Chapter 8:

Lessons and Confessions

Gwen's apartment

A little over a month later…

She sank into her tub, letting out a groan of part pain, part relief, and part ecstasy.

Her body was bruised and cut and sore. It hadn't been this worked over since – well, since her three and a half weeks with Captain Jones in the Forest. At this thought she mentally cringed at the innuendoes she could imagine him voicing if she ever admitted that in his hearing.

After she had cleaned out his defiled hold, they had arranged to meet every other day for lessons that consisted of warm-up exercises, mock-fights which ended in her 'death', dinner, and her attempt to teach the old sea dog new tricks. On top of all this, she was working full time, keeping in touch with friends, and helping Eric search for Ariel, while trying to keep track of criminals such as Foxworthy.

Needless to say, it wasn't just her body that needed this time for rest and rejuvenation but her mind and soul as well.

As her muscles slowly began to be soothed by the heated water, she let go of her worries about the lost mermaid and the insidious drug ring, accepting the fact that there was nothing more that she could do. In the vacuum, her mind drifted to the lost, lonely girl of a year ago.

After her crying jag, she had picked herself off that basement floor and had headed for the town watering hole, in desperate need of a drink. Before she had reached Main Street, she had been accosted and hugged to near asphyxiation by Ashley, Suzy, and Perla, and a few days later, Giselle and Ruby tracked her down. A day hadn't gone by since when at least one of them had checked in with her and/or invited her to sleep on their couch – all proving how wrong she was to think that she was alone and unloved. Even now, every single one of them had asked her about her relationship with Hook, making sure he wasn't exploiting her in some way.

It was a good thing that they were not trying to hide the fact that he was teaching her how to fight, or she would have a devil of a time trying to explain away her bruises.

And this thought of course led her to the rabbit trail of Killian Jones. She could explain to her friends what he was doing for her, but she had yet to come up with an explanation of what he meant to her.

Sighing to herself, she took a fortifying sip of wine and then attempted to do just that, letting the memories of their interactions wash over her.

~0~

The Jolly Roger

A few days after the Great Pooch Escape …

"There. It's done. All clean and smelling lemony fresh," she declared, as she stripped off her gloves and tossed them into the waste basket.

As she swept past the ship's captain to fresh air, he bowed grandly and murmured, "Thank you kindly, love."

"A deal is a deal." She brushed his gratitude off. Truth was she had felt guilty for forcing the furry critters on him, and even though it was literally a crappy favor to call in, he could have asked her for something far worse. Not that she was going to let him know any of this. He might get ideas.

The pirate was not to be deterred however. He persisted, asserting, "Yes, but the service can still be appreciated, love, and for the 'lemony freshness', how about dinner on me with the last of my hard-earned winnings? At Granny's?"

"Not Granny's." she hastily and reflexively snapped. Before he could explore her reluctance, she continued with forced indifference, "And not tonight. I'm going home to shower and sleep. I'm exhausted."

"Exhausted? The hold wasn't that bad, lass."

Shooting him an exasperated look, "Yes, well, I worked today, cleaning City Hall, and then I worked out at the gym before that."

"Ah, I take it you have begun resuming the exercises I taught you?" He asked. His blue eyes positively twinkled with devilish delight.

"And then some yeah." She acknowledged as she rolled her stiff shoulders. He noticed of course.

"Well, in that case… enjoy your shower and sleep," the 'gallant' captain oh-so-graciously permitted, before adding suggestively, "And if you need someone with clever fingers to rub oily stuff into your sore muscles, you know where to find me."

She limited her response to an eye roll.

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

~On the road to the Queen's castle ~

"Tell me, lass, why do you think I was able to trounce those brutes so easily?"

She opened mouth, quickly snapped it shut, and then answered hesitantly, "Because you were faster and more skilled."

"Yes. They have relied heavily on their strength and length of limb and have not bothered increasing their speed or finesse. Many men fall to this trap, which you can use to your advantage." At her nod of comprehension, he resumed his lecture, "Your goal is not to trounce, but to strike hard and fast so that you injure them just enough for you to run away and run faster than them."

"So I am to fight to run away, is that it?"

"Aye, lass," he agreed with a nod, and then eyeing her up and down, he qualified, "But you will not be successful at either in your current condition."

She glanced down at herself, noting, "The skirts are a bit cumbersome, I'll admit but – "

His dry chuckles cut her off. "It's not the skirts, Tawny – well, not just the skirts."

"Well, what then?" She asked, truly baffled.

"You're as scrawny as any landlubber-urchin-turned-cabin-boy I've ever seen," was his forthrightly insulting reply. At her frown, an evil grin spread across his face, as he promised, "But don't worry. I have a surefire method to make you as agile as a rigger and swift as a powder monkey."

"How much am I going to hate this?" She asked warily, not entirely sure what those terms meant, and most definitely not liking his look of anticipated diabolical pleasure.

"I don't know." Up went the eyebrow in wry amusement. "How much do you hate heights?"

If she didn't before, she did after, and she certainly hated him, for she climbed trees for two days straight. Halfway through the first day, she was cursing him with every labored breath, including ones she had added to her repertoire from his stories about the gunny who first trained him.

Her silent, or not so silent, diatribes usually included something along the lines of "Relentless, charming, hunan leddfu, scabrous codpiece of a bastard…"

And the only thing he objected to was being "cod anything."

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

~Jolly Roger~

"What is the goal of a fight?" Captain Inquisitor fired at her in greeting.

Recalling her lesson from ages ago, she put her own unique spin on it, firing back, "To fuck-up and flee."

"Really, lass, you don't need to prove anything to me." He mildly reproached her.

She grinned unrepentantly, "Couldn't resist the alliteration, Captain."

It was sweet of him to say so though. And endearingly adorable that he was so bothered by her wench-like speech. It was as if he saw her as more, as a true lady.

Interrupting her thoughts, he began the day's lecture with, "When you're in a fight, you only have a few seconds and a few moves to try before it's decided. Before your attacker gets full control of you, you must do everything you can – trip, drag, and/or throw to the ground – conserving as much energy as possible for your flight to safety."

"And by 'conserve energy', you mean use their momentum against them?"

Killian nodded and then challenged, "Now show me, and remember to keep your hands up to protect that bonnie face of yours."

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

~First night on journey to Queen's castle~

They had stopped earlier than she expected, since there was still daylight left. The captain's reasons were soon made clear when after camp was set up, he had tossed her a de-branched stick and said:

"Before we start, lass, you need to accept the fact that I will hurt you. It's best you learn how to deal with pain, because in a real fight, there is no avoiding it."

She nodded, absorbing it all like an eager sponge.

"And you must not be squeamish about hurting me. I know it will be difficult. I am after all the one and only Captain Killian Jones." He said this with his chest puffed out and a knowing leer twitching at the corner of his lips. The moment of levity quickly vanished when he concluded with fierce insistence, "But you must. For it is either hurt or be hurt."

She nodded a second time, accepting at least intellectually his ominous warning.

"Now let's see what we have to work with."

And then he swung his own hastily fashioned stick at her.

She did her best to parry his attacks, drawing on her memories of all the sword fights she had witnessed, and attempted to get past his defenses, and she nearly did until he kicked a loose log from the fire, launching it at her legs.

So surprised was she that she didn't even let loose her customary string of curses. However once the embers were stamped out, she accused angrily, "Bad form!"

"Yes, but not everyone out there is me or a knight of the round table, love…" She flinched at that. His reproach sending her thoughts in a million directions, but she was thankfully able to rein them in to hear him say, "… Rule #1: never ever fight fair."

And that was when she knew that she couldn't have found a better mentor. No backstabbing nobility here. No, when this man eventually betrayed her, it wouldn't be couched in moral platitudes but straightforward and unapologetic self-interest. How refreshing.

"There is another lesson to be learned from this, lass. Can you not identify it?"

She gave this careful consideration, mentally going over each bit of their mock-fight and pondering their implications. Finally, she guessed, "I should be on the lookout for potential threats aside from the stick or 'sword' coming at me?"

His blue eyes lit with respect, but his mouth chided, "Lass, don't be a sheep. Be a wolf. How would a wolf phrase that?"

She shoved the humiliation of being called one of the dumbest of prey animals aside and thought about what he said. When she had her answer, she jutted out her chin and asserted, "I should be on the lookout for weapons that I can use against my opponent as well as what he can use against me, aside from the ones in our hands."

"Yes, use everyday objects. Even dirt can be advantageous. A handful of it thrown in your attacker's eyes can give you a momentary edge." When she nodded in understanding, he concluded, "'Be ever aware of your surroundings' is Rule #3."

Before she could ask what the second rule was of this fascinating list, he murmured almost to himself, "And that includes counting the shadows."

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

She was locking up all her cleaning supplies and making sure everything was in its place so that Mrs. Boyd wouldn't accuse her of negligence or theft, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye – a dark silhouette, that shouldn't have been there.

Being careful not to let on that she was aware of its presence, she finished her task. However, instead of pocketing her keys, she laced them through her fingers. And when the looming presence charged her from behind, she stepped into his path and pivoted. Her left arm knocked aside the upraised arm, and her right slashed at her attacker's face.

She missed.

But only because it was Killian and with his crazy cat-like reflexes and agility was able to somehow lean back far enough to dodge her swipe. When he straightened, the cocky blighter quipped cheekily, "Ooh, the kitten has claws."

And so his unfortunate nickname for her was born.

~0~

"What do you mean currency is no longer based on gold? What is it based on?" The pirate cried out in astonishment.

They had been discussing how much he could expect to receive for his valuables from a neighboring town's pawn shop (as he could obviously not go to Gold's), when they became diverted by this topic.

Trying not to laugh at his bewildered outrage, she stoically explained, "I'm no economic expert, but I know that our current system allows for the government to declare what is legal tender, giving it more power to manipulate and stabilize the markets. Or so the theory goes."

"Lunacy," he scoffed, bitterly remarking, "In my experience government leaders are untrustworthy."

Unable to stop herself, she smirked, "So sayeth the pirate."

"No. So says Killian Jones." He darkly denied.

Eyeing him speculatively, she mused, "Someday, Jones, I would like to hear what turned you freelancing buccaneer."

His gaze immediately grew distant, and the Look – the Milah/Neverland Look as she had begun to call it – settled into place, before he softly replied, "Someday."

~0~

"Has Emma or her father taught you how to handle our guns?"

"Charming did. He was a real mate and did a demonstration of disassembling, cleaning, assembling, unloading, and loading, while I was in lock-up one evening. Wiled away the hours, it did." He cocked his eyebrow, asking both curiously and suggestively, "Why? Did you want to give me a demonstration on how to properly handle my weapon?"

She snorted and nearly spewed her drink at his innuendo-gone-wrong. Once her surprised spluttering stopped, she snickered, "Jones, mate, word of advice – don't make suggestive quips about 'handling' after mentioning lock-up, especially after relating that a male gave you a 'demonstration' while in lock-up."

Comprehension didn't dawn until she made a very rude gesture; at which he grimaced and muttered "Thanks, love," rubbing his face with his hand as if to erase the image from his mind. After moment of awkward silence, he prompted, "So was there a reason…?"

"Reason? Oh, um, just trying to cross off stuff on my list to teach you."

"There's a list?" He asked in amused disbelief.

"Yeah, so far we've covered computers, cameras, currency, phones, satellites, and the grid, but we also have banking, trace evidence and forensics, kitchen appliances – so that there is no repeat of metal in the microwave – " The fearsome pirate blushed a little at that and tried to defend himself, but she just blazed on. "And then we need to discuss medicine, drugs – the over the counter kind and the back alley kind, and – "

Holding both his hand and hook up as if to ward her off, he pleaded, "I get the picture, love. There's a list." He waved his hook in her general direction, declaring, "What I want to know is if pistol training was on that list."

"Yes, it was, as well the topics of automatic rifles."

"Charming included that in his lecture," he dismissed with yet another wave his hook. "So if you know how to shoot a gun, why is it that you are so interested in learning dirty pirate fighting tricks?"

She shrugged, "Lots of reasons. One, we won't always be here, so sword fighting and close quarter combat will be more relevant. Two, I'm slightly near-sighted, so any by-standers to any exchange of gunfire I participate in would be in grave danger. Three, it's just not my thing."

"Not your 'thing'?" Both eyebrows went up this time, either in confusion or in disbelief.

"Not my thing, not my preferred choice of weapon, not my style," she clarified.

"Huh, that surprises me," he mused. "I would have thought with you being the queen of anonymity and aloofness, you would have preferred the emotional distance that a gun provides."

Trying not to squirm under his penetrating stare, she contended, "Well, maybe it's for that very reason that I do not."

This elicited a delighted smirk, "So you are saying that you enjoy violence of a more intimate nature?"

At first she didn't know how to respond, because it was so very true. When she landed a good punch, when she drew a little blood, or when she was pressed up against him, pinning him down in their training matches, she felt a tingle of pleasure that she got from very few things – stain removal, chocolate, outwitting bastard rogues, chocolate, a good cuppa, mind-blowing sex, and chocolate. But to admit that he was right? Aloud?

"What I am saying is that I gain satisfaction from mastering new skills previously thought impossible for the 'weaker sex', and literally 'sticking it to the man' is emotionally rewarding."

Killian stared thoughtfully at her from across the galley table. When she was just about to squirm like a bug under a microscope, he mused with heavy resignation, "I'd ask who the imbecilic oaf was that belittled you and made you feel weak, but I don't think I'll get an answer."

Shaking her head, she softly answered, "Someday."

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

The Training Meadow

Two weeks in Queen's employ...

"Tawny lass, you're a quick study. I am not too proud to admit that you have picked up the art of parrying faster than I did as a lad."

They had stopped their mock battle for a quick water break. It was a mercy that she was extremely grateful for, as she was dripping with sweat and aching from head to toe.

It had been a long grueling week. The castle's housekeeper was a slave driver. The castle's décor maybe dark and dreary to match the heart of its mistress, but by hell or high water it was not going to be dirty as well – or so she imagined her overseer's mantra to be.

And today, even though it was her day off, was no less arduous. Captain Killian Jones was a harsh taskmaster. After meeting on the outskirts of town, they had headed for this obscure picturesque meadow. All the way there he had peppered her with questions, squeezing her for every minute detail of castle life, looking for its exploitable weaknesses. And then he had her go through a series of 'warm up exercises', followed by 'muscle-toning' and 'speed-improving' exercises, which was then followed by a lesson in footwork, stances, defense positions, attack and counter-attack strategies. All of which she was challenged to try.

His compliment, however, was not appreciated, for she suspected that she would not like what was to follow.

"I sense a 'but' coming…"

Her mentor – nay – tormentor smirked. "Not all attackers will use a long blade. The most cowardly attackers of women favor the knife, and – gods forbid – that you do not have one of your own up your sleeve or in your boot as per Rule #4, you need to learn how to defend yourself against such an attack."

Biting back the urge to snark 'No shit, Jones', she prompted with all the civility that she could muster, "I'm all ears, Captain."

His eyes narrowed, picking up on the impatience she was trying to mask, but he carried on without comment, saying, "He'll most likely attempt to shove you back with his fore hand and then stab you with his aft hand. This will allow his shoving arm to protect his face, as you will not be able to hit it without getting stabbed. The best response is to knock this arm down and then immediately move forward to secure the knife arm, yanking it into an elbow lock, which will allow you to either break the arm or strip him of his knife."

They of course practiced this maneuver, repeatedly. At first, they did so in slow motion and then faster and faster, until she was able to get the knife away from him in real time.

But was that the final lesson? Oh no. This pirate operated on a code and welching on a bargain with a lady, no less, was probably forbidden; rule number fifteen or something.

Not that she was truly ungrateful. It was her exhaustion that was whining. No, she found it oddly endearing that the pirate was taking his role as her defense master so seriously. She also felt flattered that he thought she was worth all this effort, that he saw her as capable.

So capable that the final lesson was on how to kill.

"Now, if you do have a knife and someone comes at you, you swing your arm up and block his attack, get in close, and then you thrust your blade into his heart, all the way to the hilt. You hold it there until the light leaves their eyes. Do not waver. Can you do that, lass?" His eyes searched hers, looking for doubt or hesitation.

With her chest pressed against his, she could feel his heart's steady beating, and she imagined being the cause of its stopping. Sadness welled up within her at the idea. But if she imagined it to be a faceless assailant or one of the trapper brothers or one of Regina's soldiers, she felt nothing. Did that make her a 'bad' person? She did not know. She did know that she could truthfully answer, "Aye, I can."

Her man-in-black nodded in grim satisfaction.

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

~The former playground~

"Dead." Killian declared for the nth time. In this instance, he had tripped her and she was flat on her back with him pinning her there with a knife held to her throat. "Now if I didn't have a knife to your throat, how can you get out of this?"

She thought back to all of her other lessons. "Bring you in closer?"

"Good. And then?" He prompted.

After a brief moment of contemplation, she smirked gleefully, "And then I top you."

Rolling his eyes, he dryly confirmed, "Yes, lass, that is the general idea," and then he returned her smirk, shamelessly asking, "Shall I show you how to get a man on his back?"

Without waiting for her to come up with a suitable retort, he instructed, "Hook onto his wrist with one hand and use your other to grab behind his elbow, trapping his arm to your chest, like so…"

She did so, and immediately regretted flirting with him; thoughts of nibbling on enticing lips or ears were so distracting that she nearly missed his next statement.

"…And then you'll trap his foot and leg with your foot…" She moved her leg as indicated. "…Lift your hips and then flip over onto your knees…"

When he was on his back, he concluded, "And now you can have your way with him."

Ignoring him, she asked, "And what do I do if he does have a knife to my throat?"

Killian's blue eyes darkened to ominous black, as he harshly instructed, "Don't." He harshly instructed. "Don't let it get to that point, Tawny lass, because by then, you do whatever he wants."

Staring into his blue eyes, which had now darkened to ominous black, she couldn't help but be moved by the fervent plea that she saw there and heard in the despair-filled rasp of his voice. She was both delighted by his fear, (for it meant that he cared for her), and was pained by it. She wanted to ease his distress, as easily as she could smooth his furrowed brow.

But that was his demon to fight, not hers, so she merely nodded in understanding, before getting off of him and preparing for the next round.

Three rounds later, she wasn't feeling so magnanimous, and although she wished to offer him a helpful suggestion concerning his finances, she wanted to deflate his ego a little in the process as well, so she verbally jabbed with a teasing, "Ya know…Jones, if you're bad luck continues at the tables and you need a paying day job – "

"I will not be a swabbie on top of your 'meddlesome maid'!" He protested vehemently. "No matter how much the thought of me in an apron on all fours and covered in suds turns you on."

"Kinky." She remarked dryly, before pressing on. "But no, I was going to suggest that you take on a few more students like me, except they pay for it with cashy-money. I know a few women who would prefer not to have to depend upon a knight-in-shining-armor to come to their rescue, as they are in rather short supply these days."

After brief thoughtful pause, in which his head was cocked to the side in contemplation, he asserted, "That's not a bad idea, lass."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"That you thought of something so clever? Never. It's just that I wish I had thought of it first."

She felt herself blush but was able to laugh it off with a dry chuckle. "Oh my, thanks for the ego boost. I needed that after getting my ass whooped for the – what is it now? – 83rd time?"

Killian's smile was indulgent, as he encouraged kindly, "You are too hard on yourself, lass. It is taking me far longer to best you each and every time. Eventually, you will best me, and then we'll celebrate."

"Ha!" She scoffed. "If we're not two old people in a nursing home drinking all our food out of a straw, then I want cake – Granny's sinful double chocolate fudge with raspberry filling to be precise."

"As you wish."

~0~

She was early to her lesson with Killian. Ashley and Thomas had decided to eat in and instead of going out after their council meeting, and so she wasn't needed as late as she had expected to babysit Alexandra.

Before she was in range of hailing the captain for permission to board his ship, she saw them – the captain and the lad.

Killian was standing behind Henry with hook and hand on his shoulders while the boy was attempting to use the sextant. They were so engrossed in their navigation lesson that they didn't see her come aboard. Not wanting to interrupt, she crept past the creaky boards and halfway up the steps to the quarterdeck, so that she could observe them unnoticed.

She couldn't hear what they were saying, but when Henry turned around and said something to his step-grandfather/honorary uncle, the man beamed down at him with pride.

It was a beautiful expression. There was no smirk in sight, no sardonic lop-sided grin. His lips stretched wide revealing his pearly whites. His eyes crinkled at the corners. His blue irises gleamed brightly with unabashed emotion, a mixture of delight and affection.

It did funny things to her innards.

More importantly, it made the kid's day. His wide and contented grin never disappeared after that, making her cheek muscles hurt in sympathy, and he had a bounce in his step all the way out to Emma's yellow Bug, when she came to pick him up.

She had to use her indignation at Swan's suspicious scowl to wipe the silly grin off her face.

~0~

She was feeling calm and content and oh-so-full as she gazed up at the stars. They had finished a grueling lesson, and she had outright refused to move from her spot on the deck. She was too sore and tired, to even go below to consume the food that Killian had tried to entice her with. She did however manage to rouse herself when he had brought up the heavenly banquet from Granny's – a true Southern feast of fried chicken and buttery sides – setting it out picnic style.

She had devoured it all, except for the wine which he had served in intricately carved coconut shells. That, she was savoring.

"Thank you, Jones. That was much better than the canned soup I had planned at home."

"Mhmm. Sounds…appetizing, love."

She laughed softly, "Not really. But next time, I'll bring over some Cajun food. I have a neighbor who is always trying out new recipes on me. She's a bloody genius when it comes to spices."

"I'm always game for new experiences, but there's other ways you can repay the favor, lass, if that is what you are trying to do."

She kept her gaze locked on the starry sky, avoiding his piercing stare. She knew he was staring at her. She could feel it, and judging by the absence of suggestiveness that usually accompanies such a comment, it was not the impudent, leering ogle that he favored and which she would have preferred. And that fact alone sent her walls flying up so instantaneously that all she could manage in reply was a simple, cautious "Oh?"

"You can tell me a secret. I'll even give the choice of which one." He replied, sounding so proud of his generosity.

She sat up to face him. The gauntlet had been thrown, and she refused to shrink back from a challenge, but she could not keep the wariness that she felt hidden as she asked him, "What would you like to know?"

His gaze met hers. It was both intensely scrutinizing and sincerely compassionate, as he admitted "I would like to know why you don't like to go into Granny's and/or what happened to your mother."

The air rushed out of her in a single gust just as if he had physically sucker-punched her but also with relief. He wanted much but he did not want all. At least not yet.

Shrugging, she replied, "Well, the answer about Granny's is simple enough. I don't like crowds."

"Former tavern wench," he baldly called what he thought was her bluff.

"Key word was 'former'," she defended.

At his disappointed look, she continued with forced breeziness, "But, I suppose, you want the reason as to my ochlophobia?"

"Yes, lass." He blandly asserted, ignoring the rabbit trail of Greek terminology.

"Well, you will have to do much better than fried chicken for that tale." She quipped. More seriously, she asked, "Why do you wish to know about my mother?"

His head cocked to the side, as he softly defended, "It's only fair, kitten. I told you of Milah."

She nodded. She could respect that. He had revealed one of his deepest wounds, to a stranger. The least she could do was reveal one of hers, to her partner.

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

They had made it through the Endless Wood. And tomorrow she was going to stick her head in the proverbial noose for this mysterious dark stranger. Taking another fortifying sip of her 'liberated' wine, she took her eyes off their fire and turned to her companion, asking the question that she had been avoiding for the past three days.

"So what vile offense did Rumplestilstkin commit against you to warrant this tragic quest?"

"What? Haven't the tavern tales you've heard told you?" The infamous captain sneered, waving his hook in the air. "The Crocodile took my hand."

She snorted, arguing. "That hardly merits centuries of hatred and bloodlust. Especially," she nodded to his hook, "As you're an adaptable fellow. Now if he had taken another more significant extremity, I could understand."

She did not get the laugh she expected, nor even a grimace. Instead, she was met with narrowed eyes and a suspicious query, "Why the sudden interest, love?"

Shrugging, she replied honestly, "Well, if I am going to be risking the Queen's wrath, I figured I at least out to know what motivates my partner."

His gaze momentarily shifted to fixate on the flickering flames but then he faced her head on, asking poignantly, "Have you ever been in love, lass?"

The question was so out of the blue that she could not hide from him how much it distressed her. As she tried to stuff all of her old issues back in their box, she could feel herself nibbling her lip and hear herself replying with equal distance, "I could have been, if given the chance."

She knew her response intrigued him, but he thankfully pressed on, saying grimly, "Then perhaps you'll understand a fraction of my pain. I was in love once. She was adventurous. She was bold. And she was a good woman. She left her ignoble husband and their son for a life with me. He couldn't forgive her for that, and so he ripped out her heart and crushed it in front of me. She died in my arms."

For a moment, she had nothing to say. There was nothing to say. No magic words could ever ease that kind of pain and loss. And she suspected that he didn't want it eased. Without it he would have no purpose.

As she absorbed the magnitude of his loss, her gaze left his and drifted down, which was when she saw him rubbing his arm where his tattoo was. It was of a heart stabbed by dagger wrapped in a ribbon with what she assumed was a woman's name. She had seen it earlier when he had helped her over a fallen tree earlier today.

"Is she the Milah of your tattoo?"

"Aye."

"Well then," raising her flask, she toasted, "Here's to Milah."

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

"My mother was the best woman I have ever known. She was strong and independent and kind and patient and compassionate. She brooked no non-sense." She declared wistfully. "Oh the stories of the shenanigans she caught me at …"

Memories flooded her, bittersweet and precious. She pushed them aside before they swept her away and continued with her tale of woe. "She was struck down by the plague just before I entered womanhood. It was so random and unexpected. No one knew how she had gotten it, as she had been avoiding anyone who had been near the afflicted towns. But everyone else had their theories," she noted resentfully. At his quirked eyebrow, she explained, "I am a bastard child. My father was a married man of … of some consequence."

She hedged that last bit, for there was no need to go into that pesky detail as he had only asked about her mother. If he noticed, he chose not to inquire. Instead he filled in the blanks, stating knowingly, his voice tinged with outrage, "And they attributed her sickness as divine punishment."

Comforted by his indignation on hers and her mother's behalf, she admitted, "Yes, but I didn't believe it then. There were far more deserving people in need of divine retribution than my mother."

"But now?"

"No, I don't believe it now either. I know what happened now." Taking a large gulp of wine, she shared aloud to the first person ever the horrifying truth, "My father's shrew wife struck a deal with the fey witch, told her my mother's true name so that she could curse her."

"Oh, lass," he murmured.

At this she finally looked at him, letting him see past her walls, letting him see the bitterness, the pain, the molten anger that had once burned raging bright, and confessed, "If the woman hadn't been long since dead and hadn't suffered incredibly so in the process by the time I met you, I would have taken the skills you taught me and set out on my own quest for vengeance."

As she stared at him, she could tell that he had a thousand more burning questions. But rather than asking a single one, he poured her another cup of wine and then raised his own saying, "To your mother."

~0~

Present

What was Killian Jones to her?

He mourned with her. He challenged her. He infuriated her. He cared for her. He was the man who believed in her. He saw her, warts and all, and kept trying to see more, seeming to think that she was worth the effort. No one had ever thought so before or had had the stamina or stubbornness to persist in finding the chinks in her armor.

Granted, he hadn't bothered to inquire as to what had happened to her after their storm-the-castle gig, he was self-centered like that. But she didn't mind. She was both ashamed and grateful for what happened and didn't need him exposing that part of herself just yet.

All in all though, he was her friend.

Now if benefits were to come with that, she wouldn't turn it down, for he was a mighty attractive relentless, charming, perceptive scoundrel. But if not, she could be content to simply be the mildly flirtatious friends that they were.

She hoped that he knew that she had his back. For she knew he had hers. Of that she was certain like she had never been of anyone else.

And that meant the world to her.

A/N:

Translation: hunan leddfu = 'wanking' in Welsh

Definition (courtesy of wiktionary): ochlophobia = "A phobia or fear, of mob-like crowds, as opposed to simply open spaces like agoraphobia or large crowds as with enochlophobia."

Kudos to anyone who caught the Doctor Who reference or the nod to Disney's Princess Tiana.

And as always...Not mine and please review, pretty please ; )