with some flowers for a lady, what would he write?”

“I cannot honestly say.” Brienne replied.

“But, did Ser Jaime, not ah-” Jon glanced at Podrick for help as to how to finish his sentence, as the only phrase he could think of was ‘woo you’ and he really did not want to say that to Brienne.

“Ser Jaime and I have an unconventional relationship to say the least.” Brienne stated, putting Jon out of misery. “I would not base any kind of courtship on our history.” Brienne positioned herself into a fighting stance. “I’m sorry not to be of more help, your grace.”

Jon merely nodded and engaged in another sparring match. Before he left for collect the flowers for Sansa, Brienne came and stood next to him.

“Be genuine, my lord. Sincerity is always appreciated.” Jon glanced at the taller woman and saw a deep sadness from long ago in her eyes.

“Thank you, ser.”

Jon spun on the spot when he heard the creak of the door open.

“Oh!” Sansa had jumped slightly when she looked up from her papers at the figure in her room. “Jon.” She smiled and moved toward him. “You frightened me half to death.”

“Sorry.” He smiled gently at her. “I had just meant to leave these for you.” He moved so Sansa could see the flowers.

“They’re lovely!” She exclaimed sweeping toward them. She dropped her pile of papers on the table and brought the bouquet to her nose. “They’re beautiful.” She lifted her eyes to his.

“There’s a note.” Jon gestured, and Sansa’s quick fingers grabbed it. “I’ll leave you to read it.” He moved toward the door, but hears Sansa’s small intake of breath.

Sansa,

I’ll protect you, I promise.

Yours, always,

Jon.

As he’d said to Sam once ‘I’m not a bleeding poet’ but he’s proud of his simple, direct words. Jon’s hand is on the door handle when Sansa’s arms wrap around his waist as she buries her face between his shoulder blades.

“Jon.” Her voice is muffled, Jon brings his hands up to rest on hers, enjoying the warmth of her skin. “I know you’ll keep me safe.”

For a moment, Jon hopefully wonders if she realises, if she’s noticed, if she has finally become aware of his need of her, his feelings for her, his love for her.

“I know you have a deep gratitude for me.”

Jon’s hope dies.

~~~~~~~~~

“Big gestures!” Jaime had exclaimed to him. “Women love big gestures!” Jon had frowned trying to picture shy, private, reserved Brienne enjoying a large dramatic romantic gesture.

Now, staring down at his latest attempt to admit his feelings to Sansa, he felt extremely nervous at taking Jaime’s advice.

He heard a knock at his door and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Enter.”

Sansa slipped through the door, her face transforming into the gentle smile she often wore in his presence. The smile that made his heart skip a beat and his soul hope.

“I’ve been summoned,” She teased. “Your grace?”

Jon chuckled and gestured for her to come nearer.

“My Hand is pleased with me. I have had a crown made.”

“Oh, Ser Jaime will be most gratified.” Sansa stood next to him, and he was suddenly aware of her every minute movement.

On a piece of black cloth a circlet sat. It was made of silver, Weirwood leaves carved into the metal, floating around the entire crown. There are 7 black iron spikes arising from the silver, each with a small diamond inlaid near where the iron met the silver.

“Almost like Robb’s.” Sansa murmured, her fingers reaching out to press into the spikes. “But still not entirely Northern. And silver and black, Stark and Targaryen colours.”

Jon watched as Sansa took in the beautiful metal work. He watched as her face slowly transformed from one of contentment into confusion. He watched as her brows knitted together and her lower lip got caught between her teeth.

“Jon.” She turned to him. “I- You- Have you tried it on?”

Jon remained silent, prompting Sansa to explain further.

“It just, it looks a little small.”

“No Sansa, I haven’t tried this one on.”

“This one?” Her brows unknitted. “For your queen?” She asked.

Jon nodded. Sansa smiled that lovely sad smile and turned back to the crown.

“It’s for you.”

Sansa froze, her finger pressing into the point of a spike.

“If you’ll have it?” Jon reached out and took her unoccupied hand, his calloused thumb running over her smooth, warm skin. “If you’ll have me?” Sansa spun to face him, her eyes shining, her mouth parted ever so slightly, the hand that was resting on the crown, coming to rest on his chest, over his heart.

“You never said anything.”

Jon laughed as he reached up and covered Sansa’s hand with his own.

“I followed your advice to the letter!” He argued. He released the other hand and brought his up to cup her cheek. Sansa’s hand joined her other on his chest.

“What advice?”

“You told me that when courting, an honourable man would give his lady sweets-”

“The lemons cakes.” Sansa muttered, eyes widening slowly.

“And poetry, and flowers.”

“Poetry?” Sansa asked, a sly little grin on her lips.

“I tried, but it seems there’s a reason not every man is a bard.”

Sansa chuckled as Jon moved his hand from hers to cup her other cheek. “And pretty baubles.”

“This is hardly a bauble.” Sansa said in a soft voice. Jon noticed her eyes flickered from his own eyes to his lips and wondered if he imagined it, or if he was imagining that she was leaning in toward him. “It’s -”

“It’s a promise and a hope and a ques-”

“Yes.” Sansa breathes and she moved toward him, pressing her lips to his. Jon can’t help but smile into the kiss, as his hands drop from her face to her waist, pulling her closer to him. As the kiss ends Sansa speaks.

“I believe I also told you that when courting you should compliment a lady on her name.”

Jon let out a breathy laugh.

“I believe ‘Queen Sansa’ sounds pretty.”

#jonsa #actually jonsa #mine #jonsa fanfic #jonsa fanfiction

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pocket-anon · 7 years

Text

The Long Way Home (6/10)

The reception for this story continues to be so generous, and I can't thank you guys enough. I spent so many months anxious about whether anyone would like this fic, whether there would still be an audience for it, whether it would be worth the hundreds thousands of hours I've spent laboring over it/thinking about it/tweaking and re-tweaking it - but you all have been incredibly sweet and supportive, and I'm so grateful to you all for cheering me on. Hope you enjoy this week's installment!

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

Alec is back on his feet in several days, though he continues to be hobbled by his injury and he’s restricted to light duties like mending sails and cleaning weapons. Swan begins to keep him company under the guise of having him teach her these skills, and when every sail is repaired and every gun, canon, sword, and dagger aboard polished to a shine, she goads him into spending another morning teaching her how to tie different kinds of sailor’s knots.

The youngest member of the crew takes her attention in stride. “If you spend any more time with me, ma’am,” he jokes on their fourth morning together, “Cap’n’s bound to get jealous.”

Swan hums, the side of her mouth quirking. “The Captain is a grown man who can afford not to be the center of a woman’s attention all the time,” she replies airily, picking her latest knot out of her piece of practice rope. “Heaven knows he’s probably had enough women fawning over him to last a lifetime.”

Alec chortles and agrees with a bob of his shiny, bald head. “Even so – and not that it’s any o’ my business, milady,” he says quietly, darting a glance up at the ship’s wheel where Hook is talking with the helmsman, “when I see a man look at a lady the way Cap’n does you, it’s generally safer t’ keep my distance.”

“Hmph.” Swan wills her cheeks not to warm and tries to ignore the way her heartbeat quickens at the implication. “If the Captain looks at me differently, it’s because he thinks our friendship is a good investment,” she points out. The knot finally comes undone, and she twirls the rope triumphantly in her hands. “And if he has expectations with regard to how I spend my time, he hasn’t told me.”

“Pretty sure he knows better than that, ma’am.”

She huffs and flashes Alec a grin, her eyes laughing. “Well, at least all his time around women has taught him a thing or two.” She stands and offers him a hand. “It’s almost lunchtime. Do you have other duties, or can I walk you to the mess?”

He waves her off and grabs the wooden staff he’s been using for support. “I think I can do it.” He plants the staff on deck and pauses for a deep breath before he hoists himself up with a strained grunt. Swan gasps when he suddenly hisses and teeters, an agonized sound escaping him as he crashes to the boards.

“Alec?” she yelps. She whirls toward the stern deck. “Hook? Help!”

The Captain’s head whips around at her call, and he all but flies down the ladder, reaching them as quickly as any of the other men. He gently nudges her to the side and kneels next to his fallen crewman. “What is it, lad? The leg?”

Alec groans and nods, rolling over on to his back with pain creasing his forehead. “It’s been worse since last night,” he confesses.

Hook works quickly to untie the wide bandages encircling his thigh and carefully peels back the edges of the split in the Alec’s trouser leg, which is stiff with dried blood from the original injury. His lips form a thin line as he peers at the exposed skin. The flesh near the edges of the laceration is tinged a beefy red and so swollen it resembles the skin of an orange. “This doesn’t look well,” he mutters. He glances up at the other men standing by. “Get him below and cut the trouser leg off,” he orders, gesturing at the soiled fabric. “Find him a clean bandage, and no further duties until he’s healed.” He stands up and allows Martin and Smee through so they can bear Alec up on his good leg and help him away.

Swan appears at his side, anxious. “Will he be alright?” she asks softly.

Hook sighs, suddenly looking very world-weary. “I don’t know,” he admits once Alec is out of earshot. “I’ve seen the same happen to many a sailor. We’ll watch it closely. If it gets much worse, he may have to choose between losing the leg or losing his life.”

The color leaves her face, and he turns and wordlessly takes her hand, settling it in the crook of his left elbow as he escorts her toward the hatch leading to his quarters. He’s silent for a few paces. “You’re worried about him.”

“Of course I am,” she replies with a puzzled frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No, it’s just…” He scratches the back of his head with his brace, his eyes on his toes. “I’m still surprised that you’ve come to care about a band of pirates, I suppose.” His brows lift. “Unless there’s something special about Alec?”

For some reason, the question sets Swan brimming with impatience, and she rolls her eyes, in no mood for his teasing. “Really?” she demands. When his only answer is an enigmatic shrug, she huffs. “Alec’s tall and he can swing a sword, but he’s still barely more than a boy, Hook.” She pulls a face. “An actual boy, not a one hundred fifty year-old in a boy’s body; I know you brought him on after Neverland.” She sighs, forehead lined with concern. “He’s a kid, and he’s hurt and scared and… and I just thought he could use a little company these last few days.”

Hook nods slowly, his expression turning touched and a little sad as he brings his hand up to cover hers. “You’re right,” he murmurs apologetically. “You’ve shown him a great kindness. We aren’t used to such things, but he needs all of it he can get now. There’s a good chance this week does not end well for him, one way or another.”

Swan swallows the enormous lump that rises in her throat. “Maybe he’d let me read to him,” she offers in a small voice. It feels like so little – like nothing – but it’s all she can think of.

Hook flashes her a muted smile. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that, love. Few sailors are lucky enough to have a good-hearted woman to help look after them in times like this. Your presence is a gift to this crew.” His fingers tighten affectionately over hers, and his eyes fall back to the deck, his tone growing somewhat despondent. “I think you’ll be sorely missed.”

She blinks rapidly at his sentiment, her mouth forming a watery little smile, and as they descend below deck to have lunch, her heart feels heavy, weighed down by the cloud of Alec’s predicament and churning with mixed feelings. She chuffs silently. Leave it to Killian Jones to surprise her again. He may have tried to tease her about her relationship with Alec, but contrary to his crewman’s suggestion, he doesn’t seem jealous – not really. She should be glad for that, impressed by that. Instead she feels more than a tiny prick of disappointment. And more than a little vexed at how she feels.

Lunch is quiet, the mood solemn, and though she catches Hook’s eyes on her from time to time, the pair of them remain largely lost in their own thoughts. Swan finishes quickly and hops up to select a book for Alec. “What do you think he’d like?” she muses, walking her fingers across the titles.

“Captain?”

Their heads turn toward the muffled call and the sound of rapidly encroaching footsteps in the passageway outside. A hand knocks fervently on the door.

Hook finishes his last bite and brushes a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. “What is it, Smee?” he answers.

The knob turns, and Smee pops in. “A ship, sir,” he reports. “Packet, by the looks of it.”

Hook frowns. “Slavers?”

“Probably.”

“Slavers?” Swan’s voice draws their attention.

Hook turns toward her, his countenance darkened. “Aye. This close to the Foundering Islands, a ship like that is almost certainly carrying fresh prisoners of war to the slave markets east of here.” He glances back at his first mate. “Maintain course and speed, Smee. I’ll come up shortly.”

Smee gives a hasty nod and scuttles away.

The door closes behind him, and a sigh passes Hook’s lips. He rises and reaches for his sword belt.

Swan watches him put it on. “Are you going to engage them?”

To her confusion, he shakes his head as he does up the buckle. “Not likely. Every choice to engage is a calculated risk, love. We’re a man down now, and there isn’t much to be gained from attacking a ship like this. Slavers can be a nasty lot, and we’re not in the business of capturing or selling slaves.” He reaches for his coat with a scowl. “It’s a disgusting practice.”

Her brow creases in thought. “What if… what if you took the ship but set the slaves free?” She meets his confounded look with an earnest stare. "You could help them."

Hook blinks, conflicting emotions writing themselves all over his face. “Swan…”

“No, think about it. You became a pirate to escape service to a ruthless king,” she argues, her voice growing bolder. “Why should all those people stay condemned to life under a master if the Jolly can save them?”

He flexes his jaw with indignation. “I’m not in the business of risking my crew in order to play hero.”

“What if the crew thought it was worth the risk?”

Hook's countenance hardens, and he looks away, his gaze dropping to the floor as he turns to leave. He strides away without another word, and she watches the door shut behind him with sad eyes, frustration dragging her stomach down to the depths and leaving her unsure whether to appreciate or regret this acute reminder that, regardless of whatever misguided feelings she may harbor for the Captain, she may have put her faith in his good heart too soon.

* * *

His boots fall heavy on the deck as Hook stalks across the boards to join Smee at the wheel, his chest still aching from the disappointment on Emma’s face.

“Steady at your ten o’clock, sir,” Smee informs him briskly, nodding toward the northwest horizon.

Hook squints at the telltale rig configuration of the smaller vessel, his lips pressed into a grim line as he pulls out his spyglass and examines the ship more closely.

“I assume we’re leaving them alone?”

He licks his lips and stows his glass, his eyes landing upon the angry scratches that zigzag across the worn surface of the black sideboard next to the ship’s wheel.

It’s not too late to start over. I can change, Bae. For you.

You say that. I know you’ll never change, because all you care about is yourself.

The last conversation he had with Baelfire in Neverland years ago leaps into his mind – the last time he hoped for a happy ending for himself and someone he cared for. The last time that someone had looked on him with hope fading from their eyes.

Hook stares intently at what remains of the ‘P’ and ‘S’ he once carved to orient the lad to the sides of the ship – letters obliterated in a fit of rage – and he swallows thickly. Regret slams down on him like a tidal wave as he remembers how he chose self-preservation over courage and anger over contrition, betraying Bae to the Lost Boys the moment he and the lad had had a falling out. Coward. His hand curls into a fist.

He won’t lose his chance with Emma. Not like this.

“Call all hands on deck,” he says quietly.

Smee turns. “Sir?”

Hook fixes the other ship with a determined glare. “All hands,” he repeats flatly. “I need to address the crew.”

Though clearly perplexed by the demand, Smee knows better than to ask questions. He closes his open mouth and hurries away, and five minutes later the men are assembled around the main-mast, murmuring amongst themselves at this unexpected summoning.

Hook stands above them on the stern deck, his hand resting on the rail near the ship’s bell.

“I’ve called you here,” he calls, “with an opportunity.” His voice rings out across the Jolly, and every set of eyes is upon him. “To port lies what is most likely a ship belonging to slavers, men who put a price on flesh and trade other people as if they were chattel. It’s been our custom to let slavers alone because I refuse to make a profit off of cargo that shouldn’t be cargo and because we don’t raise swords for anything other than profit or revenge.”

Sounds of agreement ripple through the crew.

“But I am proposing a change,” he continues. “I claimed this ship and turned pirate to free myself from the service of a king who used loyal men like me as puppets. He betrayed my trust, and my brother died because of his treachery. We,” he says, gritting his teeth, his eyes flitting over the faces of those assembled, “are men of honor. We live by a code. We go where we please and take what we like and answer to no one but each other.” Cheers ring out, and he yanks his cutlass from the scabbard and swings it toward the other ship, his voice rising. “And I say it is a foul thing for us to claim to value freedom but turn a blind eye to cruel men who make a living depriving others of it!” he bellows. His heart rams against his ribs. “I know there is risk and little profit to be had,” he admits, “but we are the most able crew to sail the seas, and for the sake of our decency and our self-respect as pirates, I say we take those bloody slavers down! Will you stand with me?”

Roars of approval fill his ears, fists jutting into the air in solidarity, and the voices of his men form an enthusiastic chorus as they chant, “Captain Hook! Captain Hook!”

Hook hears movement and a gratified hum behind him and turns to see Emma standing nearby, her ponytail flapping over one shoulder like a victory banner on the breeze. She leans against the sideboard, her face bright, her cheeks rosy, and her small smile brighter than the sun. Hope fills him anew when she gives him a little nod, and he nods back. Perhaps there’s something more valuable than gold or jewels or even revenge worth fighting for now, he thinks.

He allows her to remain on deck as they shift course to intercept the other ship, and Swan watches with sober fascination as they hoist the colors and fire the customary warning shot. As expected, the slavers refuse to surrender.

“Leave them alive, if you can,” Hook barks on the Jolly’s approach. “I want to send a message.”

He turns back to Emma. “I know how you feel about being asked to stay below, love,” he acknowledges gently, “but perhaps you’ll oblige me this time?”

He considers it a small miracle when she concedes without protest. Emma turns toward the hatch to his quarters, pausing to lay her hand on his shoulder and gaze up at him with anxious eyes. “Be careful?”

He gives her a soft smirk and risks reaching forward to cup her face, his thumb drifting softly across her skin. “You try not to worry, and I'll try not to need a daring rescue today. Alright?” His heart leaps at the way she blushes, a chuckle playing on her lips as she heads down below.

The crew of the slave ship numbers about fifteen, and though they put up a fight, this particular group proves no match for the men of the Jolly Roger, even with the latter utilizing non-deadly force. Within twenty minutes, the slavers find themselves trounced, bound, and forced to huddle in the center of the main deck, their expressions a mixture of anger, resentment, and fear as they eye the pirates that form a tight circle around them.

“Which one of you is in charge?” Hook demands, striding forward. Glances dart toward a heavy-set scoundrel with a barrel chest and a bald head whose skin is bronzed and leathery from the sun. Hook tips his chin at him. “You.”

The man raises his dark, beady eyes.

“You know who I am?” He sees the slaver glance at his hook, and he smiles coldly. “You do. Excellent. So you know how lucky you and your men are to still be alive.” His face hints at a snarl. “You are being given quarter this once in order to deliver a message to your fellows in the slave trade.” Hook lifts his head and raises his voice. “Personal freedom is not a commodity to be bought and sold, and as pirates, we can be indifferent no more,” he announces. “You are no longer safe from our interference. We will demand surrender from any slave ship we come across, and we will encourage our brethren to do the same.” He draws his sword on them, his voice taking on a deadly timbre. “You are relieved of this ship and everything and everyone aboard. Get to your boats and go before I decide to stop being generous.”

Most of the slavers climb to their feet and shuffle off under the escort of his men, but their leader lags behind and glowers at Hook. “So you steal property and yet suppose yourself the better man,” he sneers.

Hook launches forward, his blade slicing through the air and biting the flesh just below the other man’s jaw. “People,” he hisses, rotating the sword edge with excruciating slowness until it just barely draws blood, “are not property. And I’m a better man now than when I allowed you to continue this bloody business unfettered.” He hooks a large loop of keys off the man’s belt and plants a boot in his stomach, watching with grave satisfaction as the slaver wheels across the deck and crashes into the gunwhale with a tortured grunt. The man crumbles to his knees, and Hook snorts. “Get him out of my sight.”

He finds his way below, and his stomach churns increasingly as he draws closer to the hold, the air growing uncomfortably warm and thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and human foulness. He finds Martin and Roberts waiting for him at the hatch with revulsion in their eyes.

“Are there many?” he asks quietly.

Martin nods, his expression grim. “Aye, Captain. See for yourself.” He steps aside, and the open hatch comes into view.

The heat and smells are immediately magnified, hitting him in the face like a sordid cloud as Hook kneels and peers down into the dimly lit space, and it takes everything he has not to retch. He looks away for a second, face clenched in a grimace, before steeling himself and turning back to examine the hold. The terrified eyes of men, women, and even some older children stare back up at him. The light of a few hanging lanterns casts shadows across their faces, and he can see that they’re packed shoulder-to-shoulder like livestock, the close and distant clinking of their chains confirming for him that the entire hold is full with bodies.

His gaze locks onto a boy, aged perhaps eleven or twelve, with shaggy dark hair. The lad’s pale, round face is smudged with tears and filth and set with wide, timid eyes, and something in Hook’s chest wrenches as his own time as slave to a series of hardened captains – six years of childhood that was several lifetimes ago – suddenly feels as though it’s not so far away. Fury flares in his blood. “Get them out,” he growls, managing to hide the quaver in his voice as he tosses Martin the ring of keys, “and see if any of them knows how to sail this vessel home.”

He hurries back above deck, pausing under the guise of visually inspecting the sails in order to catch a few deep lungfuls of the ocean air and allow his pulse to stop hammering. His ears pick up the steady squeaking of pulleys as his men lower the boats full of slavers astern, and there’s a pair of splashes when they finally hit the water. Good riddance.

Hook hustles to the aft rail to watch the slavers depart. Pistols emerge, and a handful of his men train their weapons on the boats to keep the other crew in line as they go. His eyes dart over to the Jolly and to the hatch leading to his quarters, and the thought of Emma holed up safely below while the slavers row in the opposite direction brings a relieved sigh to his lips as he looks to Thomas and Smee standing guard on the Jolly’s deck and gives them a grateful nod.

The sound of dozens of footfalls causes him to turn around, and satisfaction curves his mouth at the sight of the first of the former slaves climbing up and out into the sunlight. Many cringe and duck behind their hands as they adjust to the brightness, but there is excited chatter amongst them, and though he can see plenty of arms and legs adorned with red marks, the irons that caused them have been abandoned below.

All told, over fifty people emerge from the hold, followed by Roberts and Martin, who appear as happy as any of them to be out of the bowels of the ship.

Hook approaches. “That’s everyone?”

Martin swipes his sleeve over his damp brow, looking weary. “Yessir.”

“Can they sail?”

He bobs his head. “Aye. I counted a dozen of them who identified as seafarers. They think they can manage.”

“Provisions?” Hook turns to Roberts.

The quartermaster hums the affirmative. “Stores’re fine. They’ll do alright, I think. They estimate their homeland’s less than a week from here.” He scratches at the base of his neck. “Shall we investigate the crew quarters, Captain?”

Hook smirks half-heartedly. “Of course, Old Man. What kind of pirate do you take me for?”

It’s not a huge haul, and much of what they find by way of clothing and linens they leave for the former slaves, but they do locate a fairly generous purse in the main cabin and some useful supplies worth scavenging – weapons and ammunition, extra lantern oil and wicks intended for the slavers’ return trip from market, parchment and writing supplies, pipe tobacco, and a few bottles of quality spirits. The Captain hums with approval as he finishes counting the money with Roberts and seals the coins back into the satchel.

“Not a bad day’s work, eh, sir?” Roberts asks, accepting the purse for safe-keeping until it can be divided amongst the crew.

“No.” Hook leads him back up the ladder, savoring the swirl of wind that greets him when they emerge on deck. He takes in the scene before them. Some of the former slaves inspect the rigging while explaining the structure of the ship to the less experienced sailors, others haul buckets of water from the sea in order to wash, and children weave in and out of the crowd like a school of fish as they chase each other across the deck. Their youthful laughter fills the air, and Hook cranes his head to watch the lad he saw before scramble by with his mates, all traces of fear gone from his small face. Where once the deck of this ship was dour, it’s now filled with life, with hope, and this, this is their doing. Correction, he thinks. This is Emma’s doing through them. This is the work of an angel. “No,” he says, his chest swelling with a peace he hasn’t known in a long time. “Not a bad day’s work at all.”

* * *

The taking of the slave ship is a much quieter affair than their run-in with the pirate hunters had been, and Swan has the benefit of company to distract her now as she waits below deck. She knocks on the open door of the crew quarters and pokes her head in. “Alec?”

Faced away from her in his berth, the young man cranes his neck, arching a bit off his pillow to meet her eye. “Milady?”

She steps across the threshold, cradling a book in her arms. “Mind if I wait here with you?” she asks, coming in to stand in front of a bench across from him. “I could use a distraction.”

He smiles appreciatively and nods, gesturing for her to have a seat. “Me too.”

She settles down, pulling her legs up under her in order to sit cross-legged. “How do you feel?” she asks, studying him. As Hook had ordered, the fabric of his trousers has been completely cut away to expose his leg, and a clean bandage is wrapped around his wound.

Alec makes a noncommittal noise. “The pain’s not bad when I don’t stand.” He looks up at her, his face guilty. “I’m sorry if I frightened you earlier, ma’am.”

She shakes her head. “It’s alright. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you weren’t feeling well today.”

“Nah. S’nothing,” he says, attempting to sound cavalier. He glances at her book. “What’s that?”

Swan holds it up for him. “Legends of the Deep. I’ve been working my way through the Captain’s collection. Do you know it?”

Now it’s Alec who shakes his head. “Never been very good at readin’, t’ be honest.”

“Perhaps I could read it aloud?”

He brightens. “I’d be much obliged, ma’am.”

Swan grins and pulls the book open to the first page. She clears her throat and wets her lips. “It is said that the sea is an enchanting place, full of beauty and mysteries beyond the comprehension of mortal men…”

She’s a dozen pages in when the sound of Alec’s snoring causes her to look up. A muted smile plays on her mouth, and she sighs, softly swinging the cover shut. Her eyes fall to his leg, and worry wrinkles her forehead once more as she rises and slips out of the cabin, pulling the door softly closed behind her.

Standing in the corridor, she glances briefly in the direction of the Captain’s quarters, gnawing at her lip before she decides to climb the ladder to the hatch instead, her heart pounding as she eases it open just a few inches so she can peek outside.

Her ears strain for clues as to what’s going on, and she grows excited several moments later when a familiar pair of boots passes a few feet from her nose. “Thomas! Thomas!” she hisses.

The boots turn to face her, and Thomas kneels, his amused expression coming into view as he cants his head sideways to meet her eye. “Milady?”

Heat creeps up from her neck, and she suddenly feels a little silly. “Is everything going alright?”

He chuckles. “Very well, ma’am. The slavers are being loaded into boats as we speak. We’ll see that they leave without any trouble,” he assures her, patting the gun tucked into his belt. “Cap’n’s gone below to see to the slaves, I think.”

Swan exhales, a relieved smile coming over her face. “That’s good.”

“Aye.” He nods with a grin. “Sit tight, ma’am. It might take ‘em a bit to get sorted, but I imagine we’ll have everyone back aboard soon enough.”

She beams and retreats, feeling much more content as she descends the ladder. They’re safe. He did it. Pride in the Captain brings a private smile to her lips, and her heart flutters. She gives a relieved huff. Perhaps she wasn’t so far off in her read of him as she feared.

She elects to continue reading in his quarters where the light is better, hunching over his table with the book open in front of her. Within minutes, however, her own eyelids grow heavy and her head begins to loll with the weight of sleep.

* * *

“Swan?” Hook eyes her still form and murmurs her name, wearing a soft expression as he moves around his table to stand beside her. He pauses a moment to study the serenity on her face and the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath. Her long lashes are dusky against her cheeks, her exquisite features blissfully free of emotion, and she rests on the table, her head cradled on one folded arm while the fingers of her other hand grace the cover of an open, overturned book. A wavy lock of her hair lies haphazardly draped over her eyes, and she’s so achingly beautiful that his chest hurts.

He has no clue what he’s done to deserve time with this woman, but he was guilty of understatement when he called her a gift to his crew. Her presence has infused the Jolly with a new sense of life and excitement and given the men a fresh collective purpose in keeping her safe and delivering her home. He’s watched them over the past several weeks – noticed them smiling more freely and singing more heartily. He’s seen them beam proudly every time they make the Princess laugh. He might be completely besotted, but it’s clear they’re all a little in love with her, and the prospect of leaving her behind in Misthaven makes him so melancholy that he’s wished more than once for an excuse to prolong their journey with an unplanned stop in port or a detour to a less direct course. He feels a pang of guilt about it now that Alec’s condition actually makes a stop in a port to find a surgeon a real necessity.

A small voice inside tells him not to wake her, but it’s as though his hand has a mind of its own when he reaches forward and delicately brushes her hair out of her face. The graze of his fingertips over her forehead causes Emma to stir. She sucks in a deep breath and wrinkles her brow, and he pulls his hand away just before she opens her eyes and looks up at him.

Her face lights up, and she sits up hastily, looking a bit embarrassed to have fallen asleep. “You’re back.”

He relaxes and nods. “Aye. Some of the men are still on the other ship conferring with the people about how they plan to sail her home, but I wanted to come check on you.”

Emma eyes him proudly. “You did it then. You set them free.”

His cheeks warm. “Yes, well, someone convinced me it was the right thing to do,” he reminds her, glancing at the toes of his boots with an uncharacteristically humble grin.

“And here they say Captain Hook doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” she teases.

He looks back up at her, considering her statement with a pained smile. “Maybe I just needed reminding that I could,” he says at last.

The admission hangs between them for a moment, and his heart somehow feels both heavier and lighter for having made it. Emma’s expression sobers as she studies the emotions flitting across his face with that soul-searching stare of hers, and, though he can’t identify all of the feelings jumbled up inside him, he realizes that, for the first time, he’s not as afraid of what she might see.

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