A/N: So, my dear longsuffering readers, you are in luck. I have been storing up flashbacks for the most opportune moment, and it has arrived! So enjoy, and let me know what you think ; )
Chapter 20:
Let the Good Times Roll
Storybrooke General Hospital
18 hours later…
Killian stared at the unconscious, broken but patched-up form of his Tawny-lass.
He had ridden in the emergency carriage to the hospital and had watched them poke and prod her and then rush her through double doors to be examined via "x-rays" and "cat-skins", or whatever it was, and then prepped for surgery. He had felt so helpless and powerless.
Jefferson had been there with him for the first few hours, but had left to go get his daughter. He had been perfectly fine with that, relieved more like, as the man wasn't the most restful companion. He had the tendency to jabber away when nervous and fiddle with things. His current muttered ramblings had been inane or insane assurances that the lass would be alright because she had 'too much muchness to be any less.' In Killian's opinion that had just been too much.
Swan and Charming had checked in with him. Both had even attempted to get him to eat, at Mother Snow's insistence, of course, but nothing had mattered except for seeing his lass alive and well.
The wolf-girl had been the most useful. Due to her relationship with the doctor, she got regular updates on her friend's condition, which she readily shared and interpreted for him.
His lass had suffered so much – a brutal beating that had resulted in internal bleeding, cracked ribs, a punctured lung, and a severe concussion. The Whale fellow had had to do a partial spleen removal, the organ's tissues had been so damaged. He had also had to insert a chest tube to drain the fluid that was leaking into her lungs. The nurses had been in to periodically check on it since he had been allowed into her room.
He had been reassured that the procedures had gone well and 'there had been no complications,' but she looked so pale and more importantly so frail, swallowed up the sea of white sheets, tubes, wires, and blinking, beeping electronics. And she wasn't waking up.
"It's the concussion. She took quite a knock, or several, to the head. That takes time to recover from. Sleep is the best thing for her, and her body knows it," he had been told. It was cold comfort, especially when the very same medical personnel were pursing their lips and frowning whenever they checked in on her.
David had offered the best words of comfort though, reminding him that his Tawny was a tough lass.
"She's a fighter, a survivor, mate. Emma told me all that she had done to those guys – soldiers, all three of them – even with her injuries. She'll pull through, just you wait."
He'd wait, of course. He'd count every breath she had. He'd just rather go out and crack a few more heads together.
Not long after that, Starkey came in to help him keep vigil, asking with genuine concern, "How goes it, Captain?"
"Like a bad case of the doldrums, the kind when you fear that your crew will die of dehydration before the wind will ever pick up," he replied glumly.
Starkey nodded sympathetically and gave Killian's shoulder a squeeze, as he sat down next to him. For a while, they sat there in companionable silence, which both were comfortable with, but inevitably, his former first mate pulled out his flask and offered it to him, "Want some?"
He shook his head. He knew if he started now, he would not stop until he passed out, and he did not want that to be the image that his lass woke up to. And she would wake up, damn it.
Starkey shrugged, took a sip, and then asked thoughtfully, "Do you remember when you were injured by Captain Bonny?"
He nodded. Bloody hell, did he ever. Captain Elizabeth Bonny had gutted him right good and stolen his map to the Cave of Wonders. She and her crew had never been seen again after that, but he had nearly died from his wound. Cookson (who had been a terrible cook but a bloody terrific surgeon) had kept him alive by cutting out the mutilated piece of his liver and having hooked him up to a steady supply of donated blood from his crew, mainly Milah, who had never let him hear the end of it.
"Well, we were all worried, when it looked like you weren't going to make it, that she would have a womanly fit of hysterics, but our lady was made of sterner stuff," he reminisced fondly. After a moment of contemplative silence, he came to his point, stating, "One day, I asked her how she did it, how she was able to stay by your side and not be a wreck. Do you know what she said?"
"No, Starkey, but I had always assumed she was thinking of all those wonderful and flattering names she called me when she was giving me her opinion on my behavior," he drawled.
Ignoring his remark, Starkey answered his own question, "She told me that instead of dwelling on the 'what ifs' of what she could have done differently or of what could happen to you, she focused on all the good moments the two of you had shared. And you two had a lot of those."
"Aye," he agreed wistfully.
"Just like I imagine you and this fair lass have had and will have."
Killian supposed he had made some remark to convey his gratitude for the man's wisdom. He did not recall, because his mind was already getting lost within all those good moments…
~0~
Early on in their partnership…
"So how does this wee device make the world yours, lass?"
She snatched her phone from his hand and gazed at him quizzically, asking "Do you have a phone, Jones?"
He returned her puzzled look. She knew he had one. She had messaged him enough on it as soon as she had his calling code. Slowly, he replied, "Yes, Regina gave me one, when we…" He stopped when he noticed her expression change from bewilderment to downright miffed.
Un-pursing her lips, she huffed, with quite a bit of bitterness, "Yes, when you and the Evil Queens – "
He winced apologetically, "Not my proudest moment, I admit."
Tawny scrutinized him briefly before giving an indifferent shrug, "Whatever. Did she show you how to use it?"
Killian knew that was as close of a display of forgiveness that he was going to get from her. But he also knew he was forgiven. She had done the same thing when she had mentioned his attack on the Lady Belle when they were in the cells together. She had let him know that she heartily disapproved of his actions, but she did not hold it against him. He was not sure if that was because she accepted him for who he was or if she believed he had the capacity to change. Perhaps, it was a little of both.
He returned her shrug with one of his own and replied dismissively, "I get the basics. Enter a sequence of numbers. Hit the green button, and voila! I can talk to you as if you were standing in the other room. And from what I've been able to gather it has something to do with 'lektressetty', which operates like lightning but on a smaller scale."
"Electricity," she corrected absently, and then a slow smirk spread across her face as she teased, "And someone has been getting lessons from Henry, haven't they?"
"He's an inquisitive lad." He defended with a proud grin. "For the sake of my voice, I instituted a question-for-question system."
She seemed more than mildly amused at this, as she inquired, "What is it that he wants to learn?"
"Why, what every boy wants to learn from Captain Hook, of course!"
His declaration was met with an inelegant snort, but her amber eyes twinkled with delight as she scoffed, "What? How to properly apply guy-liner?"
"Oi! Sun glare protection is no laughing matter!" He protested with mock sternness. "A fact the lad appreciates, along with old school navigational charting. None of this GBS malarkey."
"GPS," she corrected amusedly, before spoiling the moment with her I-am-teacher-hear-me-lecture tone, asking, "Speaking of which, what do you know of 'the Grid'?"
~0~
One lazy Sunday afternoon…
"So why is it that you do not have one of these monster carriage contraptions?" he asked, gesturing at the vehicle that had just whizzed past them with his lemonade cup.
They were walking along the boardwalk to his ship, after purchasing an overly sugared beverage from Grace's and Gretel's stand, when a very flashy one, driven by a Boyd wench, careened past them.
"They are expensive," Tawny replied flatly. "Even if I could have gotten one with a five finger discount, keeping it maintained and fueled is a luxury beyond the reach of a girl who couldn't for decades afford rent and food. And then there is the fact that any destination in this hamlet can be reached by my own two legs in little over an hour max."
He opened his mouth to comment, but she cut him off, waving her own cup around to add matter-of-factly, "Oh, and then there's the fact that they are bad for the environment."
Before he had to endure another lecture on 'being green', he remarked dryly, "Sounds like you've given your justifications a lot of thought, kitten."
'Kitten' grimaced at the moniker, to his ever-loving delight as she was just precious all-piqued and peevish. She usually got downright saucy then.
This time, however, she became wistful, confessing, "Yeah, I have. Before the Curse and learning that I couldn't leave town without being memory-wiped, I used to dream about leaving here, having adventures, maybe going on a road trip in a convertible with the wind in my hair."
The yearning and longing that he read in her features and heard in her voice resonated with him, and when her attention which had been lost in the horizon turned to him, they connected.
And so he shared a little piece of his soul. "Ah, the longing for adventure, that's why I wanted to become a sailor, ya know."
"Oh?" she asked quietly, looking highly intrigued.
The smile he flashed her was almost boyish. "The feel of freedom whipping through your hair… there's nothing like it. You should try it on a ship sometime, when you're not trapped in this hamlet. It would be infinitely better than this 'convertible' you speak of."
Her eyes flicked to the Jolly Roger, which was docked at the end of the far end of the harbor, and with far more melancholy than she intended, she sighed, "I think I'm going to have to take your word for it."
He frowned. It was a beautiful day. He had convinced her to relax and enjoy it – no plotting, no crime-fighting, no secret-gathering. His bright-eyed lass should not look so forlorn.
Pausing, he set his cup on the wharf railing and turned to give her a courtly bow, "Well then, m'lady, may I ask for the honor of being the first on your sailing-dance card?"
She gave a merry little giggle, her eyes dancing with mirth and he supposed either in appreciation or amusement at his antics, because she then gave a surprisingly genteel curtsy, saying, "It would be my pleasure, Captain Jones."
When he gazed into her hazel eyes, all he saw was genuine sincerity, and the space in his chest that had been cold and hard and dark for so long, that had been revived by Swan's inclusion of him and dimmed by her rejection of his suit, now warmed again.
~0~
After Henry's sextant lesson…
"Ya know, lass, she'd probably trust you more if she knew you were the 'Concerned Citizen.'" His voice rasped, as he advised her from just over her shoulder.
Swan had come to pick up Henry and had found Tawny there on the Jolly Roger, and, of course, Mama-Sheriff had given his fellow 'jailbird' her patented look of I-think-you'r-up-to-something-and-I'm-gonna-find-out-what-it-is-you-shady-person.' In his case it was a little more colorful than that.
Tawny found his advice unhelpful, for she turned to glower up at him and snarked, "And be hounded by that woman whenever she needs answers – which she always does? Hell no."
He couldn't help himself. Chest rumbling with suppressed mirth, he tweaked her blond ponytail, "Aw, kitten, you are so adorable, all riled up."
She batted his hand aside and glared at him, before musing dryly, "If you have a fetish for angry women, it's a wonder you have survived so long."
"Many have tried and failed, lass." He taunted, and then tossing her a short sword, he asked, "And would you like to try again?"
Her only reply to that was to grin predatorily at him as she swiftly moved into position. Goddess, he admired this feisty scrapper of a woman.
~0~
Guy's Gym, Group Lesson…
"The saying is that two is better than one," was how he opened his lecture of the day. At his feet were his five students and to the back, lining the wall of the wrestling room, were the Consort Freddie and his young promising protégés.
"And it would seem having two of you against multiple foes is better than on your lonesome," he paused to let the inevitable 'but' hang in the air, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few confused expressions among some of his students and a few among Freddie's. Tawny, however, was rolling her eyes at his 'dramatic diatribe'.
He didn't know why she protested his style of teaching so much, as it was really her fault for bringing out his inner-Lieutenant Jones.
"But, you've been saying that exact same thing for weeks now," interjected a Miss Marie Contraire, a lass who can always be counted on for voicing her conflicting opinion. "So why are you implying differently?"
"Ah, yes, I have, Marie," he acknowledged. "But what I am going to teach you today requires that you and your ally be a team. A true team is one that moves in synch, each partner anticipating the other's moves. This is only possible if there is a foundation of trust – trust that they will watch your back and that they will not stab you in your own."
He demonstrated the maneuver, using Freddie as his partner, which at first was more of a case of a bad team than the ideal, as the man was not at all trusting of him and had a noble streak a mile wide that caused him to resist dirty underhanded tricks. The one that he was attempting to teach entailed having one partner feint a wound to bait attackers, the other to come to the rescue exposing his back to his opponents, and the 'wounded' partner resurging to cover his/her back and surprising the enemy.
Eventually, he gave up on the demonstration and instructed, "Split up into pairs."
Peek gravitated towards Contraire, while Ginger snagged her fellow Ozian, Jillian Jem. That left, of course, his Tawny the odd lass out.
He approached her with a leering grin, "Looks like it is you and me, darling."
Her answering grin was mischievous. "Well, I would say that between you and that lot back there," she tipped her head towards Freddie's lads – all who lacked hair on their chest and not from a lack of trying, "My options were rather limited…"
And the chit used his own rhetorical device against him.
"But?"
"But," she shrugged casually before giving him a look full of intense meaning, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Taken rather aback by her admission, he blurted, "You trust me that much? I'm a pirate, lass."
"Always."
Her enigmatic reply made him want to ask: always what? That she trusts him? That he's always a pirate? He felt honored if it was the former, but a part of him wished it was the latter. He wanted to warn her. He was a cheating rogue, devilishly handsome though he be, but a blackguard nonetheless.
It was on the tip of his tongue to do just that when Sir Consort himself called out, "Oi! Let's get this show on the road, you two! Huddle time is over!"
Tawny smirked at him, "Shall we make him regret hastening his 'death', Jones?"
Casting off his sudden fit of melancholy, he chuckled, "Aye, lass, let us make them remember today."
And, boy, did they. Quite a few of them flinched or winced whenever they saw either him or his bonny bright 'dancing' partner.
~0~
Celebration at the Rabbit Hole…
"So tell me, m'lady, is Tawny at all like this when you have your 'Girls' night'?" He asked Giselle, nodding his head in the general direction of Tawny who is boisterously high-fiving Princess Ella for their victory against Jefferson at billiards – which even from here he can tell the man had let them win.
"She has her days," her friend admitted with a fond smirk, "but, no, usually I'm the, er, lively one of the bunch."
This confession caught his attention. Eyeing the petite woman up and down, he inquired with a jovial leer, "And by 'lively', you mean…?"
"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" was her arch reply.
Before he could make any sort of suitably clever retort, Tawny sauntered up to the bar next to them and asked, as she signaled for another Tequila shot, "Wouldn't Killian like to know what?"
An impish – nay evil – smirk spread across Tawny's supposed friend's face, as she 'helpfully' answered, "Why, how to dance the salsa."
At this, Tawny's whole face lit up, eyes bright and beaming, and she rapturously cried, "Oh, I love to salsa!"
"You should teach the captain then, sweetie. I mean, aren't you always saying that this song is one of the best to dance to?"
And just like that his lass was grabbing his hand and dragging him to an empty space in the crowded watering hole and chirping instructions at him.
"Alright, face me. Put your right hand on my shoulder, and your left – well, I'll hold your hook. Stand straight. Chin up. Loose hips." Only the last bit sounded awful like…
"Loose ships, lass?"
"Yeah, no, 'loose – hips." She heavily emphasized, as she demonstrated with a provocative swing of her own. "You're gonna sway like you're taking a rolling step on your ship."
Valiantly attempting to hide his smirk, he bit his lip and nodded along, "Loose hips, like rolling ships. Following so far, Tawny-love."
He must not have been very successful, because Tawny swatted his shoulder (with the hand not holding his hook) in rebuke, before resuming her instructions. "And on the count of two, you're gonna step forward with your left foot; on three, rock back with your right; on four, step back with your left; on five, hold; on six…" At which point, he tuned her out and just followed her lead, although he was pretty sure that was his job. "…So it's step-step-step-pause, step-step-step-pause or quick-quick-slow, quick-quick-slow. Got it?"
"Uh-huh." Or at least he thought he did, but when they tried it, the lass and he were out of their usual synch. Toes were stepped on. Hand-holds were lost as they moved out of each other's reach. And Tawny kept laughing because his 'hips were uptight'
Jefferson who was standing nearby taunted something along the lines of that "being code for 'tight ass'", which caused his lass to blush a pretty shade of maiden rose while making a most un-ladylike gesture. And over Tawny's shoulder, he spotted Conroy passing Princess Ella money, while his wife snorted with delighted laughter.
"Lass, I think, we have been set up," he whispered as he spun them around, so she could see the trio without being conspicuous.
At his words, she paused to glance over his shoulder. "Yeah, they are taking full advantage of my shlightly shnockered shtate." She agreed dryly, over-exaggerating her slurs, like the sassy chit she was.
Amused as he was, he was still concerned and more than a bit curious, so he asked, "According to your friend, you are more so than usual. Any particular reason?"
No longer swaying to the music but still holding on to his hook, she answered lightly but earnestly, "Because, Captain Jones, I have my partner here and I trust that he's not going to take advantage of me, being the 'gentleman buccaneer', that he is."
A series of images of how he might 'take advantage' flashed through his mind, but he honorably resisted in suggesting any of them and merely settled for a vague disappointed, "Mhmm, as the lass wishes."
Her mouth gaped open at what he had implied, but he didn't give her a chance to comment. Grinning roguishly, he whispered into her ear, "Shall we turn the tables on them?"
Quickly recovering from her case of gape-fish, she asked curiously, "What? Like goad them into a drinking game?"
"Not necessarily. More like you play up the 'shnockered-ness' and then we challenge them to a game."
"Ooh! Let's do darts!" she cried. Her bright eyes twinkling with mischief was the only way he knew that she was immediately getting into her role.
He should have known without the tell, however, because that was his lass, game for any adventure.
~0~
Deputy David and the Domestic Disturbance…
"Hey! Drop the knife, McKinley!" ordered the very authoritative voice of Deputy Charming, as he shone his blindingly bright torchlight in their faces.
Ignoring him, Tawny declared, "Your copper-mate's untimely arrival is not a save. I got you fair and square, Jones."
With a firm grip on his raven locks, a knife to his throat, and her full weight on his sprawled form, he had no real room to argue, but he gave it his best shot. "It was neither 'fair' nor 'square', love. But, aye, you got me. Again."
She had indeed gotten him. He had decided to do another one of his surprise attacks, partially because she needed to be kept on her toes, but mostly because it was just jolly good fun. And she did not disappoint. Between the inventive curses she had hurled at him and the tactics around her apartment's courtyard she had used, it had been quite the entertaining and invigorating skirmish. Perhaps, if he hadn't been admiring her form and tongue so much, he would have noticed that she was leading him into a darkened section of the courtyard, and he would have realized that as this was her home turf, she would be intimately familiar with the ground and all its hidden treacheries. He had tripped upon a crack in the cement path that she had managed to avoid, and the lass seized upon the moment.
And so here they were.
"I said drop it!" barked his dutiful rescuer.
"It's alright, mate," he reassured. "I was giving her a lesson."
"Really, Hook?" Charming asked exasperatedly. "At this hour?"
"Aye, no rest for the wicked and all that folderol," he replied, and then with his fair bit of irritation, he asked, "Could you kindly lower the bloody light?"
The light was lowered. The knife, withdrawn. The gun that had been behind the light was stowed back in its holster. And Tawny was gazing sheepishly around at her neighbors who were peering through their windows down at them. He gave them a jaunty wave with his hook, causing most to duck back behind their curtains.
To Charming, he asked, "So I take it you drew the short straw for being on-call tonight?"
"Henry's with Emma and Neal tonight," he acknowledged, and then hands on his hips, he glowered at them, "If I get a call about a domestic disturbance between you two again, I'm booking you. Please, confine your 'lessons' to the ship or to the gym."
At their nods of acceptance of his royal decree, he spun on his heel and strode back to his car.
As soon as he had driven off, he looked down at Tawny, who had been biting her lip the entire time, to see her looking back up at him. She was still biting her lip, but he could see that it was not from nervousness. The corners of her mouth were twitching and her eyes were twinkling with suppressed laughter.
A slow smile spread across his own face as he chuckled, which set her off, and soon the two of them were chortling like a pair of hyenas, leaning against one another for support.
"Do we – want to know – what we inter-interrupted him from?" she asked between gasps.
Knowing what he knew about Snow's desires for another child, he really didn't. Wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, he gasped his own breathless reply, "I think you were – just lucky he was – wasn't already overstimulated."
She groaned and then pushed off of him, saying, "In that case, no more surprise attacks."
He could not in good conscience make such a vow. It was too much fun, but more importantly, he needed her to be ready for the evils of this and any other world. He could not remember the last time he had laughed with such hearty abandon. She was, thus, good for his blighted soul and worthy of whatever protection he could give her.
So he merely grinned, pecked her on her cheek, and promised, "Til next time, lass."
~0~
So many memories just like this flooded his mind.
Memories of duels with the town's devils and delinquents. Of the many dances of violence that they had shared. The mutual thrill and satisfaction of victory and a job well done. The comfort of knowing that the other was there looking out for them.
Memories of dinners and quiet talks under starry skies. Of shared stories. Tales of her childhood, naughty escapades with the stable lad, and first learning how to pick locks, of her mother's inventive punishments. Tales of his exploits and discovery of the fairer sex, and his brother's attempt at 'the talk'.
Of…
"Well then…to Milah."
"To your mother."
"Aye, we make a good team." … "Good? No. A bloody great team is what we are, kitten."
"Damn, mate, that was… diverting."
"Skills such as lock-picking and sneaking into homes is what led me to you. Aren't you lucky?"
"My name is Tanwen."
To her sleeping form, he whispered, "I didn't know how lucky I was, but I do now, Tanwen-love. I truly do."
~0~
They had removed the chest tube, and for that he was extremely grateful. The less tubes, wires, and obnoxious beeping devices attached to his poor battered Tawny-lass, the better his poor battered heart could bear.
But she still hadn't woken up. She could breathe better. Her body was healing. But still, she slept.
And although he did think that it might be unforgivably appalling of him to wish that she had been Cursed so that all that it would take was a Kiss to make it better, he couldn't help himself. 'If only…'
As he looked at his Tawny-love and willed her to open her beautiful brown eyes, he realized that they were more precious to him than any gem or stone.
He had once heard that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and he had never doubted it, especially when it came to the women he loved. Milah's eyes had been a stormy gray and swirled and shone with all her passionate emotions. Swan's had all the tumult and mysterious depths of the sea. One minute she was life-giving and nurturing, the next she was closed off and guarded, and the next, she was a bloody blooming force of nature.
Tawny's, however, were always warm. They glinted with mirth, sparked with challenge, flashed with ire, and blazed with devotion and compassion.
He did not want her fire – to see her light – go out.
The world, his world, would just be too damn cold and dark without her radiance.