Hook has two choices, stay awake with little to no consequences or return to being cursed as Detective Rogers. Which will he choose?
- At the Police Station -
Hook slammed into the door, barely pulling the handle as he loudly entered the glass office space. Weaver turned around, seeing his distraught partner, asked snarkily in defense to his disbelief, "What brings you here on your day off, Detective? Surely you didn't miss me or the case that much? I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow."
"No, it can't, Weaver," he shouted. "I don't know how exactly it happened but I've got everything figured out but that. You've got the answers and you're gonna fix it." He grabbed the older man by the collar of his button down, pushing him up against the wall.
Weaver pushed back on Hook, poking him as he angrily warned, "Calm down. I advise you to get your hands off me before you do something you'll regret."
Hook let him go and took a deep breath. He took the remnants of the flower out of his coat pocket and entrusted it into Weaver's hand. "Do you know what this is?"
Weaver adjusted his collar with one hand and looked at the item in his other. "A rare Pixie Flower, barely usable" he said amused and slightly dejected. "If this is here, then that's not surprising. What is, is your sorry state on this gloomy Sunday. Spit it out. Don't leave out any details."
Hook rubbed his hand over his face in frustration, sat back into his office chair, and explained,
"Look, Al-, Tilly found this "Pixie Flower" this morning growing on a sidewalk. Never saw it before but next thing I know, I'm awake and she isn't." He sighed, gritting his teeth, "Tell me, Crocodile, that you know something to help with this situation."
"Captain," Rumple said with unsettling glee, "I guess I should welcome you to this hellhole!"
He continued, with grave sincerity, "Unfortunately, unless you have a hundred of these lying around, no one will be waking from this into something nice. The people planning in the dark are setting their plans in action as we, well we're just following breadcrumbs with Hansel as our dead lead."
Hook felt like his soul had left his body. If the Crocodile didn't have a solution having been awake for who knew how long, there wasn't anything he could do. "What can I do?" Purely led by emotion, he admitted, "I don't think I can go back to Alice, live out our daily lives, and act like I don't know her."
The older man pitied his lawfully good partner that was now meshed with his past life. "You might just not have to."
"What do you mean?" the awakened former pirate asked, leaning forward in his chair with hope.
"Let's just say, I've dealt with this dilemma before with a royal couple. Give me some time and I can make a potion with the rest of the magic in this flower to make you forget."
"What's the price?"
"On the house." Rumple smiled. "It would have been a pleasure to see you in pain long ago but not anymore. Plus, I don't think Alice would appreciate it if I let you continue to have a fire cooking under you anyhow." He paused, a grim seriousness taking control as he explained, "You'll be under the curse again. Rogers will return as a trusty annoyance to my side and everything that you are will stay asleep until a miracle happens or all hell breaks loose. No one will be the wiser. The only thing is, are you sure you can handle it?"
"If it means I can sleep relatively fine and spend more time with her in any way, I think so." Hook chuckled at the thought of relying on his former enemy. "Old chap, I'll have to leave you with this mess."
"I'll be fine. Not that your other self hasn't dealt me with a worse hand. Jones', always recklessly running into things they don't understand. Captain, I suggest you say your last words and meet me back here in a half hour."
Hook nodded, thankful, and headed back to his apartment, the rain coming down to a sprinkle.
- Back at the apartment -
He entered to see Tilly sketching out bits of the flea market from the tents he could see on the paper. "Are you free?" he asked.
Tilly put down her charcoal pencil and said, "All ears. You have my undivided attention. Sit, sit," she motioned him toward the couch that he sat down on as she sat criss-cross applesauce on the rug. "What has life got on you?"
"More like what I've got on life. One moment, I'm just having breakfast, ready to have a day reading a book, watching the news, and catching up on paperwork. The next thing I know, I'm left muddled with regrets and things I had forgotten. If I could go back in time, could things have been better?" He let out a deep sigh. "I guess I've always been selfish. I don't know if this even makes sense, but I'm straying away from dealing with a situation instead of staying and trying to fix things."
Tilly rested her chin on her hands. "Seems like you've got a case of self doubt. You can't change the past but you know what I think?" She tilted her head. "That doesn't matter. I think you're prideful and a grumpy pants sometimes, especially when you don't have your coffee first, but overall, you care about the wellbeing of others. Probably helped others more than you know," Tilly said, softly smiling. "It's okay to be selfish. I don't know what you're going through entirely, but it's not a weakness if you're choosing to take care of yourself first so that you can fight another day."
Hook, comforted by his daughter's words of wisdom, felt the weight of the world fall off his shoulders. "You're probably right. Thanks for the advice."
"Happy to help. Just saying, you should probably check on your cold breakfast." Tilly grabbed her drawing utensil, twirling it playfully, before she pointed her drawing utensil at the kitchen island where his half eaten bagel lay on a plate next to a cold mug of coffee.
"I can't believe this."
His lips tightened to a fine line as his hand went to the top of his head in annoyance, all of which drew a chuckle from Tilly. He must have seemed like a hypocrite after dashing out that morning. After walking over, picking up and dumping his forgotten meal in the trash and putting the dirty dishes in the sink, his phone vibrated in his jean pocket. Hook picked it up to read, 'The package is secure and ready for pickup in your mailbox.' He grinned. It was hard to imagine any other situation where the Dark One would be a messenger of goodness rather than evil. Weaver surely had outdone himself if he was talking in code and delivering it unlike they had planned.
"I'll be right back, just gonna get the mail," he shouted, grabbing his keys once more. Tilly gave a small wave, the rest of her hidden behind the giant notebook she was sketching on.
Down in the lobby, Hook opened the mailbox with his keys. In it was the usual junk, a letter addressed to Tilly, and a manilla envelope he was sure contained the potion. During inspection, the potion had a little note attached. 'Take whenever you're ready.' He was sure he was, filled with hope that things would be okay, and took the parcels back to the apartment.
"Anything good today?" Tilly asked as he walked in.
"Just some spam and something you might like." He dropped a letter on the coffee table with a wink. Even while cursed, nothing could part the two women from falling in love. Maybe there was hope after all in this mess, he thought.
Opening it, her blue eyes widened with joy. The letter was from Margot and inside there were a bunch of photo prints. The small notecard with a painted birdhouse drawing on one side included said, "I believe you said pictures are worth a thousand words. Thought you might enjoy these until we see each other again." The first few photos of Margot on her journey from places around the world, some of food, and the majority were of the two of them, mainly Tilly when she wasn't looking. There was even one from that morning, of Tilly caught jumping into a puddle while holding Margot's yellow umbrella at the start of the drizzle.
"Never without a camera, are you, Targot?" Tilly asked, amused. She found it amazing that Margot could capture such life with her lenses. Although the dirty blonde, bespectacled woman had said that Tilly could do that with her art in turn.
In the kitchen, content with his circumstances, Hook opened the potion and poured its contents into a new coffee mug. The thing smelled like lemongrass and something off putting, making his nose wrinkle. He added some coffee for good measure and stirred. He tossed away the evidence of the envelope and the bottle. Sat back down on a stool, he placed the finished crossword out in front of him for good measure.
Hook grabbed the mug, hesitating on the life changing path it would give him if he drank from it. He contemplated his choices as the familiar scent of coffee danced in the air. On one hand, he could watch over Alice and learn her intricacies without any pain in his chest from the Poisoned Heart curse. On the other hand, he had to let her go, becoming Rogers again without knowing what would happen next without the truth of the past and what truly was ahead. He shook his head. His emotions would get the best of him and his lies would push him to further guilt. There was no way he could hide his identity with the slip ups he had earlier. Even if he could, his daughter was too observant to accept his deception and would inevitably worm the unbelievable truth out of him.
Without a doubt, it would be for the best that he drank the potion. Rogers was who was needed, not him and his swashbuckling fatherhood. "Bottoms up," Hook said, downing the magically spiked mildly warm coffee.
Within a matter of seconds, he slumped over, his eyes closing. Rogers immediately sat up, dazed. "That's odd. I must have fallen asleep," he grumbled. The crossword was solved. Tilly must have finished it while I was sleeping, he thought. A look at his watch determined that two hours had passed by.
He could have sworn he was talking to Tilly last and holding something. He looked around and saw her looking at some photos happily. Must be Margot's doing, Rogers thought with a smile, glad all was well. "Better find something to do," he announced, stretching his arms, his body feeling restless despite his mind being invigorated. He got up and put his mug in the sink, only to find another one in there and his dirty dishes. The detective mentally chastised himself, blaming his forgetful state on a food coma and a late night at the office some night prior that probably threw his sleeping schedule off balance. With motivation to do something relaxing after, he started washing the dishes.
