He should have known better than to agree to dog-sitting for the town therapist, Archie Hopper. It had only been about two hours since the man left for a conference at the hospital, and the house had already been turned upside down. Though as he sat, picking stuffing from pillows out of his hair, he realized he still would have gone through with it.

Hook had been walking down the road, enjoying the fresh autumn air when Archie approached him. The therapist had looked so worn down when he walked up to Hook, he thought that maybe someone had died. It wasn't every day Archie bucked-up the courage to talk to the pirate.

"U-um, I know you're probably to busy, but could we talk for a moment?" Hook was so surprised that he couldn't help but say yes, so Archie joined him on his walk through town. At first he tried indulging Hook with small talk, which he didn't really respond to, and before long just got right to the point. Apparently after being rejected so many times, Emma suggested Archie give Hook a shot. He was trying to turn a clean slate after all. But dog-sitting? Really?

The look the man gave him – this face that lied somewhere between discomfort and pure terror – spoke volumes to him. He was obviously last on the "dog sitter" list. Which, frankly, was understandable. Since kidnapping a person is something that normally takes you off of the acquaintance list. But since he never apologized - and since he wasn't a man of words, he decided he might as well help the poor guy.

Archie showed him around the apartment a little before six. Creating idle chatter as he explained Pongo's walk cycle and food times, his smile grew with every word he spoke. He went out the door with such a bright smile that it threw Hook off center—he had no chance to tell him that he didn't know the first thing about taking care of a dog. It was obvious the man didn't get a chance to venture out very often. Pongo pranced around the door for a few minutes, expecting his master to come back inside. When he didn't, he patted over to his bed and crawled under a small blanket that laid on top. Hook didn't want to admit it, but the Dalmatian looked rather cute cuddled into a small ball. After taking off his coat, Hook plopped down onto the couch, adjusting to the cushions, only to feel like someone was watching his every move. He turned his head around the room only to see the cause of this feeling.

Pongo was now sitting in front of him, staring with bright, wide eyes. And he wouldn't look away.

"Stop it."

Pongo gave a small noise. Something that resided deep in his throat, that not many people ever heard.

Thirty- seconds. One minute. Five minutes. The clock kept ticking yet his attention never faltered. It was as if the dog was speaking to him through his eyes, as if saying, this is my home, and that is my human, and you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Hook was frozen, but then he smirked. A dog thought he was going to scare him that easily? Think again, Pongo. He leaned forward as a smirk grew across his face. He poked Pongo's nose with his finger. "Try me, Mutt." Pongo barked playfully, dropping down on his front paws to waggle his whole butt in the air. His eyes were shining, ears perked up high. You're on. Hook leaned back into the couch as Pongo trotted off to the kitchen, finally putting his mind at ease.

His eyes darted around the room as he finally began to relax. The living room seemed to warm Hook's insides. Dark green walls and wooden floors covered in antique rugs that filled the room with a smell that can only be described as a worn out book. The place was filled with pictures – mostly of Archie and Marco. Others of Archie and some of the other town's people. Plants were scattered everywhere along with other memorabilia that Hook could only assume the therapist had collected over the years. And for being a place he had never been to before, he felt oddly at home.

He awoke about thirty minutes later to the sound of shattering glass and a loud yipe.

"Seriously?" Hook sighed at the sight. On the ground rested a broken picture frame with glass scattered around it. Looking at Pongo with a deep scowl, he sat down comfortably on the tile of the kitchen as he methodically picked up the bigger chunks and dropped them into the trash. As he sat, he picked up the picture and turned it over in his hand,. Should he throw away the frame and buy a new one? Should he leave it? Why did he care? He stared at the picture, admiring the grin spread across the therapists face. He never knew there could be so much life in one picture. Archie's arm was wrapped around Marco, and Pongo who was trying to jump in front of the camera. He could feel his face flush as he stared at the photo, entranced. The way the corners of his mouth crinkled with a smile. How his glasses rose with his cheeks. He wanted to see that smile for himself – maybe even be the cause of it.

Pongo's bark shattered through the silence, causing Hook's face of contemplation to vanish without a trace. He set the frame back on the shelf as he got off the ground with a huff. How could he ever make that man smile like that? But then again, why would he even want too? Archie had no reason to be happy around him. Nobody really did.

It took longer than he thought it would to clean up the left over glass. Continuously dropping the broom and dust pan, he eventually managed to work the dust pan with his foot as he worked the broom with his hand. He looked up at the clock. 6:45 p.m. It hadn't even been a full hour since the therapist left? It felt like forever.

He began to search the area around him as he tried to find something to do. But the more he looked, the less of Pongo he saw – and that horrified him. He rushed around the house, jumping from room to room, checking every where from the bedroom to Archie's office. Once Hook made his way back down to living room, he could tell that Pongo had been there recently. Pillows had been knocked onto the floor, papers were scattered, and his dog bowl managed to get flipped upside down, sprawling its' contents. This was not going to end well.

Two hours later, Hook continues to pick clumps of stuffing from his hair, as he contemplates how his life had slowly begun it's tract down the nearest toilet bowl. Not only were half the townspeople afraid of him, but animals found him completely inferior. Hook had given up trying to clamp Pongo's leash onto his collar only moments ago, after many failed attempts of stopping the dog as he raced through the house. Up and down the stairs, into the living room, the kitchen, back up the stairs, into the tub, out of the tub, onto the bed, back down the stairs, and out the doggy door in the kitchen. Hook had managed through many stressful things in his life, but this was the first in a long time that literally made him want to die. He was sprawled out, panting on the couch with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. After laying on the couch for about ten minutes, contemplating on wether or not he should just leave the hound alone, he began to notice a clock ticking on the wall adjacent from him.

It was too quiet. How long had Pongo been outside for? His eyes squinted as he read the clock: 8:30 p.m. Archie was going to be back in about half an hour. The cushions on the couch practically flew off from his speed as he raced to the back door. He slammed it open, turning his head this way and that, before shouting, "Pongo?!"

Nothing. He ran through the backyard cursing and kicking at the grass as he looked behind bushes and up trees – only to find the side gate cracked open. He was so dead. Sprinting back inside, it occurred to the pirate that he had never seen Archie angry, and he didn't know if he was ready to see that. Could the man even get angry? He had heard of the therapist putting Regina in her place on more than one occasion, but never anything more. He paced back and forth in the kitchen as he contemplated cleaning the house, searching for Pongo, or just waiting for Archie to return home. He glanced at the clock over and over – was there even a chance of finding Pongo and saving himself in the process. After moments of cursing and complaining about the stupid dog, he ran out of the door with a leash, hoping whatever higher power that exists will show him some mercy on this night. But knowing his luck, that probably wouldn't happen.