Chapter Text
“Mom, I can’t do this right now, I have to get on the plane.”
“But Emma, you can’t just leave like this!”
The queue moved forward. Emma balanced her phone, passport and boarding pass in one hand, trailing her suitcase behind her. “It’s just work, mom. I’ll be home again in a couple of days.”
“What about Walsh?”
“Walsh and I are fine.” Emma’s grip on the phone tightened. “Really, I’ve gotta go.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay all on your own?” Ingrid asked, not for the first time.
“I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”
“Oh, I know, I know. I’m just worried, honey. You know I only want the best for you.”
“Yeah. I know.” The memory of Ingrid giving her a backpack instead of a black bag to keep her things in came to mind. The time she brought Emma shopping for clothes that actually fit her. The endless amount of support she’d shown when Emma decided to study law - ever since Ingrid took Emma in at sixteen, she had wanted nothing but the best for her. “I’ve gotta go now. Bye.”
“Call me when you land, okay? And stay safe. I’m proud of you, Emma. I really am.”
“Yeah, bye mom.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.” Emma hung up and slipped her phone in the pocket of her red jacket. Just in time as well; the queue moved forward and Emma handed over her boarding pass and passport to the gate attendant. Without fuss, the woman gave Emma back her papers and let her board the plane.
She passed through business class to economy class, wishing one of those spacious seats with individual TV-screens could have been hers. But Regina - the founder of Mills’ Associates and therefore Emma’s boss - wouldn’t dream of letting Emma enjoy a comfortable seven hours of flight on the company’s expense. Never mind that Regina would never fly anything less than first class herself.
Emma found her row, scooting into her seat by the window after storing her suitcase in the overhead luggage compartment. The guy behind her insisted on helping with her suitcase, but only managed to get on her nerves. It didn’t help that his voice reminded her of Walsh’s.
As the rest of the passengers boarded and found their seats, Emma unlocked her phone to see another notification from none other than Walsh - one more unread message to add to the seven others. And the three voice mails she’d rather not listen to. She swiped the message away and set her phone to flight mode.
With a sigh, Emma shut her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. Was it too naive to hope for a bit of sleep during the next couple of hours?
Stewardesses passed through the aisle, closing the luggage compartments, and reminding people to buckle their seatbelts. Soon after, the plane began rolling out to the runway. When it picked up speed, Emma tried to quell the rush of butterflies in her stomach. She had flown before, albeit not internationally, but there was no reason to be nervous. Still, would it be too sad if she ordered a drink at nine AM?
The plane took off, leaving John F. Kennedy Airport far below. Emma pressed her forehead against the window, watching New York grow smaller and smaller. She leaned back in her seat again with a sigh. No more running away from her problems - Emma flew away from them now.
It wasn’t like it was her fault that Walsh decided to pop the question right before an important case. Or well, semi-important. Of course, she didn’t have to accept the offer of flying to England two days after Walsh’s proposal. A proposal she never really answered. But here she was, on her way to England to finalize the take-over of a small business.
Emma shut her eyes. She hadn’t slept at all last night. She had tried, but in the end she couldn’t take more tossing and turning. Instead she looked through the files of the case, over and over again until her eyes hurt. It wasn’t necessary; the case was simple as could be. Mary Margaret Blanchard, one of Emma’s co-workers, had worked on it beforehand. But with all the stress of planning her wedding, she’d asked Emma to see the case through and fly to England in her place.
The business in question, The Brothers Jones, designed and produced nautical tools of the old-fashioned type. Compasses, spyglasses, sextants and the likes. Emma’s client, the owner of Gold’s Antiquities, a worldwide corporation, wished to expand his stock with The Brothers Jones’ intricate replicas. So far, the negotiations with Mr. Jones had gone smoothly.
Emma’s attempt at sleeping, however, went less than smoothly. The couple next to her kept talking, and bustling kids sat in the row behind her. Even if all had been calm and quiet, Emma doubted she would have gotten much sleep.
So, seven boring hours of flight it was then. Emma resorted to reading through the SkyMall magazine and playing games on her phone. She even tuned in to the movie shown on the few overhead screens, weird as it was. A decent flight meal turned out to be too much to ask for as well.
In the end, Emma gave up and bought that small bottle of whiskey. Her best decision that day by far.
I’ve landed. It’s nine pm here. Everything’s great. Taking the train northeast now for about four hours. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Emma sent the message to her mom and hovered over the notifications from Walsh. During her flight, he had only left one voice mail and two texts - maybe he was getting the hint. She did feel awful for ignoring him like that. He was a great guy, he didn’t deserve it. But would she ever see him as anything but a great guy? Would she ever see him as a husband? No way. Eight months was big enough a commitment for Emma - marriage was out of the question.
Emma pocketed her phone; she’d deal with Walsh when she got home. After all, this trip would hardly last more than three days. Both of them could use those days to think through everything on their own.
The sun set as the train rolled out of the station. By the time they made it out of London, out amongst open fields, the skies were dark and heavy with clouds. Emma leaned against the window, becoming one with the jolting train. She pulled her jacket tighter around her as low murmurs carried through the compartment, letting her know that she wasn’t alone.
When her eyelids grew too heavy, Emma snuggled closer to the corner of her seat, her breath fogging the cold glass in front of her. Her hair was too tight though; it pulled at her scalp, making it impossible to rest. She undid her ponytail, letting her hair fall in waves around her. Much better.
Finally, her eyes fell shut. In a train headed north, amongst rugged hills and stunning shores, Emma fell asleep at last.
There were several seats vacant on the late night train. As it picked up speed and rolled out of the small station, a dark-haired man looked at his ticket and the empty seats around him. Any seat was his for the taking.
He wore a black leather coat and carried a satchel over his shoulder and an umbrella in his hand. Outside, the air was damp, leaving his hair ruffled. He brushed a stray lock from his forehead and eyed the seat reserved to him on his ticket.
A woman slept on the seat next to his. She was nothing but a red leather jacket and a mop of blonde curls against the window. Killian looked ahead at the few people sitting together at the front of the compartment. All around were these empty seats with empty seats beside them.
He looked at his ticket once more. Then the seat. And the woman next to it.
Hoisting the satchel over his shoulder and placing it on the luggage rack next to a small suitcase, he made his decision and sat in his designated seat.
The train hurdled through the night. Killian let his eyes close as he leaned back in his seat and soon his head started to lull against the headrest. The people in the front rows ceased their talking and peace settled in the whirring train. He almost fell asleep himself.
But then a sudden weight landed on his shoulder.
Going rigid and opening his eyes at once, Killian looked down to see the former mess of curls against the window now resting on his shoulder. He could do nothing but stare at her.
The woman snuggled against his side, shifting her head ever so little. Even with the lapels of his coat pulled upright, her hair found a way to tickle his throat.
Killian tried gently nudging her back against the window. She didn’t budge.
He tried again, with a bit more force. The woman seemed content on his shoulder though. He thought of waking her, but he knew he wouldn’t do it. And if he pushed her any harder, she’d wake whether he meant it or not.
With a sigh, Killian’s head fell back against the headrest again. He closes his eyes and tried to ease the tension in his body. Surely, she would soon shift in her sleep again.
She didn’t.
The train slowed, stopped and picked up speed again several times. No amount of jostling could wake the woman on his shoulder though. The smell of her hair and the traitorous pounding of his heart kept him awake through every mile, wondering if they had passed her stop.
His shoulder started to ache. For three hours he didn’t move, but let the woman rest against his side. He couldn’t go on like that though. The line had to be drawn somewhere, and missing his stop on purpose because of a sleeping stranger seemed a good place to draw that line.
Killian readied himself to wake her. Or to stand from his seat and hope she slept through it just like she did everything else.
On the count of three, he would do it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Really, it shouldn’t be that difficult. Three. Two. One.
Emma’s phone rang.
She woke with a jolt at the shrill tone and vibration in her pocket. Woke to find herself leaning against a complete stranger.
Shit.
Emma stared at him, mirroring the surprise in his eyes. Really, really blue eyes.
The phone kept ringing. Right, the phone. Answer the phone, Emma. She zipped open the pocket, fussing to grab it while heat rose to her cheeks. The guy kept looking at her.
Emma tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, hovering over the answer button. It was the office, and she should answer it, but a glance at the display in the front of the compartment said that her stop was next. And not just next, but now.
She let the ringing die out. She’d call back once she was settled at the inn. Which now left her sitting next to a guy she may or may not have been sleeping on for the past couple of hours.
“It seems rather urgent to be calling you at one hour past midnight.” Dammit. Even his accent was hot. Lilting and English and way too much for Emma’s recently-woken state. She stared at him, letting her brain catch up with the rest of her. If his hair didn’t look so good, ruffled as it was, or his eyes so damn blue and bright it probably wouldn’t have taken so long. “I’d say good morning but I imagine it’s a bit too early for that.”
Emma closed her mouth, remembering herself again. “This is my stop.”
“What a fortunate coincidence - it’s my stop as well.” The stranger smiled, but made no move to get up. Emma kept staring at him. Were British people really that good looking?
Cool it, Emma. You’ve got a... a Walsh.
“So...” Emma nodded at him, gesturing for him to move. In a flash he remembered himself and got up from his seat, letting her get out as well. He easily removed his satchel from the rack and gave her space to take down her suitcase.
“Just landed from America, I presume?”
“Yeah.” Emma set the suitcase on the floor, pulling up the handle as the train began to slow.
“I’m James Hook by the way.”
“As in Captain Hook?” Emma studied the bulky rings on the hand he held out for her to shake. Interesting choice.
“Aye, but there’s no need for you to call me Captain. Unless you want to of course.”
Emma met his wink with a wry smile. If he’d actually been able to wink without the other eye closing just after, she might have been less tempted to give him a real smile. Her eyes flickered to his hand again, still extended between them. She reached out her own.
“Emma. Emma Swan.”
“Pleased to meet you Emma Swan.” He kept her hand in his for a moment longer than Emma found normal. She half-feared he was going to lift it and kiss it or something equally gallant and British. He let go of it though. “It was a pleasure to serve as your pillow for this late-night ride.”
The heat once again rose to Emma’s cheeks. Her right cheek probably had creases from his leather jacket.
“Yeah... sorry about that,” Emma muttered.
“Don’t worry about it, love.” Hook smiled as the train slowed to a complete stop. He stepped to the side and gestured for her to step forwards towards the opening doors of the compartment. Emma passed him, trailing her suitcase behind her.
The cold air was a relief against her warm cheeks. The roof over the platform sheltered Emma against the drizzle, but the chilly breeze went through her jeans at once.
“Are you staying at Granny’s?” Hook asked as he stepped out beside her, opening an umbrella. Emma inwardly cursed herself; of all the things she had thrown in her suitcase, she forgot to bring an umbrella. Or even a raincoat.
“No, I’m not.”
“Then I suppose this is where our ways part. Unless you’d like me to assist you with a bit of shelter,” Hook raised his umbrella at his offer.
“No, I’m good.”
Hook only smiled, as if he had expected her answer. The train screeched, the wheels slowly turning again before speeding up and rolling out of the station.
“Then I bid you goodnight, Swan. I hope you enjoy your stay - and that you’re able to find rest again without my shoulder to lean on.” With a spark in his eyes and a bow of his head, Hook turned and left Emma alone on the platform.
If she took a moment to admire his backside, well, no one had to know.
Emma shook her head at herself and fished out her phone. Hopefully her data worked in this small town, because she had no idea how to get to the inn without Maps. There was a text from her mother but nothing from Walsh. Emma sighed in relief, but felt guilty nonetheless.
She stepped towards the road while opening the message from Ingrid.
Happy to hear that all is well. I hope you find England beautiful! You remembered an umbrella, right? Or a rain coat. Please tell me you’re not just wearing your leather jacket. Anyways, it must be late for you! I hope you sleep well! Call me when you wake up, okay? Love you.
Emma laughed. Of course her mother knew that Emma would forget all practical things for her trip.
Willesby was a small village amongst hills near the shore of North East England. The decorative lampposts and the old, stone houses had their charm but used to the bustling of New York, Emma found the quiet eerie. It could be the drizzle that just made everything seem dismal. And the lone sounds of her footsteps and her suitcase rolling behind her.
Emma found the inn with little trouble, save for trying to keep her phone dry. A small light showed through the window. Emma tried the door and found it unlocked, thankfully. The office secretary had said arrangements were made for her late arrival. Emma checked the time again. A quarter past one. She felt sorry for whoever had to stay up for her.
The reception room was empty. Heavy carpets lay on the floor and paintings and portraits adorned every wall. Only a lit lamp on the desk and light spilling in from the cracks of the door behind it hinted at any life.
Emma admired the quaintness of it all. So far, everything was as old-fashioned and British as she had expected. Even the rain was on point.
Emma strolled to the desk, mindful of keeping her steps quiet. A bell stood on the counter. By its side were a few pamphlets and maps of the local area and hiking trails. A pamphlet about The Brothers Jones caught her eye. For a factory business, the building sure was of fine architecture. Emma took a pamphlet and put it her pocket. She looked about once more, noticing the stairs that probably led to the rooms, before ringing the bell with a bop of her hand.
A few seconds later, the door behind the desk opened and a short, round man with glasses and a moustache came out.
“Good evening, Miss!” He seemed cheery enough for a guy who had to stay up past midnight for a single customer.
“Good evening. I’m Emma Swan, I should be registered for a room under Mills’ Associates.”
“Ah yes, of course, of course. The American lawyer. Welcome to Willesby!” The innkeeper turned a page in his logbook and found the papers for Emma to sign as she handed over her identification.
“Thank you for staying up for me.”
“Oh, it is no trouble at all. I am only sad you must see our village when such sorrowful times have come upon us.”
“What do you mean?” Emma frowned as she handed back the paper with her signature.
“Why the passing of Barrie Jones of course. He meant a great deal to our village. Who knows where we would be if he hadn’t taken on his father’s and uncle’s business - and inspired such flourish at that.”
“What?” Emma stared at the innkeeper with wide eyes. “Mr. Jones is dead?”
“You didn’t know? Why that must be quite the shock then, of course. I’m afraid he passed away last night.” The innkeeper’s face wrinkled with sorrow.
“I... I’m so sorry to hear that.” Emma didn’t know what else to say. How could she not have been told that Mr. Jones was dead? Did the office not know?
Dammit. The call on the train. Regina probably called to inform her of Mr. Jones’ passing so she didn’t act like a tactless idiot - like now. She’d have to call Regina back straight away. Knowing her boss, she was going to be pissed.
“As are we all, Miss Swan. Most sorry indeed. But here is your key - room 6. Up the stairs just here, around the corner, straight forward and it’s the second door to your left.” The innkeeper handed Emma her key, a bulky one with a wooden tag on which a fine 6 was drawn.
“Thank you.”
“No trouble at all, Miss Swan. I am sure you are eager to rest after a long day of travel. We serve breakfast upstairs in the room by the staircase from seven to nine o’clock. If you have any questions or complaints, feel free to ask. Would you like a hand with your suitcase?”
Emma declined his offer with a smile and a thank you, letting him close for the night.
“Goodnight, Miss Swan.”
“Goodnight.”
Emma carried her suitcase up the stairs, found her room with ease and sighed when she could finally lock the door behind her and know that all travel was done for the day. Now all she had to do was call Regina.
And just like she thought, Regina was pissed.
“Are you going to make a habit out of not answering your phone, because if so I would very much like to know.”
Emma was glad to be thousands of miles away from Regina right then.
“I’m sorry, Regina, I was busy getting off the train when you called. But what do we do now that Mr. Jones is dead?”
“Do you really need me to help you through every slight problem? Mr. Jones’ death is most unfortunate, but we made provisions for just such a sad eventuality and we know that there was no heir,” Regina’s firm voice cut clear through the phone, she might as well have been right in front of Emma with her disapproving glare.
“Yes, but -”
“Where’s the problem, Miss Swan? Contact the notary first thing tomorrow, show him the files and do your work. Mr. Jones consented to the sale of the business; it really shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“Right. I’ll handle it.”
“I expect you to.”
Emma was about to say goodbye and hang up, but Regina cut her short.
“Mr. Jones’ funeral is tomorrow. There will be a memorial in the evening, and I want you to attend. Give your condolences on behalf of the firm and Mr. Gold and try not to make a fool out of yourself. Goodbye, Miss Swan. Call me when you have an update.”
“Bye.” Emma hurried to hang up. Just knowing she’d robbed Regina of the satisfaction of hanging up fist counted as a victory.
With a sigh, Emma laid her phone on the bedside table and fell back on the soft mattress. She wanted nothing more than to just pull off her boots and jacket, crawl under the covers and sleep for several days.
When the heavenly moment came and she could finally turn off the light and snuggle under the duvet, Emma felt wide awake. Of course.
It had been easy to fall asleep on the jostling train. Here it was too quiet. Nothing could dampen her thoughts as they went haywire. Walsh was probably pissed at her. Her mother would be calling every hour tomorrow, eager to hear every detail about Willesby. And not only did she have to deal with the notary, she had to attend a memorial where no one knew her and probably just saw her as the ‘American lawyer’. There to sell their treasured local business to a rich, American company.
Emma groaned and turned to rest on her other side.
Blue eyes and a smug grin interrupted her thoughts. Hook. For how long exactly did he let her sleep on him? And why did his stupid good looks keep invading her thoughts?
Emma groaned and turned again.