A/N: I thought if I worked on myself, my life would improve. It didn't really work out that way, so I'm back to retreating into fictional worlds with all of you. Hello dearies.
The title of this chapter is unofficially, Killian Jones: Harbormaster, Or How A Blasted Fairy Ruined My Life.
Hook had made his choice.
It was the second time in his long life he'd found himself under Regina's employ, and he had to confess, this time was the far more preferable experience. The work was unchallenging. He hadn't lied about that. Seafaring wasn't the most popular local pastime, and most of the vessels dotting the small harbor didn't even appear to have owners. He was the master of a very dull domain.
His predecessor, may god rest his pelagic soul, clearly hadn't been much of a record keeper. The harbormaster's designated rooms were in a state of disrepair. A broken window had let in a winter storm or two, leaving a mess of mouldy cardboard cartons, and reams of sopping, unintelligible pages, which had mostly gotten stuck together. The files that he had recovered intact were scandalously lacking in detail. Yet Hook couldn't deny that he found himself oddly content, as he expanded on the existing documentation, filling page after page with his tidy scrawl.
Regina had given him a magic box, a computer, she'd called it, on which to enter this information. She'd even gotten Henry to drop by after school and give him a rather unhelpful tutorial on how the Excel worked. It seemed easy enough, he had to admit, watching the boy fill the blank boxes with apparent ease. Less so when the lad was gone, and the white boxes replaced themselves with an image of a tropical fish, swimming in insipid circles for no apparent reason. To no one's surprise, he found he preferred the tangible reliability of quill scratching on parchment.
He'd always kept meticulous records aboard the Roger, and he called on those skills now, with the attention to regulation quite reminiscent of his short-lived naval career. Liam would have found the humor in this about-face, he thought. The delicious irony of the fearsome pirate relishing a return to protocol. But Liam would also have known him well enough to not be entirely surprised. Whilst Hook had fully thrown himself into the pirating life, the life of an outlaw and a rascal, there was no denying the inevitable draw of order. Of stability. It had called to him, as a naive young man entering His Majesty's employ, seeking a place to belong, and it called to him now in the same way, a 300 year old embittered pirate, searching for the same damned thing.
Only this time, he wasn't blindly taking orders. Not from anyone, and he'd told Regina as much when he first proposed the appointment.
"You want me to... what?" she'd said, her glass of wine paused half way to her lips.
"Make me the harbormaster," he'd repeated, his voice flat, settling in the vacant chair opposite her.
"You..." She downed the rest of her glass, still eying him with no small amount of suspicion. "You want... a job?"
"Aye."
She laughed heartily, pouring herself another glass, but when she looked back up and noticed his stony expression, she quickly sobered. "You're serious?"
"Perfectly," he replied, twirling a stray cocktail straw between his fingers. "I believe the position is vacant. Your mother saw to that."
She blanched a little at the unexpected mention of Cora, but she continued to regard him with cool eyes.
"You want to stay? In Storybrooke?"
"Aye," he repeated, a little more exasperated.
"You'll excuse my incredulity. You are the last person I expected to stick around. Don't you have a pirate ship with a shadow strapped to sail? Why stay in Storybrooke? You could go anywhere. Any realm you wanted." He said nothing, just continued passing the straw between his fingers with greater frequency, his face set. She considered him for a moment, frowning. "This is about your pathetic crush on Emma Swan, isn't it?"
His eyes darkened dangerously at her words, the straw crushed between clenched fingers. He was already regretting making this request. "Will you give me the position or not?" he asked, his words sharp with anger.
"Calm down, Captain," she snapped, taking another sip from her glass. "It's yours if you want it."
"Thank you," he responded tersely. And then a pause. "But I require a guarantee first."
"A guarantee?" She raised both eyebrows. "I know you're new to this realm, pirate, but generally there is some kind of waiting period before you start throwing demands around."
"Humor me," he said, his voice level.
"What kind of guarantee?" She asked carefully, making it abundantly clear she wasn't in the habit of signing blank checks.
"Autonomy," he replied smoothly, tucking the now slightly crumpled straw behind one ear. "I understand the harbor falls under your control, like the rest of this accursed town, but I want all maritime matters to end with me, at my discretion."
"That sounds like a recipe for a soaring bootlegging trade," she muttered darkly, but he didn't alter his determined expression.
"I don't take orders-" he began, calmly.
"Unless she's blonde and wearing a red leather jacket, right?" Regina cut in, her lips curling in amusement.
Hook studiously ignored her, repeating his carefully prepared words. "I don't take orders. I'll keep your peace, but I won't let my role be dictated by the whims of the powerful."
Her smile waned, as she continued to look at him, trying to figure him out. "You think I care about a few rusty fishing boats?" She seemed genuinely confused by his request.
"Your word, Regina." His tone was cold.
She still seemed puzzled by him, but relented anyway. "Fine. You have my word. The docks are all yours." She waved a hand in the air. "No interference. You can be your own little navy of one."
He blew out a relieved breath, and the tension in his jaw eased almost immediately.
"But..." She rose a finger in warning, "If I find out you're using the position to start a smuggling operation, or an unlicensed moonshine distillery, or whatever it is you like to do in your spare time, I will intervene."
"Understood," he responded gravely, extending his hand across the table. "We have an accord?"
Regina reached across, shaking his hand firmly. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Captain."
It wasn't an entirely smooth transition into his new life.
The attack by the Lost Boys was an unexpected complication. He'd readily agreed to help the Prince round up the last of them, but doing so had cost him. At least one of the little urchins had stopped by in his absence, with one of the unclaimed vessels succumbing to fire, and another to a barrage of shots from what David later explained to be a paintball gun.
The clean-up set him back weeks, even if he did take some dark delight in the excuse to cross paths with his Swan again, however briefly.
Which is not to say that he didn't see her often. Storybrooke was a small town, after all, with a small range of dining establishments. The Widow Lucas had warmed to him considerably since the business with the magic bean. A process which may have been helped along by the doubloons he pressed gratefully into her palm at the conclusion of every meal, though her granddaughter remained unmoved, her dark-lidded eyes narrowing suspiciously every time he took a seat at the counter.
He made certain never to exactly time his visits to theirs, but even so, barely a day went by without an encounter or two with the extended Charming family. She was rarely alone. They seemed to move as a unit these days, from the Sheriff's Station, to the apartment, to Granny's and back. They were at least three abreast on the sidewalk, striding with purpose, always bouncing from one crisis to the next.
Henry always offered him a friendly wave when he saw him, and asked after his skills with the magic box. The Prince usually made an effort to stop and make polite small-talk, even when he could see his wife beside him growing impatient with them. The Lady Snow rarely acknowledged him directly, though he caught her watching him sometimes, less in the lascivious way he'd grown accustomed to from the fairer sex, and more as if she were trying to determine his motives by the sheer force of her stare alone. Baelfire made a point of clapping him on the shoulder and asking after his piracy career, dead in the water though it was. Even Regina offered curt greetings when their paths crossed.
And the Lady Swan herself?
She didn't ignore him, exactly. She was busy. That was the standard line. She looked it too, her face drawn, worn thin. Each precious conversation was polite, but hurried. Always on the way to somewhere else. But every once in a while their eyes would lock, even across the room, and her lips would curve into the beginnings of a smile. For a few moments, she'd forget herself. And then she'd inevitably catch herself, and hurry off to confront the next danger facing their town, Hook stamping down the urge to follow her.
She clearly hadn't yet told Baelfire what she'd shared with him that night in the Sheriff's station, her worry that she never would be able to forgive him his earlier betrayal. He was still hanging around as if he were the clear front-runner for the lady's affections, always playing some starring role in the constant quest to save Storybrooke. So until Emma told him otherwise, Hook would keep his distance. He would keep his word.
Perhaps Emma could find it in herself to forgive her former lover. To begin again. It wasn't impossible. Hook had secretly thought that she was too much like himself, too cynical, to ever let that happen. But her improving relationship with Regina, who'd committed far worse atrocities, gave him pause.
Storybrooke was a place for second chances. It was practically the town motto. He'd never considered what a curse that could be.
The other complication to his integration into Storybrooke life took a more innocent form, though proved to be no less destructive.
Tinker Bell.
Still stripped of her wings, and searching out any way to get back into the Blue Fairy's good graces, the Lady Bell had taken it upon herself to do as many good deeds as possible. And for some reason, she had fixated her efforts on Hook.
"So is this really what you do all day?" she asked with an air of incredulity, taking a careful step into the musty confines of his office.
"Aye," he replied tersely, seated on the floor behind a wall of of manila folders, raising his arms to indicate the endless stacks of paper. "This is it."
"Uh huh," she replied, unimpressed, picking her way across the floor littered with paperwork until she collapsed in his chair, leaning back to rest her feet on his desk.
"I'm making a valuable contribution," he grumbled, returning to scanning the incomplete maintenance logs.
A noise escaped the fairy's throat, something halfway between a cough and a snort.
"You disagree?" He peered over his manila tower to fix her with a glare, one eyebrow raised, daring her to contradict him.
"Well..." she cocked her head to one side, as if considering the question seriously, "I did hear rumors of a Bandersnatch wandering the woods west of town. And last week wasn't there a Cyclops tearing up the main street?" She gave the tiny room another once over, her gaze taking in the dusty windowsills and gaudy interior furnishings. "You don't think your talents are a little... wasted here?"
"If the heroes want my help, they know where to find me." He pulled the small device the Prince had given him after the fight with the Lost Boys out of his pocket, and waved it in front of her. "And there's always the talking phone. "
She fixed him a look that let him know she was not convinced.
"You're different," she said suddenly.
Why did everyone in his life feel compelled to point this out of late?
"The pirate I met in Neverland never would have ignored any mention of his talents without following it up without at least three innuendos," she continued, sitting up and dragging her boots off the desk to look at him properly. "Wow. You really need my help."
Now it was Hook's turn to snort.
"As much as I appreciate your meddling," he began, words dripping in sarcasm, "I assure you, I am in no need of your fairy assistance." He paused. "Unless you know how to operate that blasted magic box," he gestured at the computer sitting on his desk. "I'm afraid I'm quite at a loss."
Her attention shifted to the device before her, considering it with no small amount of suspicion. She reached out, striking a key with her index finger at random, and shrinking back in alarm when the image on the screen suddenly changed.
Hook sighed. "I thought not."
The next few minutes passed in peaceable silence; the fairy fascinated by the computer, Hook finally making progress with pairing the correct maintenance logs to the corresponding vessels. It took some time. His knowledge of twenty first century watercraft was expanding at an impressive rate, bolstered by the reading materials he had spirited from the public library under cover of darkness, but some of the modern terms still left him mystified. The concept of a GPS was going to take some further study.
The peace was shattered by a sudden incongruous mechanical trill, which so startled them both that Tinker Bell jumped from her seat in alarm, and Hook knocked over a stack of incident reports. Sighing in delayed realization, she pulled a device not dissimilar to Hook's own talking phone from her jacket pocket, and made a few experimental swipes with her thumb, smiling as the device came to life in her hand.
"It's Ba- Neal," she corrected herself, peering down to read the message. "They found the Bandersnatch. Emma trapped it with her magic and David stabbed it in the heart with his sword." She looked up to gauge Hook's reaction, smiling when he saw him visibly react at the sound of her name, as she knew he would.
"And there's a party at Granny's to celebrate..."
His frown deepened as he saw the beginnings of another ill-advised scheme solidifying behind her growing smile.
"No," he countered. "Absolutely not."
If only that had been the end of it.
If only that blasted fairy hadn't made it her mission to make his life a living hell with all of her good intentions.
Not only had she forced him to attend a gathering to which he was not invited, attended by a handful of people he had been very careful to avoid, but there was also the small matter of costume.
"Have you ever noticed that you are the only one in this town who still insists on looking like he caught the last magic portal out of the Enchanted Forest?" She had said, eying him up and down with something bordering on disdain.
He had scowled, looking down at his usual pirate garb. The vest. The boots. The jacket.
"It's always worked for me," he shrugged. Call him a creature of habit, but this had been his standard look for centuries, and it hadn't ever done him any harm with the lasses.
"Yes, but it doesn't really send the right message, does it?" She countered, circling him with a critical eye. "For all your talk about valuable contributions, it still looks like your being here is just a temporary fancy." She took a step forwards, chin raising with self-righteous intent. "If you really are staying in Storybrooke, shouldn't you look the part?"
Bloody fairy. She'd always been a wily one.
So here he was, shuffling closer to Granny's in Storybrooke's back alleys, half-hidden by long afternoon shadows, clad in snug, foreign fabrics, and feeling a complete fool.
The woman who had sold him the garments had assured him that his new outfit was in keeping with the fashions of this realm. He had to admit, he had seen the Prince sporting a similar ensemble once or twice. He looked fine, the shopkeeper assured him. Better than fine, even. He'd seen that familiar gleam of appreciation behind her eyes, before he'd exited the shop with a gracious nod, his pockets a few coins lighter.
He still felt ridiculous. Obvious. Like he was holding a sign above his head which screamed, "I AM MAKING AN OVERTURE!"
Captain Hook had not dramatically altered his appearance for centuries, unless one counted for the purpose of subterfuge. Breaking into Regina's castle. Masquerading as a blacksmith in Lancelot's Safe Haven. That business in the hospital didn't count, because they'd taken his clothes whilst he'd been rendered unconscious, outfitting him instead in a rather impractically indecent shift and robe. Those bastards.
But this was different.
This was something else entirely.
Ruby was the first to notice. She'd seated herself outside, absently sipping at a frosted glass at one of the many empty tables as he approached, but as soon as he drew closer she turned her head, senses alerted. She rose to her feet in an instant, her beverage forgotten on the table as she closed the few steps between them, blocking his path.
He hadn't picked up on it at first, but now he knew better, her wolfish qualities were obvious. The way her eyes scanned him through narrowed lids. The subtle flare of the nostrils. The slight tilt of her neck, like a hunting dog awaiting confirmation for a kill.
Hook took an involuntary step back.
"It's impolite to stare," he said eventually, when it appeared she wasn't going to say anything.
"Is this a permanent thing?" She asked at last, gesturing at the clothes.
He resisted the urge to look down, settling instead for absently fiddling with the sleeves of his newer, shorter leather jacket. "Would that be so terrible?"
Her expression was unchanged. She was still considering him with that same frightening severity. After a few awkward moments, where Hook debated just heading back to the Jolly, she stepped aside to let him past.
Relieved at having apparently passed some unspoken test, he offered a small nod, before he taking a step towards Granny's front door, but paused when the lass spoke again.
"I hope you mean it. She deserves that much."
He didn't nod this time. He didn't say a word. He just kept walking, taking the last few steps until he was grasping the door handle, and felt himself drowned in the din of Storybrooke's latest celebration.
Tinker Bell hadn't mentioned anything about the Crocodile being there, seated in a corner booth with his new bride sitting proudly beside him, like the ornament she was, both of them awash in that smug newly married happiness which prickled uncomfortably under his skin. Baelfire sat opposite them, and the three of them looked to be having a perfectly cordial conversation, Bae sat directly across from his mother's murderer.
He could feel his hand tightening into a fist of its own accord, until a pen rapped across his knuckles, pulling him from his rapidly darkening thoughts.
"A beer for you, Captain?" Granny asked, placing her pen back inside her apron. Her expression was stern, as it always was, but as her eyes flitted to where Hook's attention had been, and back to him, he could have sworn he saw a hint of softness.
"A beer would grand," he breathed, reaching into his jacket for a coin. His hand froze as she reached across to gain a surprisingly gentle grip on his arm.
"On the house, Captain," she said in a way left no room for argument.
"I'm much obliged," he grinned, offering her a salacious wink. She withdrew her hand, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, and turned away to prepare his ale.
"Nice duds," she remarked, as she slid his chilled glass across the counter towards him. At his confusion, she motioned at his new jacket. "Setting down roots?" She asked politely, her attention already waning as she made eye contact with a waiting customer to his left.
"Something like that," he replied, as he swiveled his chair around to survey the rest of the establishment, his knees knocking straight into the denim clad legs of precisely the person he was both looking for, and most dreading to see.
The one and only Emma Swan.
"Apologies, love," he said, rising from his seat in an instant, leaning a hand on her arm to steady her. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
She looked as if she was about to retort with some self-effacing comment, when she caught a good look at him, and froze like she'd stared into the eyes of a Gorgon, her arm gone rigid under his hand.
She swallowed visibly.
"You look..." she began, her eyes raking his form with apparent interest, even as the rest of her seemed immobile.
All was forgiven. The next chance he got, he was going to send Tinker Bell a basket of fruit. Treasure. Anything she so desired. He'd lobby the Blue Fairy on her behalf day and night until she got her wings back.
"I know," he answered quickly, saving her from having to form descriptive words. He couldn't resist imbuing the words with a flash of a smile. She knew she found him attractive, but it never hurt to be reminded, and her momentary lapse flooded him with dark delight.
She seemed to shake herself a little at last, snatching her arm back out of his grasp. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. My fault. But it is kind of crowded in here, right?"
For a moment, he hoped that was the opening line of some proposition. He couldn't deny he'd used that exact line before, to great effect. But when her gaze fanned across the room, he saw it for what it was: a way for her to deflect his attention from her flushed cheeks, and he obliged, scanning the diner, which really was packed to the rafters with all kinds of fairytale creatures, well into their cups.
Even so, he saw Emma's parents ensconced in a booth nearby with Regina and Henry, Mary Margaret casting glances their way every few moments to let him know that She. Was. Expected. Back.
"I heard you took down a Bandersnatch today, Swan," he continued, not willing for the conversation to end just yet. "I can't say I ever encountered one during my travels to Wonderland. Are they really as fast as the tales say?"
Emma gave a bitter laugh, taking a sip from the flute of sparkling wine Hook hadn't noticed she'd been holding. "Faster."
Something about the way she said it, battle-worn and weary, made Hook's insides clench, as he scanned her for noticeable injuries. And then he saw it, the tiny strip of tape half hidden by her hairline, keeping a small cut on her forehead closed. He felt himself reaching for it before he could stop himself, regretting it immediately when she flinched at his touch.
"It's nothing," she replied quickly, taking a longer sip of wine. "Just a scratch."
"Emma-" He took a step forward, but his advance was interrupted by a horde of dwarves jostling past, their eye caught by some delicacy Granny had just taken from the oven.
She gave him a rueful smile over the expanse of heads between them, and motioned back to her waiting family.
"I've gotta go. But I'm fine. I promise."
He didn't entirely believe her, even as he turned back to the counter to find his pint of ale long gone.
Bloody dwarves.
Tinker Bell did eventually make an appearance, though he could tell her daily pleading session with the Blue Fairy had gone badly, if her drinking habits were any indication.
"What are you doing?" she had hissed, when he'd taken a seat beside her outside, where she had clearly intended to drink herself into a stupor with a curiously green liquid.
"I should ask you the same thing," he replied, pulling her glass from her hand so that he could examine it more closely. "What the bloody hell kind of potion is this?"
"It's not a potion," she grumbled, snatching back her glass. "It's Midori."
"It glows," he countered, lip curling in distaste.
"That is most of the appeal," she admitted, slumping down in her seat, elbows on the table. "And what do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be winning the heart of your true l-"
Hook clapped his hand over her mouth, sneaking a furtive glance around to make sure no one had heard her. The courtyard was sparsely populated by a handful of people Hook recognized vaguely as the baker and his wife, and the fearsome woman who ran the butchers shop, and her two insipid apprentices. If they'd heard the fairy, they gave no indication.
"We talked about this," he warned, his voice growing colder. "You promised you would keep your romantic flights of fancy to yourself. Remember?" She rolled her eyes, but gave a reluctant nod, and Hook lifted his hand away.
"She seemed to like the new garments," he offered gruffly, as an olive branch.
Tinker Bell just frowned into her glass, struggling to place the straw between her teeth.
Ten minutes later she was passed out, snoring softly, head resting in her arms, the Midori concoction still in her clutches. He gently prised it from her grip, and briefly debated leaving her outside, as punishment for her interference. But his better nature, whatever was left, won out, and he gathered the sleeping fairy in his arms and carried her upstairs to her quarters, taking a short detour to locate Granny's spare keys.
Once he was sure the fairy was comfortable, and not likely to freeze during the night, he opened the door with nary a squeak of hinges, and edged back out into the hall. Right into the path of Emma Swan, who was coming out of the room opposite.
"Oof," he felt the breath force from his lungs as she ran into his chest, and he fell backwards, scrambling for purchase against the door he'd just closed. He landed against it with a thud, but Emma remained upright, just, looming over him.
He opened his mouth to apologize, again, for his clumsiness, when he caught the look in her eye.
Panicked. Panicked? And then the door opposite opened again, and Baelfire stepped out into the hall, ostensibly to check on the commotion, and Hook felt his heart drop into his stomach.
He'd just interrupted Emma's exit from Baelfire's quarters.
Maybe it was innocent. Maybe it was not. All he knew, he had no desire to remain where he was, watching the two of them cast furtive glances back and forth as he struggled to get to his feet.
"Hook," Bae's voice conveyed what an unwelcome surprise this was. Hook watched as he placed a hand on Emma's forearm then, and she didn't shy away, instead offering him a small smile in return. Hook felt the hot stab in his stomach at their easy intimacy. Then he watched Bae's eyes drift up to the room number of the room Hook had himself exited, and his brows knit together.
"Tink?" Baelfire asked, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. Emma, still standing still beside him snapped her eyes back to Hook at once, and he saw the earlier panic behind her eyes recede. Something else crept in instead. Something sharp and jagged, and for some reason, this pleased him.
"Perhaps," he replied noncommittally, with a shrug, watching Emma's eyes grown colder still. "A very pleasant night to you both," he called, as nonchalantly as he could, turning down the hallway, taking great care not to trip on the rug, as he headed for the back stairs.
"G'night," he heard Bae call back, in a perplexed tone. Emma didn't say a word.
Once he was out of sight, he leaned heavily against one of Granny's many floral-printed walls, his fist clenched at his side, resisting the urge to punch a hole through it.
He was a bloody fool. Playing the man of honor. All the while, letting the woman he... cared for... fall back into the hands of a man who had hurt her and betrayed her. It was as he'd told the Crocodile, long before he became that creature, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.
He'd stepped aside, and in doing so, he'd lost her.
He just knew it.
In the end, he didn't punch a hole through Granny's drywall, though it was a near thing. But he did lift her finest bottle of whiskey as he left, a stack of gold coins left in recompense.