Chapter Text
“…and then there’s nothing quite like the gentle whisper of a breeze, just before a storm. The salt of the sea stings your skin, like a woman’s tears. And if you listen closely, you just might hear Amphitrite and her daughters singing to the waves, calling the storm…” Hook heaved a deep breath, still hanging upside down from his cot in the jail cell. “But the sea bows to no one, not even her queen. Mermaids hold no more power over her than pirates—”
“Hook, shut up!”
“Are you going to let me out?”
“No!”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Mermaids hold no more power over her than pirates—”
“Okay, fine! Fine! I’ll let you out!”
The filing cabinet slammed shut, and Emma’s boots came pounding over, accompanied by the sounds of jingling keys and muttered cursing. Hook rolled to his feet as she reached the cell, eyebrows raised expectantly while she fiddled with the lock.
The bars rattled as she swung the door open, stepping back so he could pass. “Took you long enough,” he smirked, relishing the scowl on her face.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she said, throwing the cell door shut behind her as she strode back to her desk; Hook following at a leisurely pace. “If you think a little freelance poetry is enough to earn you legal immunity, think again. I’m not against throwing you back in jail.”
“Back in jail?” Hook tsked, leaning against the doorjamb of her little office with folded arms. “Would you miss me so terribly, Swan?”
She shot him a withering look and picked up her pen, going back to her paperwork. “You’re free to go,” she said. “Get out of here, before I change my mind.”
Hook tilted his head, considering their surroundings. It was a dull little place, with beige walls and stacks of legal documents and all sorts of metal cabinets. It smelled of bureaucracy, burnt coffee, and boredom.
“How can you stand it?” he wondered aloud. “Being stuck in this little room all day?” He flicked the schedule taped on the door. “Might as well have a set of bars in here, too.”
“Because this is what it means to have a real job,” Emma said tensely, sparing him a derisive look. “Not all of us get to go around being pirates.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, love.” He walked further in, ignoring her exasperated protests, and examined the map of Storybrooke tacked onto her billboard. Tracing his finger from the illustrated sheriff’s station to the docks, he frowned. “Bit of a walk to my ship from here, isn’t it?”
“Stop—” Emma slapped his hand away— “touching everything. You’re worse than Henry.”
Hook allowed her to pull him out of her office, still looking over his shoulder at the map. “How is the lad?” he asked, not really interested. “Alive, I hope?”
“Yes, he’s alive,” said Emma with a roll of her eyes. “Thank you for your concern.” She gave him a little push. “Seriously, get out of here. I need to concentrate.”
He grinned. “Am I that distracting?”
“Hook, shut up,” she said wearily. “Just—find something legal to do, okay?”
“But that’s—”
The door shut in his face.
“At least give me my flask back!” he demanded, hammering his fist against the door. David had confiscated his rum-filled flask (along with his sword and the switchblade in his boot), and locked it away somewhere. If he had to respect the laws, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it sober.
“This is bad form, Swan!” he reprimanded the door. “Very bad form!”
She made no response, other than to turn up the volume of her peculiar music. Fuming, Hook turned on his heel and stalked away, giving the cells a good kick on his way out. If he hadn’t already decided to give up his romantic pursuits, this would have definitely been a turning point.
“Nightmare and a half, that one,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I must have been out of my bloody mind.”
Had the weather been more reasonable, he might have gone back to his ship, drained a bottle of rum, and spent the rest of his evening cursing the town. However, Storybrooke insisted on freezing temperatures, with blistering winds and snowfall to boot. The pub was much closer than the docks; so he decided he could suffer through the watered-down swill they peddled as beer, for the sake of warmth. If he was lucky, he might even get a decent meal (Emma had been feeding him granola bars and bologna sandwiches for the last three days, and it just wasn’t cutting it.)
Several cars rushed past him on the street, making his heart beat a little faster. He wasn’t afraid, of course —just reasonably cautious. The last time he’d wandered too close, one of those metal beasts had slammed into him and— as Dr. Whale had told him regretfully—he’d survived by a miracle. Now that they no longer needed him, Hook wasn’t entirely sure how invested anyone was in his well-being: he hadn’t exactly endeared himself to the group, and Storybrooke in general seemed to have a poor opinion of him.
All the more reason to get out of here.
Belle had sworn, there were no more portals, no passage out of Storybrooke; but Hook refused to believe that. Some people called it stubborn; he preferred determined. Until he had tangible, irrefutable evidence that there was no way out, he was going to keep looking.
But in the meantime… central heating.
Hook breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the diner, feeling the rush of warmth sweep over him. The chatter quieted as he approached, a few turning in their seats to eye him suspiciously. He couldn’t be bothered to come up with a snarky remark, so they lost interest and went back to their dinners without comment.
“All right, love?” he greeted the girl behind the counter (a petite blonde with a name tag pinned to her white button-down that read: Ashley).
She smiled politely, poising a pen to her notepad. “What can I get you?”
“Pint of the strongest stuff you’ve got,” exhaled Hook.
Ashley twisted around to check the clock on the back wall; then cocked her head with an apologetic tsk. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s only four-thirty, so the strongest stuff I’ve got is dark roast.”
Hook stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“We don’t start serving alcohol until after five,” Ashley explained.
“That’s barbaric!” he said, outraged. “Why not?”
“It’s our policy,” she chirped. “I can get you something else, in the meantime?”
Hook bit his lip, glancing around for inspiration. “Don’t suppose you could sneak a nip of something into a coffee, could you?” he asked hopefully.
“I could,” she shrugged; then added with a smirk, “But I won’t.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What if I said ‘please’?”
“I still wouldn’t.”
“Mentioned that you look lovely today—?”
“Definitely wouldn’t.”
“Left a really good tip?”
“Still not happening.”
“Brilliant.”
“I’ll get you some dark roast,” she said pleasantly, tucking her notepad back in her apron pocket. Hook eyed her bitterly, wondering if slashing his hook across her throat counted as justifiable homicide.
He contented himself with thinking up a few biting retorts for when Ashley returned. When a ceramic mug of lukewarm coffee was set in front of him, he pushed it away and scoffed, “Awfully long time to wait for lousy service.”
“Fine,” scoffed a girl’s voice that most definitely wasn’t Ashley’s. “You want to jump behind the counter and see if you do any better?”
Hook’s eyes snapped up—and he winced, sucking in a sharp breath. It wasn’t Ashley who delivered his coffee; but the leggy, dark-haired beauty who’d shown him how to work the jukebox (Ruby, if he remembered correctly). He exhaled, trailing his gaze up as he prepared an apology—but faltered when he met her narrowed, bright yellow, and split-pupiled eyes.
What in the hell…? he thought in astonishment; but before he had time to ask—or rather, apologize—she stalked away, ponytail swinging angrily. Hook stared after her, open-mouthed.
He didn’t know the story behind that, but there had been something distinctly feral about her. And there was something about feral women who so obviously disliked him that was…
Well, it was damn sexy.
She just got a lot more interesting, Hook mused, watching her move between tables. The other night, he’d flirted with her mostly on the merits that she was a girl and she was, well, there; but now he had the sense that she was actually quite dangerous.
The entrance bell rang out merrily, startling him out of his thoughts, and a pair of startlingly familiar voices overlapped with the general chatter. Hook frowned and swiveled in his seat to catch a glimpse of a petite brunette holding the hand of a suited, cunning-eyed man.
The Crocodile.
They walked right past him without even registering his presence. He whirled around, thoughts of Ruby vanishing and being replaced by images of magic beans and swirling vortexes His eyes locked on their movements as they slid into a corner booth and propped open their menus. Gold seemed particularly tense, and Belle kept leaning forward, gesturing emphatically. Marital discord? Disagreement over entrees? Who cared? The Crocodile was within reach, and more importantly, available for questioning.
“…have to give him some time, Rumple,” Belle was saying as Hook approached. “Give it a few days, and then try talking to him—”
“After what he accused me of? I think not.” Gold glared at his menu, nostrils flaring. “To suggest I would even think about hurting Henry!”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Belle sighed; but Gold lifted a hand to silence her as he noticed Hook, a frown deepening on his face.
“To what do we owe the displeasure, Captain?” he asked coldly when Hook stopped at their table. “Here to ruin my day?”
Hook inwardly grimaced and forced himself to respond courteously. “Forgive the intrusion—”
“No. Shan’t.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Forgive the intrusion, but I’ve got a problem—.”
“If it’s anything to do with rashes in sensitive places, take it up with Victor Whale,” Gold sniffed. “And I understand Sister Mary Catherine has a stack of pamphlets on STD’s you might find helpful.”
“No,” Hook said in a measured tone, somehow managing not to roll his eyes. “This is a problem that you would have a… unique insight into.” Taking Gold’s raised eyebrows as permission to continue, he said, “Portals. Specifically, out of Storybrooke.”
“What about them?” Gold replied unhelpfully.
“I need one.” Hook ignored Belle’s exasperated scoff, and looked at Gold. “I would think that out of everyone, you’d be most invested in getting me out of Storybrooke. Given that we have a common goal, that almost makes us allies, don’t you think?”
Gold inhaled, considering, and stroked a slender finger along his chin. “Almost…” he mused. He was quiet for a minute; then cleared his throat, looking at Hook like he was a potential client rather than something foul on the end of his shoe. “There is one minor issue, of course.”
“A price,” Hook muttered with a roll of his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Oh, rest assured, dear Captain: watching you disappear off the edge of the world would be payment enough,” Gold chuckled.
Hook sarcastically laughed along with him.
“However,” sighed Gold, sobering, “the problem lies in the magical design of portals. They are the only means in between realms, other than the Dark Curse—fresh out of those, unfortunately—and they are strictly passages. Meaning, there must be a specific destination. Capisce?”
Hook crinkled his brow. “I caspisce, but I don’t see how that’s a problem. I’ve got a destination.”
“Which is what?” Gold propped his chin in the palm of his hand, as if genuinely curious.
“Home,” he said, staring at him. Was Gold playing dumb to frustrate him, or were the centuries finally starting to take an effect on his memory?
“Interesting.” Gold nodded slowly. “Very interesting…”
“It’s really not,” said Hook, narrowing his eyes.
“A matter of opinion, perhaps. Subjective entirely to the person’s taste and sense of humor, as well as the implications to their current situation—”
“What are you on about, Crocodile?” Hook said impatiently.
A faint smile played around the corner of Gold’s mouth. “It doesn’t exist, laddie.”
Hook frowned and slowly turned his head, looking to Belle; but she seemed just as confused as him.
“What doesn’t exist, Rumple?” she asked, leaning closer. “The portal?”
Gold’s eyes didn’t leave Hook’s. “Our land,” he said, with a satisfaction that made Hook feel sick to his stomach. “The magic realm is crumbling away, tumbling to ruin. The outlaws who landed in our dear little town were the lucky ones, because those left behind won’t see the end of the year.”
“Liar.” His voice sounded hollow, distant to his own ears. The words tumbling to ruin were so much louder.
“Am I, though?” Gold tipped a finger against his temple, raising his eyebrows. “Do you know what a Dark Curse does?”
“Took their memories,” muttered Hook. He felt anger beginning to burn as his instincts whispered to him, He’s not lying. “Sent them here.”
“That’s part of it,” Gold nodded, like a schoolmaster testing his pupil. “In fact, I suspect that’s the part that Regina was most interested in. But the true intent of the Curse—what makes it the cruelest of dark magic—is the destruction into utter oblivion.”
He leaned back in his seat, regarding Hook with a cold amusement. “Our world has been dying a slow death for the past thirty years. Neverland was so rich in magic, I shouldn’t wonder it staved off the infection for so long. But with it destroyed…” He spread his hands, letting the words hang in the heavy silence.
So is our world.
Full realization had eluded him until this minute, but it descended on him now, like an icy shroud. It was all gone: the rowdy taverns and the glorious castles; treacherous forests and towering mountains; the endless ocean and its buried secrets, its hidden treasures…Everything that was home.
Gone.
Belle stared at Gold in horror. “Did you know about this?” she asked, hardly above a whisper; as though she were afraid to hear the answer. “Before you gave the curse to Regina, did you know?”
“Of course he did.” Hook glared at Gold, trembling with rage. “You think he gives a damn if he condemns an entire world for his own agenda?”
“I think you’ll find that Regina was the one ultimately responsible,” Gold said smoothly. “She was the one who cast it.”
“Aye, after you created it for her!” Hook spat. “All to find the son you tossed away for your bloody magic tricks!”
Gold’s eyes flashed. “Do not talk about my son,” he growled. “One more word, and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Hook challenged. “Kill me? Go on, then—rip my heart out, Crocodile.”
“Think I won’t?” Gold snarled back. “I don’t need you alive anymore! Nothing’s keeping you safe!”
“Then do it!” shouted Hook. “Stop being a bloody coward, and just do it!”
Gold shot to his feet, swinging his hand back in a burst of purple flames, just as Hook surged forward, his hook raised high over his head. He didn’t care if got him killed, he was going to sink his hook in the Crocodile’s throat and rip it open—
Belle shrieked, “Stop it! Stop it, both of you!”; Gold flexed his hand—
Something shot out and caught Hook’s arm in a viselike grip, wrenching him back. Hook yelped in pain, his eyes swimming; stumbling as the “something” tugged him away roughly to the back hallway.
“Get off me!” He tried to struggle, to pull his arm free. “Let me go!”
“Believe me,” muttered a girl’s voice in his ear, “I’m doing you a favor.”
The door burst open with a blast of icy air. She gave him an unceremonious shove and he landed hard, on a patch that was more ice than snow. He instantly whirled around, ready to go back inside and finish what he started, but Ruby was blocking his path. Hook glared at her, breathing unevenly.
“Step aside, love,” he growled.
She half-rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you two have some tragic backstory behind you, but I’m not going to let you run back in there and try to kill Gold. And,” she added, seeing him step toward her threateningly, “I dare you to try and make it past me. I’m a lot stronger, and meaner, than I look.”
Hook smiled mockingly. “Good for you. In the meantime, I’ve got a Crocodile to skin, so if you’ll kindly let me pass—”
“No.” Ruby put up a hand as he tried to walk past her, giving him a little push back. He let out a tense breath, and tried again; and she pushed him back with a little more force, saying, “I said, no.”
“Why are you protecting him?” Hook exclaimed.
“I’m not,” she scoffed. “Gold’s a dick, so for all I care, the two of you can tear each other apart.” She raised her hand against his immediate response. “But if anything happened to him, it would hurt Belle. And I’m not going to let that happen.”
“Why?” Hook eyed her bitterly. “Seems to me that I’d be doing all of you a favor. Her included.”
“Let’s not even talk about the fact that he could kill you before you got within ten feet,” said Ruby, unimpressed. “Belle is my friend, so I’m not going to let some bitchy pirate waltz in and try to ruin her life. Again,” she added, eyes gleaming dangerously.
“This isn’t about Belle!” Hook said in exasperation. “This is about an evil man who’s been systematically destroying my life for centuries! If your little friend gets caught in the crossfire because she’s let that thing manipulate her into thinking she loves him, it’s her own bloody fault!”
“Except it’s not,” said Ruby steadily. “That’s just who she is. She pathologically sees the good in people. So whatever Gold did, you’re just going to have to suck it up and deal with it. Because I can’t watch her fall apart again.”
“And I’m just supposed to let it go, is that it?” he demanded. “You’re not even going to ask what he’s done?”
Ruby shrugged. “It’s not important right now.”
“Not important right now?” Hook stared at her incredulously; then let out a mad little laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So, that’s it, that’s how things work around here? Shag one of the heroes and you can get away with anything?”
Ruby indignantly opened her mouth to object—but no words came out. Hook smirked in satisfaction.
“Might have played my cards differently, if I’d known that,” he said, snapping his fingers in mock regret. “What a shame.”
“I think you should leave,” Ruby said coldly.
Hook smiled bitterly. “Wish I could, darling. Wish I could.”