The Past

Captain Killian Jones stared moodily into his tankard of beer.

His ship had landed on this island - the first landing since its rechristening as a pirate ship - sometime earlier in the afternoon. Killian couldn't completely remember the name of it, but he did remember it had something to do with turtles*. The name was a good one, really. Like a turtle's shell, the island offered protection to a certain breed: pirates. Certainly, all of the kingdoms knew about the island's existence. However, they also had the sense to realize that striking a concentrated nest of ruthless pirates may be a foolish idea; Killian imagined that the amount of pirate ships docked on the island outnumbered any kingdom's navy two to one. As a result, the turtle island remained. It was a good place to buy supplies, buy a woman's company for the night, find a crew, or just to meet other men and women who had chosen the same career.

Perhaps that was why Killian was surprised to feel so lonely. He'd sent his crew off to do whatever it is they wanted to do, with strict rules not to rob anyone. He had no idea if pirates robbed each other while on their island sanctuary, and he certainly didn't want to find out in any unpleasant way.

His loneliness certainly wasn't from a lack of company, though. The sounds of shouting, laughter, and music were deafening inside the pub he had decided to visit. Even in his small corner table, he still had to put up with drunken louts stumbling towards him. However, other than that, the only interaction with others he had was the occasional suspicious glare.

"Mon ange, ma belle, ma minette-"

Words of endearment spilled desperately from a man who backed into his table with a thump before receiving a smart smack to the face by a busty woman.

Killian sighed a long-suffering sigh before draining his glass.

The man turned to look at him, studying him with light brown eyes lined heavily with eyeliner.

"Can I help you?" Killian drawled, hand automatically going to his belt for a knife.

"Non, but I think that I can 'elp you," he said in a heavy accent, drawing up a chair without invitation. He was clearly at least slightly inebriated.

"I doubt it," he scowled, hoping that the man would go away.

No such luck.

"You are new? A navy deserter?"

Killian bristled. "No." He took offense at the idea of desertion. Only cowards did that, and he certainly wasn't a coward. Cowards had no honour, whereas honour was his creed. He wasn't a deserter. At least, not really. He hadn't run away. He had declared war. Surely that made him a revolutionary, if anything.

The man chuckled, before motioning to a nearby barmaid. "Rum for myself and my friend."

"We're not friends," Killian interrupted irritably.

The man ignored him. "Listen, friend. No captain will 'ave you aboard if you're dressed like that. You may 'ave lost your navy coat, but unless you do more than that, no one will 'ire you. They'll think you're a spy."

"I'm not looking to be hired, sir," he said haughtily. "I'm captain of my own ship, and I shall ask for your advice if I require it."

"You do require it. What sort of crew will follow a captain with 'air ribbons?"

Killian scowled, but his hand flew to his hair. It had grown out while he had been in the midst of mourning Ciarra, and as his current hairstyle was in fashion back in the capital of his kingdom, he had seen no reason to cut it. However, the man was right. A quick scan about the room revealed that his hairstyle, if fashionable back home, looked very out of place in the tavern of pirates. There were plenty of men with long hair, bandanas, beads, and dreadlocks, but certainly no long hair tied back with a ribbon.

The Present

Without much success, Emma attempted to mask her silent laughter. The thought of Captain Hook with a hair ribbon was just too funny of an image.

"Go ahead, Swan, laugh. I imagine such a style is unusual for you, as well," Killian said without turning around.

The Past

When Killian turned back to his brown-eyed companion after his style epiphany, the man was smirking.

"You see? You need some 'elp, friend."

"And what makes you so interested in providing it?" He questioned suspiciously.

The man chuckled, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he surveyed Killian. Finally, he leaned back with a grin, as though having made up his mind on something. "You're a clever lad. Young, but clever."

"Answer the question."

"You remind me of someone, just slightly. An old friend who died some time ago. Allow me to honour this friend by assisting you."

Killian considered the man. He was tanned and somewhat wrinkled, perhaps twice Killian's age plus a few years. His hair may have been blonde once, but dirt had settled into it very comfortably and darkened the dreadlocks by at least several shades. While perhaps slightly drunk, the man still carried an air of intelligence and a certain charm.

"Who are you?" Killian asked finally.

"Jacques Moineau," he replied with a grin, offering his hand. "Pirate captain myself with quite the reputation."

While he'd never heard of him, Killian decided not to offend the man by acknowledging as much. "Killian Jones."

They shook hands just as the rum arrived.

"Who was this friend I remind you of?" Killian asked as soon as the serving girl had sauntered off again.

"A good man. Very honourable," replied Jacques as he poured each of them a shot. Killian regarded the deep brown liquid suspiciously. "My ship was stolen from me some time ago, and 'e 'elped me to obtain it again in exchange for a ride 'ome to 'is children."

"You knew my father?" Guessed Killian, eyes narrowing at once. "Edward Jones?" He bit back his repulsion at the thought of resembling his father in any noticeable way.

Jacques nodded with a sad smile. "Shall we drink to 'im?"

"No," Killian said coolly. "I hate to disappoint you, but my father was neither good nor honourable."

Jacques regarded him with pity in his eyes. "Edward did not think 'e was, either. From what I recall, 'e abandoned 'is sons and couldn't forgive 'imself."

"Good," snarled Killian, his mood having soured considerably at the first mention of his father.

"But then he worked very 'ard to return to them and destroy the final threat to them: his father, a Lord Alasdair."

"Yes, he went for revenge and failed. Thank you, I'm aware of that," retorted Killian, finally overcoming his scruples and downing his shot in a single gulp. Immediately, he started coughing and spluttering. "Ugh!"

Jacques chuckled. "Best get used to rum, friend. It is the best friend a man can 'ave on the seas."

Killian shot him a glare.

"Yes, Edward was a man who endured terrible loss, but went down fighting. A very good man," reiterated Jacques.

"If he'd been a good man, he would have come back to Liam and me, not thrown his life away," argued Killian.

"Ah, but would 'e 'ave been welcome back?" Asked Jacques with a knowing smirk.

"By Liam," Killian agreed. "So long as he was a law-abiding citizen with good morals."

"Which 'e was not, even if 'e 'ad been before. And by you?"

"No," he admitted, swirling his newly refilled rum around in its glass moodily. "But that shouldn't have mattered. If anything, he should have tried harder to earn our forgiveness and acceptance. He gave up, so he deserved everything he got. A man who doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. He shouldn't've thrown his life away."

"Shouldn't 'ave, should 'ave, it makes no difference. 'e did what 'e did. 'e was a good friend to me, and now I will be a good friend to 'is son." Jacques bared his teeth in yet another smile. Killian opened his mouth to argue, but Jacques cut him off. "If you 'ave trouble accepting the 'elp for that reason, think of it as me 'elping 'im repay 'is debt to you."

Killian nodded tightly, although he privately knew that no amount of help from a stranger would even start to remove the resentment he harboured towards his late father.

"How did you recognize me?" He asked curiously a few minutes later, as Jacques swallowed yet another gulp of rum.

"I knew your mother, as well. You look much like 'er. That, and also you moping 'ere by yourself. I met your father when 'e was doing much the same thing," Jacques chuckled at the memory.

At the mention of his mother, Killian's mouth dropped. "Wait, how did you know my mother?"

"I fell into piracy after my first career ended quite 'orribly," he admitted with a predatory smile that made Killian uncomfortable. "I went by a stage name at that time: Raoul. Perhaps your mother mentioned me? We were quite... close, for a time."

The Present

Emma burst out laughing again. "No way!"

"Aye, the very same one," groaned Killian.

The Past

Killian felt his face start to flush as he understood what the pirate was insinuating. "She may have mentioned you once or twice." To imitate your voice cracking, Killian added vindictively in his head, feeling his dislike for the older pirate rising by the second. He was also becoming increasingly curious as to how his father had become friends with this man. Maybe they had bonded over his mother's death. Or their shared passion for criminal activity. Or their mutual need of their other and their tenuous pre-existing connection that came from sleeping with the same woman. Killian didn't know, nor did he particularly care to find out.

"Yes, well, Christine was a lovely woman. I was sad to 'ear that she was dead."

Not knowing how to answer that, Killian simply nodded, grimacing through even more rum.

Finally, after suffering through more awkward conversation as Jacques drank his fill of alcohol, the two left the tavern for the filthy streets of the island. By that point, any doubts Killian had about association with this Jacques Moineau had been confirmed. Killian had decided, perhaps as soon as he heard mention of his father, that he had no desire to receive any further "help" from the man. Certainly, he had provided some helpful opinions, but Killian wanted nothing else from him. As a result, he gave him the slip as soon as possible, which wasn't difficult considering the amount of alcohol the man had consumed.

Nevertheless, the encounter was quite informative. Killian spent his evening purchasing various clothing and personal items, and, by the next morning, he barely recognized himself. His cotton uniform had been replaced by mostly leather, his hair was short and much more manageable, and he'd even bought some kohl for his eyes. Jacques had suggested getting some earlier, pointing out that many pirates used it. When Killian asked why, he could only half-understand the response through the slurring. However, he understood something about it being intimidating, or else protecting eyes from the sun? Killian wasn't sure if he believed much of what Jacques had said, but ended up trying it and deciding he liked it. At any rate, the black smudges helped to hide things that had left their mark on his face lately, like exhaustion and grief.

In the end, he barely recognized himself when he got back onto his ship the next day. He looked older, he noted, which pleased him. He also looked more authoritative. It was a good change, he decided, and perfect for his next plan of action.

There was a brief setback before he could set off, though. Much to his unhappy surprise, Killian discovered Jacques Moineau waiting on his gangplank with a scowl and a massive hangover.

"I do not appreciate my 'elp being taken for granted," he sneered, playing lazily with his knife. In the light, he looked even older and more weathered. Rather than being intimidated by the knife, Killian just stared at his filthy fingernails in disgust.

"And I do not appreciate drunkards on my ship. Move aside, old man," Killian ordered irritably. "As I'm sure you can see, your help was unnecessary."

"But it may be necessary in the future. You do not want me as your enemy," he drawled, gaze flitting around the harbour pointedly.

Killian followed his gaze and felt a small chill race up his spine as he recognized multiple groups of unfamiliar and unfriendly-looking men, all with weapons ready and quite clearly waiting for a signal from Jacques.

"What do you want?" Killian demanded, feeling more anger than fear. It seemed that his capacity to fear had left when the last person he truly cared about died.

"A guarantee of friendship," Jacques told him with a smile that revealed some blackened teeth. "It is good to have allies on the 'igh seas, my friend."

"Fine," Killian sighed. "Now get off of my ship."

Jacques smiled again. "Perhaps as a sign of friendship, we can do a small exchange?"

"Of what?" Asked Killian, getting even more annoyed and liking this alliance less and less.

"I give you one of my men, you give me one of yours? An exchange of goodwill."

More like an exchange of spies, Killian thought sourly. However, he shrugged nonchalantly and agreed, all the while cursing his father yet again.

Finally, finally, Killian escaped the island and his "friend". Being out on the open sea lifted his spirits slightly. Killian wasn't certain that he could say the same of the crew, though. There was an air of moroseness on the Jolly Roger as it set sail once again. On the way to the island of turtles and pirates, he and his crew had met their first real challenge as newly self-declared pirates, which was a battle with a naval ship from their kingdom. The worst part had been that Killian had recognized the captain of the ship from naval school. It had been a curious conflict of morals. On one hand, he had sworn to work against the king. On the other hand, Killian had no argument with his former classmate. Killian's heart, or what was left of it, had sunk to his toes when the captain had haughtily refused to surrender and swore to bring them to justice, even when Killian had explained the king's corruption. True to his promise of giving their enemies no quarter, none on the naval ship had been left alive. Killian had watched his former classmate die with regret, and he knew that a handful of his men were doubting their decision to turn to piracy. He'd had to make one walk the plank as an example to the others, and he hoped he wouldn't have to do it again. He would certainly rather have men who obeyed him through a sense of loyalty rather than fear.

"Killian?"

Killian whirled around to glare at the man who had addressed him so informally. He was immediately confused to see his new crew member, courtesy of Jacques Moineau.

"That's 'Captain' to you, sailor," Killian replied sternly, studying the man as he did so. The man looked to be a few years older than him, with light brown hair that defied gravity and warm brown eyes that looked oddly familiar, in spite of the dark rim around them from kohl.

"Of course, Captain, I just meant to say... I don't suppose you remember me?" The man was now grinning goofily underneath his thick and tangled beard.

"No."

"It's Owen! Owen Mallory!" Owen said cheerfully. "I recognized you at once, although I suppose the scar helped."

"Owen?" Killian looked at him in amazement. The possibility of this being a trick immediately popped into his head, but he pushed aside with the reasoning that no one, not even a friend of his father's, would know who he served with as a child in the war.

"Aye, Captain!" He confirmed with a wink, wrapping Killian in a bear hug. "I'm honestly shocked to see you here. You didn't seem the sort to turn to piracy!"

"It's a long story," Killian said darkly. "But I would have said the same about you."

"The king burnt down my farm," he said with a shrug. "I needed to make a living somehow."

"You couldn't recite poetry, or something of that sort?" Teased Killian.

Owen chuckled, looking up at Killian in amusement. Killian felt tears start to prick at his eyes and turned away quickly to hide it. He had been so certain that everyone he had known was dead, and, now, here was a friend from the past. It was simultaneously a relief to see a friendly face and to feel less alone, and also terrifying to imagine losing someone else.

"So, where are we going?" Asked Owen, changing the subject abruptly and with his usual enthusiasm. "Jacques didn't tell me when he sent me to you."

Killian's expression soured immediately at the mention of the name.

"He's not so bad, really," Owen said quickly.

A single eyebrow jumped up to Killian's hairline in skepticism. "No?"

Owen shook his head quickly, sending his mop of hair flopping about. "He offered me a job on his ship when I was penniless and had no experience."

"Why?" Scoffed Killian, musing yet again that Jacques didn't seem the sort to do favours for free.

"Probably at least slightly out of desperation," his friend admitted. "It's a long story, but Jacques was heading out on a suicide mission, more or less, and no one was very eager to come along unless they were equally desperate, as I was. He was going against an old rival, who was rumoured to be immortal, simply to save his friend."

"Which friend?" Killian questioned, failing to rein in his disgust at the word.

Owen shrugged. "A fellow named Guillaume. I guess they'd been on some sort of voyage together before. He was really very nice. Anyway, Jacques and Guillaume's lover were determined to save him, and I got a job out of it. Jacques has treated me very well ever since. He repays loyalty well and values it above all, you understand. He can come on a bit strong, though, so I can understand if he scared you off."

That earned Owen a dirty look from his former friend. Killian wasn't scared off. He just preferred to associate himself with people of a higher caliber.

"Clearly, you survived," remarked Killian stiffly, "so 'suicide' mission seems like a misnomer."

"It was close. It's easy to bond with others over danger," Owen replied. "Jacques is like a father to me, Killian. I don't think you'll regret an alliance."

Killian sighed. Perhaps assuming that he now had a friend on board had been too big of an assumption.

"You still haven't told me where we're going," Owen prompted with an easy grin.

"Home," Killian said stiffly. The word tasted strange on his tongue.

Owen stared. "Isn't that a bit risky? I thought you just deserted. Doesn't the king boil people alive for deserting?"

"Mr. Mallory, we may have been childhood friends, but, aboard this ship, you are just another member of my crew. You'd best keep your opinions to yourself," Killian said coldly.

"But why are we going?" Owen asked in confusion.

"Because your captain has said so. Now, get to work, Mr. Mallory," Killian snapped.

Owen shot him a hurt look that reminded Killian of a kicked puppy, before leaving him blessedly alone, if slightly lonely, at the wheel of his ship. Then, he double checked his course. Soon, he would be back home. He would get his few belongings that he cared about and throw them on the ship. He would forget about Jacques and Owen. Most importantly, he would serve justice. He intended to make it out alive, but, if he didn't, that wasn't such an inconvenience.

*Just a brief geeky idea referencing "Tortuga", the famous historical island for pirates off the coast of Haiti. Obviously, this would be a parallel Tortuga in the Enchanted Forest universe, but I liked the idea of it existing.