Disclaimer: Not the creator. Not the creator. Not the creator. Just a humble peasant.

Chapter 3:

How to Make Allies and Influence Pirates

Enchanted Forest

Shortly before the Curse is cast…

She was tired. She was cold. She was hungry. And she was tired of being tired, cold, and hungry and not having two coppers to rub together to do anything about it.

It's the cold, damp, and foggy season of this Endless Forest; and by God, what she was about to do may be uncouth and illegal, but she will not feel guilty for doing what she needs to do to survive. Especially, since it was the three Bear-Trappers who cost her her sad, little hand-to-mouth job as a tavern maid. (A case of being unjustly dismissed for defending herself against groping paws, paws which have more access to silvers, much less coppers, than she.)

However, the Trapping Trio have unwittingly made it up to her. First, they kindly vacated their 'humble' abode to go sell their latest pelts to the Milliner Marquise De Vil. Second, they loudly boasted their travel itinerary between calls for pints, leers, and unwelcome caresses the night of her dismissal, which is how she knew that they would not be returning until late afternoon three days from now.

Oh, and third, she didn't even have to pick the lock or jimmy a window open. The pompous asses think that they are such 'pillars of society' that no one would dare trespass upon their turf. Little do they know that after a lifetime of being walked over, she had vowed to dare.

Once inside, she took care of the essentials, lighting the fire and taking stock of her surroundings. The décor is what one would expect for three fur-trapping, hunting bachelors – an excessive amount of mounted animal heads on the walls and rugs with faces and claws. The pantry has the ingredients for porridge and flapjacks and stew. The smokehouse outback will have meat of all sorts, of that she has no doubt. The cellar even has a bottle of vintage wine, surprising considering the swill that they preferred at the tavern. It's too bad they only had wooden utensils. A silver spoon 'souvenir' or two would have gotten her some much needed new shoes and cloak. Ah well, she will enjoy eating them out of house and home.

And she did. For three days and three nights, she had food in her belly and a roof over her head, the basics of life, which she had not enjoyed so consecutively for many a moon. She slept like an un-colicky babe, once she discovered which mattress had just the right amount of support and plushness.

But as with all things, there is a price.

She was awoken early on the third morning by loud irate exclamations in the form of thunderous roars, soft rumbles, and high-pitched squeaks. "SOMEONE'S BEEN HERE!" "Eating our food." "And leaving a mess! And look! Drinking my wine!"

Shooting out of bed, she began hastily getting dressed, stuffing her feet roughly into her shoes and so forth, all the while, cursing under her breath.

"Bloody hell!...Shite! Shite! Shite! Those noncing poxy gobshites! Of course, it's a bloody mother-effing mess; you're early… early cumming…Cachi!"

Her less-than-lady-like mutterings ceased as soon as she heard them abandon their search of the main rooms and head toward the bedrooms. She grabbed her bag which is ever ready-to-go, and hopped out the window. Just in time too, as her hasty exit was accompanied by a shrill shout, "The bitch is getting away!"

She ran pell-mell through the woods. Her feet were as swift as a doe's, bounding over logs, dodging trees and brush and gnarly tripping roots. The problem was she was the prey and they were the predators. They knew these woods like the back of their hands, and…

And well, she didn't.

~ S * T * O * R * Y * B * R * O * O * K * E ~

~3 weeks post-Triumphant Return: The Night of Incarceration~

"Gwen McKinley!" At the sound of Emma Swan's sweet dulcet tones, she halted halfway down the Rabbit Hole's alley and waited for the Savior to catch up to her. When she did, she announced, "You're under arrest for breaking and entering. You have the right to remain silent…"

While the sheriff was handcuffing her and reading her rights, Gwen was trying her best to stifle her gleeful smile. Grimsby and Carlotta had managed to convincingly set the "crime" scene (a broken window and a few muddy footprints at the kitchen door) but more importantly they had not set off Swan's inner-lie detector when giving their witness statements to the "attempted burglary."

Now it was her turn.

It was not all that hard to play the part of the confident and blasé miscreant. This had after all not been her first tour of the sheriff's station. She strolled into the station like she owned it, answered all of the sheriff's questions with as much taunting ambiguity and doublespeak as she could get away with, and turned left, right, front and center, as requested for her mug shot, barely resisting the urge to wink at the camera.

Her attitude and slippery legalese speech got on the already irritable and exhausted Emma Swan's nerves, causing her to be less than thorough in her search of her person. Not that anyone would have spotted her stashed lock-pick set without knowing where to look to begin with.

And then she was placed in her cell, next to him. Her debonair but dark and mysterious Man-in-Black.

~ E * N * C * H * A * N * T * E * D ~ F * O * R * E * S * T ~

She was jerked back and thrown against the base of an oak tree by the tall trapper and quickly pinned by her arms by the burly one. She kicked and bucked and bit and fought and cursed with all she had. At one point, two of them sat on her legs.

In between all the ruckus she was making, the beastly men were making coarse and vulgar statements as was their want.

"What's your name, poppet?...I'll call you Goldie, such pretty fine hair. It'll make such a nice memento of our time here."

"You've got a mighty filthy mouth there. Stay still and I'll give you something to wash it out with."

"Ooh! She must like it rough then…"

And then out of nowhere was a man clad in black leather, demanding that the beasts conduct their brutality according to genteel decorum. His insanity was further proved by his embellished self-introduction, twirling his hand and hook about like a flamboyant illusionist.

Her opinion of him drastically changed when, within in less than twenty racing heartbeats, he had disposed of the villains. The be-hooked Man-in-Black may be dangerous (and insane if all she had heard about him was true) but he was also skilled and proficient in survival and combat.

Just the sort of man that some might consider a godsend to her. For like it or not, she was on her own now, and she needed to learn how to fend for herself. And why not learn from the best? Insanity and genius often go hand-in-hand or so they say.

While she took note of her condition – swollen lip, throbbing face, sore wrists, stinging toes, torn blouse – she contemplated how best to make herself useful to this dreaded mad pirate.

Before he could disappear into the endless wood, she had an outline of a plan, and she was confident enough in its soundness that she was willing to make a nuisance of herself to the sinister and less than stable brigand.

He tried to brush her off, but she would not be deterred. She risked getting stabbed in the gut with his hook in her attempt to waylay him. She succeeded, but was then insulted. He insinuated that she was willing to exchange sexual favors for his services – as if that is all a woman can offer and as if she would have no knowledge as to what to do if given the opportunity. Bah! What did he know?

It was so gratifying to prove to him that she was more than a pretty face with her astute observations and cunning plan. And he seemed to respect her desire to be self-sufficient. That in itself was a satisfying new experience for her.

At one point, he tried to intimidate her, but it was impossible to fear him after he just saved her from the Beasts. She respected his violent nature that was seething beneath the surface, but she could not believe that he would harm her.

Nevertheless, that does not mean she trusted him with her true name. She knew the dangers of trusting anyone with that knowledge, much less a pirate, even if he was more gentlemanly than most knights and lords she had known. So she improved upon the name that most people of this land seemed fond of christening her, and called herself "Tawny. Or Miss Tawny…"

~ S * T * O * R * Y * B * R * O * O * K * E ~

Leaning against the bars at the far end of her cell, she scrutinized him beneath her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. He was the same as the first time she laid eyes on him. The same yet different.

Captain Killian Jones, smelling of the leather he dressed in from head to toe and of sea, salt, and rum. Still full of the swagger that he was God's gift to women, sporting that sexy smirk and scruff. His deep blue eyes still flashing with that hardened edge. And yet…

Yet that tightly coiled inner-rage of his had loosened. His adventure in Neverland had transformed him.

His blue eyes were now wide in recognition, and his glib tongue was about to spoil it all. So she played the role of Gwen McKinley to the hilt – the mocking, self-assured smart-ass.

As soon as Emma left, she began to get to work.

She was after files. Considering that she had just broken herself out of lockup, she could have just as easily broken into the station and cabinets, but if she was caught… Well, this way provided the perfect pretense for being there and for talking with Killian. She did not want anyone to know that they knew each other, and there was no reason for Gwen-the-Cleaning-Lass to approach Hook-the-Bloody-Pirate.

She found all the files she needed as well as her own, which was significantly thinner than it should be. (Bless his soul wherever it may be.) She removed the mug shot of her first arrest, the last shred of evidence of her be-cursed and unfortunate hair color choice.

And now it was time to bait the Hook.

~0~

3 days later…

She stepped out of her bathroom cocooned in her pajama pants and über-comfy bathrobe, feeling refreshed after a long hot shower, only to be startled by –

"It took you long enough," observed a soft lilting voice, a very familiar male voice. "You haven't changed much. You still have a fetish for secrets and a peculiar aversion for anyone knowing your name, Tawny."

Somehow managing not to show her disquiet beyond the slight tensing of her muscles, she retorted, "Yeah well, I don't know if you noticed, but this world has an uncanny but warped knowledge of our lives. I prefer people to view me as I wish to be seen, if seen at all, than have their perception of me prejudiced by some grossly inaccurate kids' story, in which those three bastards are epitome of civility."

"Aye, lass, I get that," he ruefully acknowledged.

At this, she teased, "Ah yes, the infamous Captain Hook. I would say Disney's portrayal of you as an imbecile was either a slander campaign or a fuck-up but … you took your sweet time finding me. I thought I was going to have to leave you breadcrumbs."

"I don't know who 'Disney' is but I found you two days ago, love, and have been following you ever since," was his dry retort.

"Hmm, two days? I spotted you yesterday," she mused, and then shrugged, "I guess, I'm going to have to work on that. Tea?"

Killian held up a mug, "I helped myself. Like I said, you were in there an extraordinarily long time."

As she made her way to the kitchen, she cast a cursory glance around the modest apartment to see if anything had been disturbed. A few books and magazines, but her laptop looked untouched. Either he didn't know the significance of the device or he simply accepted that it was beyond his unique skill set.

"I'd say that I like what you've done with the place, but…" he gestured to the apartment's Spartan and very much masculine bachelor décor. The only pieces of furniture in the front room were a russet-colored barcalounger, the side table next to it, the large screen TV mounted on the wall, and the round cheap dining room table and two accompanying chairs. All of her books were stacked up against the walls or on the two tables.

She had added a chenille throw and cushions to the chairs, and had replaced the picture of the dogs playing poker with a landscape portrait of picturesque Welsh sea-side cliffs. Most of her home improvement budget had been dedicated to paying for her new bed, sheets, pillows, and comforter. They were worth every penny, because they were just right. Not that he needed to know any of that.

"The apartment was previously let to a fellow named Will, but he disappeared the day the Curse was broken," was her indifferent explanation. She was far more interested in his earlier remark. "You've been watching me the whole time?"

"Yes, love," his grin growing the more mischievous by the minute, "And might I say, I have never seen a maid have quite so much fun in carrying out her duties?"

She stifled a groan, at his twinkling blues and at the memory of her time at Jefferson's. She had been listening to her iPod and rocking out to her music while dusting in full view of the front bay windows. It must have been an entertaining sight indeed, for she knew she wasn't the most alluring or graceful modern dancer. She nearly choked on her tea at his next insinuating comment.

"However, I don't see why you couldn't carry out your little tryst with the owner of that monstrous estate there at his place rather than in that tin can hovel in the middle of nowhere."

She set her cup down harder than she intended to on the dining table and tried to keep her cool. It was an extremely difficult thing to do, seeing as he had been winding her up with his comments about her shower habits, her décor choices, and her dancing in order to provoke her into revealing more to him than she was ready to.

She managed, but just barely.

Sitting huffily down at the table, she gestured for him to take the seat across from hers. When he did, she took a deep steadying breath and then, and only then, replied, "First, it was not a 'tryst.' It was business and not in any way connected to the sexual kind. Second, out of respect for Jefferson's recent reunion with his long lost daughter, I avoid contaminating their home with my less-than-benign doings." Shooting him a glare, she concluded testily, "Now, are you done needling me and ready to hear my offers?"

His expressive eyebrows shot up as he noted, "'Offers'? In the plural. Color me curious: how many are we talking?"

Ignoring his slight mocking tone, she launched into her first pitch. "The first is not all that different from our old deal. You teach me your survival skills and in exchange I provide you with information. However, instead of aiding you in your quest for vengeance, I teach you what I know of this modern and technologically-based world."

"I've done alright so far, Tawny lass," he protested dryly.

"Yes, while you were skulking about with Cora and then Neal's fiancé," she scoffed. "But now whether you decide to sail off to explore this world's seas or to become a member of the Storybrooke community, you're going to need more than your luck and charm."

She waited for him to make some quip about her finding him charming or some such twaddle, but he surprised her, because his cocky façade slipped long enough for him to grimly agree, "Aye, I do not have so much conceit that I cannot admit that I am in sore need of such help."

His display of vulnerability did not last long. Within a blink of an eye, he was scrutinizing her speculatively and challenging her with that light sardonic tone of his, "But why are you the person that I receive such assistance from? Just from my little foray to that metropolis, I could tell that this hamlet and its citizens are behind the times. Wouldn't I be better served getting my assistance from – "

"From who?" She interrupted impatiently. "From Emma Swan? Neal? Their busy playing parents and town heroes. From some lass in another port that you manage to charm?" She waved her hand dismissively. "You'll have too many gaps of knowledge to explain."

Leaning back, she confidently boasted, "I can give you two reasons why you want me." She let the double entendre sink in, before listing, "One, you're like me, you don't like being in anyone's debt, and my offer is a fair trade. Two, while Swan was busy running around in denial that there was such things as magic and True Love and then having her adventures in the Forest and in Neverland, I was busy playing catch-up. I can assure you that very few citizens of Storybrooke have bothered or are as advanced as I."

She waited, while he contemplated the veracity of her claims. And then she waited some more, maintaining her casual self-assurance and avoiding her nervous tells so that he would not conclude she was bluffing. She didn't know what finally convinced him, but he finally queried, "So an hour of my skill set in exchange for an hour of yours?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Then we have an accord," Killian confirmed with his own contented smile, that swiftly turned mischievous as he took her hand, which had been extended for a deal-sealing handshake, and brought it to his lips, for she supposed a deal-sealing kiss across her knuckles.

She didn't protest, nor did she blush. She merely rolled her eyes at his antics, and then used that very same hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, something which she had been itching to do during this entire chat. Truly.

"And now, m'lady, what is Offer #2?"

A/N:

Translation: Cachi = 'shit' in Welsh

I am curious to know your thoughts on my version of the Goldilocks tale.

Also, the next chapter is titled: The Detour of Hats and Bells