A/N: Sorry if you saw the hot mess the formatting made this the first time I uploaded it on here lol. It's fixed now! Anyway - it's been a long time since I've had a muse like this one. I know it doesn't make sense NOW, but it will. And I hope you enjoy this.

Prologue

Fire. Fire. I am on fire.

This isn't supposed to hurt – why does it hurt? Isn't the end supposed to be – I dunno, peaceful?

I am on fire.

"Obviously. This isn't the end."

The voice startles her, only because it is her own.

But it is – I died. I was … I was poisoned, and I have died.

"I failed him. I failed Henry."

The other voice is also her. It feels as though they mean to tear her apart with their regrets and their bitter losses.

She knows these voices, knows them well, knows their struggles and their pains.

Of course she does. They are her, after all.

"What did you expect? This is what you get for letting him in."

Logic and reason, the voice of pragmatism in her head, the one she's listened to for over a decade now. And she's right. She should have left long ago, she should never have gotten involved – this was exactly what she'd tried to avoid. It was why she'd given him up.

"You couldn't have done that if you'd wanted to."

Emotion and a pure, beating heart still so full of love despite it all, so full it felt like it might choke her … And she, too, spoke the truth.

Once she'd seen him, there was no walking away.

I don't know what to do. I might not be dead, but I might as well be, I'm on fire. I can't help him now, I can't even help myself.

"You can. You're a survivor and you've gotten through worse. You don't need anyone too help you. You've done just fine on your own, haven't you?"

"Oh yes, real fine. Look at where all your 'I'm better on my own' crap has gotten you! You didn't believe in anyone or anything and now we're here!"

I'm sorry! But he was … He was speaking of fairy tales like they were real! He was … He was …

"Crazy."

"A believer in something better."

Stop! Just stop it! It doesn't matter now, cuz he's gone and I am on fire and there's nothing and no one in the world who can change what's happened now. I am never going to wake up. I might as well have died, but I'm stuck here and I'm …

"Enough!"

A rush of cool breeze, smelling faintly of salt and wind off the sea, with maybe the faintest hint of rum, and a fluttering of wings. The fire that burnt around her seemed to still and her vision cleared as the third voice, also her, but her as she'd never heard herself … Strong like logic, but tender like her heart. Clear and bright as bells. Blue like the ocean, the image of a butterfly – that surely did not belong here.

And yet it was her. But a part of her she had never spent much time listening to, not these past ten years or so. This was the part of her she feared the most. The leap before you look, close your eyes and just hope part. The unknown, the unfathomable.

But she would not be ignored here, not any longer.

"You can do this on your own."

"No, you can't."

The wind rushed again, the flapping of papery wings on her cheek. "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Or should have to."

It doesn't matter. I'm dead to them. I'll never wake up from this. I feel it. I know it. I've failed.

"Never dead to those who love you. And to those who haven't met you yet? You have promises to keep to them too."

I don't understand. And the fire, it's back again. I'm going to die here.

I am on fire.

"And I am not finished."

Gone as quickly as she'd appeared, and the world was red and hot once more. She feels her skin crackling, but it's probably in her head. She is as good as dead – this is her reality, all she will know from here on out.

Fire. Fire. I am on fire.

At least, for now, the voices are quiet …

oXo

He didn't even like blondes.

But the second she had walked into the tavern, a place a woman such as herself had no business being in, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off off her. So he supposed it was all for the better when she approached his table, mindless of the others who sat with him and looked him right in the eyes. He met her gaze, but not before noticing her ample cleavage on perfect display (there were butterflies on her bodice – not that that made any bloody bit of difference, fuck he'd had too much rum already).

"So," she said in a husky voice that had his cock harder than any of the giggling brunette girls who were all but sitting in his lap at this point. He barely even remembered they were there. "What are you boys playing?"

It wasn't an invitation for the whole table, and even if it was, he wasn't feeling particularly inclined to share her company with the louts he had left to him ever since that bloody curse had taken most of his crew to gods knew where.

The blonde had bitten back a beguiling little grin when he'd shooed the others away, not at all fazed by the dirty looks his previous female companions had shot at her. She moved to sit, not across from him as he'd assumed she might, but next to him, straddling the pine bench and taking his hook in her hand.

She hadn't even flinched at the gruesome metal apparatus, and instead curled her long, delicate fingers around the curve. He swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving her face as he reached to pour them both a glass of rum.

He didn't even like blondes.

But she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever had the fortune to lay eyes upon.

"What brings a lady such as yourself into this dilapidated hovel?" he asked, wanting to her that smoky rich voice again, to watch her tongue dart out to wet her lips, to imagine his own doing the same.

"Nice of you to assume that I'm a lady." And she did, she licked her lips, her fingers slipping along his hook, and bloody fuck he couldn't see straight, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the drink.

When was the last time he'd felt this way around a woman? He wasn't sure he had ever been so discombobulated by the mere presence of another person. She was something out of a dream, something from another life. He wanted, but not just in the usual way. Normally, he wanted it over and done, just a momentary distraction from his pain.

He wanted to worship this woman, and bloody hell, he didn't even know why.

"If not a lady, then what?" he asked her as he took a drink, watched her follow suit, his eyes following as she swallowed, the urge to press his mouth against the long, graceful line of her throat, to mark her pale flesh with his teeth as he drove himself into her almost overwhelming.

Gods, he felt like an uncontrollable whelp.

She smiled that coy little smile again, her gaze flickering to his from beneath her lashes as she toyed with his hook. "Why don't you tell me?"

"A siren," he said without thinking, and felt a right daft fool for it when she laughed.

"Nice line, sailor," she murmured, shaking her head, the golden waves of her hair mesmerizing him as she did. Gods, but she was a beauty. "Not a siren, though I could tell you your future, if you'd like." She bit her lip, reaching then for his hand. She sighed audibly as her skin touched his, and he noted just how hot her skin was in comparison to his own.

His brow creased in concern. "Lass, you're burning up," he said.

"Oh, it's nothing," she told him flippantly, waving her other hand. "I run a little hot."

He didn't really know what that meant, but the need to take care of her was flaring up within him, as well as the need to just take her. He didn't understand why this woman, above all others, was eliciting such warring feelings from him. He wanted to care for, and he wanted too fuck. It was new, and he was drunk and felt as though he were in turmoil.

He scooted a little closer to her, his eyes raking over her face. He wanted her alone, out of this place, so he could assure himself that she was real and not some crazy fever dream, so that he could put hand to flesh and assure himself that she was all right, despite the heat of her skin. He wanted that heat next to him. He had been cold for far too long. "Don't you think you'd feel better if we got out of this place? I've a ship we could go back to."

And he didn't rightly know whether he'd be tucking her into bed alone, or if they'd be sleeping at all. It would completely be up to her. He just couldn't not ask. Not when the need was stronger than any he'd ever known.

She smirked a little at that, as if she could perfectly read his thoughts.

Bloody hell, perhaps she could.

"I think it might be best, yes," she said lowly after a moment, eyes on his. "Readings like mine, they can get pretty intense." She licked her bottom lip and he almost groaned.

"I could tell you your future right now," he told her hotly as he stood up, extending his hand too help her up. He noted the way her lashes fluttered … Good. It meant he wasn't the only one feeling … whatever this was between them.

"Oh?" she asked, quirking a brow at him as she took his hand and stood up, letting him pull her close.

"Aye," he said lowly, his gaze dropping to her lips. "But I think it best that I show you."

"Then take me to your ship, Captain."

It didn't occur to him in the moment to find it odd that she knew he was a captain.

The trip back to the Jolly Roger seemed to be both interminable and over too quickly. It wasn't as if he were a stranger to any of this, and yet with her, it felt wholly different. New. She didn't speak much as they walked, and he hoped like hell she wasn't going to change her mind.

She didn't seem inclined to run though, more like she was lost in thought, and it gave him time to watch her, to take in her features, to think about her long and delicate fingers touching him as he brought her to pleasure.

He was hard to the point of pain, and there was yet a part of him that couldn't wait to just hold her. She was likely the closest thing to a star that he might ever touch.

Gods, he got embarrassingly poetic when he was drunk.

They arrived at the ship to find out empty, though that wasn't surprising, not in these times. Most of his crew had gone with the curse. He didn't know where they might be now. He didn't know why time had started moving again here, either. 28 years, Cora had said. Had it already been that long?

"You need to set a new course." She spoke again, now that they were onboard the ship. She stood at the helm, and part of him thought that she looked like she belonged there.

"Come again?" His eyebrows knitted as he looked at her, the sea breeze running its salty fingers through the hair that shone silvery gold in the moonlight. Would she let him touch her? His fist was curled at his side, clenching to keep himself from doing anything that might scare her away.

"You're following the wrong path," she told him. "The witch – she can't give you what you need."

"And what is it that I need, lass?" Honestly, he could think of only one thing he needed at the moment, and she was only meters away from him.

She simply smiled, a little sadly. "You follow the witch because she made you a promise, right?"

"Aye." His jaw clenched. "To get revenge, on the-"

"The man who took your hand." She stepped closer to him then, tilting her face up to his, her hands curling around his hook and his hand. "The man who took your love." She shook her head. "You won't ever get what you want."

His breath was caught in his throat. Her hands were gentle, soft, but there was a steel strength behind them. Her green eyes burned as they looked at him. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met before. Fire made flesh – maybe his fire analogy hadn't been so far off, after all.

"And how is it you're such an expert on what I want?" he asked her, his voice sharp now. "As long as I get my revenge on Rumplestiltskin, all else matters naught."

"Revenge, huh?" She cocked her head to the side, eyes searching his face. "That's a pretty reason to die. And if you follow the witch … that's surely what will happen to you." One of her hands reached up then, cupping his cheek. It was so familiar to him, somehow, that it made his long cold heart ache.

"What do you suggest I do instead?" He heard himself say the words, and the part of him that had kept him going for so long hated himself for even entertaining any other notions. Revenge was all he had.

But her hand was on his cheek and all he had to do was dip his head and he might know what her lips tasted like and …

"Follow the swan, instead," she whispered, even as she leaned in to meet his lips ,and it was so far from what he'd expected to hear that he pulled back, looking at her as though she were mad.

"Follow the swan?"

She blinked as he pulled away, confusion on her face as he gave a short bark of laughter.

"What in the bloody hell does that mean? You know, I never much cared for swans. One of those bloody bastards bit me once."

Her expression was droll, but he could see the corner of her lip twitching upward. "You probably had it coming."

"Hilarious," he said dryly. "I don't understand what swans have to do with anything though, or why you care so much." He cocked a brow at her.

She sighed affectedly, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You have your reasons to die, maybe you'll find something better if you listen to me."

"Something better? Like what?"

"A reason to live."

Her expression was so earnest, so serious then, beseeching in a way he'd never seen from anyone before. He didn't know what she was after, didn't know why it seemed so damned important that he listen to her, and he didn't have any answers to give her. "Just … Think about it, yeah?"

"Aye," he said, thumb pressed against his bottom lip then as he looked at her. "I will, lass."

She smiled a little then, sweet and a bit melancholy, and he couldn't resist any longer. He didn't know what she'd intended with her prediction, but she hadn't run off yet, and he thought that was a good sign, in any case.

"Is it my turn then?"

"What?" she asked him, a bemused expression on her face.

He smirked a little then. "My turn," he said lowly, stepping closer to her, "to tell you your future."

"Oh," she remarked, lowering her lashes, a grin forming on her lips. "I guess it's only fair, right?"

"Indeed," he said, tipping her face up with his index finger so he could look at her. "I think it's been a long time, darling, since you've been properly kissed." He was pleased to hear the sharp intake of her breath then, to note the way her pulse jumped in that lovely throat of hers.

"That's not my future," she pointed out wryly, but her voice was much breathier now.

"In the very near future, that's about to change," he said lowly, dipping down to brush his lips over hers in the merest of touches.

But it wasn't enough.

For either of them.

She was warm and her lips pliant beneath his, as she rose up on her toes to meet him. Her fingers clutched at his upper arms, pressing through the leather of his coat as his own hand rested at her back, drawing her in close. Her lips parted with a breathless sigh, all the opening he needed for his tongue to slip past her lips, to slide against hers.

She moaned out, and he groaned, his cock stirring at the delicious way she responded to him, to his touch. His hand skimmed the side of her corset, up over the swell of her breasts. Her skin was silk beneath his fingertips, and he wanted nothing more than to feel every inch of it, to taste every part of her that he could.

She gasped softly, and he pulled back a little as he thought he heard her say I'm sorry.

It didn't make sense, until he felt his legs giving out beneath him, the world around him starting to spin. She held onto him, cradling him in her arms as he fell, keeping his head in her lap and her fingers in his hair, and in a voice that sounded very far away, he could hear her. I'm so sorry, my love. There was no other way. I'm so sorry. But I need you. I need you. Please find me.

He had no idea how long he was out for, no idea if the woman had been a dream. He woke up on his back on the deck of the Jolly, the stars bright above him. He was probably late to meet Cora – they were supposed to rendezvous, to plan how they were going to get to the other realm.

The constellation Cygnus was the first thing he saw as his vision cleared, as he lie there, unsteady and lost and confused. For the first time in centuries, his path was not clear to him.

Follow the swan instead.

She may have been nothing more than a dream. But he could still feel her lips on his lips. He could still hear her voice.

A reason to live.

On unsteady legs, he stood and moved to the helm.

Nothing made sense. She might have been nothing more than a dream, an apparition brought on by too much rum.

My love. Please find me.

If there was even a chance, though, he had to take it. His eyes raised to the heavens once more. Cygnus in the East.

He'd go East.

I'll find you. Wherever you are.