A/N: Thank you all again for your lovely reviews! May you enjoy this chapter as much as we enjoyed creating it!
Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time. May credit be given where credit is due.
~Chapter X~
Rumplestitlskin watched the tiny dust motes tumble about in the waning sunlight that leaked through the porthole of the Jolly Roger's brig. The cell was roughly two meters long and two meters wide, with a thin burlap hammock suspended from the ceiling by iron chains. Black and green mildew painted the corners, its sickly sweet stench amplified by the heat. A quiet scratching sound within one of the walls suggested a rat infestation.
Hours of sitting in the musty, sweltering cell beneath the captain's quarters eventually dulled Rumplestiltskin's unadulterated fury at being locked once more in a cage, or at least banished it to a separate part of his mind. He passed a hand through his hair, his other hand absentmindedly fiddling with a knot in the wooden bulkhead. Now, as he laid back against the damp floor of his prison, he found his thoughts wandering to Belle.
Was she still alone and bound in the middle of the forest? Had she even regained consciousness? Fear and despair roiled in his chest at the thought of what could have been avoided had he not been so selfish. His mind continued replaying the look of utter betrayal that had crossed Belle's features when he refused to use the magic, and he frequently found himself tempted to use it now, to send a rush of it toward the devil seated a floor above him.
But what good would it do? Was the little amount of magic he possessed even strong enough to pass through the ship's wood? Even if it was, he was still compelled to remain inside this cell until Hook commanded otherwise. He could not even convince his body to approach the door, much less tinker with its lock.
He wished he could return to Belle, untie her and apologize profusely for his foolishness, listen to her lilting voice (even if it was yelling at him), run his fingers through her soft, blonde hair...
Or was it brown? Rumplestitlskin closed his eyes, imagining his Belle standing before him. He saw her smooth, alabaster skin, her smiling pink lips, her striking turquoise eyes...but he could not place the color of her hair. Before he could dwell on it further, frustration now joining the mosaic of emotions twisting inside of him, the barred door to his cell swung open with a loud clang.
Hook stood in the doorway, the crooked dagger clutched in his right hand and a small smirk stretching his lips.
"Walk with me," he said quietly, and although his voice sounded calm, monotonous even, the sharp yank of the magical chains wound about Rumplestiltskin's soul implied otherwise. Hook turned about on his heel, walking toward the ladder leading to the ship's deck. Rumplestiltskin's body followed obediently, while his mind launched a thousand silent curses and insults at the man's elaborately dressed back.
The sudden onslaught of cool air, combined with the fact that he had not drunk anything for nearly two days, made Rumplestiltskin's head swim as they stepped onto the deck. He braced an arm against the foremast, blinking hard a few times until the world steadied itself. Hook stared at him, something which looked like concern but Rumplestiltskin knew was annoyance flashing in his eyes. The captain continued walking toward the side of the ship, pausing to grab a tin cup from a passing pirate and plunge it into a trough of fresh water. He brusquely pushed the cup into Rumplestiltskin's hand, before turning around and leaning back slightly against the starboard gunwale.
"You're no use to me dead," Hook drawled as his eyes took in his prisoner's sweat-drenched forehead and chapped lips.
Rumplestiltskin said nothing, lifting the cup to his lips and taking several quick gulps. The liquid almost burned as it slowly slid down his parched throat. He lifted the cup again to throw back the rest, but froze before it could touch his lips. His stomach twisted as he realized it was not water he drank.
It was blood.
A sound somewhere between a gasp and a gag slipped past his lips, and with a jerk of his hand he let the cup fall to the deck. It clattered loudly against the wooden surface, rolling a few feet away. The liquid spilled out of the cup, but it no longer shone crimson.
Rumplestiltskin stared at the transparent puddle for a moment, before turning around and leaning against the gunwale, wondering if he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat, forcing back another wave of nausea. He thought he heard Hook say something, but he could not make out the words over his pulse pounding in his ears.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze caught slight movement in the gentle waves lapping against the Jolly Roger's hull. A series of dull thuds echoed around them, as though the ship were sailing through debris. He leaned farther over the ledge, squinting slightly. A large bundle of black fabric appeared to be floating alongside the ship. He stared at it, vaguely aware of Hook leaning over the gunwale to look as well.
A rougher wave slapped against the bundle, forcing it to turn over. It was not debris through which the ship sailed; it was corpses. They bobbed lightly in the dark water, knocking against the ship's oak hull. A pale, bloated face with large, rotting eyes stared up at him. It's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, it's clothing tattered and water-logged. Rumplestiltskin stared in paralyzed horror as more lifeless bodies emerged from the ocean's depths, their eyes open but unseeing, their black uniforms hanging on their skeletal, decomposing forms.
On each of their chests was a deep, gaping wound Rumplestiltskin knew his dagger had caused.
Rumplestitlskin whirled around, shutting his eyes. Bile once again burned the back of his throat at the memory of their peeling, sallow flesh. The lows thuds of the corpses knocking against the hull echoed the throbbing pain in his head.
"You see it, too," Hook's voice said from beside him. Rumplestiltskin's eyelids shot open; eyebrows furrowing, he looked at his compeller.
Hook still stared into the water, his eyes bearing a haunted look. Half of the sun was submerged beneath the horizon, casting a deep, scarlet haze over the ocean and its lone vessel.
"The crocodile," he explained, his gaze wandering along the water's surface, "My men don't see it."
Confusion creasing his brow further, Rumplestiltskin slowly turned round to glance over the edge of the gunwale. The ominous thudding was gone, the only sound now the gentle slap of the waves against the Jolly Roger's oak hull. The corpses were gone. His eyes scanned the water, searching but not finding any sign of a crocodile.
"It lurks. Waiting. Always waiting," Hook murmured, a slight shudder rocking his shoulders.
"Ever since that little demon cut off my hand," he jerked his left arm in front of him, glaring at the silver hook which glowed like flames in the dying sunlight, "and threw it to the beast. Now it wants the rest of me."
Rumplestiltskin remained silent, feeling a slight twinge of appreciation toward the person responsible for Hook's disability.
"Peter Pan," Hook snarled, digging the tip of his hook into the wooden edge of the gunwale. "A thieving, careless boy who approaches life as though it were nothing more than a game, who is practically worshipped by the island itself." Hook scoffed at that last thought, before adding, "Even the weather answers to him. It rained for weeks after I killed one of his little followers."
Disgust swelled in Rumplestiltskin's chest at the man's matter-of-fact tone. No amount of penance could pardon the murder of a child.
"If the boy offends you so, why not kill him as you did his friend?" Rumplestiltskin asked harshly, eyes hardening in anger as his master's lips stretched into a small smirk.
Hook chuckled mirthlessly, turning to face Rumplestiltskin. "Every attempt I have made on his life has been in vain. My crew and I have searched for Pan and his league of brats endlessly; it was what we were doing when we so fortunately crossed your path. It was only by chance that I managed to catch one of them."
Rumplestiltskin smirked condescendingly at the man's words, biting back a low chuckle. Hook glared at him, quirking a brow.
"Bested by a child? How tragic," Rumplestitlskin elaborated, his smirk widening as Hook's gaze grew black with fury.
"Pan is not just a child. He's a menace. And the odds are not exactly in my favor: the boy can fly," Hook growled, his defensive tone only fueling Rumplestiltskin's dark mirth. Something in Hook's demeanor seemed to change then, his rigid posture slackened slightly, the fury in his eyes replaced by a drawn, haunted look. "He can forget," he murmured, staring once more into the ocean's depths.
Rumplestiltskin stared at his captor, watching as the man's right hand fidgeted slightly with his silver hook. For the first time he saw not a ruthless, bitter villain, but a young, tormented man. Standing so near to him, Rumplestiltskin could see that the lines in his forehead and around his eyes were more a consequence of years of a hard life at sea than age.
"Why are you telling me this?" Rumplestiltskin snapped, unnerved by this sudden change in Hook. The captain gazed into the water, languidly dragging his hook along the edge of the gunwale, leaving a shallow groove in the surface.
"That crocodile has gone hungry for a very long time. I imagine he would be satisfied with any meal, whether a crooked captain or a carefree child."
Hook looked up at him, his black eyes now glinting with a sinister hunger. His lips slowly stretched into a dark smirk.
"I have decided what task your magic is going to fulfill for me."
Rumplestiltskin stared back at him, trepidation now warring with the anger in his chest.
"You are going to kill Pan."
It was not a command; the distinct absence of the telltale chains yanking at his body told Rumplestiltskin that. But it was a plan, and a daunting one at that. Rumplestiltskin and Hook eyed each other for a moment, the latter silently daring the former to protest.
But Rumplestiltskin said nothing, merely staring at his compeller, a new surge of revulsion flooding his veins like viscous tar.
"Return to the brig," Hook commanded abruptly, and Rumplestiltskin tightened his jaw as his legs obediently turned him around, walking toward the ladder leading down to his prison.
When he entered his cell, slamming the barred door behind him and wincing slightly as the heavy lock clicked into place, the icy compulsion loosened, disappearing almost completely.
Rumplestiltskin's lips stretched into a primal grin. Hook had commanded him to return to the brig.
He had not commanded him to stay there.
A/N: If there's anything Rumplestiltskin excels at, it's finding a loophole!
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