Hooks and Hulls
Crossover: Once Upon a Time & Bedknobs and Broomsticks
Summary: Hook gets a different way to Storybrooke in the form of a transportation spell cast on his hook by a correspondence-course witch. Unsolicited help from grandmotherly strangers is not something Hook handles well.
Author's note: The Miss Eglantine Price in this story is a little different from the one portrayed in Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Here, she's a confident older lady more along the lines of Emily Pollifax from the Mrs. Pollifax series (who was also portrayed on film by Angela Lansbury)—a sweet, grandmotherly lady who takes on dangerous situations and characters without batting an eye (and takes shameless advantage of her harmless appearance and eccentricity to outfox anyone who gets in the way). However, as in Bedknobs and Broomsticks, she is a talented but inexperienced witch who is only partway through her training.
Also, in this version, Cora and Hook did not rejoin forces after Hook took Aurora's heart. Cora kept the heart, but kicked him out and used the heart to pursue the compass alone. As in the show, Cora stole back the compass from Emma and Mary Margaret and opened the portal. Emma, Mary Margaret, and Mulan attacked when the portal opened, recapturing the compass and Aurora's heart, and Emma and Mary Margaret jumped through the portal. Thus, Emma and Mary Margaret are back in Storybrooke, while Cora and Hook were left stranded in the Enchanted Forest (Cora doesn't have the magic bean, and Hook doesn't know about the lake that would restore it, because he wasn't with Cora).
Hook's smart mouth was going to be his undoing one day. As always, he hoped it wouldn't be today. He especially hoped it wasn't going to be at the hands of "Miss Eglantine Price." She seemed harmless enough, but the longer their conversation went on, the less certain he was. Actually, it wasn't really a conversation anymore. He had stopped talking quite a while ago after realizing that everything he said just encouraged her. Now he was just hoping she would lose interest soon. Miss Price was, she claimed, a witch. More precisely, an apprentice witch. By correspondence course. And she was trying to help him.
The whole revenge business just wasn't going well lately. He'd been stuck under piles of corpses, stranded on a beanstalk with a giant, magically slammed against prison walls, and threatened with death. Emma Swan didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, and neither did Cora. His chances of reaching Storybrooke and getting revenge on Rumplestiltskin seemed to get slimmer by the hour and his temper grew correspondingly shorter. So when a cheerful, grandmotherly old lady had interrupted his brooding over a beer by patting him on the shoulder and asking what was wrong "dear," his response had been scathing enough to blister paint. Unfortunately, the snark, sarcasm, and outright hostility sailed right over the lady's head, leaving her to pick up only on the fact that he was in need of transportation to another realm. To his disbelief, she had become even more cheerful, dared to pat his shoulder yet again, and proclaimed that she had exactly the spell he needed in her correspondence course at home. Nothing he'd said had discouraged her. She was absolutely determined to fix his transportation problem, whether he wanted the help or not.
He'd thought his problem was solved when she went home to collect her spellbook and supplies, telling him she'd be back in "two shakes of a duck's whisker" and not to go anywhere (he swore to God, if that woman patted his shoulder one more time, she'd wind up needing a hook, too). As soon as she was out of sight, he'd picked up his coat and walked briskly back to his ship. Just because he felt like having a nice brisk walk, of course; he was certainly not running away from a mere annoying old woman. He had been walking up the gangplank when she'd popped up at his elbow, book in hand. And she'd proceeded to trot right onto his ship after him, as if she'd been invited. He really should have put a stop to it right then, but he'd been confident he could get rid of her without having to physically throw her off his ship. An experienced pirate captain should easily be able to handle one dotty little old lady without resorting to physical force. It wasn't as if she were an actual threat...Unfortunately, the white rabbit sitting on the pier—the rabbit that had been an annoying, loud-mouthed drunk before Miss Price rattled off a string of nonsense syllables at it—suggested otherwise.
Hook watched Miss Price tidily lay out her spell-casting supplies on a table belowdecks, trying to figure out how he'd ended up backed into a corner of his own ship's cabin while she took over. She claimed she wanted to help. If he just told her he didn't want her help and asked—no, told—her to leave, there was really no reason she should refuse. It wasn't as if she'd threatened him or indicated that she wanted anything from him...so why did he get the feeling that actually trying to throw her out would end with him hopping around his ship as a three-footed rabbit until he cooperated? A shudder ran down his spine. A rabbit. A helpless, fluffy prey animal. A helpless, fluffy prey animal whose life depended on how fast it could flee from danger. While short one foot. Like a coward with a limp. Hook wrenched his thoughts away from that direction like he'd been burned. Forget rabbits. There must be some way to get rid of her.
"Now then, the spell must be cast on something that can be twisted, like a ring or a bracelet..." Miss Price looked sharply at him, inspecting him for twistable jewelry. Hook froze, caught off guard by the sudden look.
"...I don't wear bracelets," he commented finally, in the long pause that followed. He did wear rings, but if he kept his hand closed and his elbow pulled back, then maybe from this angle they would stay hidden by the broad cuffs of his coat. Unless, of course, Miss Price decided to cross the room and pull his coat sleeve back to inspect his hand. Which she did. Well, this is just wonderful, Hook thought, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling in frustration. He looked back down and frowned at the white-haired head bent over his rings. Pull yourself together. You are not going to be bullied on your own ship by one frail little old lady. She's not even watching for an attack. All you have to do is drive your hook into the back of her neck and this will all be over. He didn't move. She looked like his grandmother. Well, a grandmother, at least. If he'd actually met either of his, he'd been too young to remember.
"Hmm. I suppose one of those would do well enou—Oh!" she cut her sentence off mid-word, lighting up with excitement. Hook felt his stomach sink through the floor. "Yes!" Miss Price exclaimed, giving his hand a pat before letting it go (What is with this woman and all the patting?) "that will be much better."
The sturdy boards pressing into Hook's back reminded him that he could not, in fact, walk through walls and could not retreat any further. "What will be better?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Your hook, of course! It twists to latch properly into the socket, doesn't it? A quarter turn, which is precisely what's needed for the traveling spell."
Hook stared at her in resigned horror. Why did it always have to be the hook? Every time he was captured by an enemy, every time his foes wanted to make his life miserable, the first thing they did was take his hook. Often they even threatened him with it. He understood, really. If his own foes had conveniently detachable hands, he would confiscate them as well, but it really did add insult to injury. And now this correspondence-course witch wanted to start casting spells on it. Regina had bespelled his hook once before without any ill consequences (she hadn't bothered to ask permission, either), but Regina, whatever her faults, was at least an extremely competent sorceress. Not a dotty old witch casting spells to "help" random pub-goers. And Regina had made it clear what she had planned for him and why. Miss Price had to have, well, a price, but Hook hadn't the faintest idea what it was.
Author's note 2: "Two shakes of a duck's whisker" is from another Angela Lansbury film, Mrs. 'Arris Goes to Paris.