Chapter 6:

The Road of Redemption

Storybrooke

A few mornings later…

As Killian entered Granny's diner, Henry was leaving for what he assumed was school, as the giant yellow carriage was trundling down to its pick up point. But more importantly, for the first time since his return from Neverland, the lad was not beaming from ear to ear. His eyes quickly searched for the lad's mother – either of them – and landed on Swan, whose face had that pinched anxious and defeated look to it, as she gazed morosely after her son.

He sat down at the bar next to her and inquired solicitously, "So why the long faces? Henry looks as if his pup has died."

Emma winced in pain before snapping, "Because he probably has. Archie was attacked last night and Pongo has been missing ever since. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"Not I. The Cricket has not been harmed by my hand or hook." He denied, and then with equal amount of sincerity, he added, "And may I say, Swan, it has been awhile since I have stuck my foot in it so profoundly, and I apologize for my flippancy. Is he alright?"

"He's fine, just a mild concussion." She informed him hesitantly, as she eyed him warily, "And apology accepted, although whatever it is that you want, the answer is no, and if by 'awhile' you mean in the last few days, then I'll believe you."

This last, she stated with a twinkle in her eyes and quirk at the corners of her wide mouth, taking the sting out of her words. Not that he didn't play it up. Pressing his hand over his heart, he declared, "Oh, Swan, you wound me, on so many levels."

This got him a smile and an eye roll, but when her gaze landed on the till, which was not being manned by the tall brunette, her smile fell, prompting him to ask, "How is wolf-girl? Was she up for tracking duties yestereve?"

"No," She sighed despondently, "We asked, but when we mentioned that it was the dog we were looking for, she began to babble about wolves disappearing into hell and coming out as spotted hounds. It's the worst I've ever seen her."

"Ah. Hence you're long face."

"I wish I knew how many lives that malicious bitch has," she bitterly muttered into her coffee to-go mug. His bloodthirsty lass not caring that he heard her when she uttered next, "Because then I would just kill her over and over again until it stuck."

"Indeed, if it only worked that way." He sympathized, as only he could.

Perhaps, she realized this, because then her walls went back up and her sheriff-persona came on. Nary a word did she say to him, while she paid for her coffee, as if he wasn't there, until on her way out the door, she called to him ominously: "Oh, and Hook?"

He raised his eyebrow, waiting for the patented and charming Swan threat.

"I don't know what it is that you are doing to keep yourself occupied these days, but if I find out that you have been practicing your piratical ways – well, let's just say it won't be pretty."

He lifted his own coffee cup in salute, cheerfully acknowledging her with a "Duly noted, love."

Her scowl warmed him better than Granny's bitter brew.

~0~

Pleasure Island (the strip club)

Later that day...

Killian scanned the establishment. It reminded him of many a brothel. Illuminated to hide the patrons but to shine on the enticements. Skinny, limber wenches with long legs twirled seductively around elevated poles, while sweaty men whistled and slobbered below. Bizarre music that was, he supposed, to get his blood pumping and his coins flowing, but did nothing in particular for him. What might do it for him would be decent booze. A day of aimless wandering and soul searching is thirsty work.

His spirits picked up when his eyes alighted upon the bartender. The only pirate he knew to have more fastidious manners and hygiene than him and to never have broken his aristocratic nose. His bloody first mate.

"Starkey!" He called out joyfully. "Mate, what are you doing in this dive? Didn't Smee tell me that you were on the straight and narrow, teaching tall school or some such?"

"High school and, oui, French, but the pay is none too good." His former crewman replied, beaming as he slapped a generously poured pint of ale down on the bar in front of him. "Nothing like our good ol' days, Cap'n. What are you doing here?"

"Aside from the obvious, you mean?" He gestured toward the stage with his frothing beverage.

"Aye."

Killian smirked, "Well, I'm resisting temptation by distracting myself with temptation while looking for temptation."

Starkey puzzled that out for a moment before declaring long-sufferingly, "You always were one for riddles."

"And you were not," he recalled nostalgically. He and Milah had had such fun torturing the man, and the man had patiently tolerated it out of respect for their lady and the Captain's love. He almost felt guilty for using him. But the bait must be laid.

"I am looking for a means to support myself that does not involve an honest day's work but is not of the pilfering persuasion. The good sheriff has in not so many words promised to turn my ship into kindling if I so much as nick a nickel."

Starkey let out a low whistle and cursed in a language that Killian did not understand but must have been this 'French' he had spoken of, before launching into a comradely diatribe against the sheriff's uptightness, which he more than half agreed with. His former first mate concluded his speech with: "But as for your financial woes, I can help with that, Cap'n. There's an underground game tomorrow night that I can set you up with. The stake is modest, but the pot will be worth your while."

"And the players?"

Starkey's shark-like grin spread across his face as he knowingly informed him, "Challenging enough not to make it boring, but not truly up to your skill level."

Killian flashed him his own cat-ate-the canary grin, before toasting him, "Starkey, mate, how have I missed thee."

The once-upon-a-time bootlegger barked an amused laugh, "You can count the ways by tipping your barman generously, mi capitan."

~0~

Gwen's Apartment

The next morning...

It was early for a Saturday morning, but if she was anything like the go-getting Tawny that he knew and suspected she still was, the lass would be awake. And even if she wasn't, it was her own fault for encouraging him to get involved in this mess.

So without an ounce of guilt he cheerily knocked on her lodging's door.

A few minutes and few incessant knocks later, she opened it wide and defiant, giving him an ample view of her pre-primped self. Her feet were clad in fuzzy lime green slippers. She was dressed in black cotton pants that would have showed off her curvaceous bottom nicely, if it weren't for her large gray cotton shirt that depicted an absurdly mustachioed knight and a ridiculous insult: 'Your mother was a hamster and your father was an elderberry.' (Hopefully, a hand-me-down from the apartment's previous lodger.) Her hair was adorably tussled. Her face was un-rouged but rosy, and her brown eyes were bright with annoyance.

"G'morning, love."

His merry greeting was met with a stony stare of displeasure. "You stole something of mine."

"Did I?" He asked with puckish innocence, as he attempted to slip past her.

Uncharmed, she blocked his path and held out her hand expectantly, "The photo, Jones."

Rocking back on his heels, he grinned unabashedly, "Pirate."

"I want it back."

"Sorry –" Shaking his head, he declared unashamedly, "No, I'm not. It's against my aforesaid vocation's creed. We have a strict no-refund, no-return policy."

The lass struggled to find a suitable reply, finally settling on a surly "Tosser." However, by that time, he had slipped past her and was shrugging out of his coat when he teased over his shoulder, "Ooh, my, my, my, Miss Tawny, have you not had your morning coffee?"

Firmly shutting the door, Tawny scowled in confusion, "How – Why – ?"

"You're channeling Swan with your face all scrunched and glowery. It's sad really. You used to be such a delight in the mornings before you became addicted to that vile stuff."

"Was there a purpose to this visit aside from the insults?"

Perching on a sofa arm, he answered with more seriousness, "Yes, we struck a bargain – lessons for info – if you do recall. I have a date with Lady Luck tonight, and if I am to do well I need to know if the rules of the games favored here are much different from home. I need to know the currency of this land and its various values, and I need to know all you know about my potential opponents. A list of which my former first-mate so kindly provided."

"And he couldn't provide the players' character references as well?" She asked skeptically, as she turned off the Tee-Fee-thing.

"He and I do not share our bargain," he explained with a shrug, "and well, let's just say, Starkey isn't the brightest star in the sky."

Between the intimation that her intellect had more brilliancy and the mention of their partnership, (or perhaps it was both) finally disarmed her; for her posture suddenly relaxed and her sleep-tussled head dipped in a gracious nod, even as she asked, "And the other bargain? This would be a prime opportunity – "

Killian waved dismissively, "Yes, yes, yes. If I overhear any relevant information, I will relay it to you and for the intangible reward of a good deed done. However, if further action is required, my price is a favor owed."

With barely a moment's hesitation, she thrust out her hand and asserted, "Agreed."

After their hearty handshake, the lass briskly announced, "Feel free to get breakfast if you haven't already. I'm going to make myself semi-decent, and then we'll get started. We have a lot to cover it seems."

~0~

Guy's Gym

Late that evening...

Killian was winning a modest tidy sum. He could have won more, but that is no way to make friends.

The game was being held in the corner office of the downtown gym. Not the most posh of places, but this wasn't a game for the high-rollers either.

His opponents consisted of a former duke with a monocle, a short dumpy fellow that had a sly look and a bulbous nose, a tall sneering chap with quite a few distinct cane-shaped scars, and two burly blokes that had no doubt been soldiers in their former lives. The two gents that he was the most interested in – a lean mean fellow and his equally 'shady' stout friend – had however slipped out for a "smoke break." Why they needed to go outside to do that, when none of the other players had any compunction about lighting up indoors, was what he wished to discover.

So he excused himself for a piss.

On the way to the loo, he 'managed' to get lost and in the course of 'getting his bearings' stumbled upon the missing pair, chatting just outside another empty office. Killian could overhear their conversation as the sound of their voices drifted into the room via the conveniently cracked open window.

"What are we going to tell her?" whimpered the stout one. "She wanted that pooch real bad."

"We're gonna tell her the truth," hissed the reedy one. "It was them goons of Driver and Stromboli that did it."

"But why would they need him?"

"They don't, dummy. But Old King Baldy has a bone to pick with our employer. Or haven't you been paying attention?"

Tubby mumbled a reply, which Killian could not hear beyond "old bat" and "puce", but Reedy rasped, "Yeah, well, she pays top dollar for what we do, and she'll continue to do so when we find where they are keeping them."

Whatever the other gent's reply was Killian could not hear as the pair began to return to the game.

As Killian did the same, he bemusedly contemplated the fact that it seemed fate had dictated that his first contribution to the 'noble cause' was to stumble upon the Dognapping Caper Debacle. How paltry and trifling.

Although if he recovered the speckled beastie, his debt with the Cricket should be squared. Or rather, his debt with Conscience-personified would be cleared.

~0~

Giselle's Salon

The very same evening...

It was girls' night. Hallelujah.

Every other week Giselle had her and Ashley over for manis, pedis, facials, what-have-you's, and girly cocktails. (And yes, she still called them by their Cursed names. They were her friends then, and they didn't seem to mind now.) Tonight, she really needed the whole package – the pampering, the alcohol, the relaxation and laughter, and girlfriend support. A whole day of Killian in her tiny little flat was just too much.

First, her quiet morning routine of coffee, social network surfing, Daily Mirror browsing, and Good Morning Storybrooke watching had been interrupted by his irritating pounding on her door. And then when she opened her door, Killian-bleeping-bloody-Jones had the audacity to give her blatant lingering once-over and then greet her with an obnoxiously innocent and cheery "G'morning, love."

To give credit where credit is due, the pirate did agree to help her with her vigilante quest, and once he commits to something, he commits. The problem was that he was so intense and challenging that she had struggled to keep up all day. Not something she was generally used to. But she would adapt.

She would. Just tomorrow. Right now she was luxuriating in the massage chair and sipping her berry sangria, while listening to Giselle and Ashley chatter about their men problems.

At least until, Ashley turned to her and inquired, "So, Gwen, what's the story of you and Hook?"

Pulling the cucumbers off her eyes, she peered curiously at her friend before asking, "Is this my friend asking for her own curiosity or is this the friend of nosey Swan asking on her behalf?"

"A little of both," she sheepishly admitted. "After your arrest, she asked me all sorts of questions about you – what's your particular grudge against Regina, what your history is with Hook, what you have been up to since the Curse was broken – "

Before Gwen could protest, Ashley held up a half-polished hand, hastily explaining, "I know how you are about your privacy, so I only said that I as far as I knew you were busy with your job and occasionally helping me with Alexandra, and as for your business with Regina, that I didn't know of anything in particular, that I thought it was just on principle of the Curse and all. But as for Hook, I had no idea there was anything, which got me to thinking…"

At this Giselle asserted her two-cents, "Dangerous thing to do."

"Hush, peanut gallery," Ashley regally instructed as she flicked a nail file at the brunette pixie. To her, she promised, "I won't tell her anything that you don't want me to, you know."

"Thanks," was her heartfelt and relieved reply. It wasn't that she didn't trust these two women whole-heartedly – well, as much as she could trust anyone. It was just that she didn't know how much to say that wouldn't lead to more questions.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Giselle's impudent query, "So is he any good in bed?"

Both she and Ashley stared open-mouthed at her.

"What? He's mighty fine looking," the princess defended, adding as she gestured expansively with her margarita, "She spent the whole day with him today, locked up in her apartment. He's got that whole bad boy thing going for him, and if he's anything like my former jewel thief husband, he's got skills."

This latter point was emphasized with a toss of her hair and waggle of her eyebrows, prompting Gwen to laugh, "Oh honey, I'm glad your sex life is amazing, but please try not to fry my brain with your suggestive imagery tonight, will you?"

Giselle chortled, "Deal, but only if you dish and don't dodge anymore questions."

She nodded in acceptance and then explained, "I don't know if he's any good. Our story doesn't involve something as salacious as that. He helped me once, and I returned the favor, and our current story is that we have a mutual beneficial arrangement in which he tutors me in self-defense and I tutor him in the modern ways of this technological world." To Ashley, she stated, "And you can feel free to tell Sheriff Swan that, no hard feelings."

Ashley smiled in relieved gratitude, but Giselle simply pouted, "Well that's just plain boring. We're two old married women. We live vicariously through you, and you are failing us."

Snorting in dry amusement, Gwen recalled various failed blind dates she had been a victim of in the name of said 'vicarious living.' Her two favorites were the prince who was a mama's boy and whose mother wished her to prove her worth first, (puh-lease), and then there was the bandit chief and prince who failed to mention he was married and had a wife and son back in Munchkinland. "Speaking of living vicariously through others, what's the latest gossip?"

"I don't have juicy gossip, but I have news." Ashley volunteered; her tone of voice indicating it wasn't good. "Ruby's worse. Granny said that she became really agitated when Emma asked her to help track down Pongo the other night."

Heavy mournful silence hung in the air for several moments. It was only broken when Gwen quietly asked, "Did Emma raid Sadique D'Enfer's 'cottage'?"

This time it was Giselle who snorted, "Yeah, and found nothing, which the vampire bat was quick to come here and boast about. In that thick over the top accent, she loudly protested her innocence."

And then with a cuticle pick, she imitated the woman's exaggerated mannerisms to a tee – cigarette and all. "But I said to that Swan-girl, 'Daarrlling, my new motto is – if you can't beat them, you must join them.'" Dropping the pose, Giselle concluded viciously, "It was all I could do not to Fleet Street barber shop her ass."

"Tsk. Tsk. Such violence." She teasingly scolded, not sure whether to be more amused by her friend's macabre reaction or Ashley's stunned horror.

Topping off her drink with more berry elixir, she drolly bantered, "Turns you on, doesn't it, Gwenny?"

Needless to say, from there the conversation deteriorated.

As they were saying goodbyes for the night, Giselle whispered suggestively so only she could hear, "If you ever do tap that bad boy, pretty please, let me know if he keeps his hook on or not. I've always wanted to know."

Blushing profusely, she exclaimed in a stage whisper, "Good lord, woman! You've taken to this modern world far more than any lady I have met so far."

"Bah!" She waved her hand dismissively. "You would too if you had lived as sheltered a life as I had. Now that I have experienced freedom, I am not going to let any walls – be they ivory stone or noble decorum – cage me."

"If we hadn't drunk all the wine already, I would toast to that, my friend."

Raising her glass in salute, Giselle toasted with her best British pirate imitation: "Cheers, mate."

Gwen's farewell wave turned into The Bird as she walked away.

~0~

The Jolly Roger

The following afternoon...

She sat across from Killian at his cabin's table and nursed her temples. Too much information and not enough brain power at her disposal. She hoped Giselle had a bitch of a hangover.

"Okay. Okay," she muttered, as she began piecing together what they knew. "The bungling burglars of Madame De Vil lost Pongo to a con man accountant and an arcade gofer. Said accountant and stooge are under orders from King George, because he wants to hold Pongo as a hostage to force Cruella to do something, which we don't know. And we also don't know why she wanted the dog in the first place. Not for fur, because she seems to want him alive."

"That about sums it up," Killian confirmed. "Except this Jasper fellow said 'keeping them' which implies more than one."

"Well, there aren't a hundred other Dalmatians out there. I'm pretty sure I would have heard about it before now," she scoffed, and then waved her hand dismissively at his quizzical expression. She wasn't up to explaining yet another Disney reference.

"So what's the plan of attack, Mistress Vigilance?"

That moniker earned him a baleful stare.

"Don't appreciate that one, do you? Well, I suppose, it does smack of the whip-and-chains lady of the night, doesn't it?" He jocularly rambled.

Ignoring him, she mused aloud, "Well, I don't think we should tell Swan or the mayor until we have more to go on. If they move too soon, 'Old King Baldy' might decide to cut his losses."

"A likely outcome. They have that rather unfortunate tendency," the good captain wryly agreed, not bothering to elaborate on which 'they' or which 'tendency.'

"So we do what we do best – wait and watch, consider all angles, and then seize the opportune moment." She declared feeling more confident with each word and by the end of it grinning conspiratorially at him.

Raising a sardonic eyebrow, Killian teased, "So you'll be contacting those all-seeing and knowing maids of yours?"

She nodded, "Yes, to keep a weather eye out for unusual activity by Foxworthy, Harlequin, and any other King George associate, especially around places that would be ideal for hiding a dog and whatever else they have." She drummed her freshly-polished fingers on the table with one hand and with the other sent out a mass text just to do that, all the while adding, "And I'll see if I can narrow that down by checking property ownership with city hall records."

"And how will you do that?"

She just looked at him and then mockingly raised an eyebrow at him.

Killian looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his scruff with his hook, before declaring dryly, "Ah, you know someone."

She nodded and grinned smugly. She did indeed know someone. Grimsby. Prince Eric's former manservant. His Storybrooke persona had him demoted to city hall archivist. She hoped for twenty-eight years he hadn't been filing the same thing over and over again. But for the small price of listening to him chatter about 'the good old days' she got to peruse the records room, which is how she kept on top of the business dealings of the wheelers-and-dealers, for even they were wary of earning the scrutiny of the all mighty IRS.

"If I am not mistaken, today is a day of rest in this land, so this records place would be closed." At her nod, he continued, "What then shall you do with your time? Take a nap? Have another right good romp with your lady friends?"

Rolling her eyes at his boyish leer, she answered, "How about a lesson from you? I do believe I am owed eight hours or so."

"Glutton for punishment, you are," he accused.

"Touché."

"Hmm, yes," he agreed with thoughtful satisfaction, and then he stood up and tossed her a short blade, asking, "But do you remember your en garde?"

Disclaimer: Do not own and do not receive any profits from this universe, storyline, or any characters within. That belongs to OuaT creators and co. and Disney.

A/N: Btw, I'm interested in your thoughts on Giselle and any other Disney characters portrayed or referenced so far.

Next Chapter: Operation: Spotted Hound