Trudging through the forest, the four women let Hook lead the way, still in his fake blacksmith attire, hand and now hookless arm tied together in front of his body. They are following him right on his heels, the hostile warrior and the delicate, slightly gullible princess directly behind him while the short-haired and the blonde who bested him with her mysterious powers and her impressive knife bring up the rear. He can hear them whisper, probably about him. Well, they don't trust him an inch, and he doesn't blame them. Nobody seems to be interested in him any further at the moment or demanding from him to offer more explanations of where exactly they're headed and what will expect them when they get there, and he's glad about that. As much as he likes verbal sparring, a spirited conversation, wielding his words like a razor-sharp cutlass – right now he's thankful for the silence which gives him the chance to dwell on his own thoughts.
With a sense of disbelief, he's still trying to process what just went on in the last hour or so; there's no use in sugarcoating what happened – neither his nearly three hundred years of piracy nor the element of surprise, the advantage of knowing more than they did, had been enough to save him from being caught off guard and overmastered like a bloody amateur. Tied to a tree and almost fed to gruesome creatures without being able to move as much as a single muscle to fight... he can't remember the last time he found himself in such dire straits.
Oh, he was never really in danger, of course, because let's be real – he's Captain Hook, and Captain Hook always survives. But he has to reluctantly admit that things didn't go as he pleased, let alone as he planned. He thought the four women would be easy prey for him – not because they were women, mind you, but because Cora had described them as hero types to him; the kind of people who always did the right thing, made the moral choice. The kind of people who would take pity on a poor, mutilated and terrified craftsman they just snatched from the jaws of death, and not suspect any trickery.
Normally, he'd have played them like figures on a chess board, guiding them exactly where he – and Cora – wanted them to be. Normally. And it even seemed like he was on such a good way; they were all very sympathetic about the gruesome tale he spun. Then, all of a sudden, he found himself with a blade at his throat, and honestly, he still doesn't know how it happened, what gave him away. On the contrary: he's convinced, in fact, that he did nothing to betray himself. They should and would never have doubted his act if it weren't for the woman in the red leather jacket who looked so soft and sympathetic one moment and yanked his head back with a steely grip in his hair the next.
A lucky hit, he thought at first, still believing he could convince them of his good intentions if he only kept his nerves and stuck to his tale, surely his honest blue eyes would help, too. There was no way four heroes would risk the death of an innocent man, was there? And he knows that for a moment he had them, he almost had them. Well, the other three, that is. The delicate princess believed him, and also the warrior and the short-haired one were getting nervous when he kept insisting that he was just an innocent blacksmith.
But that fierce blonde, she's special. The moment he opened his mouth for the first time, she looked right through him, detecting every single one of his carefully woven lies, and he still can't figure out how she does it. But to his own surprise, he's almost amused, he can't help it, and he also can't help but admire her fierceness and cleverness. Being bested never felt as oddly... right as it does today. The thought comes out of nowhere and is slightly disturbing to him. He mentally shakes his head at himself and keeps walking, carefully minding his step, while he tries to analyze his situation and weigh his options.
It's pretty clear to him where his four companions stand. The warrior is certainly a force to be reckoned with; he knows she would kill him without batting an eyelid if she thought he would present any danger to them. The princess, to whom she seems to be particularly attached, appears to be the weakest link; he makes a mental note about that – it could turn out to be useful one day.
The petite ebony-haired one with the bow who instantly seemed to know who he was when he mentioned his moniker – she's a spitfire, too, and wouldn't hesitate to kill him either if she had to do it to protect her friends. It's obvious she doesn't trust him one bit; trying to fool her with his charms could be amusing, but in the end a waste of energy, and he admires her for it.
But the blonde... when she held that blasted dagger to his throat, twice, she wasn't simply distrustful and cautious, she knew. She just knew.
He should have guessed that there was something about her, she had to be special... she's the one who was destined to break the Evil Queen's curse, after all, and she obviously managed to do so. She's the one he spent twenty-eight years waiting for in Cora's safe bubble. She's not what he imagined her to be, he's not even sure what he imagined – some ethereal being perhaps, more fairy-like or fragile... certainly not a warrior in pants and a red leather jacket with a steely grip like that. The weird thing is... he can't even say he's displeased about it.
Knowing she's more than an equal match for him surely makes for a nice challenge, and he always loved a challenge. Even though their interaction, remarkable as it was, has been rather short, he believes to have seen something familiar in her eyes... as if she's hiding behind her fierceness, as if the tough act masks something else. A personality trait he knows all too well.
Aye, he has to admit it – she has definitely piqued his interest, and normally he'd go for a nice, refreshing sparring game of cat and mouse, just to see how far he could get to her in spite of her obvious seeing right through him. Normally. Alas, he has no time for such distraction, because his mind is set on one goal and one goal alone, has been so for more than two hundred years now. If there's one thing more precious than jewels, gold or the finest rum, almost as precious as love (and that is lost to him for all eternity), so precious that he'd even risk his worthless life for it... then it's revenge – and it's gonna be his. And the blonde warrior princess is only of interest for him, because she seems to be the key for him to finally get that revenge. It's almost as if meeting her was fate's design.
From the moment he dropped his act after realizing there would be no way to lie or charm his way out of this, he's changed his tactics completely. He has wasted no second thought on his former alliance with Cora – what he told the four women was the truth: he will side with whoever provides him with the best chance to get him to the land where The Crocodile is peacefully living now. And even if Cora has magic – dark, powerful magic – this somehow odd team of women seems not less resourceful. Not by possessing magic, but in other ways... first and foremost he senses a very strong determination in them, like they will not let anything or anyone get between them and their goal, and he likes that.
He has always been a ladies' man, in every way. Killian Jones likes women, and not only in the carnal sense, although he does highly appreciate the physical satiation that being with a willing woman can bring. But it's more than that. He likes their spirit, their strength and courage – all three of them usually outweigh a man by far, and he thinks he has found out why: normally, what drives a woman always roots in love in all its – sometimes tragic and painful – variations. Hurt love, lost love, defending love – all of that makes them powerful, and most men wouldn't be able to hold a candle to any woman he has known.
He doesn't know much about his new travel companions, only that they seem very determined in their respective goals, and all four of them are hellbent on getting the two women in the curious clothes back to their realm.
So, the odds are at least as much in their favor as they are in Cora's, and, frankly, the elder sorceress whom he met at first as the Queen of Hearts in Wonderland seems to be a rather unpredictable, dangerous ally. He isn't ashamed to admit that she scares the living daylights out of him – not because he's afraid of what she might do to him... it's been a long time since Killian Jones feared death or bodily harm. What he does fear though is that she might just use him to reach her own aim to get close to her daughter, and then simply abandon him and their pact, robbing him of his only chance to get his revenge, and he can't risk that. Plus, her absolute ruthlessness repulses him. He's no stranger to blood and death, has brought it to far more people than he can count on one hand, but the detached attitude of her when she kills, when she rips out hearts of innocent people and crushes them without batting an eyelid... it chills him to the bone.
No, his current travel mates are far safer company indeed. with them, he believes, he has the best chances to reach his destination... heroes don't betray or break promises, after all. For the first time in ages, he deems himself really close to his goal, and it makes him almost giddy.
He's briefly wondering – he doesn't know much about the realm they're headed to, Cora herself seemed to have only a vague idea about it. He only knows that it's a realm completely different from everything he knows. Not that it frightens him. There's just some sort of vague uneasiness whispering at the back of his head.
When he'll get to that strange, mysterious land... once all is said and done, once his revenge is fulfilled... what will remain? What kind of life will he even have, after his driving force will be deflated, his only and entire sense of living gone? He will be stranded in another place, another time, with no purpose, no home, and no living soul to know his name or care about him. He doesn't have illusions – he knows that skinning his crocodile is not his happy ending. It will be his end, period. After taking his revenge, there will be naught but a big void for him, as if he'd simply cease to exist – and there will be no one around to even notice, to miss him. But he can accept that, hasn't longed for anything else since he lost his love.
Unlike the four women he's traveling with. They are determined to get to a home, whether it's a place or a person or persons, he doesn't know, but he does know they expect to find their happy endings there. He can still hear them murmur while they approach the edge of the forest where their destination is, maybe talking about those they left behind and hope to get back to soon. Briefly and very vaguely, he remembers a time when he, too, was happy and hopeful; but these times are long gone, just like any real feelings from his old, blackened heart.
When he reaches the clearing, he stops and looks at the mighty plant in the distance, its top hidden in the clouds.
He feels her presence as the blonde steps up beside him. "Let me guess," she says in a laconic voice, "The compass is up there."
A happily ever after? Ridiculous. That's not the way these stories go.
But that doesn't mean he cannot have a bit of fun while marching towards his inevitable end.
A strangely eager anticipation he hasn't felt in a long time tingles his spine as he replies almost gleefully, "Oh yeah."
A/N: This was written for the Captain Swan Storybook 2017.