#Rumbelle FF Rumpelstiltskin OUAT Killian Jones

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 3: Justice at Last

His name was Killian Jones, and though they'd only been introduced, formally, one time, it was a name he wasn't likely to ever forget. Or a face. Especially not now that he'd spent the entire afternoon watching him from afar as he sat there in the bar with his crew guzzling mug after mug of ale. It was more than he'd ever thought a mortal man would be able to handle and still be conscious. If he weren't already so disgusted with him, he might have been impressed.

He'd only ever known Killian Jones in one way. As a ruthless man who had taken his wife and refused to give her back, sentencing her to what he was sure was certain death on the high seas, which probably would have been a blessing after whatever treatment she'd received at the hands of those pirates. He'd only ever seen him from the perspective of an enemy and a pathetic excuse for an enemy that he had been. But knowing a person didn't always mean walking up and becoming friends with them. Good observation could provide him with all he needed to know. And he was astonished now to see that with his crew he wasn't entirely a ruthless, barbarian pirate. He sat with them, drank with them, exchanged gestures of friendship and brotherly love with them; small nudges of the elbow, pats on the back, teases that he'd seen other friends give one another when he'd been a soldier in a war. There was a friendliness to them, and yet even from watching them, he understood that they respected him; they looked up to him, the young as a father, and the others as a brother and potentially even a friend. He was sure that if he asked them, they'd tell him he was a good Captain. A good leader. "Good" in this case meaning competent. But he'd always been a firm believer that the way to tell a man's heart wasn't how they treated their friends but those that they'd consider less than them.

He wondered if he'd remember him. He wondered if Jones would look upon his face, gnarled and cursed as it was, and remember the exchange they'd had years ago. Or if he'd forgotten. Was his family, his wife and son, nothing but one of hundreds of hazy memories? Fortunately for him, extracting memories wasn't difficult, just painful for the person he extracted them from. He hadn't had many excuses to try it in his time as the Dark One, but Killian Jones was exactly the kind of person he wouldn't mind practicing on!

He stayed until darkness fell, and Killian Jones finally announced to the rest of the crew that it was time they head back to the ship since they were shipping off in the morning. He left in a cloud of smoke after leaving behind a few coins for the barmaid's misplaced attentions and keeping him well watered. A rowdy group the pirates were. Jones led them through the darkened streets as if it was a parade of some kind. People parted for them, making way either out of fear or respect, but he didn't require either, and he was waiting in the shadows to see what would become of an individual who showed these pirates neither. When no one was willing to take the risk, he decided to take it upon himself. He summoned from his homes a copper cup and quickly pulled the hood of a cloak up over his head, shielding his face, or at least his eyes from view as he held the cup out. And just for good measure, he took a little bit of the magic he used to placate his bad ankle so that he could feel a twinge of the pain when he walked. It wasn't necessary, of course, he'd been a cripple long enough that he knew he could act the part just fine. But doing it for real in front of Jones was fun all the same. When he was ready, he pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of pirates, purposefully shoving past Killian Jones and hitting his elbow before walking on and waiting to see what would happen.

"Hey, you. Stop! Even gutter rats have more manners than you just displayed!" the familiar voice called out after him. And that was precisely the response he'd been hoping to incite. For it gave him an excuse to turn and face Jones one more time, but this time not as a weak, cowardly cripple, but as the Dark One, just as smart as Jones and yet infinitely more powerful.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir," he stuttered out in an accent borrowed from some poor previous Dark One.

"Ah…I was wrong. Not a rat at all. More…more like a crocodile!" he proclaimed. His crew laughed behind him as he advanced. With one swipe, he hit the copper cup from his hand, letting the few coins he had inside spill out onto the stones, then quickly, just as a beggar would, he knelt down to pick them up. When Jones kicked him down, the men laughed, but he didn't cry out or complain. It was exactly what he'd wanted to see. The action was just enough to tell him that nothing at all had changed in the years they'd been apart. He was friendly towards those who he saw fit, and still ruthless to those he saw as below him. And he was about to change that. The men had no idea what they were really cheering for. It was justice for his family.

"What's your name, Crocodile?"

He returned the magic to his leg and, in one quick motion, stood up straight and tall and laughed as he pulled back his hood to reveal his face. Even if he didn't recognize him, with the "rumors" as widespread as they were, he should know at least what he was by just the look of him.

"You…" the Captain smiled. "I remember you."

Perhaps, but it was clear to him that he didn't, at least not as clearly as he would have liked. He recalled his face but not the events that led him to the last time he'd seen it. Fortunately he was all too willing to remind him and content to toy with him until he did.

"Always nice to make an impression," he muttered, stealing the pirate's words from their last encounter as he tossed some of the coins at him. "Where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced. Rumpelstiltskin!" he announced, falling into an over the top bow before glancing up at him in a slow, sinister way. "Or, as others know me, the Dark One."

That got a rise out of him. Crew backed away as Jones's eyes turned dark, and his face fell. Now he remembered properly. Odd, he would have thought it would take a little more than that. In fact, he'd hoped it would. But then…he supposed beggars couldn't be choosey! And when he took a step forward around his enemy, it was fun to watch his crew back away like terrified girls. He'd trade one terror for another if he had to.

"Oh! I see my reputation precedes me."

"It does," Jones answered.

"Good!" he declared as he turned to lear over the man's shoulder. "That's going to save us time during the, uh, question and answer portion of our game."

"What is it you want to know?" Jones asked, turning to face him. Well, if he did know who he was and not just what he was, that answer should be obvious.

"How's Milah, of course?"

A broad smile stole over the man's face as he shook his head, feigning innocence. "Who?"

Oh, he was sure that look went over well with the ladies, but he could see right through it to the lie. He knew Milah. He remembered her. But, if this was the way he wanted to play this game…

"Only too happy to, uh, dig out the memory," he offered, finally stepping around him so they could face off once more. "But it gets really messy."

That wiped the smile off his face real fast. "She's dead," he offered solemnly. "Died a long time ago."

He didn't let anything show on his face that wasn't planned. If he was honest, it was because there was nothing to show. He'd always known Milah would never survive her kidnapping, and when she never came back, well, he'd mourned her long ago. So long that his words felt less like a proclamation and more like a simple confirmation of what he'd always known was true. But nevertheless, he let the pirate think he felt it. He let his face fall, let his hand twitch a bit as it went to his side. Whether he felt something or not, justice would be served, and he'd rather fool his enemy into thinking it would be easily accomplished because of a broken heart than a battle that was already lost.

"What is it you want?" the pirate finally asked of him. Perfect. Exactly what he wanted.

"We didn't get a chance to finish our duel," he commented after a couple of heartbeats, for effect, of course.

The pirates immediately made to draw their swords, but the moment they did, he had a thought that made their situation so much sweeter. Death couldn't inflict the pain that Jones's choices and actions had given him or Baelfire, but there was another torture that might…if only for a night.

"Not now," he corrected. "Tomorrow at dawn. I am not a cruel man. Get your affairs in order!" he proclaimed lavishly before taking a step forward so he could look him in the eye. "Also, you can spend tonight knowing…it will be your last." He giggled as he saw a flicker of black fear touch those eyes which had once looked down on him with the same pitiful stare he gave him now. "Maybe I am cruel. And don't think about trying to escape," he threatened, taking another step closer so they were nose to nose now. "Because I will find you, and I will gut your entire crew like-a-de-fish…" He repressed a laugh as the men over his shoulder took another step away at just his gaze. But when he looked back, Hook didn't step back. Like the intelligent man he assumed he was, he saw only the fear of death in his eyes.

"Savvy?" he questioned with a smile.

The pirate swallowed before nodding. "Savvy…town square at dawn."

"And I wouldn't be late if I were you…I hate to be kept waiting!" And without another word, he vanished.