Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm not making money off of this, it's just for fun.

A Pirate's Treasure

There's a bag for all his belongings, all the leather and jewelry. Pirate, they said, but I didn't realize pirates really wore all this leather. You would think a flashy coat and the jewelry would be a deterrent in combat, but then…do pirates actually fight hand-to-hand or is that just a movie thing? I don't know, before I never encountered pirates as I lived on the land. Here, I've kept my studies to nursing. I gently fold the pants and place them inside the bag before I mark them down on the list. So far I've tallied shirts, shoes, belts, undergarments, an earring, the jacket, now the pants. I move on to the jewelry and add them to a smaller, easily sealed bag, a non-label Ziploc bag. The kind you buy at large grocery stores or dollar stores because they're cheaper than the name brand. I put in one earing, a few rings, and a necklace. I label that and write the patient number on the imitation Ziploc. I put that inside the other bag.

There's just one thing left: this silver hook. Or maybe it's only silver colored and is actually steel or some other metal. I'm only a nurse.

I won't have anything to do with this hook; I have to turn it in like all other weapons. My supervisors will handle it. Maybe Sherriff Swan will take it down to the station. I take the bag and the hook and leave to turn them in to the safe deposit, where they'll be looked after.

They accept it and that's the last I see of the hook. I head up to his room.

He has a name, Sherriff Swan mentioned it: Captain Hook or Killian Jones. He's obviously got a sense of humor, or else he wouldn't have gone by "Hook".

I walked up to his room to check on him. He was assigned to my rounds, which were rather small. Since the end of our curse, most people are outside the hospital. Very few patients are sick now. Most come in from accidents – such as a dwarf needing attention for what happened in the mines or the like. This man is also from an accident, hit by a car.

And from what I can tell (and what I heard) some other object.

When I entered, he's still out cold. It hasn't been very long and we gave him some pain medication which can induce sleepiness in some patients. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he copes through pain by sleeping – or by drinking.

I took his vitals and checked to make sure the blood had been drawn. His head was bandaged, lightly, just enough to close the gash near his hairline. The rest of his wounds were easily hidden by the standard hospital gown, a pale blue which stood at great odds against the stark contrast of the black leather he'd encased himself in. Suffice it to say he had cracked ribs, one of his bones in his arms was cracked and near broken, and finally: the concussion. I didn't know much about this man, but it was clear he made enemies quickly.

There was, also, the matter of the hook.

His left hand was gone, capped with a place where he could insert the hook. A crude, but intelligent response to his injury, however he'd come about it.

I started to leave, but he spoke. "Love, would you mind telling me where I am?"

I turned around and clutched at my clipboard, surprised at what a pleasant voice he had. Given Sherriff Swan's reaction to him, I was expecting an all together unpleasant and cunning man. I hadn't imagined that his voice would sound so…friendly.

"You're at the hospital. Did you go over the town line? You're in Storybrooke, Maine." Details about the incident had not been provided to me, save what I needed to know and the gossip I'd overheard.

"Storybrooke," he sighed. "And the crocodile?" He kept his eyes closed while he spoke. He still rested against his pillow and seemed almost content to stay there. Or at least, he seemed to not want to go anywhere else.

I chuckled, "There are no crocodiles in Storybrooke." We weren't the right weather for them. I wondered if he'd dreamt of a crocodile in his sleep.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he said, and the name was a curse, a moan, a howl, all at once and yet without any malice directed at me. "How is he?" Evidently something in his past (perhaps in both our worlds?) bothered him about Mr. Gold. That wasn't unusual at all. At some point or another, Mr. Gold had been the last resource anyone could count on and his price was usually too much. At the time, he made it seem like nothing, but it was everything. I lost my younger sister to Mr. Gold because of a deal my father made.

"Mr. Gold is…upset," I had glimpsed him when they'd brought in Belle. Prince Charming, Snow White, and Sherriff Swan had all stepped up to keep him away from Mr. Jones, with hospital security, I'd never seen the Dark One so angry – or so worthy of his name.

"And the girl? What of her?"

"That's…I'm not supposed to talk about other patients." And I wasn't attending her. Mr. Gold wasn't really letting anyone take care of her. He spoke to the doctors and picked three nurses to dote on her. Or that's what I heard, but I didn't have any dealings with her. I just knew she'd been shot – allegedly by this man. And they'd been near the town line. So strange a place for all three to be, and two in the hospital now – and only one with memory loss! The only one who wasn't physically wounded was Mr. Gold, but he certainly acted as if something gave him a headache.

"What a pity, I trust you've taken care of her, though?"

"Of course…I'm sorry, I thought you shot her." Maybe the rumors weren't true. Rumors so often aren't. Maybe he'd been trying to take care of her? But Mr. Gold had been seen with her…they appeared…friendly. It wasn't a relationship I supported in anyway. Mr. Gold was dangerous and not to be trusted.

As for the man before me, who knew?

"I did!" he sounded dismissive. "Doesn't mean I wish her any ill will. I'm merely looking to…enact revenge upon my crocodile – your Mr. Gold."

This man had a death wish. Perhaps I ought to recommend moving him to psychiatric care? Anyone crazy enough to wish revenge on Mr. Gold was asking for too much. The man controlled nearly everything. Perhaps he was dangerous, but only dangerous to himself. And to Mr. Gold or what Mr. Gold liked. It was a good thing for me, then, that Mr. Gold didn't care about me at all. I could safely secure this man's health to the best of my abilities and then the law would handle him.

I poured him a cup of water and he opened his eyes at the sound of water filling the cup. "That for me, love?"

"I figured you might be thirsty. You might be hooked up to fluids," he smirked at the term "hooked" and I blushed. I didn't comment on it though, the loss of his hand might stir about the need for security – this time to protect me! "But that doesn't mean your mouth doesn't feel dry. If you're hungry, I can arrange for a snack, you slept through breakfast and it's not quite yet lunch."

"Thank you, yes."

I stood there.

"Is there anything else?" he asked me.

"Well…I should ask you a few questions – um, first, how are you feeling?"

"Sore. Disappointed," he looked over at the window and then sat up. He made a face when the cold, recycled hospital air touched his back. "What am I wearing?" He plucked at the gown with his hand. His hands looked larger now that his rings were off, they weren't engulfed by large circles of metal here there and everywhere. He seemed to like jewelry – spoils of the sea?

"It's a hospital gown, it allows us access to your wounds and keeps your clothes from getting…well, dirty." There were too many things that could get on clothes in a hospital, I couldn't even begin to form a decent list. "Your head, any problems?"

"It aches."

"On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst pain ever, how bad does your head feel?"

"One." Either high pain tolerance, a lie, or he wasn't so much in pain as in discomfort. I wrote it down anyway.

"How about your chest? You have some nice bruises and cracked bones."

"Little awkward to breathe, but I'm getting the hang of it."

"And your arm?"

"Oh this?" he held up his arm, the one without the hand. "This is an old injury, darling. Doesn't hurt any more, though occasionally, it does itch." His lips curved up in amusement.

"No…the other one."

"Like the rest of me. Old, bruised, but I'll be fine, lass." He looked at me and studied me. I felt self-conscious. This was not how I would have looked if I'd ever met a pirate before the curse. Now I had on scrubs decorated with little stars.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said slowly. "What's your name, love?"

"Penelope," I told him. "Most people call me Penny, though."

"Penny…very nice to meet you, Penny. Will you be my nurse for all of my stay here?"

I had no way of knowing. "Rounds change." At his confused look, I explained. "We work shifts. Some days I get off, most days I'll be here until five." He looked at the clock when I gestured towards it. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell the Sherriff you're awake, and the doctor will want to see you first. I'll bring you back a snack."

He lifted the cup of water to his lips and drank. "Sounds delightful. Thanks, love."

I started to leave.

"One more question," he called out. I turned. "What was your name back in our world?"

I blinked. "It was Phoebe. Not that different, I wasn't anyone special."

"Well, you're special to me, love. First kind person here."

I carried the snack up to Mr. Jones' room. It consisted of an apple, a carton of milk, and a chocolate chip granola bar. I didn't know what he liked and no one knew about any allergies, so I decided to vary it to what I could. I also brought some magazines and a newspaper; he might like to read if he didn't want to watch television.

They had all agreed, I gathered, that it was best for Mr. Jones to remain here, at the hospital. They would potentially move him at an unknown (or undisclosed) date. Until I knew anything about him, I was determined to treat him like any other patient.

"Ah, Penny love," Mr. Jones greeted me with a smile. "It seems I'm to stay here a bit. And you're to nurse me, how lovely."

"Only for a third of the day," I smiled, "when I'm working." I set the food on his tray and showed him the reading I brought.

"They told me something," he took one of the magazines and glanced at it. A National Geographic – it was the closest I could find with anything about the sea. Unfortunately it was probably beyond his depths, it dealt with deep sea creatures. "A penny is a coin," he picked up one from his bedside table, where I noticed he'd also placed his water cup. "Miss Swan gave it to me. A pirate's treasure," he raised a brow.

"A very small amount of a pirate's treasure," I laughed. "But a penny saved is a penny earned."

"Not sure who this fellow is, here, though," he contemplated the coin. "Who is he?"

"President Abraham Lincoln," I answered and took hold of his wrist. He started and I explained I was taking his pulse. I looked at my watch, timed it, and then wrote it down.

"What's a president?" he asked.

"Sort of a ruler, an elected ruler – not like a queen or a king, he has rules that keep him in check, he can't just decide everything on a whim."

"I see." He abandoned the penny and picked up the granola bar. He didn't eat it, he turned it over in his hands, then looked up at me. "Is this supposed to be food?"

I showed him how to open it and then felt horrible. I had to use both hands – how did he open things like this? Had I insulted him? "You've gone pale, lass," he commented when I handed him the granola bar. He took a bite and chewed it with the expression of great contemplation. He seemed to like it, though, and he continued to eat it.

"Oh, I just…your hook," I explained.

"Yes, that's my name."

"They told me Killian Jones, Mr. Jones –"

"Penny, call me Hook. And have no fear; I'm not bothered by it. I've grown used to it after all these years. And I rather like it. Somewhat menacing, don't you think?"

I held out the thermometer. "This goes in your mouth, and you'll need to not talk."

I slid the thermometer under his tongue and then recorded the temperature. "How did you lose it?"

"A crocodile," he answered easily. "The one you call Mr. Gold."

"Why a crocodile?" I asked. "Why not the Dark One?"

"Well, that's a title he gave himself – or took. When I met him, he didn't have it. And he is a crocodile, looked like one, acted like one, and you know what they say, Penny-love, it walks like –"

"Do you always do that?" I asked.

He finished off the granola bar and picked up the milk carton. I opened that for him so he could see how. I had to remember that he hadn't been part of the curse. He didn't know how things operated here. "Do what?"

"Call people 'love', and 'lass', and 'darling', and all that."

"What would you prefer I call you?" He drank from the milk carton.

"Penny is fine."

"I like Penny-love," he smirked, somehow managing to look villainous from behind something as innocent as a milk carton, something school children had every school day. "Tell me something, Penny-love," he winked. "What did you do in our land?"

"I was a healer," I told him. "It's probably why I'm a nurse here. But don't think I can get you any favors with the Prince and Princess or the Sherriff, I was a nobody. I'm still a nobody."

"I told you, you're –"

"I like being a nobody," I continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "It means I don't answer to anyone unless I chose to. It means no one can send me or use me against someone else."

"Smart," he commented. "But I had other reasons for asking."

"What's that?"

"Your voice." He smiled. "You should have been a singer."

"Thank you." I started for the door. "I'll see you on my next circle."

"I look forward to it!" Mr. Jones called out and then turned his attention to the newspaper.

Mr. Jones felt a lot better; I noticed how he seemed like he was stuck. All injured men who feel better start getting antsy. Women have it easier but they also get antsy. Being bedridden isn't all that fun. He paced around his room in pajamas and soon he would have regular clothes. Now that the outside world could come into Storybrooke, well, walking around in pirates' clothing would attract too much attention.

"Morning, Penny-love," he greeted me when I walked in.

"Morning, Mr. Jones."

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's Hook."

"The usual today, Hook," I held out the thermometer and indicated the cuff to take his blood pressure.

"I think not," he smiled that devilish smile. He'd had that same smile when I'd shown him how to use the TV. He was now addicted to NCIS and game shows. He liked watching people gamble. "They're taking me to prison today," he looked at the cuff. "If you say I'm –"

"I can't lie to the Sherriff."

"That's the beauty of it! You don't take your little notes, they won't let me go. Give me enough time and I can –"

"There's a good chance, Hook, that your sentence will be small. You might just…I don't know."

"Be banished?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Go back the way I came? And never see anyone again? You don't know what it's like there. It's all gone."

There was a crack in Hook's armor. I could see it. "You're afraid," I commented. "Afraid of being alone."

Instead of saying anything about that, he walked towards me. "Well, if you won't help me out…will you visit me in prison, Penny-love?"

"Of course," I agreed.

A true smile appeared on his face. "Good. I'll look forward to it." He reached out and cupped my face in his hand. Then he leaned in close, paused for a moment, giving me a chance to break away if I so desired. I should have. This was not according to rules but then again…I was a "fairytale character" according to this world. I shouldn't even exist. So I'd already broken a huge rule in this world, why not another?

We kissed and when we separated, he stroked my face. "Bring me a penny, would you Penny-love?"

"Why?"

"A pirate always keeps a treasure."

I took his vitals, brought up a set of clothes.

I handed him the penny I'd gotten from my coin purse and he accepted it. "A true pirate's treasure – a friend. Or at least a pretty face who's friendly. Thank you, kindly, darling."

In return, he gave me the penny he'd gotten from the Sherriff. Sherriff Swan came up to escort him down to the police car and Rumpelstiltskin watched. Security stood on guard in case he tried anything. Who "he" meant in this case, I didn't know.

"Trust me," Mr. Gold said to me as he started to leave, soon as Hook was away. "He'll get justice."

"I hope so." I replied. "Good day, Mr. Gold," I nodded and headed to finish my rounds.