A/N: Two plot points in this chapter have been disproven by the show, but I didn't know that when I wrote the first draft, so... well, it's AU anyway.

The fact that Hook woke up an hour before dawn was of no use to him at all, since he couldn't get out of his cell, and he regretted bitterly not having told Starkey or any of the others about the trap. He'd have to do something about that.

As he paced the cell he noticed Rumpelstiltskin sitting up to watch him, and as the dim greyness grew into the light of day, he noticed also the sharp, searching look on that imp's face. Another reason to fill the pirates in, get them to divert some of the attention.

"You know what I want?" Hook asked bitterly. "I want your death to be slow. Slow enough that when your powers are gone, there's still enough time for me to flay you alive, rip out your guts, and strangle you with them as you utter your last, pathetic scream."

Rumpelstiltskin yawned. "Same to you, pirate. You really are spectacularly full of yourself, aren't you?"

"At least I've got something to be full of except a load of shit." Hook's eyes narrowed, and he smirked a little. "In fact, it seems... You may be lacking something else in the trouser department."

"I think your perspective might be off by the fact that I also possess an upstairs brain."

"Oh, is that how your girl consoles you when you fail to perform?" Hook said with fake sympathy. "If that what she goes for, I've got some nice eunuchs I could introduce her to. Or tribades, if she'd prefer that. She looked like a girl who might benefit from some skilled licking."

That, at last, awoke Rumpelstiltskin's temper. He rose from his bunk and strode across his cell, arm raised. A wave of magic melted the bars between them, and Hook hurriedly raised his own arm to ward it off. They circled each other, wrists crossed like swords, and then Rumpelstiltskin lowered his arm and aimed instead for a physical attack, surprisingly strong hands closing on Hook's throat as they both fell to the floor. Hook wrestled the grip off and pounded the wooden end of his cracked sheath against the side of his enemy's wrist, and then against his face.

A gunshot into the ceiling made them both fall still.

"I cannot fucking believe you," Emma barked. "You! Back in your cell! I'm going to count this as attempted escape and destruction of public property."

"I am so sorry," Rumpelstiltskin said with a grimace.

"Oh, you'd better be. As for you..."

"He tried to strangle me, love," Hook said, offering his best smile. "I was just defending myself."

"Zip it, Hook!"

"What?"

"Shut up, be quiet, hold thy tongue, asshole! Am I making myself clear?"

Hook winked at her, stuck out his tongue, and then demonstratively bit it. He had the satisfaction of seeing the corners of her mouth soften into something that, had she allowed it, might have been a smile.

Rumpelstiltskin had returned to his own bunk and now asked, "I'd like to use the phone now, if you please?"

It seemed like the worst possible time to ask for a favour, but Emma simply sighed and offered him her cellphone. "What do you need it for? Belle knows you're here, and you're your own lawyer, aren't you?"

"I am. I have some things I need to tell Belle. Now if you'd please?"

Emma obediently stepped away from the cell as Rumpelstiltskin dialled the number. Hook waved at her to come over to his side, which she did, rolling her eyes.

"What's this, then?" he asked. "Do I get to make a phone call too?"

"Sure," she said. "Who do you want to call? Ariel?"

"Not much point. My first mate, Starkey."

"Okay, you can have it as soon as he's done with it."

She really was accommodating, considering how angry she'd been when she first stepped in, and so Hook ventured another request: "And can I get my hook back?"

"No."

"Emma..." he reproached.

"I'm sorry, but prosthetics are one thing and potential murder weapons are another. You get it back when I think I can trust you and not a moment sooner. Anyway, your... fastening... thingy is all broken. You wouldn't be able to use it."

"I can get the sheath mended."

She crossed her arms. "Then you can get a new hook too, can't you?"

That was true, but to replace the hook he'd once used to stab Rumpelstiltskin with just any piece of metal formed in its likeness felt like blasphemy. He was so close to his revenge, and he had always imagined that when he took out the Dark One and did all those things he had threatened to do, he'd do it with that very hook.

At this point, his intended target, while still on the phone, seemed to take more than an ideal interest in their conversation, that weaselly face focused on them with an intensity that made Hook want to knock him unconscious.

"Please, I need you to come see me here," Rumpelstiltskin said into the phone, eyes still fixed on Hook and Emma. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. Great, thank you! I'll see you then."

He finished the call and asked Emma, "So, how long will you keep me here?"

"I'll be talking to Judge Nasruddin today about setting you both a bail," she said, and added drily, "Of course, melting the bars will have to feature into it."

Rumpelstiltskin sighed and raised a hand, raising the bent metal as wilted flowers given water.

"That's better." Taking her phone back, Emma handed it over to Hook, who used the one number he found he truly needed: directory assistance.

From there, he reached Starkey through his Storybrooke name, and though his present company meant that he couldn't say anything truly useful, he left a few basic instructions in language his first mate was bound to understand. Starkey also offered to look after Smee, which was unexpected and rather amusing. From experience, he knew that Starkey wasn't the most comforting presence at a sickbed, but then, that could be said for the whole crew.

Having finished his phone call, he remained seated, body deliberately kept still as he watched his enemy, even though his thoughts were racing. There were plenty of things he might have wanted to discuss with Emma, not least among them the terms of his incarceration, but he wouldn't want to reveal any kind of ignorance around the Dark One. At least her speech during his arrest the previous night had provided him with some hints of what to expect.

Rumpelstiltskin also remained quiet, and Emma eyed them both warily before returning to her other duties.

Halfway through the morning, Belle appeared in the doorway, looking nervous, but with an angle to her jaw that suggested she wouldn't let that stop her. Hook raised an eyebrow at the sight, and then a little further as she saw him and, just for a moment, flinched.

He gave her a sweet, wicked smile for that flinch, and Rumpelstiltskin glared at him before calling his lady closer.

"Belle," he said, so softly you'd almost think he was a gentleman. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm still angry," she said. "But I... I couldn't just leave you here, either."

She glanced over at Emma, who said, "Bail's not set yet, but if you want a moment to talk, that's fine."

"Thanks." Stepping up to the bars, she asked, "So what is it you...?" and then her voice got so low Hook couldn't hear it. The same was true for Rumpelstiltskin's reply.

Hook tried to make out what was being said by their body language. Whatever it was, Belle clearly didn't like it, and Rumpelstiltskin tried to convince her, giving her a comforting caress on the cheek.

"Hands where I can see them," Emma reminded them.

They broke off, and Belle stepped back. "Right. I'd like to..." She gave Hook a look of utter disgust, and then turned to Emma. Rather reluctantly, she said, "I'd like to drop the assault charges."

Hook blinked. Judging by Emma's expression, this turn of events took her by surprise just as much as him.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes. I was mistaken, and..." Belle grimaced. "Sorry. No. I want to drop them. Can I?"

"Yeah, but, listen, we've got him on this one. He practically confessed. You don't have to do this. If you're afraid, I can arrange for some protection."

"I'm not afraid," she said fiercely. "And I don't need protection. Thank you. I just want to drop the charges."

Her gaze turned to Rumpelstiltskin, who gave her a slow, grim nod.

"What's going on?" Emma demanded.

Hook would have liked to know the same thing. This was not some sudden bout of compassion or fear; it was a decision dictated by the Dark One, and certainly for some nefarious purpose. The man's expression revealed nothing, and Belle's was a mix of too many emotions to figure out.

Emma did her best to convince Belle to change her mind, but Belle persisted, even though she'd clearly just as soon see Hook at the bottom of a well. Hook listened as they talked, and as Emma guided Belle through the forms she had to fill out, his eyes kept drifting to Rumpelstiltskin. What was his angle? Oh, the close proximity of their incarceration must itch at him almost as much as it itched at Hook, but that couldn't be the only reason.

At last, putting herself between Belle and Hook in a discreetly protective stance, Emma unlocked the door and let Hook out.

"I swear to God, Hook," she muttered, "if you do anything..."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart," he said, and with a sarcastic bow towards Belle, "Thank you."

"Oh, Ms. Swan?" Rumpelstiltskin said from his cell, his voice silken. "Just one more thing. I still have a favour to call in from you."

Emma swallowed and turned to glare at him, while Hook stared, dumbfounded, at Emma. During all their heated arguments, this little tidbit had never once reached his ears.

"I'm not going to let you out too," Emma said. "You'll have to wait for bail."

"Oh, that's fine," Rumpelstiltskin said. "I'll be out soon enough; you don't have any real proof, do you? No, I was thinking of that hook. Since you're not about to return it to its owner, I'd like to have it, please. Once I'm out of my cell, of course. As a small memento."

He sounded casual. The request, of course, was anything but. Short of an actual body part, none of Hook's belongings would bring nearly as much power, and who, in the Dark One's debt, would ever dare to defy him? Hook tried to will Emma to be the exception, to find the courage she'd used against him and Cora, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Here's what I'm going to do," she said slowly, taking the hook out of her drawer. She weighed it in her hands for a moment, before giving it to the astonished Belle. "You take it."

"Me?" Belle said. "Why me?"

"Because you're the one person in this room I trust not to kill anyone. Keep it safe, and hidden. If Hook gives you the least bit of trouble, you give it to Gold. Not a moment sooner. Are you okay with that?"

"Okay," Belle said, still dazed.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, looking none too pleased. "That's not what I asked for, dearie."

"That's what you'll get."

While Belle having his hook was infinitely preferable to Rumpelstiltskin having it, Hook still couldn't bear the sight. He moved to take it away, not even forming any proper plan, but before he could reach it, Emma had her gun up.

"If you touch her, I will shoot you, is that clear? Now, get out of here, and don't give me any reason to put you back in, because next time I'll just throw away the key."

He was rather surprised that she hadn't already, with or without Belle's cooperation, and while he was so angry with her, with all of them, that he just wanted to kill something, he felt a strange sort of triumph too. She might deny it, but he was getting somewhere with her.

"I could do worse than spend my time in your company," he said, winking at her. As he approached the door, he sweetly told Belle, "Why don't you ask your man what happened to your first fiancé, that's a good girl? Oh, don't look at me like that, I've no clue. All I know is that he went to rescue you, and was never seen again."

The suspicion on her face, and the guilty anger on Rumpelstiltskin's, was enough to make Hook grin, but once he was outside, his smile died away. He punched the wall with his broken sheath. For all intents and purposes, Emma had tied him up again, and yet he had no choice but to be grateful. If Rumpelstiltskin had had his way, he could have kissed his revenge goodbye entirely.


Through whatever means, Rumpelstiltskin was also soon set free with what Emma called a "lack of evidence," which Hook found laughable since they both knew he'd set the fire. Since nothing new was happening with the trap, Hook was forced to lay low for the time being, and instruct his crew to do the same.

Thus, when Queen Regina came into the liquor store to ask him a favour, he was even more wary than he would usually be.

"Why would I do anything for you, Your Majesty?" he asked. "You are by far the most hated person in this town. I would endear myself to nobody."

"You would escape my wrath," she said, failing to muster the commanding tone that she'd used in the Enchanted Forest.

"If your wrath was of any consequence, you would have killed me already," he said. "Isn't most of your power gone, anyway? I don't trust your ability to harm or help me."

"I need to get rid of Cora," she said, "and you will help me. Or would you rather I just let her out of her cage?"

He fell silent at that, contemplating the alternatives. Cora was the most powerful ally he'd ever had. In a way, having her loose might serve as just the leverage he needed against Rumpelstiltskin, but that only worked if he could trust her, which of course he couldn't. His own fault as much as hers, but impossible to change at this state.

"Why me?" he asked.

"Because you're strong and ruthless. Do this for me, and I promise to aid you in your mission."

Striking any sort of deal with the Queen based on promises alone would be ridiculous, but doing nothing would probably end up worse in the long run. "I think I'd prefer a different form of payment."

"Which is?"

He made a quick calculation in his head and said, "Five thousand."

"Five thousand what?" she asked impatiently.

"Dollars, I believe, is the general currency."

"You want money?"

"I want money."

Her well-manicured hands clenched so hard into fists that her nails must have left marks in her palms. "Fine. Do you want it in cash, or do you have a bank account I should send it to?"

"Send it to Starkey," he said. "A pleasure doing business with you, Your Majesty."

She scoffed at that and stormed out of the shop, but it took only a couple of hours for Starkey to confirm that the money had reached his account, and so the next day Hook took some time off to help deal with Cora.

The stairs had brand new banisters, but the cage built from the old ones was still in the cellar. It looked every bit as slapdash as when it was first created, yet so far in one piece.

"What now, then?" he asked.

"We'll drag it up from the cellar and drive it somewhere else, where the magic will ensure that my mother is no more trouble to me."

That sounded beyond shifty, but Hook figured that the first part should bring no negative consequences, even if the logistics of it might be a bit tricky. He walked around the cage, gauging its size and weight.

"I'll need some rope," he said.

She went to fetch some, without a word, and was remarkably amenable while he instructed her to pull various rope ends as he tied the hitches and knots, finishing with a bowline loop that he threw over his shoulder.

"Right, then," he said. "Push when I say."

With their combined efforts, they got the cage out of the house and up on the wagon attached to her car. It was a bumpy ride, and he figured she could have done it much more easily with magic, even if it was, as they said, unpredictable in this world. He'd heard about her promise to her son – Emma's son – but he thought she was really taking it a bit too far. Then again, it wasn't so different from the way he'd been forced to comply with Emma's wishes, excepting that Emma had actual power in this town, while Henry only had power over his mother's too-weak heart.

As Hook rocked the cage over to get it on the wagon, he asked, "She's not awake in there, is she?"

It seemed a painful and undignified fate, to be held in such a small area for weeks and then be shaken like baggage.

"She's in stasis," Regina replied, her face stony.

Hook asked no more questions, and they got in the car, driving to the edge of town, where Regina stopped. Unstrapping her seatbelt, she said, "I want you to take the car and drive across that line." At his evident disbelief, she added, "It's only fifty yards, and there's no traffic. I'll show you how."

"I know what that line is," he said, watching the white paint that crossed the road and was replaced by string where the woods took over. The first time he'd seen it and been told of its properties, he had marvelled at how ordinary it looked. "No, thank you."

Judging by the way she pressed her lips together, she had believed him as ignorant of the ramifications of the curse as he still was of so many other Storybrooke things.

"You were never part of the curse to begin with," she said. "You should be fine."

"Neither was Cora," he said, "so you're lying to me. That's not a wise move, Your Majesty."

"Are you threatening me?" she demanded, outraged. "How dare you?"

"Oh, I dare," he assured her, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

She drummed her fingers against her knee, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "So, I suppose you think we should just leave her here? I should call your accountant, ask for my money back?"

That would have been his second choice, but a much more pleasant option had already presented itself. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he said, "but even without a driver, this car can still roll, can it not? We could push it over the border."

Her fingers stopped. "But then I'd lose my car."

"If you don't want to, you don't want to," he said with a shrug.

"It could work," she said, thinking out loud. "The car's not too hard to get across, but the trailer's a problem. We're on flat ground, I don't know if I can get it far enough. Unless we weigh down the gas with something, but then the car would just keep going until it smashed into something. Then again, I suppose it's lost anyway."

"Or you could ask Emma to drive it," Hook said. "She's immune to the curse, isn't she?"

Her expression made it clear what she thought of that idea, and he chuckled. Evidently he wasn't the only one who found the sheriff's lawful diligence detrimental to his plans.

"All right," she said, stepping out of the car. "Find a brick or something."

He found a suitably flat rock and they tied it to the pedal. Regina started the car while Hook stood back, and she jumped off a few yards before the city line. Together, they watched it cross the border, veer wildly across the road, and roll across a ditch into a tree.

"Using magic would have been much easier, would it not?" Hook asked, as smoke began to rise from the front of the car.

"I promised Henry I wouldn't, unless it was an emergency."

"Considering your mother's power, I'd call this an emergency. And isn't the next part magical?"

"On the contrary," she said. "It's taking the magic away."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and across the line, the pieces of wood started falling off the wagon, first one by one, then in droves, revealing Cora's dishevelled form.

"Mother!" Regina cried out, and then, her voice breaking, "Mama!"

Cora sat up, slowly, steadying herself with one hand and bringing the other up to her forehead; stasis or not, the ordeal had clearly left her with a headache. She looked around, and said something that neither of the other two could hear.

"Mother, will you please come back here? It's dangerous out there!"

Cora raised her head and looked at Regina in silence for a minute, her face revealing nothing but bewilderment and worry. Then she slid off the trailer and started walking back, a slow, laboured shuffle that would have suited a woman twenty years her senior.

"Oh, mama!" Regina said as soon as Cora was back, throwing her arms around her mother in a tight hug. "Don't ever do that again! You frightened me so!"

"What happened?" Cora asked, sounding as if she had to go deep inside her mind to find those words.

"You tried to drive. You mustn't drive in your condition, what were you thinking?"

Hook listened to the admirable display of acting talents that Regina showed in the gushing over her mother. Perhaps there was even something genuine in there, buried in the liberal helping of manure.

After a while, Cora's gaze drifted in his direction, and she asked, "And who are you?"

"This is..." Regina said, letting go of her mother.

Hook cut in. "Killian Jones," he said, and took Cora's hand in his to kiss it. "A friend, who is glad to see you safe."

Cora straightened her back and raised her chin, most of the old-woman frailty falling off her as she gave him a coquettish smile and said, "Charmed, I'm sure."

And so she was, he realized. It was his most definite clue that Cora as he had known her no longer existed, because she'd never once been duped by his bag of tricks.

It was a suitable solution, elegant even, but it still had him frowning, and as Regina placed her mother on a bench in order to buy some water and aspirin at the drugstore, he murmured into her ear, "All's well that end's well?"

"Is there something more you want, Hook?" Regina snapped in an equally low voice.

"Don't get me wrong, I admire your resourcefulness. But if you think this is anything less than murder, you're deluding yourself."

"Thank you for your services," she replied. "They'll no longer be needed."

He shrugged and returned to Cora on the bench to give his farewell. The smile she gave him made him think. The town border had taken her memories, but she'd had a strong magical skill which might still remain. If so, Regina be damned, because proper use of his further services where Cora was concerned might give him the little extra push he needed to succeed.


Hook had bought a phone on the day the Jolly Roger went under, but it had been ruined by the plunge into cold water, and so he'd had to buy another one, before bidding the call centre goodbye forever. The phone had a variety of bizarre functions that he figured he'd learn when the time required it, and, thanks to Andie, every time he got a call it sang a shanty about some lad named Joe.

In addition to this song, it also had a "ping" sound that it made when he got text messages, although he could never quite get used to his coat suddenly going "ping".

He had just sold two young women some purple liquid that, judging by the label, combined perfectly fine alcohol with some fruity abomination, when the phone did just that. Hauling it out of his pocket, he read, "Meeting my gran today. Wanna come? /A"

The question was simple enough, and yet it made him scowl. His arrangement with Ariel was fun and easy-going, but she had shown little interest in meeting his crew, and he none at all in meeting her friends, which he had come to realize were not many. Relatives were more serious than friends; relatives were people he usually took care not to get introduced to. While Ariel's uneasy relationship with her family was unfortunate for his coin-purse, it was in all other ways a blessing.

On the other hand, he did find it likely that the old woman might have some valuables, even in this world, and granddames were often sentimental when it came to their grandchildren.

"I would be delighted," he wrote back, and got a brief message of punctuation in reply, which he had learned signified happiness.

They left in the early evening. He watched her in the car, trying to figure out what she'd been thinking when she invited him over, but her attention was on the road and her phone in her bag, so there was little point in asking any questions.

This world's habit of keeping all the elderly and infirm in one place was unusual, but the house was grander than he would have thought from the notion. It had bright corridors and reminded him most of all of a more colourful version of a vestal temple.

Ariel led the way into a large room where several old people were seated in front of a television set, watching a peculiar display of balls and numbers that seemed to be some form of wager. Frail as they might be, these people seemed as fond of gambling as a pirate crew. A few more sat in other areas of the room, and by a small table, an old woman in a wheeled chair was laying out cards. The moment she looked up, Hook knew that this was Ariel's grandmother, not only from her benevolent recognition of the younger woman, but from that regal posture, which he'd seen but rarely in Ariel herself.

"Hello, dear," she said, the volume of her voice indicating that her hearing wasn't what it once had been, though part of it might have been her experience at giving commands. She had an accent which Hook couldn't place, with soft vowels and a throaty R. "Sit down. Is this the young man?"

"In a manner of speaking," Hook said, and pulled up chairs, first for Ariel, then for himself. Most likely, he outranked the lady by quite a few years, though he wasn't expert enough in mermaid aging to tell for sure.

The old dowager scrutinized him, packing away her cards at the same time. Though her hair was white and cut short, her eyes were as blue as Ariel's. "Hm. He's handsome enough. What are your intentions with my grand-daughter?"

She certainly didn't waste any time, and he wondered if he ought to lie. The trouble was that Ariel was sitting right there, and she not only knew the truth, but up until now had seemed fine with it. Looking to her for guidance on how to play things, he saw her give him a reassuring nod.

"We enjoy each other's company," he said. "I don't plan on staying long in this town, though, and... well, I wasn't exactly going to ask for her hand in marriage."

"Thank heavens for that!" she exclaimed.

Ariel made a couple of quick signs that he couldn't grasp the meaning of, but the dowager translated it with some indignation.

"Friends and sex? What kind of relationship is 'friends and sex'? You never could get the hang of things, girl! Seduction is not friendship, and just because the rules in this world prevent us from eating them, that's no reason to get sentimental."

Some of the other residents were glancing over in their direction now, though most were still utterly engrossed by their wager.

"You listen to me, young man," she said. "I don't mind Ariel having shenanigans with some pirate, it's about time she did, but that's as far as it goes. In this ghastly place, I suppose I must get used to the idea of her future intended being human, but I do have standards. It should at the very least be a man of means and culture. A lawyer, perhaps, or a doctor. Am I making myself clear?"

"I don't think either of us have an argument with that," he said.

Ariel shrugged and made a wry face, signing something.

"A nec-what?" her grandmother asked, and Ariel repeated the signs. "Yes, yes, don't be so literal. I'm obviously not in favour of doctors who raise the dead. Such a mess. Now, be a good girl and go tell the nurses how I want my drawers organised, I've tried to talk to them, but they just won't listen. You're so diplomatic, you might get through to them."

Ariel smiled and rose from her seat, but when Hook tried to do the same, she put a hand on his shoulder to indicate that he should stay. She gave him a quick wink and a thumbs up, and then she left.

"You seem full of contradictions," the dowager said. "For one thing, Ariel told me your name is Hook, yet you don't wear one. Why?"

"It's having repairs," Hook said, looking down on his exposed stump, which still had some faded red burns from his encounter with Belle's taser. Jukes was working with the local carpenter on the replacement hook, and they'd made some progress, but the fit wasn't quite right yet.

"I see. Then there's the fact that you're a pirate who speaks like a gentleman. Captain, I assume?"

"Yes."

"And how about your father?"

"Long dead."

"Don't be cute. Before he died, what was he?"

"A knight," he said. "Minor knight. Not much money."

The dowager nodded. "And you're the younger son."

"Fourth son," he said. They both knew what that meant, and so he summed up his familiar tale: "Joined the navy, found it deadly dull, turned to the privateers, worked my way up to captain, then the war ended and I became my own man."

"Meaning piracy. Did your family disown you?"

"Forcefully so," he said, and found that time had healed the hurt enough for him to grin at the admission. "Though my mother relented some after my father died. Not enough to put me back in her will, just enough to plead for me to mend my ways and to weep for me in a few temples."

"What a joy of a son you must have been," she said sarcastically. "I suppose Ariel finds some sort of kinship in that."

Now that the dowager mentioned it, he recalled that Ariel was the youngest daughter, and there was no doubt that her actions had disappointed and disgraced her family, if in a manner entirely different from his own.

"Fifteen years old, she stopped eating sailors," the dowager said. "Said they looked too much like merfolk. 'Eat the legs, then!' I said, but she wouldn't hear of it. Her sister, foolish girl, said, 'Then you might as well stop eating fish, they look like us too.' So she did, and lived off seaweed for a month! Well, she tired of it, soon enough, except she still wouldn't eat anything with the head still attached. We thought it was just a whim, but it was a sign of things to come. This unhealthy obsession with humanity, and the way she fell head over tail for men like that prince. Her father had the sea-witch executed, of course, but by then it was too late." As Hook was still taking that in, she told him, "You don't seem like her type."

"I don't suppose I am," he said, and since he knew how two of her previous liaisons had ended, he added, "That's probably for the best."

"I'd say. I wouldn't have thought she'd be your type, either."

"I don't really have a type," he said, but he understood what she meant. There were the girls he flirted with, and the girls he stuck around for, and if he'd been given a description of Ariel in advance, she wouldn't have struck him as being the latter, even taking the similarities to Wendy into account.

"She claims you saved her life."

This was his moment to milk his actions for all they were worth and then some, but the dowager seemed too sharp to fall for fair talk. "It was a storm, we picked her up from the water."

"Why?"

"At first we thought she was one of ours. Then..." He was about to make a joke about how they couldn't have thrown her back in, but then, they wouldn't have had to. She'd been more than willing to do so herself. "It seemed a pity to let her die. I wanted to bring her back to her people. That... didn't happen."

"Well, better late than never," the dowager said. "Her father won't pay your dues, but I suppose I must. Will you take it in jewellery? I don't have much in the way of cash."

Now that the moment was finally here,he wasn't as keen on the remuneration as he'd thought he'd be, but he needed every resource he could grasp, and couldn't let some ill ease withhold him from treasure. "Normally, I'd love that arrangement, but I'm afraid I'm not in any position to resell jewellery. I have unfinished business with the local pawnbroker."

"With Mr. Gold? You just become more of a catch every minute, don't you? Very well. I'll sell the jewellery and give you the earnings afterwards. Will fifteen hundred do?"

That was considerably less than Regina had given him, but a favour done decades ago could never bring up the same price as a more recent one. Also, it was clear that despite her airs, in this world the dowager had no great riches.

"You're too kind," he said with a small bow. "Thank you."

"Hm. You're a smooth-talker, whatever else you may be. Now, bring back my grand-daughter, I want to speak with her. Oh, and if you do insist on friendly relations with her, I do think you could spend a few of those dollars taking her out to dinner or something. Show her a good time before you leave town."

"Of course, milady," he said, rising from his chair. "It's an honour."