Chapter 23:

Conversations and Confrontations

He and Tawny never got a chance to revisit that moment over the next few days. Between the comings and goings of the doctor and nurses, various visitors, the planning her recovery process, and her frequent naps, there was not a whole lot of time for heart-to-heart discussions.

It was a good thing that his lass had expressed her gratitude for his presence and that she had warned him of her potential to be a 'bitchy-patient', or else he would have thought his efforts were truly unappreciated.

Her worst moment was when the doctor informed her that she could go home forty-eight hours after she woke up, if she agreed to stay at a friend's place and not be alone for the first few days. This got his stubborn, independent lass's back up. She wanted her solitude, and she didn't like the insinuation that she could not take care of herself. And she was furious with him that he didn't 'take her side.'

That had bloody well tested his limits. "I'm always on your side," he had bit back, but before he or their argument could escalate further, he had let a long, tired sigh and declared, "Look, lass, I know you pride yourself on your self-sufficiency. From all that you have told me about yourself, I gather that your mother, ostracized by society, taught you to be that way, and then out of necessity you learned it while in the Shrew's care and in your exile. It is an admirable trait, and I get that you do not want to feel like a victim anymore."

"But?"

"But…it is okay to lean on others, to let others care for you," he asserted, and knowing that she would not immediately accept this, he concluded, "And if you insist on returning to your apartment, it will only result in either me bunking down on that oversized chair of yours or spending sleepless nights fretting about you. And you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

He didn't know if it was his threat of invading her sanctuary or her concern for his health that finally won her over, but she finally grudgingly capitulated, saying, "Fine, but where the hell do you propose I stay? Not on your ship, because it's too damn cold even for you. Giselle and Fitz's couch would probably cause me even more injuries. I love Ashley too much to burden her with my care on top of a toddler's, and I love Grace too much to risk the chance that I'll murder her father just for my sanity's sake."

He let out a dry chuckle, partially at the fact that his lass had immediately begun discussing logistics like only a lover of intrigue and plots would and partially at her apt description of the effects of her maddening friend's company.

"Well, you are in luck, lass," he declared. "The Lady Belle has offered to have a room provided for you at Granny's inn, paid for out of the town's 'slush fund.' And before you think of this as charity, she wanted me to inform you that she felt it is a small price to pay to start settling the debt that the town has with you."

"Did she now?" she asked looking more lost than disbelieving, as if she didn't know how to handle people's gratitude.

"Hmm, yes," he confirmed. Deciding to fight one battle at a time, he continued with his argument for her staying at the inn, "And just think, if you take a few days to recuperate there, you can have your retreat of solitude, but either Ruby or I will be in shouting distance if you need help."

She had acquiesced, but their reasoning that this would be beneficial for his sleep did not take into account the consequences of her being on weaker pain medications.

On her second night at the inn, he was woken up by a text: Don't get up. But call me.

His voice rough from disuse, he greeted her with, "What can I do for you, love?"

There was a pause, and then, "I had a nightmare."

Her confession had been made in a heartbreakingly small voice, one that made him wish that he had ignored the first part of her message so that he could gather her up in his arms and soothe her. "I'm sorry, love. Do you still not want me to come to you, lass?"

"No, there is no need to. I'll go back to sleep in a little bit. I just needed to hear someone else's voice." Her voice cracked at that last bit, but she quickly covered it with a chuckle. "I called Ruby last night, but apparently that whole 'let sleeping dogs lie' applies to werewolves too."

Ignoring the jealous pang he felt for not being who she called first, he chuckled as well and asked, "And does the Lady Red snarl or growl?"

"A little bit of both, which is not all that comforting of a sound, let me tell you."

"And my gravelly voice is?"

"It has smoky undertones."

Her voice had gotten that husky quality when she was being flirtatious, so he couldn't help himself and he teased back, "Does it now? This smokiness wouldn't get you all hot and bothered now would it?"

There was a pause, a hitch in her breathing that even he could hear, and then she beat a hasty retreat, saying, "Hmm, no. It puts me to sleep. Good night, Killian."

She woke him the next night with the same text.

"Nightmare again, love?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," was her hesitant admission, "but I suppose I should."

"Aye," he agreed, encouraging her with, "I have found that facing one's fears rather than letting them grow in the darkness is better in the long run."

Her acceptance was a reluctant sigh of "Okay" before she wheedled, "But only if you tell me a story afterwards."

Killian had to bite back a bark of laughter at this. He loved strong, stubborn, independent women, who made it very difficult to love them. Not love, as in 'have affection for', but as in 'take care of.' Milah had alternated upon her whim whether she wanted him to give her space so that she could exert her strength or she wanted him to fight past her walls and be a 'real man'. Swan would accept help from him, but she was always looking at him as if he had an ulterior motive. Tawny, however, never accepted help without dictating the means and what she would do to pay the debt. He had no doubt if she was trapped in a pit of muck, she would only accept a rope to haul herself out of it as long as it was 'easily obtainable' and 'would not hurt his hands' and she would be able to pay for his dry-cleaning and give him a foot massage afterwards, or some such nonsense.

"It would be my pleasure, lass," he agreed and then jibed, "Unlike you, I never get bored sleepy at hearing my voice."

"Especially when it is about yourself," she bantered back before launching into her description of her night terrors.

She haltingly told of being on a stage strapped to a pole or stake, of jeering angry voices and raucous maniacal laughter, of Alexandra's and Grace's fearful cries, of seeing his bloody and near lifeless body, of the last look on his face being of betrayal because she had given up his name for just a brief respite from pain, of being burned alive.

At the end of her tale, he was torn between barging into her room and giving her that hug she was so obviously in need of and storming into Storybrooke's dungeon and administering Hook justice. When he could finally trust himself to speak, he declared "Well, lass, I can assure you that your vision of me would never happen."

"Oh, invincible are you?" she challenged.

"Hardly," he dismissed. "But I can tell you with certainty that my dying expression would be of wrath at your tormentors and I would never hold it against you if you gave up my name while being tortured. Speaking as someone who has been on both sides of that coin, I know for a fact no one can resist forever."

After a momentary pause, she whispered, "That was disturbingly sweet. Thanks, Killian."

"You're welcome, Tawny-love," he replied, adding, "And no, the tale I will tell tonight will not be of how I gained such experience."

"What will it be then?" she inquired, and he could hear her snuggling down in her mountain of pillows in preparation for a good long tale.

Scratching his head behind his ear, he answered, "Well, that depends on you. Do you want to hear of Charming's latest misstep with his hormone-raging lady-love or of something from my distant past?"

"The latter," she was quick to reply. "Ruby filled me in on Charming before she turned in for the night."

And so that evening, he told her of how he and Milah had once convinced Starkey that leprechauns were cousins of the dwarves, who knew where the pots of gold were, and if he got a dwarf drunk enough he would spill the location of one. She drifted off to sleep before he could tell her the best part – his first mate's hilarious attempt to outdrink a dwarf.

He wished that he could have easily returned to the land of slumber, but he was still so agitated with violent rage that it took more rum than usual to quiet his inner-demons.

~0~

His bottled up anger and his lack of quality sleep led to a rather explosive event about a week after Tawny woke up.

Tawny had managed to walk from the inn to the library and back without becoming too winded, and so they were celebrating at the diner. Tawny had grumbled at first about wishing it was the Rabbit Hole, but had quickly gotten over it after witnessing his first experience with 'brain freeze' upon drinking a strawberry milkshake too quickly.

As painful as it was, he was glad that he could distract his lass from her discomfort at being the town's latest celebrity in the town's busiest establishment. It was of course at this lighthearted moment that Swan entered.

At her approach, Tawny had muttered something along the lines of 'hating being right' and 'Emma the Hound' and her being the 'Cursed Citizen.' As much as his lass loathed these chats with the sheriff, she never turned her away so he ignored her whinging.

That day's topic was Reeve's accusations of who was involved in the crime ring. After Swan had rattled off a few names, Tawny asserted, "I can't confirm or deny any of those. I only knew the key players and a few of their lackeys. And to be honest, Reeves is beginning to look like the accused in the Salem Witch Trials, naming any names and as many as possible in order to expunge his own guilt."

He had momentarily become distracted by this 'witch trial' business in a land of no magic – no magic, no witches, right? His inner-musing resulted in his missing out on the next few moments of the conversation. However, he tuned into the most important part, as Swan said:

"…so Reeves is of the opinion that George was using the services of Symona in an attempt to locate his stolen stash of goods and that she was the one to tip off Stromboli to your alter-egos…"

And just like that, he had reached his boiling point.

The woman who had tipped off Starkey to his lass's plight over twelve hours after she had been taken - had known days before.

He was seeing red and shaking with fury. His hand was gripping his glass as if he was channeling all his rage into that appendage rather than the more pointy one. Hook was rising to the surface. And then he was up and out of his chair and striding for the door before you could say "Hello, my name is…"

Behind him, he could hear Swan mutter "What the – ?" The rest of that was drowned out by the furious pounding of the blood in his ears, Tawny's scrambled struggle to get to her feet, and her shrill shout of "Jones, stop right there! It's bad form to make an invalid chase after you."

"Then don't." He growled over his shoulder, barely pausing midstride to do so. Didn't she see that he needed to do this? That he couldn't let this slide? If this gypsy had told someone sooner, his lass might have been protected…She wouldn't have been broken… He wouldn't have had to see her so broken…

She of course didn't. Had he mentioned that she was a tenacious woman? Despite her distaste for the limelight, she was going to make a spectacle of them for the whole diner to be entertained by.

"If you walk out that door and don't return to this table, I will tell the dwarves where you keep your elfin mead."

This rather inventive threat slowed him somewhat. With his hand on the door, he scoffed, calling her bluff, "You wouldn't dare; that's the last of its vintage."

His lass's eyes narrowed and her spine straightened, before calling out, "Hey! Leroy! How would you and your brothers like to guzzle – "

And to the amusement of this little drama's spectators, he was brought to heel at the chit's threat to his booze. It was a rare and fine brew, meant to be appreciated. 'Guzzling' would be a downright travesty, a sacrilege.

Slamming the partially opened door shut, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and scowled at her. A small part of him knew she was right, but he resented the hell out of her for it; and to add insult to injury, she pointed to their booth and directed with stern emphasis, "Sit."

His lip automatically curled in distaste at being ordered around like a hound. 'The cheek of her…' The next time she needed to do something for her own good, there was not going to be any gentle persuasion. He was going to just throw her over his shoulder and make her do as she ought. As for this matter, he would just bide his time and when she wasn't looking and everyone thought he had let it go…well, the gypsy woman would regret her hesitance.

With this plan in place, his snarl morphed into a mocking leer, as he bowed with excessive scorn, "As m'lady commands."

As soon as he sat down in the indicated seat, his lass let out a sigh and slowly swiveled around, using the back of the booth as support, to face him. He expected her to ask him to budge over, but instead she grabbed his shoulders and slid into his lap, so that she was sidesaddle and facing him.

"Well, lass, there is no need to anchor me to this booth – I have given my word – but if this gives you pleasure, who am I to deny you?" He taunted with his most roguish smirk.

Tawny ignored his comment. In fact, she ignored everyone – Swan who was at her back, Ruby who was hovering nearby with a coffee pot, Lady Snow who was there for her 1 o'clock smoothie – and frowned at him. Her hands left his shoulders to frame his face, her thumbs gently stroking the scruff on his cheeks, forcing him to hold her gaze, which was burning with intense earnestness.

"Listen to me, Killian. You are not going to hurt that woman." He growled, and she growled back, "No. You are not. I know that you know these men and how they are. She made the best of a shitty situation."

His lass was probably right. But…the gypsy's solution galled him. Grounding out his protest between clenched teeth, he argued hoarsely, "Then why the hell did she not give them my name?"

The chit had the audacity to smile at him, granted it was an affectionate yet sad smile but a smile nonetheless, as she softly replied, "Oh, you silly, silly man. She was giving me, giving us our best chance. They would have killed you long before I could have organized a rescue with the kind of fire power that you did, and that's only assuming that they wouldn't have grabbed me too."

His hand and hook, which had been at her waist to keep her steady, gripped her tighter as the images of that scenario played out in his mind's eye – him being held down, helpless, while being forced to watch her being beaten. He closed his eyes trying to shut them out, but it took a few moments of very deep breathing.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he sighed, vowing softly, "I won't hurt her."

"Good," she whispered back, relaxing. She then removed his hook from her waist, so that she could push off his chest to tuck and roll into the seat next to him, while simultaneously snatching fries from his plate, which she proceeded to munch on while cheekily grinning at him.

To Swan, she asked, "Anything else, Sheriff?"

His lass's question brought Swan out of her bemused daze, and she gave her blond head a slow shake, saying, "No, no. I've interrupted your lunch long enough. Thanks for all your help." Killian suspected that had more to do with Tawny's handling of him than anything else.

And as he watched his lass steal yet another handful of fries from his plate with no fear of repercussion, he knew that he was shamefully doomed.

She'd lead, and he'd follow. Wrapped around her pretty little fingers like a love-struck puppy, he was. Bloody hell.

~0~

Gwen's apartment, a week later…

She had returned home a few days earlier. She could teeter around her flat and cook for herself, so Killian had left her to her own devices for the past few days. He was taking advantage of the rare sunshine to do whatever it was that he needed to do for the Jolly Roger. To occupy herself, she has been catching up on her reading, playing an intense game of chess with Jefferson, scheduling her first session with Archie, and having a spa day at Giselle's salon.

The latter is what she had done this morning. This afternoon, she was hanging out with Ruby, who had gotten the afternoon off specifically for a girly gabfest.

Grabbing a Gatorade from her fridge, she turned and faced her friend who was fiddling with her phone. "So you really like it?"

"Your hair? Yeah, totally. It's very edgy, and makes those gorgeous eyes of yours even bigger," Ruby critiqued favorably.

After all that she had experienced lately – the abduction, the beating, the helpless baby-chick feeling of post-surgery, and the nightmares – she had been in a desperate need for a pick-me-up. So like a girl after a bad break up, she had gotten a new hair-do. She had kept her colors of golden brown and honey, but had decided to shorten her hair length considerably. It was now slightly longer than chin-length. Giselle called it a 'shag bob'. She had been going for something that would make her feel badass, so 'edgy' worked for her.

"Why? Has anybody else said something to you about it?" Ruby inquired casually.

Too casually. Her friend knew she had a light lunch with Killian at the park near the salon before meeting up with her. But who was she to deprive her friend from her delusion that she was being cleverly sneaky?

Shrugging (also casually), she replied, "Just Killian. And all he said was, and I quote, 'Hmm…as often as you change hairstyles, love, it's a good thing you don't get tattoos.'"

Ruby rolled her eyes, snorting, "Men."

She nodded her head in agreement, and then asked, "So how was your date with Victor?"

"Subtle segue there, Gwen," her friend commented dryly, before her expression melted into 'dreamy', saying, "It was…loverly. He cooked me dinner and we talked, well, mostly talked."

Ignoring the 'mostly', Tawny inquired curiously, "And how is the great surgeon's skills in the kitchen?"

Ruby's nose crinkled as she answered diplomatically, "Passable."

Her following highly detailed breakdown of the date concluded with, "Oh my gosh, it felt good to get that off my chest. Between everyone's mommy naps, soon-to-be-mommy naps, and post-surgery naps, I haven't been able to really tell anybody all that, and it was three days ago!"

"Glad I could be of service," Tawny chuckled. Speaking of naps… They had by now moved to her very comfy bed, and snuggling under the covers was sounding like heaven at the moment. But she knew it was not to be, because in three, two, one…

"So that's enough about my boy drama. How about you? Have you and Killian…yet?"

And there it was 'the Killian Question', a favorite of her friends. Playing it off like she always did, she replied, "No we have not…whatever. Why would we?"

Ruby was having none of her bullshit though, which was clearly demonstrated by her exasperated cry of, "Oh, come on! Surely you see how he looks at you. He l– "

In a panic, Tawny threw a pillow at the woman before she could finish, curtly pleading, "Don't say it."

If her friend wasn't gob smacked before, she certainly was now. A look of disbelief mixed with pity flashed across her face, as she babbled, "But – you can't possibly be in denial! The way he turned this town upside down looking for you, the way he has been glued to your side, the way he acted in the diner the other day, it can only mean one thing, Gwen."

Ah, yes, the diner. Could she go in there once without making a spectacle of herself?

"I'm not – in denial, nor am I blind," she replied. "I can see that he cares deeply for me. I do." The man had after all been about to commit murder on her behalf and had granted mercy, while Hooked-out, at her request. He did not do those kind of things for people he was indifferent towards or mildly fond of. But…

"But you didn't see him after he learned that Swan had accepted Cassidy's proposal…It was bad. He didn't talk to me. He never not-talks to me."

Even while he was gung-ho on revenge in their first few weeks of acquaintance, he had talked to her, sharing of his pain and grief with very little reluctance. But upon discovering Swan's engagement, he had gone to the darkest place she had ever seen him, withdrawing from her, not just being aloof, but full-on cold-shouldering her. Almost practically rejecting her.

And he had returned to his functioning alcoholic ways, reeking of rum, even more so than their night in the clink together. Even then, only three weeks after Swan had chosen Cassidy over him, his blue eyes hadn't been so dark with pain and misery as they had been after the proposal.

Her painful reverie was interrupted by Ruby boldly noting, "From what I understand from Fitz, he seemed more upset that you didn't tell him when you knew than about the actual engagement itself."

She wasn't sure what pissed her off about that statement more – that her friends had been talking about her and Killian behind her back or that her friend kept trying to give her false hope. She decided to confront the safer issue, so shooting her friend a scathing glare, she snapped, "Fitz told you, did he? So you all have been what? Having Goldi-Hook shipping meetings?"

"Oh come off it," Ruby snapped right back. "We care about you. We just want you to be happy. And let's face it, the closest one besides him was fun, but he didn't make you happy. And H-Killian, in our humble opinion, just might."

Tawny could see and feel the love that was behind the expressed sentiment, and the anger went right out of her and was replaced with guilt. No matter what Killian said, she could be a right bitch sometimes.

Sighing regretfully, she apologized, explaining, "I'm sorry. It's just I am happy. I am. And if he ever decides to act on his affections for me in that way, I'm very much open to it. But if I start hoping for more, for his feelings to be more than what is, I won't be."

"So what you are saying is…?"

After taking a long swallow from her Gatorade and wishing it was something stronger, she smiled bittersweetly, "I'm gonna take what I can."

A/N: Darlings, Readers, fellow Hook-ers, lend me your thoughts! I come requesting your reviews, be it favorite lines or thrown virtual rotten tomatoes.

As always, 'tis not mine.

Much love, Margo

P.S. - I also come bearing gifts. The next chapter is entitled Watershed Moments.