A/N:
Alright gang, I'll try to keep this simple.
This is eventual CaptainSwan, but the main focus of the story isn't on the romance. There are mentions of MilahCaptain, and SwanNeal.

I am drawing HEAVILY from a few sources for the inspiration of this story - Kill Bill, Sin City & Shoot Em Up to be specific references.
This is my first attempt at writing something more on the gritty side, and less on the romantic side - as well as my first time writing any OUAT stories. Lemme know what you think.

He could feel the bench vice digging into his arm, exasperating the already shattered bones in his wrist, as he flailed wildly. The gun cracked, sharp and overwhelmingly loud in the small room.
Milah didn't make a noise as she stumbled backwards, her hands lifting to clutch at her stomach where the crimson was already seeping into the material of her night gown.
He heard a low strangled sobbing noise, and the realization that it was coming from his own mouth dawned on him. He'd sunk to the floor as well as he could with his arm still latched up on the table.
A few fat drops of blood fell to the garage floor with an artistic splatter, and Milah sunk with a quiet thump next to them.

He could hear Gold, laughing, that high pitched maniacal laugh. He saw the gleam of light hit the barrel of the gun as it was pointed to face him next.

Milah, crumpled on the floor, rolled her head to look at him. Unshed tears glistened in her brown eyes as she searched his face. He watched as the light slowly faded from them, her gaze becoming unfocused, then heard another crack from the gun.

"Milah!" Killian was suddenly sitting upright in his bed, bare chest heaving, his sheets twisted around his body. The panic grips him tightly as his eyes cast wildly around the room before the nightmare begins to wane and reality sets in again. Did he yell again this time, or was that just another part of the dream?
He wipes a hand across his face shakily and squeezes his eyes shut, bidding the memories to die down.
The pain is as sharp and fresh as it was four years ago. Like rubbing salt in the wound.

After a long moment, Killian untangles his legs and swings them over the edge of his shoddy twin sized bed. The rusting frame squeaks loudly in protest, which he ignores, too used to the sound. The terror from the memory has drained from him, and he's already set his mind on getting on with the day. Or, night, as it would seem.
Killian's eyes flick from the alarm clock on his nightstand. 5pm already. He was turning into a vampire at this rate. Not that the time of day really held much importance on his life anymore.

Killian rises with another loud squeak of protest from his bed frame. He toes an empty bottle of rum out of his path as he crosses through the door and into the hallway. In the kitchen he's greeted with more empty bottles, an over-flowing ash tray and random debris that could once have been considered food.

Idly he picks up the discarded pack of cigarettes, plucks a fresh one from the container and lights it up. He blows smoke out through his nose and regards his shitty apartment without interest.
'Remember when you had penthouse suite?' His mind supplies helpfully, and he scoffs.
"Long time ago," Killian mutters around the cigarette clenched between his lips. He'd gotten into the habit of talking to himself long ago, and it doesn't bother him much anymore. He enjoys being alone, and his thoughts are too dark to share with others anyway.

A quiet trilling noise breaks through the down-ward spiral of his thoughts, piercing the silence of his run down apartment. Killian takes another drag on his cigarette and sets out looking for his phone. He eventually uncovers it from a couch cushion on the floor, and he drags the phone up to peer the caller ID on the cracked screen.
ROYAL
Of course, there wouldn't be anyone else calling him on this number. No one else knew this number.

Killian mouths his cigarette to the side, unlocks his phone with a swipe of his thumb, and lifts the device to his ear. "Hello, Prince," He greets with false cheer.

"O' Captain, my Captain," Comes the dry response, dripping with sarcasm.

Killian cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear, sinking down onto his battered two-seater sofa and begins lifting the bottles scattered across the coffee table up. One at a time, shaking them, inspecting them, until finally he finds one that's got some juice left. "What's new then?" He asks, voice still an anti-social mutter, as he screws the lid off of a bottle of warm gin and takes a swig. The grimace is almost audible.

"I've been contacted personally with an under the table hit that I think you'd be interested in," David replies fluidly, his voice low. Killian wonders briefly where the other man is, hoping he isn't stupid enough to be phoning him from Headquarters. Everyone knows better than to make a personal call from inside of the CIA. He releases the thought, knowing David wouldn't slip up now, not with how long they'd been doing this.

Killian palms his phone and rolls his bare shoulder, trying to work out a forgotten kink. It seemed that the alcohol last night did not, indeed, fix all of his problems. "Remind me one day to ask how you've brilliantly set this system of communication up again, will you?"
When David remains silent, Killian views that as is cue to focus in on the task at hand. "Is this a posted bounty then?"

"Highly doubtful. The woman I spoke to said the contact wanted to meet with you directly regarding it. Said the rumor went that you had similar interests at heart." Killian stiffens at the phrase and straightens up, forgetting about the cigarette trailing ash onto the floor. "It's in regards to Gold."

Killian remains silent for a beat longer then plucks what remains of his cigarette from his mouth and grinds it into the charred wood of his coffee table. "Right then," He starts, getting to his feet. He rips a pad of paper off of his fridge, and grasps a ballpoint pen with his good hand. "Do go on."

"The contact will meet you tonight at 9," David speaks, while Killian scribbles on the paper. "At the Rose Red Cabaret, to discuss all the details in person. Her source didn't find it safe to relay anymore details over the phone."

Killian drops the pen onto the counter and presses his arm against it to steady himself. "As ever, I am in your debt, Prince," He drawls, sounding a little bit more like his old self, even to his own ears. Evidently the prospect of finally tracking down Gold, of getting his vengeance, does much to cheer him up.

"K-" David wavers, cutting himself off before speaking. They both know that, despite David's efforts to keep a secure line, that there's still a chance they could be over heard and have refused to use their real names for some time. "Captain," He revises, "Don't charge into anything stupid."

"Aye," Killian replies. "I've been waiting too long to bugger this up."

He feels a surreal wave of giddiness roll over him as he pulls his rumbling antique Buick up to the curb in front of the venue. The neon lights flash spastically, the color being thrown across the dark street by the puddles of rain water reflecting it every which way. Huge neon red roses, and proclamations of 'Girls Girls Girls!' repeatedly dance across the signs.
Killian squashes the feeling down as abruptly as it swims over him. This has not been the first time he had been close, or had a lead that seemed incredibly hopeful. He's been drudging through the gutters for the last four years, attempting to dig up dirt on Gold and the man's location, to no avail.
Tonight feels different.

He cranks the heavy hand brake and the loud rumble of the car sputters to a stop, and he kills the engine. Killian steps out into the street and surveys the building for a moment.
He can't say that he's never heard of the place before, but can't remember why the name had been significant. It's definitely in a seedier part of the city, located in the heart of the Projects (though admittedly this whole city has been getting worse and worse as the years drag by – influenced heavily by a certain crime lord), but he's admittedly not an active purveyor of strip clubs and cannot remember why Rose Red Cabaret would mean anything to him.
Perhaps the ridiculous order of the name is what he recalls. Rose Red? Shouldn't it be Red Rose?

Killian's brow crinkles into a frown and he strolls up the steps to the large double black doors. They swing open easily and he walks into the establishment.
It's not as ridiculously over the top as most strip clubs are in this city, he notes without much interest. The entire bar is one open area of hardwood floor. Booths are scattered around the perimeter, but the bar dominates the room for two obvious reasons. Firstly, the bar is a large wrap-around U shape, littered with stools and almost packed with patrons. The literal bar aspect of it is split in two by the stage catwalk, and two women bartenders stand on either side, taking care of their guests.
Secondly, the stage drives into the heart of the bar. It rises up a foot or two from the actual barwood, and flairs backwards in a large 'T' formation, where the stage becomes larger and has props set up.
Currently there's a half-naked brunette strutting across the stage, down to just her knickers and a pair of librarian black framed glasses. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, as if to pursue the librarian concept.

Killian loses interest in her quite quickly, instead choosing to scan the room for his supposed client.
The small venue is crammed full of patrons and staff. He's seen three cocktail waitresses slide by with large trays filled with bright colored shots since he's arrived. Almost all of the tables are occupied, and only a few stools at the bar remains.

He moves to start towards the bar, to hopefully enquire with the woman behind it and gain some idea of where to look next. His route is suddenly blocked by another cocktail waitress, all side swept auburn hair and bright smiles. She trails a manicured finger down the sleeve of his sleeve, green eyes wide and taking in his appearance. "Hey there, sailor," She breathes.
Evidently this is not the type of joint that gets many men in waist coats and ties sauntering in.

Killian jerks his shoulder back from the woman's touch. Normally he wasn't one to turn down an admiring woman, but he had business to attend to and wasn't in the mood. "Not today, love," He replies tersely.
She sticks her lip out in an over-exaggerated pout and clutches her empty tray to her chest, but side steps to let him pass.

Continuing unheeded to the bar, Killian finds an empty space of wood in-between two mountain men and signals for the bartender. A short, cheery little thing approaches him, with a black bob pixie cut and bright blue eyes. For a moment he's caught off guard by her demeanor and appearance, thinking that the woman looks too sweet to be in such a place.
But then he takes in the fact that she isn't wearing any clothing on underneath her form fitting black vest, and clicks the pieces together in his mind.

Killian leans against the counter, propping his bad hand up and absently covering the stub with his good one. The bartender does not miss this, and something flickers in those bright blue eyes as she looks over his hands. Her expression changes and she leans forward, smile widening.
"Don't see too many men missing a hand these days, do you?" She enquires, voice friendly and just as cheerful as her general appearance.

Killian scowls and pulls his hand back out of sight. When he looks up to order a drink, and potentially pick the woman's brain for information, he's alarmed to realize she has vanished. He looks around, brow furrowing again, and spots her at the end of the bar, signaling another waitress, and then pointing to him.

Suddenly another woman appears at his side. "Bloody hell," Killian mutters to himself and turns around to face this one. "Ruby," The woman supplies helpfully, and smiles. The cheer is not present in her red lipped smile, something sharp and dangerous about the expression.
Killian frowns. "Charmed, I'm sure," He bites out in response, always the proper gentlemen. His expression perks when he realizes she's holding a freshly poured pint for her, which he accepts without hesitation.

"I know who you're here to see," Ruby continues. Killian cocks an eyebrow at her as he tilts the dark beer to his lips.

"Do you now, love?" He replies, licking the foam from his upper lip. Her smile widens considerably, which seems a feat in itself, and she gestures for him to follow her.

Ruby dips into the crowd, dodging around people with effortless skill acquired by only waitresses and assassins. Luckily, Killian has experience with the latter and is able to follow her easily enough.
The further away from the stage they get, the darker the bar becomes, and Killian notices that there are less packed tables back here.

Finally she leads him to the last booth in one of the far corners, and points a crimson painted nail to it. He can see a steady trail of smoke lazily circling up from it's occupant, who must be sitting with her back to him. Clearly, it's a woman, judging by the long pale leg and black heeled boot that juts out from the booth, jerking up and down nervously.

Killian murmurs his thanks to Ruby, and strides towards the booth. The music from the stage ends and a loud voice booms on a microphone, applauding 'Beauty' and welcoming the next dancer, 'Goldie' to the stage. Killian slides unceremoniously into the opposite seat at the booth, not waiting to do the awkward polite hover and greet scenario. He tucks his bad hand out of sight underneath the table, and fixes his eyes to the woman sitting across from him.
Blonde Bombshell is the first phrase that jumps to mind. She's all pale, long limbs, and blown out beauty queen golden curls that fall down past her shoulders. Full, crimson painted lips, surprisingly little eye make up for a woman of her profession (some heavy black liner is all he can see) framing her intense eyes.
The gaze is what catches him first. Judging by her appearance, he'd estimate that she's in her very early twenties, but her eyes are hardened in a way that he's seen in his own gritty reflection.

She's wearing a black corset styled top, with a red leather jacket thrown on over top and a yellow bandana is wrapped around her throat, the tip of it hanging low. He can't see below the table for obvious reasons, but can assume from spying her long bare leg earlier that she's presumably in a skirt of some sort.
Something about her nose seems a bit off, but the shadows are too deep to see for sure.
It's hard to gather much more about her appearance than that, from the shoddy lighting in their particular booth. Somehow he feels like she picked this spot for that exact reason.

The woman raises her eyebrows at him, as if to say 'are you done yet?', and squashes her cigarette in the ash-tray sitting in the middle of them.
Killian clears his throat and straightens up. If the woman had given him any consideration, it had been a quick once over that he hadn't caught. She had a set, no nonsense sort of expression that looked very polished and practiced to him.

"So," He drawls, and looks pointedly at her. "Am I to assume you're the one who reached out to my man?"

That seemed to finally break her stoic expression. He watches her shoulder relax somewhat, and she leans forward for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the table. Busying herself with lighting up a fresh one, the blonde nods once.

Killian can't help but snort, propping his elbow up onto the table top, cupping his cold glass. "Talkative lass, aren't you?"

She frowns at him and blows a thin line of smoke upwards. "I've heard a lot about you and your services," She starts, her voice just as determined and straight forward as her appearance. "I wasn't expecting you to be so…."

"Handsome?" Killian offers, grinning wickedly at the blonde.

She frowns. "Irish," She finishes, lamely.

Killian lets out a curt laugh despite himself. "Well, what can I say?" He lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck.

The tension seems to have died down a little, thankfully, and the girl is relaxing further. She taps her heeled boot against the floor impatiently, and casts a glance at the tables around them. No one is paying them any attention. She returns her gaze to Killian.
"I'll cut straight to the chase. I've heard of you, of what you do. I need your assistance."

"Well, anything the lady desires. For the right price," Killian drawls in that bored way of his.

The blonde purses her lips impatiently and leans forward, absent mindedly flicking the ash off the tip of her cigarette. "Rumor has it," She continues, unabated. "That we have similar interests in a certain person."

Killian leans forward, expression sobering. "Pray tell, love," He murmurs, watching her with more interest.

She flicks her gaze away, bothered by the intensity of his eyes. "Gold," She says simply. She looks back, catching the way his eyes spark, how his grip has tightened on the pint of beer.
"That's what I thought," She muses, lips curving upward ever so slightly. "Rumor has it that you've been trying for awhile to reach him, without any luck."

"Bloody monster," Killian growls under his breath, his expression dark as he takes a long swig from his beer. He sets the glass down and goes about the business of digging his cigarettes and lighter out of the breast pocket of his vest. She watches with thinly veiled fascination as he goes about the slightly awkward process of lighting up with only one hand.

"I propose," The woman continues, "An alliance to take him down."

"I don't do partners," Killian mutters around the cigarette, giving the woman a pointed look.

She looks frustrated and swipes a hand at the curls falling into her face. The straight forward approach seems to drop to a more exasperated, quick tempered response. "Look, buddy-"

"Buddy." Killian repeats, looking affronted.

"-I have an in to Gold's hierarchy. If you're too stubborn to play ball, I can find another hitman to help me. You guys are a dime a dozen," She snaps out, and stubs her cigarette out with a forceful jab. She moves to stand, swiping her pack of cigarettes from the table.

Killian jumps to his feet as well. "Oi, hold on a tic." He moves to grab her wrist and the girl jerks it back as if she's been burned. His gaze drops south, despite the gravity of the conversation, and he can't help but notice he was wrong. Cut off short denim shorts, not a skirt. Damn.
"Let's not be too hasty, lass. Sit down, let me procure a drink for you." He gestures to the booth, and then looks around to catch the eye of a closely roaming waitress.
Ruby swings by with incredible speed, and he can't help but wonder if she had actually ever left, or if she was keeping a close eye on him throughout the whole exchange.

The blonde purses her lips but slides back into the booth. She nods to Ruby, who seems to understand that as some psychic womanly drink ordering procedure, and ducks off again.

"Right, so," Killian starts, flashing a lovely smile to the woman across from him. She doesn't seem nearly as affected by his charm as most women do, something he files away from inspection later. "What lovely name do you call yourself by, darling?"

She frowns for a moment, then drags her gaze up to his. In the dim light its hard to tell, but her eyes look green. "You can call me Swan."

Killian raises a brow. "Interesting moniker," He muses, then lifts his good hand to her across the table. "But if we're going that way, you can call me Captain. Seems to be what everyone's calling me these days."

Swan gives him that look again, that makes him feel less charming and more stupid, but raises her slim hand up to his to shake. Her grip is unexpectedly firm. "Alright, Cap'." She doesn't miss the way he scowls at the shortened version of his code name.
"So you'll have to clue me in on the specifics in due time, but I'm quite curious about something," Killian starts. He pauses for dramatic effect, taking a drink of his pint and glancing to Ruby as the waitress swings by and deposits Swan's drink. The two women share a knowing look for a moment before Ruby is off again.
"Tell me, love. If I'm being sated of my quest for revenge, then what benefit are you getting from this whole arrangement?"

Swan tenses up again. The movement is almost unnoticeable, but he catches the way her jaw clenches, the way her fists ball up. "Gold had something taken from me, something very precious, that can never be replaced," She replies, her voice hard.

Killian lifts his pint glass up in gesture, and it takes her a moment to catch the meaning behind it. She raises her own to clink with his. His expression is sober, though intrigued. "Aye, I'll drink to that."

She sparks up another cigarette (and he thought he was bad when it came to chain smoking), and settles herself in. "So, let's get down to the nitty gritty."