A/N: As always, not mine, but thank God for Netflix.

Anywho, here be scheming, plotting, and shenanigans - oh my!

Chapter 13:

Operation: Poach and Release

Dante's Wellness Clinic

1:30pm

"Hey Ginger, who's this?" Hank the front desk security guard inquired, rather rudely in her opinion. A hello would have been nice.

But she bit her tongue. This was one of the hardest parts, getting their foot in the door without arousing suspicion.

Ginger, cool as a cucumber, replied with beautiful nonchalance and self-deprecation, "Oh, I'm having Gwen here shadow me today. That way someone knows what to do in case I get sick. I'd hate to leave the patients hanging, ya know."

Hank grunted in acknowledgment, bored with the conversation apparently. Without really looking at her, he handed her the clipboard and ordered gruffly, "Sign here, and stay in the public areas."

She silently did as instructed, and then meekly followed after Ginger.

She sat in a few classes and then snuck off to the tiny coat closet made available for the guest instructors, of which today Ginger was the only one. From there she got to work, reversing her track pants from navy blue to the black, putting in colored contacts, thickening her eyebrows and coloring them black to match the wig she was going to add as her pièce de résistance, all the while checking her phone for updates from Fitz.

Babette had gotten their tech guru in by setting off the fire alarm (a burning cigarette held near a sensor while allegedly dusting). The equally resourceful Fitz wore scrubs and an official looking name tag. No one had spared him a glance as he shuffled along with the herd back into the building with the impatient herd of workers and patients after the all clear was given. Babette had then gotten him into the computer server room via a cleaning cart. He was presently hacking his way into the security feed and playing the waiting game along with her.

The reason for this elaborate infiltration was that if they went through the storm drain, they would be going in blind. They had no idea if the sublevels had security cameras or sensors that would detect intruders. They didn't know where or who would be down there either. If they popped a grate and attracted attention or were detected electronically, the operation would be over before it started. This way they could neutralize electronic detection and human interference first, and thus be free to do the heavy lifting of damsel-rescuing undisturbed. And if they did encounter anyone, hopefully her appearance would be altered enough that no one could mark her for retaliation later.

While they waited, Fitz sent her the following texts:

Visiting hrs just started.

No cam feeds from sublvls.

Psych Rn's don't have Grey's style on-call rm. Zel owes me 5 bucks.

Disney got 1 thing rt. D'Arque does tht evil creepy finger-steeple thing. Btw, Hank jst picked his nose. 4 the 3rd time.

Vst hrs ovr. Urs & G's exits spliced in. Seamlessly I might add.

The video for this splicing was provided by the camera feed from the hospital, which conveniently had similarly looking hallways and doors as Dante's clinic. She and Ginger had done a mock run yesterday. Grumpy had been out walking his sniffer dog, leaving Sleepy to 'watch' the monitors. If only the security guys here, were just as lax.

Once the patients had settled down for the night, Fitz spliced in his empty-hallway feed, and Babette kept them clear of vigilant guards by pulling a 'I-am-a-ditz' routine.

U shud hear B. 'Oops. I forgot my purse, and I need it, mon amis, as you can see this ol' thing has no pock-ets!' She's got em eating out of her hands. Eyelash batting, French accent, tight short cocktail dress. Drooling they are.

Following this extraordinarily long if hilarious message, Fitz sent a much shorter and less trivial one: all clear.

Tawny was never more relieved. She had been getting more than a little stir crazy. Her makeover had long since been completed (a necessity, in case, they encountered anyone) and her ass had gone from sore to numb over an hour ago.

She pulled on her black hoodie over her plain white tee and then a pair of gloves before meeting up with Ginger, who had been waiting in the equipment closet, at the elevator. Fitz quickly joined them. They all exchanged nods of greeting, her in her black wig, Ginger in her blond afro, and Fitz in a white comb-over; and then Fitz got to work bypassing the security on the elevator so that they could access the sublevels. This took several minutes, and she and Ginger took up posts at the ends of the hallway to ensure that he would not be interrupted.

Tawny desperately wished that she could chew her nails while she anxiously waited, but she kept her gloves on – the bother of fingerprints and all.

Finally, the locksmith signaled that they were a go, and she and Ginger rushed to pile into the elevator. The doors closed behind her and down they went into the deepest circles of hell.

As they did so, misgivings began to claw their way up her throat. It had been too easy. The last time she had infiltrated enemy territory, it had gone well in the beginning and then – well and then she had spent twenty-eight years cleaning out Regina's modernized chamber pot.

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

~Regina's Castle~

"It is true that we do need help," the Matron admitted. "Girls get sick or pregnant, and there is no one to replace them now that Her Majesty has been exiled by that traitor and her upstart prince. But this begs the question – why do you want to work here?"

The bulldog of a woman's smaller than average eyes narrowed even more and her thin lipped mouth pursed to nonexistence as she eyed Tawny suspiciously. The waves of skepticism emanating from her were impossible to miss.

She tread carefully, heeding her inner-monologue which strangely sounded like Hook's voice: 'Be deferential but don't be a sycophantic toady or they'll suspect what you are – a spy'. Taking a deep breath, she answered with all the dignity a desperate girl could muster, "Honestly? It's like me mum always said 'beggars can't be choosers', and I'm begging here, 'cause it's this or whoring. And well, I still have me pride."

This seemed to soften the Matron some, but the formidable woman still tested her with, "Some would believe that it would be better for your soul to sell your body than to serve the Queen."

Tawyn snorted, "Beg pardon, ma'am, but in me opinion it could only be men who would say such things, and may they get the rash from their lady friends."

Amusement flickered in the Matron's tiny eyes as she considered her carefully, finally asserting, "You'll start today. Penny will show you the ropes and your quarters. You'll receive a weekly wage of three silvers and you'll have Tuesdays off, and are expected to be back on the castle grounds 9 o'clock. Is that acceptable?"

"Aye – I mean, yes, ma'am."

She started to stand and do as instructed, but was halted halfway up by the woman's final words, "Miss Tawny? Do try to keep a civil tongue in your head."

Bobbing an awkward but respectful curtsy, she went to find this Penny. And prayed she wasn't a fly entangling itself in an inescapable web.

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

The elevator doors opened, jarring her from her memory. The trepidation, that awful gnawing fear at the pit of her stomach, was still there though, and there was a voice loudly clamoring for her to "Get the hell out of there, you dumb broad!"

Glancing at her companions, who had matching looks of revulsion on their faces, she realized she wasn't the only one – which was oddly comforting. She wasn't alone.

It was a nice thought, but rather pointless. Ariel was alone. And if they didn't get a move on, their fate would be in far worse hands than whatever awaited them beyond those doors. With this conviction firmly planted at the forefront of her mind, she grabbed the backs of her friends' jackets and propelled them into the hallway beyond.

They both gave startled grunts of protest at first, but once past the threshold, they subsided and joined her in taking in their surroundings.

Unlike the upper-levels, the sublevels did not have IKEA-decorated corridors with soothing blues, greens, or the universal taupe walls. Nope, the halls resembled the dwarves' mines, or at least the rocky, dark, dank, and dusty caverns that she and Ruby had flirted a guided tour out of Happy eons ago. They were lit by a string of lights, powered by an extension cord that ran along the wall, and she assumed connected to generator somewhere. The rooms had hastily laid concrete walls and floors, all very dirty and dusty.

"Uh, guys, is it too late to ask how we're supposed to find this mermaid tank of theirs in a timely fashion?" Fitz asked both facetiously and with genuine concern.

"Relax, I have an excellent sense of direction," Jinjur, the Ozian general, reassured confidently. "Too many years ferreting out Nomes in their tunnels not to know my way around the underworld."

"That's great and everything, but how – where – "

"And we know where we are going," Tawny interrupted hastily, explaining, "Because their options are limited. They need a place big enough to hold a tank that large and a place that has easy access to the outside world for when they need to move her for the ceremony. Logically, that is the room with the floor grate above the storm drain. All we need to do is search those rooms that run along that."

"Enough talk," Jinjur ordered curtly. "Let's go."

They moved as silently as they could through the crudely lit rocky corridors. The first room they checked was a storage room filled with filing cabinets and file-stuffed cardboard boxes. The second was a boiler room. The third a rudimentary chemistry lab. But the fourth – the fourth was her metaphorical crap-filled chamber pot.

~0~

Killian rowed his little dingy along the shoreline, dipping the padded oars steadily but silently into the inky dark waters. He used the town's lights as a guideline. It was a mercy that his path didn't require him to maneuver nearer rockier shores.

He did not like this plan at all. It had felt like bad form sailing away that morning. He had left his partner standing on the docks alone. It had felt too much like when he had sailed away with the bean when the town was doomed for destruction. And while he was stealthily navigating up the river, Emma was facing two evil sorceresses. The feisty lass had her family and friends for back-up though. His fiery lass, however, only had an Ozian general who had failed at her coupe and a former thief. He did not like this plan at all.

And for the life of him, he could not figure out why he had agreed to it. He wasn't even sure when he had caved. Was it when she had batted her amber-sparkling eyes at him? Or was it when she had tossed her golden locks over shoulders before counting off on her slender fingers all the reasons why this was the best of the shitty options available to them? It was a habit that he had first found irritating beyond distraction and now was distractingly endearing.

He shook off these disturbingly sappy thoughts and rowed up to the mouth of the storm drain. Tying his boat to the iron bars that covered most of its entrance, he mentally prepared himself to get into the game. As he did so, he took in his surroundings. He smelled the river, which lacked the brininess that he had come to know and love. He smelled the dirty rancid run off that was pouring from the drain. He saw the wind rustle the weeds growing out of the cracks in the rocks and drain's cement floor. He heard the gurgling of the runoff, and the distant tolling of the library's clock tower. But more importantly, he heard the faint echoes of scuffling coming from further up the drain.

And cursing, lots of un-ladylike cursing.

Letting out a few choice oaths of his own, he charged into the grotto's maw to join the fray. And tried not to picture the worst.

~0~

Inside the chamber was the black coffin-like tank, three security-like chaps (muscly build, military stances), and the Samson Twins. Five against three weren't terrible odds. But they weren't the greatest either.

For a moment, nobody moved and just stared at each other in disbelief. Tawny's gaze was locked with Flo's mismatched one, and then she was scanning the room, taking in how they were armed, and searching for proverbial firebrands. Just as her gaze returned to her opponent's, the guard closest to them lunged.

Ginger reacted first, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking him forward into her upraised knee, rendering him winded. She then used him as a shield by shoving him back towards his companions as she charged into the room. Instead of catching him though, they spread out letting him hit his head on the tank, and as a result of their callousness, the odds were now four against three.

She and Fitz followed after Ginger and stood to either side of her just in the doorway. From there, everything was pretty much a slow motion blur, if that makes any sense. It happened quickly, but each moment was a detailed and crisp image freeze frame shot.

Duck. Punch. Side-step. Leg-sweep. Open-palmed nose jab. Roll. Block. Kick.

At one point, someone tried to grab her from behind. Well, 'tried' is the wrong turn of phrase; they did grab her from behind. However, their hold did not last long as Killian's extensive training kicked in, and she instinctively and simultaneously pulled on his fingers so that his grip loosened while she also dropped her weight and twisted, elbowing her assailant in the gut. She followed this up with a knee to the gut. An unoriginal but effective move. She then grabbed his shirt into two fists and then made to spin him about and hurl him into the wall.

She didn't manage that last part because as she had swung him around, the Jet twin fired his taser gun. If she hadn't traded places with her assailant, it would have hit her, but instead of doing so, his shot hit her human shield.

She had the presence of mind to let go before the slimy sod got a two-fer, which was rather fortunate, as Jet's taser was set beyond 'stun'. Her human shield turned into a twitching fried corpse within seconds.

Her horrified gaze met that of the leering former eel boy's, and she let out a string of blistering curses.

He grinned and then raised his arm to aim his gun at her. She dodged to the side, inelegantly careening into a wall. She pivoted to adjust her direction to either dodge again or to launch herself at him, but he was no longer aiming at her. When she had moved, she had left Fitz, whose back was to this little drama, to be an open target.

Refusing to let her friend die and her best girlfriend become a widow, she hurled herself at Jet, knocking him into the tank and winding him long enough so that she could get her hands on the taser-gun. She tried to get her finger behind the gun so that the son of a bitch couldn't hurt anyone. She failed.

Fitz had been circling one of the guards and exchanging boxing jabs, and then the trigger-happy Jet got off a few zaps and hit another one of his allies.

Tawny was both relieved that Fitz had not been the victim and furious that yet another man had needlessly died at this piece of shit's hand. Her fury gave her enough strength to bang his arm hard enough against the tank to shake his grip loose and send the gun flying into the shadows.

In retaliation, Jet Samson leveraged them off the tank and threw her and himself to the floor. They rolled around on the floor. She used every applicable dirty pirate trick up her sleeve to get the upper-hand, but the wiry twin was as slippery as his former eel-self. And then the bastard grabbed an extension cord for the lights and began wrapping it around her throat.

She tried to break his grip on the cord. She tried to loosen it. She tried to buck him off her. She tried to punch his face to erase his malicious leer of victory. All attempts failed. He was too strong.

He was too confident.

"… They have relied heavily on their strength and length of limb and have not bothered increasing their speed…you can this use to your advantage… strike hard and fast…"

As black crowded the edges of her vision, she pawed at him with faux futilely with one hand, pulling him closer to her. But with the other, she plunged her hand between the snaps of her track pants and yanked out the thin blade that had been strapped to her thigh.

"…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?"

She most definitely could.

At first, he didn't seem to notice. But then his mismatched eyes widened in horrific surprise. His grip on the cord slackened as he tried to push her away, but Tawny held firm.

His mouth was open as he gasped out, "You – ", and blood trickled out. The white and ochre dimmed and lost focus.

And then there was 175 pounds of deadweight holding her down.

She shoved him off of her and jerked out her knife. Her actions must have caught Flo's attention because the remaining twin let out an unholy shriek and shoved Ginger into the wall stunning her and then whipped out her taser-gun.

Aiming it right at her.

~0~

No one heard Killian pop the grate up and shove it against the tank. No one saw him scramble up through the new hole in the floor. He took full advantage of this, getting the lay of the land.

There were two oddly burned corpses, smoldering on the floor. One was near Conroy who looked to be debating whether to finish off the bloke who was on his hands and knees with a dazed expression or come to the aid of one of his mates. Stalwart Ginger was facing off with the limber Samson wench, and both were wielding lead pipes like quarterstaffs, weaving fluidly around each other, while Tawny was grappling with the other underling of the sea witch.

Unlike Conroy, he knew which woman he was going to assist. Vaulting over the tank, he drew his sword; only for such gallantry to be rendered unnecessary, as the lass finished off her opponent like the fighter she was.

And then the sinuous blond went berserk. Ginger was shoved against the wall. An odd-looking pistol was drawn. And the world simultaneously slowed and erupted into a deafening cacophony.

Both Ginger's and Conroy's eyes widened in horror, gazes darting from the pistol to the burnt corpses to Tawny. The pistol's wielder was shouting what sounded to be something like "Diiiee biiiitch!"

But Killian didn't give her a chance to make good on that threat. The world may have slowed, but his arm had already been in motion.

Between one beat of his pounding heart and the next, he stopped hers.

~0~

It wasn't her day to die. She didn't even get the chance to have her life flash before her eyes (not that she was complaining).

One moment, she was staring down the barrel of Death, and the next, she was seeing steel erupt through her would-be executioner's chest.

Her gaze lifted to meet that of her rescuer's and connected with the intense blue of her man-in-black. Her mouth began to curve into a smile of gratitude but ended up twisting to that of horror.

For over his shoulder, she saw Guard #3 aim a 9 mil at Killian's head.

She couldn't get enough air into her lungs to shout a warning.

Not that it would have done any good, because at that moment Ginger gave a loud "Oh hell no!" and swung her lead pipe like a homerun slugger. It connected with the side of the walking dead man's face with a sickening crunch. His body crumpled to the ground, his blood and brain matter staining the concrete floor.

"Shit." Ginger muttered. There was no hint of remorse at her actions, just disgust. And Tawny agreed. If the idiot had just surrendered when it was four against one and not tried to avenge his comrades, especially since one of them had been responsible for the death of the other two, he would have been mercifully bound and gagged and sent to the tender care of Swan. She hoped none of them had wives or children. She didn't want to be a widow- or orphan-maker.

Killian interrupted her musings with the concerned query "You alright, lass?" and an extended hand.

Grasping his hand and hoisting herself up, she gave him a grim if reassuring grin, as she replied, "Yeah, they had it coming."

"Aye, they did," he nodded in agreement, and then down to Jet's body, "The first is always the toughest."

His comment elicited the first true twinge of guilt that evening. She managed not to wince and only gave a curt, "Not my first." It wasn't the time for confessions. They had work to do.

Perceptive as always, Killian picked up on that and let her admission slide without further question. She knew he was storing it for a later date though – his ever expressive eyebrows had skyrocketed. Instead of commenting, he jerked his head towards the tank and asked, "So Conroy, can you crack this chest open?"

"As long as it is not magically sealed," was Fitz's confident reply.

While Fitz examined the locking mechanism of the tank, she had Ginger help her search for the taser-guns – tech like that did not need to be loose in Storybrooke – and had Killian stand guard in case anyone came to investigate the racket their altercation had made.

No one did. And Fitz quickly worked his magic. ("It was a simple combination lock – child's play really.") When they lifted the lid, they revealed its precious contents – an unconscious Ariel half-submerged in seaweed-congested salt water, her red hair fanning out around her.

"Well, now I know what all the fuss has been about."

A/N: Love it? Hate it? Wish there was more swashbuckling? An adrenaline-rush induced kiss? Let me know. I love feedback.

Next chapter: After-witch