#Also if it's not clear from the drawings Roland gets along quite well with the moths | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phantom-le6 · 3 years ago

Text

Episode Reviews - Batman: The Animated Series Season 1 (4 of 10)

Carrying on our look at the first season of Batman: The Animated Series, we present a fourth round of episode reviews, this time starting with a two-parter that introduced one of Batman’s stranger foes to the series.

Episode 20: Feat of Clay (Part 1)

Plot (as given by me):

Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises is lured to a secret meeting with a man who claims to be Bruce Wayne, who wants evidence the company has gathered about businessman Roland Daggett trying to take over Wayne Enterprises through insider trading. The meeting turns out to be a set-up, but Batman’s interference ensures Fox manages to live. However, the men escape and the injured Fox identifies Wayne as being complicit in the set-up.

In reality, the man who set Fox up is Matt Hagan, an actor who is forced to carry out errands for Daggett in order to ensure a supply of an experimental chemical compound called “Renuyu”. The compound makes skin highly malleable, enabling Hagan or any other user to rearrange their features as they choose. However, the compound is also highly addictive, and Hagan needs it to cover facial disfigurements following an accident he had years ago. Daggett insists that his men, Raymond Bell and ‘Germs’, eliminate Hagan for his incompetence, relying on Hagan’s addition to draw him to them rather than try to find Hagan, who was a noted master of disguise even before using the compound.

As predicted, Hagan breaks into Daggett Pharmaceuticals and is caught by Bell and Germs. They expose him to an overdose of the compound and then leave him in his car, where the compound begins to alter Hagan. Meanwhile, Batman has learned his alter ego of Bruce Wayne was impersonated for the attack on Fox, and has remembered Bell, who is distinguished by the radio headset he wears to monitor police radio frequencies. Batman uses this to flush Bell out by pretending to be a police radio operator. Cornering Bell with the Batwing, Batman interrogates him about the impersonation of Wayne. Bell confirms Wayne was impersonated, but passes out before confirming the identity of the imposter. The arrival of the police forces Batman to abandon his efforts with Bell.

Later, Bruce sneaks into Fox’s room at the hospital, but Fox panics and alerts the police officers outside his room, resulting in Bruce’s arrest. Meanwhile, Hagan’s friend and stand-in Teddy Lupus tracks Hagan to Daggett’s factory, where he finds the overdose has transformed Hagan into a clay-like monster. Seeing himself in the rear-view mirror of his car, Hagan roars in horror.

Review:

Apparently, there have been several villains who have taken the name of Clayface over the course of Batman’s history in the comics, of which four had already made appearances in comics by the time this series came round. What the series does is combine the occupation of the original Clayface Basil Karlo, namely being an actor, with the name of the second Clayface Matt Hagan, and then throws in an original origin story for the character. Well, for the character it’s original, but for the show as a whole it’s not very original. As the DC Animated Universe wiki rightly points out, this two-part episode shares a lot of common plot points with the ‘Two-Face’ two-part episode. Even the structure is roughly similar in that part 1 is set-up for a transformation that the principal villain then seeks retribution for in part 2.

However, Hagan isn’t as easy to empathise with and root for compared to Harvey Dent. While Dent was a crusading crime-fighter who was normally a good guy, and who was also friends with Bruce Wayne, Hagan comes off as someone who was probably a bit of a jerk to begin with, and who would probably be working for a creep like Daggett even if the chemicals that ultimately transform him weren’t addictive. In essence, Hagan’s arc is like one big warning about the dangers of getting too caught up in one’s looks too much. That said, he is well-voiced by actor Ron Perlman (yes, I mean the first cinematic Hellboy and Blade II villain Ron Perlman). Other notable actors who have guest roles across this two-parter are Ed Begley Jr. (too many credits to name, but guest appearances in the West Wing, CSI Miami and Star Trek: Voyager number among them), and the now-late Ed Asner voicing Roland Daggett (Asner being most notable in voice acting outside of this series for Carl in Disney & Pixar’s Up!).

Overall, it’s a decent part 1 with some very good guest talent alongside the show’s regulars. It just lacks a bit in originality, and for that it’s only able to score 8 out of 10.

Episode 21: Feat of Clay (Part 2)

Plot (as given by me):

In his trailer at the film studio, Hagan wallows in self-pity and despair as he recalls how after his accident, Daggett conned him into being a test subject for his experimental compound. Walking past posters on his wall, Hagan’s face changes to mimic the posters without him being aware of it. Teddy points this out, and Hagan realises he can now make himself look like anyone, even simulating clothing out of his body. However, doing this requires intense concentration, and when Teddy disturbs Hagan, the disfigured actor lashes out, realising his career cannot be salvaged.

Meanwhile, Wayne is released on bail, enabling him to continue his investigation as Batman, and Daggett insists that Germs kill Fox, despite the fact that Fox is in hospital and Germs earned his nickname by being a germophobe. Hagan also deduces Daggett will try to have Fox killed, and plans to kill the assassin so he can take their place, the better to then kill Daggett. As a result, all three men end up at the hospital. Batman intercepts Germs and manages to corner him in a room where viral and bacterial cultures are being stored for analysis, and uses this to coax Germs into revealing it was Matt Hagan who impersonated Bruce Wayne during the original ambush on Fox.

Before Germs can reveal how Hagan pulled off the deception, a police officer appears to apparently arrest Germs. However, it swiftly turns out the office is Hagan in disguise; he abducts Germs and takes him to the roof, intent on throwing him to his death. Batman pursues and saves Germs, and the dark knight is startled when he sees Hagan’s face change on reflex to try and mirror his own. Hagan uses his shape-shifting powers to try and kill Batman, but the effort soon exhausts him and he is forced to flee. Elsewhere, Hagan finalises his plans to kill Daggett, and knocks out Teddy when he tries to talk him out of it.

Later, Roland Daggett appears on a talk show hosted by TV journalist Summer Gleeson to promote “Renuyu” to the public. When Summer takes questions from the audience, an overweight woman in the audience storms the stage, grilling Daggett about the chemical’s side-effects and addictive properties. The woman then transforms, revealing it is actually Hagan in disguise, and the audience flees in terror. Hagan, now calling himself “Clayface”, attacks Daggett, but Batman intervenes. A fight ensues between the two that moves from the stage to the control room, Batman subduing Daggett along the way.

In the control room, Batman activates videos of Hagan’s films, causing him to shape-shift out of control as his body tries to emulate all the varying and conflicting characters at once. The police arrive as Hagan’s out-of-control changing continues, and they see his face briefly become that of Bruce Wayne. Hagan then smashes the control consoles, electrocuting himself. He laments that he never got a death scene this good when he was still an actor, and won’t be around to read the notices. While Wayne is cleared of all wrong-doing, Batman experiments on a piece of Clayface left behind and realises electricity has no effect on it. Combined with the actor’s choice of words, Batman realises Hagan gave them all a fake death; his body at the police morgue turns out to be an empty shell, and elsewhere a disguised Clayface laughs at his seeming triumph.

Review:

As I noted with part 1, the whole Clayface intro two-part story is quite derivative in its plot structure, having so many parallels to the Two-Face intro episodes that to a casual glance, they could appear identical. However, part 2 does compensate for this with more than just a great cast of guest voices like part 1 did. In part 2, we see Clayface show off his powers, and that’s where this episode comes to really stand out. Unlike some DC heroes, Batman faces a rogues’ gallery composed almost entirely of otherwise normal people who are either just insane human beings or some form of professional criminal. As a result, he’s often challenged more by their insanity or something technical they’ve done.

Clayface, on the other hand, opens our animated Batman up to facing a foe who presents a challenge because he has a physical super-power that the caper crusader has to contend with. Metahumans aren’t the norm for Batman solo adventures, but it’s fun to see them because they serve as evidence for why someone like Batman ultimately ends up as a member of the Justice League. It’s his ability to get through the initial clash, learn from it and be prepared the next time around that ensures Batman can win even against a super-powered adversary. However, even with this we’re not quite up to top marks, but we’re close. I’d give this episode 9 out of 10.

Episode 22: Joker’s Favour

Plot (as given by me):

Average Gothamite Charlie Collins is coming home from a bad day at work when he is cut off on the freeway by multiple drivers, including Batman and officers of the GCPD. However, the one that compels Charlie to return the favour complete with a string of abuse turns out to be the Joker. Horrified at his mistake, Charlie then tries to flee, but the clown prince of crime pursues him. Charlie, in the heat of the moment, states he’ll do anything to make amends, and the Joker agrees, stating that at some future time, he’ll ask a favour of Charlie.

Two years later, Commissioner Gordon is to be honoured with a testimonial, something that sits ill with the Joker, and he plans to crash the festivities. Despite having two henchmen and a right-hand woman in the form of one Harley Quinn, Joker decides to call in the favour owed to him by Charlie Collins. Charlie has moved cities and changed names, but the Joker has managed to keep track of the man, and insists Charlie return to Gotham if he doesn’t want his wife and son hurt. At Gordon’s testimonial, which is being held at the Gotham Peregrinators Club, Charlie’s favour for the Joker is open the door for Harley while she pushes a giant cake in. However, Charlie decides to try and warn Batman, and uses a club exhibit to make an improvised bat-signal.

Charlie performs his task as Harley brings the cake in, disguised as a uniform cop. However, Charlie finds his hand is now glued to the handle, and the cake emits a gas that paralyses everyone not involved in the Joker’s scheme (the Joker’s men, Harley and Charlie all wear gas-masks while Joker springs up from inside the cake). The Joker pins a bomb to Commissioner Gordon’s suit and leaves with Harley and his men, planning to kill Charlie along with the assembled officers. However, Batman arrives, having spotted the improvised bat-signal as he’d been leaving the club as Bruce Wayne. At Charlie’s warning, he uses his grapnel gun to shoot the bomb outside, which results in the destruction of the Joker’s getaway van, after which he frees Charlie from the door, telling him to stay with the recovering police officers while he tackles the Joker.

Batman is quick to take down Joker’s henchmen and Harley while Joker gets outside. There, he is confronted by Charlie, who in mad desperation threatens the Joker with one of his own bombs that was thrown clear of the van. Joker pleads for Batman to save him, and the dark knight appears in time to apparently talk Charlie down. However, Charlie soon tosses the device to the ground, where it turns out to be a gag bomb instead of a real one. While an amused Batman takes the Joker into custody, Charlie looks forward to returning to his normal life.

Review:

This episode has quite a lot going for it. For starters, it’s another Joker episode, which are generally sure bets to be interesting once any Batman show knows what they’re doing with the character. Second, it’s a Joker episode with a very interesting premise of putting an everyman kind of character in the middle of everything. That alone helps the episode to stand out as something different, and that’s before we consider that the everyman character is being voiced by Ed Begley Jr. In and of itself, that last point might not seem like much, but if you compare Charlie Collins to the character Begley was voicing in the ‘Feat of Clay’ two-part episode, it shows this chap has an impressive range for voice-acting.

However, all of this is relative pre-amble to the fact that this is the episode that first featured the show’s major break-out original character of Harley Quinn. From the simple act of episode writer Paul Dini creating Harley as a guest character for this episode, her character has taken Batman’s original medium of comics and all other Batman mediums by storm. It’s hard to believe given the episode isn’t giving her a proper intro with origin story and all the rest, but luckily the show would later address that. However, I think that just goes to show how strong the character was, or possibly just how much Batman lore must have needed that character without maybe realising it. Factoring all this in, I’d say this episode is another top scorer; 10 out of 10.

Episode 23: Vendetta

Plot (as given by me):

Convict “Spider” Conway is being transported from Stonegate to give evidence against crime lord Rupert Thorne, but the transport boat is blown up by a bomb mid-transport. The officers on board spotted the bomb and got off in time, but Conway is missing and everyone begins to assume the worst. When Batman finds a toothpick like those used by Detective Harvey Bullock at the Stonegate Penitentiary docks, and later learns Bullock was once suspected of taking bribes from Thorne, he assumes something even worse; that Bullock planted the bomb himself.

Bullock is taken off the Thorne/Conway case because of this unsavoury history, while Batman goes to interrogate Thorne. The crime lord claims he wasn’t involved and that Conway’s testimony won’t damage him at all. This seems to confirm Batman’s theory that Bullock blew up the boat to prevent anything come to light about his own past with Thorne, but Commissioner Gordon is adamant Bullock is clean. However, when someone dressed like Bullock abducts another criminal, Joey “The Snail” Martin, from his police cell, Bullock is arrested.

Batman examines another piece of evidence found at the docks, a scale which looks reptilian but has human cellular structure. A chance phrase of Alfred’s combined with the scale gives Batman an idea. He eventually discovers Joey and Spider have been hidden in a cave with an underwater access and confronts their abductor, who identifies himself as a former professional wrestler named Killer Croc. Croc was apparently born part-crocodile, which gives him a massive strength advantage. Despite this, Batman is able to tie Croc up long enough to capture Joey and Spider and leave.

Back at the Batcave, Batman is able to trace Croc’s past; he became a pro-wrestler after a stint as a side-show attraction, then turned to crime when he came to Gotham. Initially penny-ante, Croc was later arrested by Bullock and convicted based on the testimony of Spidey and Joey. Realising this, Batman intercepts Croc when he tries to corner Bullock in the detective’s car, after Bullock has been released on bail. Batman and Croc take their battle into the sewers, where Batman ultimately wins, bringing Croc back to the surface for Bullock to take in. Bullock soon returns to duty with all charges against him formally dropped.

Review:

Here we get a fairly simple, but nonetheless decent, intro episode for another of the metahuman monsters that occasionally get a spot in the Batman rogues’ gallery. This time it’s Killer Croc, who has a fairly simple backstory and doesn’t require the kind of introductions we’ve seen for many of Batman’s other foes. The backstory for Croc is so simple, in fact, that it doesn’t lose anything from being worked into a Bullock frame-up plot that allows us to also see a major supporting character in Batman lore developed further. My only criticism would be that Croc’s proper name of Waylon Jones from the comics isn’t used, and that right at the end he gets identified as ‘Killer Croc Morgan’ by the news reporter. It might seem like a minor niggle to some, but between that and the frame-up seeming a bit advanced for the simplistic Croc, I give this episode just 8 out of 10.

Episode 24: Fear of Victory

Plot (as given by me):

Amidst reports of star athletes having panic attacks that cause them to lose, Dick Grayson’s college room-mate and American football player Brian Rogers is on the verge of being signed into the professional American football leagues. As they discuss this, Brian receives a strange telegram wishing him luck, but also reminding him that only a fool knows no fear. Later at a crucial game, Brian suffers a panic attack of his own, and later when Dick is out as Robin assisting Batman, he has a panic attack while scaling the side of a skyscraper to tackle two thieves.

Investigating Dick’s college dorm, Batman discovers the telegram is coated in a substance that is blocked by their gloves. Performing an experiment back at the Batcave, Batman deduces that the chemical is activated by adrenalin, causing major panic during moments of major excitement such as high-pressure sporting contests. The nature of the chemical clearly indicates the Scarecrow, but Robin contends that Scarecrow is supposed to be locked up at Arkham Asylum. A visit there swiftly reveals, however, that Scarecrow has escaped and somehow terrorised an orderly into keeping the escape a secret.

Elsewhere, a man identifying himself only as ‘Lucky’ collects another big win from Leon the Bookie, who sends his enforcer after the man to find out how he is managing to win so many bets. Lucky turns out to be the Scarecrow, and uses another drugged telegram to cow the enforcer into submission. Batman explains to Commissioner Gordon that in order to finance his fear experiments, Scarecrow is drugging top athletes and then betting against them or their teams, depending on the sport in question. That knight, Gotham’s professional American football team the Gotham Knights have a game that Scarecrow is likely to target, so Batman goes to intervene, Robin going along despite not yet having recovered from the fear chemical himself.

At the game, Robin spots the disguised Scarecrow entering and follows, quickly deducing that this time, Scarecrow has tampered with a player’s helmet rather than going for the telegram trick again. Watching the game from the lighting scaffold in the stadium roof, Scarecrow is puzzled as the targeted player doesn’t have a panic attack, and is then surprised when Batman confronts him. Scarecrow threatens to drop a vial of fear toxin on the crowd if Batman doesn’t back off, but then opts to drop it to keep Batman too busy to follow him. However, the vial lands on a lower platform instead.

A scuffle ensues that causes the vial to fall towards the crowd, but Robin arrives in time to swing out and catch the vial, overcoming his panic attacks and saving the day. He also reveals he was the one who swapped out the dosed helmet for a safe one. Scarecrow is swiftly returned to Arkham and Brian Rodgers is signed up to play professional American football.

Review:

Quick bit of house-keeping; as a Brit, I cannot stand how Americans call actual football ‘soccer’ and their version of football, well, football. After all, football is supposed to be played, as the name implies, with one’s feet. Why the Americans apply this name to their version when they almost never use their feet to move the ball is just silly to me. Also, given the shape of the ball, I’d say what they’re really playing is rugby, albeit with a better set-up in terms of ensuring player protection and, hopefully, no stupid rules prohibiting passes in the direction players are meant to run. So, for anyone wondering why I’ve insisted on using the term ‘American football’ all through the plot outline above, that’s why.

So, that having now been explained, let’s consider the episode proper. While this was the first episode to be aired featuring Robin, it’s the second from a production stand-point, and in all honesty it’s one episode that might have been better going ahead of the earlier Robin episode ‘Christmas with the Joker’. The fact that Dick is at college, and thus less available to act as Robin, is more directly shown here, so really this should have been made as well as aired first, then the Christmas episode done later on both counts. Robin’s arc in the story about overcoming fears is a decent, albeit highly cliché one that at times slightly undercuts the episode’s quality.

To some degree, the return of Scarecrow with a more terrifying appearance helps compensate for this, but then also undercutting the episode is the obviousness that the Scarecrow is the culprit. Between the episode title (and title card), not to mention the series of fear-related incidents with top athletes, it’s somewhat painful having to wait for Batman to make the connection the audience made five minutes earlier at least. It’s like watching any episode of Columbo, where the audience gets to see what actually happened first and then has to wait ages for the detective to work it out.

That way of presenting mysteries is almost as daft as calling a sport football if it’s not going to involve primarily foot-on-ball contact. The audience should always be in sync with or behind the detective, and if you get there ahead of them, it should be from your own deduction, not because the book, TV episode or film spoils the solution for you while making the detective work for it. Overall, this isn’t the best episode of the series by any means, and I give it just 5 out of 10.

Episode 25: The Clock King

Plot (as given by me):

Hamilton Hill, the future Mayor of Gotham, catches a subway to work at his law firm, and finds himself sitting opposite businessman and efficiency expert Temple Fugate, who is preparing for a hearing regarding a judgement of $20 million dollars against his company. Hill warns Fugate that he needs to unwind a bit before the court hearing or the judge may rule against him by misreading his tension as guilt. Taking Hill’s advice, Fugate takes his coffee break 15 minutes later than normal and goes to the park instead of staying in the office. This leads to mishaps that result in him appearing late and dishevelled, prompting the judge to rule summarily against Fugate, causing the demise of his business.

Seven years later, Hill is now mayor of Gotham and in the process of starting a re-election campaign. On his way to a fund-raiser for the campaign, Hill is detained when traffic lights at an intersection are tampered with, and at the same time a poster mocking Hill is unveiled on the side of a building. Bruce Wayne is also caught in the traffic mishap, and spies the culprit on a nearby rooftop. He attempts to interfere as Batman, but the culprit (Fugate now lightly disguised as the timing-obsessed Clock King) manages to escape through his expert use of timing.

Batman’s investigations of the traffic incident soon give him Fugate’s name, and when a bank is the subject of a targeted black-out to disable its time locks, the dark knight deduces this to also be Fugate’s work. At the bank’s vault, Batman is trapped inside by Fugate, who reveals via audio recording that he has left a high-speed vacuum pump to drain the vault’s air. The pump will take less time than Batman’s cutting torch, and it’s rigged with a vibration-sensitive explosive to prevent Batman tampering with it. However, Batman is able to break open the audio cassette and use the magnetic ribbon to rig up a pulley system; using this, he moves the pump to the vault door and then sets it off by hitting it with a batarang.

The bank vault, however, was ultimately successful in that while Batman is getting free, Fugate sabotages the opening of a Gotham subway station by making two subway trains crash at the station. Only minor injuries are reported, but in the confusion the mayor has gone missing. Batman, hearing of this and recalling Fugate having a lot of plans of a clock tower, swiftly realises Fugate has kidnapped Hill and taken him to the tower.

At the clock tower, Fugate has tied Hill to the clock hands, which will crush Hill at 3:15; the time Hill suggested Fugate take his coffee break at seven years earlier. As Hill’s law firm represented the plaintiffs in the case against Fugate, the timing-obsessed criminal has become convinced Hill’s advice was deliberate sabotage, and thus he various crimes throughout the day have been about exacting revenge on Hill. Batman arrives and engages Fugate in combat inside the workings of the giant clock, until Fugate’s clock-hand sword jams the gears, causing a catastrophic collapse. Batman and Hill escape, and while there is no sign of Fugate in the aftermath, Batman believes that a man with Fugate’s use of timing could easily have escaped as well.

Review:

While the main antagonist of this episode shares his codename and use of timing with a DC Comics villain that was mainly a foe of Green Arrow, this show puts a different person behind the name and modus operandi, complete with a different origin story. It’s a decent story, and one that certainly breaks a major convention of the series by having Batman operate in the daytime instead of being a strictly night-time crime fighter. However, that sort of change is good because it adds somewhat to the variety of the show while also taking the main character out of his comfort zone a bit. On a personal note, I also enjoy this episode because what happens to Fugate illustrates why if you’re someone who is worried about being somewhere on time, you should never listen to any advice that might put you behind schedule.

Hill might think what he’s suggesting will help Fugate, but it’s clear he’s not really engaged with Fugate and doesn’t understand the man. Anyone who is this good with timing clearly needs everything to run like, well, clockwork in order to be relaxed. I know because I’m often the same way and can’t stand the idea of being late to anything even where it might be the social norm. If being late is going to cause someone anxiety, don’t try to suggest that they do anything that’s going to risk making them late. Don’t tell them to have their break at another time or to get out of their routine; let them stay in their routine because odds are they need that routine just to keep calm.

As much as Fugate goes overboard on the revenge, Hill deserves the opening salvo of the traffic incident and poster graffiti, and so does anyone who tries to advise others on how to calm down without knowing them. Also, changes in routine and getting outside won’t help if the source of anxiety still exists. Anxiety, like every problem in existence, has only solution; deal with the problem at its source. Got an illness? Go for whatever treatment wipes it out or lets your immune system do so. Don’t like the current government? Vote to change who runs it and get everyone you can to vote the same way? Want to stop discrimination of any kind? Fight every kind actively, aggressively and never, ever just say ‘I’m not that kind of bigot’ and then do nothing else. Problems are only ever solved by action, not evasion.

So overall, this is a good episode with an interesting premise and a story that highlights the folly of giving well-meant advice if you don’t really know the person you’re advising. It’s not one of the highlights of the series, but I’d be hard-pressed to consider it a flop of any kind. I’d say about 8 out of 10 for this one.

Episode 26: Appointment in Crime Alley

Plot (as given by me):

Roland Daggett wants to buy up and redevelop Gotham’s Park Row, a formerly nice area of the city that has now become a slum so infested with crime that it is better known as Crime Alley. However, most of the residents of the area cannot afford to live anywhere else, so they are resisting Daggett’s plans. To that end, Daggett hires an arsonist known as Nitro to destroy the slum and make it look like a faulty gas main ruptured. Daggett asks that the explosion occur that evening at 9pm, which is when Daggett will be otherwise occupied giving his speech to the Gotham Better Business Council.

Bruce Wayne deduces Daggett is up to something as he watches news commentary on the Park Row situation, but he has his own appointment to keep in the area an hour prior to Daggett’s deadline, one he has apparently never failed to make. Bruce heads to the area as Batman, but is delayed when a girl comes running out of an apartment building screaming for help. Batman enters the apartment to find three crooks trying to terrorise the girl’s mother out of the place. The dark knight swiftly defeats the crooks and learns they’ve been strong-arming everyone in Crime Alley to leave, suggesting they may be working for Daggett.

Meanwhile, Crime Alley resident and physician Dr Leslie Thompkins realises Batman is running late and sets out to look for him, insisting to her friend Maggie that she’ll be alright, having lived in the area for 30 years. However, Leslie is abducted and tied up by Nitro and Daggett’s henchman Crocker when she discovers them rigging explosives in a condemned building. When Batman learns Leslie has gone out in search of him after he was delayed, he begins to search for her. He is then delayed when a desperate Crime Alley resident holds a clerk from Daggett Industries hostage for serving him eviction papers. Batman manages to diffuse the situation and resumes his search for Leslie.

A check of Leslie’s apartment reveals nothing, apart from a scrapbook that explains the nature of her relationship to Batman; Crime Alley was where Bruce’s parents were shot and killed, and Leslie was there to comfort the grieving Bruce, being a colleague of Bruce’s father as well as a local resident. Seeing a homeless man staring through the window, Batman confronts him and learns of Leslie’s abduction. He is delayed getting to her by having to stop an out-of-control tram trolley, which forces him to abandon the Batmobile and finish his journey on foot.

Finding Crocker and Nitro in the midst of completing their work, Batman locks them inside their own van and diffuses the bombs Leslie is tied up next to. Leslie urges Batman to forget her and get everyone out of a nearby hotel that has become a sanctuary for many people with nowhere else to live. As Daggett gives his speech, sections of Crime Alley explode, but when Daggett later appears on the scene, it turns out all the residents and most of the buildings are still ok. Only a few condemned buildings are taken out by the blasts, and Daggett’s men are under arrest. However, Daggett denies any involvement and pins the blame on the neighbourhood’s high crime rate.

As Daggett leaves, Leslie urges Batman to let it go, and the pair walk away to keep their appointment, each laying a rose at the place where Bruce’s parents were murdered years before.

Review:

When it comes to adapting Batman’s supporting cast from the comics, there are a few characters who get over-looked in most versions, and Dr Leslie Thompkins is a major oversight in most incarnations. While Alfred’s place as Batman’s butler and Bruce Wayne’s surrogate father figure is generally ensured in every iteration of the character, the surrogate mother role played by Leslie is less featured. The fact that this series actually bothered to include her at all, and does so with such accuracy to the source material, is another example of why this show remains so iconic and definitive in terms of Batman adaptations.

Of course, the key to making this work is two-fold. First, the episode is apparently based on a specific comic-book story, which wasn’t something this series or later DC animated universe productions did very often. Second, they had Diana Muldaur, better known to Trek audiences as Dr Kate Polaski from season two of Star Trek: TNG, voicing Leslie, and while I didn’t generally care for her TNG character, she brings the right warmth and kindliness to her role in this episode. We also get Ed Asner back as Roland Daggett, which helps to ensure Rupert Thorne isn’t the only animated series original criminal that’s getting repeat appearances. It also gives the episode a suitably notable antagonist to keep it interesting. Overall, I’m inclined to put this one in the top-scorers club for this series; 10 out of 10.

3 notes · View notes

blackroseaki38 · 5 years ago

Text

Lonely Tower

@badthingshappenbingo

Trope: Isolation

Fandom: Sofia the First

AN: This was nice to write. Expect more bingos today. I have been at work constantly for weeks. I have been continuing to write and draw, just never had time to post bc I like to beta my work many times, by others and myself, before I do. Hope you guys like.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sofia the First characters or anything in this fic.

Cedric was used to being alone. Being alone used to mean being away from bullies and more difficulties in his life. It used to mean protection from others. But that was in the past and currently, the silence is painful. Before the silence, he used to have Wormtail. Now he has no one, not that he needed anyone.

So, he stayed in his tower. He didn't need to talk to anyone to be happy. He was used to being alone before he received Wormtail.

He worked and worked on the various things the King needed for the kingdom. With the troublesome things happening around them, Roland requested the palace's wards be redone along with many other increases in their magical security.

So, Cedric did those tasks and much more. Before, he used to be worried and would always mess up on anything the King needed to be done. Now, it didn't matter anymore. Either he did well or not. It didn't matter since he shouldn't need the acceptance of a King who did not care about him. Besides, he’s failed so many expectations that another failure to his already lengthy list did not change much in his disappointment of a life.

Cedric had already told Baileywick that he would be busy this week and that he would pick up his own meals from the kitchens, so no need to send them up to him. He also asked him to let the kids, mainly Sofia know, that he did not want to be disturbed because he needed strict concentration on this type of magic. Now that he would be uninterrupted for the week, he would be able to get his work done in peace.

He updated the wards and tended to the magical security covering the palace. Once he was finished with all the magical defenses, he turned to new projects. He worked on new energy potions for the soldiers and growth spells for the farmers. He did everything he could think of to keep busy. He didn't need sleep or food. This was enough. Maybe it would be enough . . . . to

Cedric continued to work, ignoring the silence around him. He tried his best to stop talking out loud, but it was not working. So, he took out the old stuffed toy his niece left the last time she visited them. It was a little stuff owl, but it was better than nothing. He used a sticking spell to get the owl to stay in place on the wooden bird stand near his work station.

He didn't care that he looked crazy, talking to a toy. But, he couldn't help himself. He needed to talk to someone, something! It just had to talk, just so many the voices inside his head would finally shut up.

'You don't deserve to have anyone. Nobody wants you.'

"No! Princess Sofia! She likes me!"

'Oh really? Then why hasn't she come to check on you? Its been two weeks already. You know she doesn't exactly listen to your requests to be alone before. She must have finally realized you're not worth having around.'

"No . . . it can't be. She wouldn't."

'She wouldn't? Well, if really cared. She would be knocking on the door as we speak. You and I both know she left, just like everyone else.'

"No..." Cedric whispered. He couldn't let the voices get to him, but he couldn't help it. No stuffed toy would ever make this voice stop. It wouldn't defend him back!

'Your mother....'

"..No.."

'...Your father...'

"....NO..."

'... Your sister...'

"... No, no..."

'.... The royal family ...." '

"N-no! It can't be. I can't... be alone?"

'Your probably locked up, in this tower. This was their chance to finally lock you up and get rid of you. '

Cedric fell to his knees and finally let the tears fall from his eyes. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm down. But, nothing was working. He just had to accept it. He was alone and he would always be alone.

--elsewhere--

'Sofia? Do we have to visit Cedric? You know what Baileywick said! He's busy with an important project. You know how he gets when he is interrupted!'

"I know Clover, but I can't help myself. You know how Mr. Cedric can get when he gets all busy with his work. He told Baileywick he would get his own meals on time, but I just asked the kitchen if he came for any meals. They haven't seen him come get any food. And he's been locked up in his lab for 2 weeks. We need to make sure he is okay and force him to get food," the princess said as she walked up the long stairwell towards the tower where Cedric resided.

'Alright, alright! But, don't look at me if he scolds you for not listening.'

"Thanks, Clover!" Sofia said, with a pat of on his furry little head.

'Yeah, yeah. I know. Clover is the best.' the bunny's ego inflated even more.

----

Soon, she had arrived at the top of the steps. She knocked on the large wooden door. When no one opened the hair, she got a little bit worried.

"Mr. Cedric? Are you in there?" she called out loudly.

When she got no response, she turned to Clover.

"Clover, do whatever you can to get someone else up here. Something's wrong."

The rabbit didn't object or anything but just ran off to do the task he was just assigned.

Sofia turned back to the door, wondering how to open it.

"Mr. Cedric! Please open up! I'm worried!"

Finally realizing no one was going to open the door, Sofia looked around to see if there was another way in. Then she noticed the welcome mat under her feet. She checked underneath it and was relieved to find a spare key there. She would talk to Mr. Cedric about getting a better hiding place for his keys later. Right now, she needed to find him.

Slowly, she opened the door and slowly wandered it. There were broken test tubes and beakers on the group. Sofia carefully navigated through them and finally found her way to the restroom. She could hear the shower running, but she just couldn't wait for him to leave, so she opened the door and stepped in.

Inside, she found Cedric, fully clothed, and sitting under the freezing cold water raining on him.

"Mr. Cedric?"

Cedric turned to look at her, his eyes slightly glasses over like he wasn't quite there. He tilted his head in confusion.

"You're not real. So, why are you acting concerned."

Sofia stepped closer and turned off the water.

"Mr. Cedric, I am real. Sofia, remember?"

He looked at her confused, but his eyes sparkled a bit like he recognized her voice.

"Remember that one time, that you chased the Griffin through the castle when he stole my amulet. Or that time, you..."

Sofia slowly continued to recall all the fun and sometimes ridiculous situations they have been in together. Some, might shake their heads and call her crazy for all the things she listed down. But, somehow, Cedric kept listening as every word as he made more and more connections in his head. Finally, his eyes were clear and he was shivering from the cold water he had been sitting for hours now.

"Sofia? What? Where?" he asked mindlessly.

"Mr. Cedric!" she cried out, pulling him in a tight hug, not caring if the front of her dress was wet now. She was just happy he was better now.

Cedric was confused, then he remembered what happened. He told Sofia how he had forced himself to try to accept Wormtail's absence in his life.

Sofia looked into Cedric's shiny gray eyes.

"Mr. Cedric, I know I'm just a kid. But, I promise you that from now, you will never be alone again. We'll do whatever we can to support you, but please don't close yourself off like this again. I know no one wanted today anything, but everyone was worried."

"Sofia, I'm glad you care for me. But, who else cares for me.---------- No one here wants me! I should just leave and go far away, somewhere I will not make any trouble for anyone else!"

"No, Mr. Cedric! I know it may seem like, no one cares about you. But, they do. Just you wait. I've sent someone to get help. I bet you'll be very much surprised to see how many people really care about you."

"Sofia, I'm glad you think that but I'm not so sure-" his words were cut off as Baileywick ran into the room, along with the Queen.

"Oh dear! Cedric, what are you doing? Let's get this water turned off," Baileywick exclaimed as he rushed to turn off the water.

"Sofia, sweetie. Your father is trying to clean up the glass in the laboratory. Can you and your siblings run off to get some towels? We'll be needing them," her mother directed the little girl, who promptly ran off to do her assigned tasks.

Cedric wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't believe what was even going on. The queen was here? And Baileywick? The king was cleaning up his lab? Was this a lucid hallucination or something?!

The queen crouched down to Cedric's position and pulled him into a hug, even though they were separated by the lower half of the tub. She ran her fingers through his two-toned hair.

"Cedric, I'm sorry we didn't see what was going on sooner. However, I promise you that from now things will be different. We'll help you get past this, no matter how long it takes, okay?"

Cedric wasn't sure if this was even real or not, but after weeks of no social interaction at all, it was nice to be treated like this. He closed his eyes and nodded his head, even though he didn't believe himself at all. A few tears escaped his eyes as he finally felt more loved than ever before.

Soon, before he knew it, he was whisked off to his room. He was too tired and hungry to notice who dried him from his wet trip to the shower. He did remember the Queen vaguely trying to feed him soup. He slept for a few days straight. Every time he would wake up, he wasn't quite awake. But, he would always make sure someone was with him and then promptly fall back asleep.

Finally, after a few weeks of a lot of people taking care of him, the young wizard had his first awakening without being confused or loopy.

Cedric was surprised to see the room full of flowers, letters, and similar things. He tried to sit up when he realized someone was holding his head. It was Sofia. She was sitting on a chair next to his bed and was gripping his hand in her sleep.

Cedric smiled, as he finally took in the things around him. The voices were definitely wrong. If no one actually liked him, then he would not have so many things sent to him. Maybe Sofia was right. People did care about him, at least somewhat. He finally laid back, realizing that he did not have to be alone anymore. He had all these people to keep him company. He didn't need Wormtail. Not when he had so many friends . . . and family.

He looked at the young princess next to him and smiled gently.

"Thank you, Princess Sofia. Thank you."

#sofia the first #sofia the fandom #cedric #cedric the sensational #cedric the sorcerer #cedric the great #wormtail #princesssofia #king roland #baileywick #isolation

31 notes · View notes

bullets-and-masks · 6 years ago

Text

Lilith’s Character Analysis

Hey, guys! As requested by @valoscope I’m taking a deep dive into Lilith’s character. Differently from Krieg, that had as an objective creating a plausible backstory for,I decided my goal with Lilith is to look further and perhaps clarify the biggest divide in regards to her in the fandom: Why did Lilith do what she did in the end of TPS? (Spoilers for all games and the Borderlands comics anthology.)

Let’s go by this order - Borderlands (when she first appears), BL2 (we get to know her), Comics (to further what we know), and then TPS (oh the discourse) Borderlands: Lilith is a playable character in Borderlands (1) and unlike BL2, the first game doesn’t include ECHOs with extra bits of backstory liying around. As a result, anything that can be grasped about Lilith is from the main story - that has very little to do with WHO the original Vault Hunters are and her quotes. Lilith’s quotes are mostly all centered around her being a badass with a short temper, often hushing things to happen and going after danger. She celebrates victories and thinks highly of herself and her siren powers. In short, Lilith in Borderlands is cocky, self assured and short tempered, enjoying what she does and proud of being a siren. Borderlands 2 (oh how the tables have turned) In Borderlands 2, Lilith becomes a NPC deeply connected to the story, assisting the player and being one of the main characters related to what’s going down. We also get DLCs and tidbits of her personality outside a conflic situation. Lilith in Borderlands 2 starts as presumed dead. We learn later that her and the other vaulties decided it would be best to hide. Under the alias Firehawk, she gives up being with Roland and her friends to draw Bloodshot bandits away from Sanctuary. It’s under this alias that she first meets the player. She appears with flaming wings and greets the player with “Sup”, something we learn she likes saying before or after using her powers. After Lilith goes back to Sanctuary we start to get a better grasp of her personality as her friends gather up. Lilith likes saying stupid/mean jokes but actually worries about her friends and saving Pandora, helping as far as she can. In the mission In Memorian, the player picks up old ECHOs of Lilith after she hid as firehawk, all of her trying to talk to Roland after their relationship has gone cold and awkward. Lilith is also awkward, seemingly searching for reasons to see Roland, but quotes like “I liquified a guy”, said with surprised/fearful tone, even if she says it was awesome later, show that she trusts Roland and is the kind to actually search for help - and that she doesn’t quite undertand the extent of what she is. And that maybe she was also lonely among crazied bandits. In the mission Where Angels Fear to Thread, Angel warns the player and the Vault Hunters that no siren should go in the mission. Lilith debates this and then complies, only to show anyway. This has caused great divides in the community, many blaming Lilith for allowing the Warrior to be woken, but with all we learned the conclusion is: Lilith’s confidence and love for her companions makes so she goes, she wants to help terribly and ends up as doing things work. Lilith makes a mistake. Then, we have the DLCs. The biggest points of interest in the DLCs is that they happen after there’s no more danger, so we get to see Lilith more relaxed. In Tiny Tina’s Assault on Dragon Keep, Lilith disciplines Tina, wants to help with her grief. She also admits to being a nerd, and that she was bullied when little for liking geek stuff and for her tattoos, going so far as to keep Mr Torgue from playing because he doesn’t seem like a nerd and she’s worried his only interested because geek is trendy. In Sir Hammerlock and the Son of Crawmerax, there’s a small dialogue involving the original Vault Hunters and showing that Lilith really likes Talon, Modercai’s new bird. She doesn’t mind being bit and sounds really proud of how Talon is going. In short, we learn in Borderlands 2 that Lilith’s own nature is still a source of confusion, surprise and pride for her. She’s still cocky and violent, not taking long to make decisions, but she seems to want to stick to the plans, she really wants to make a difference for Pandora and she’s terribly awkward with feelings of any kind, but likes being near her friends and even seemed lonely. Comics: Borderlands Origins Lilith’s chapter in Borderlands Origins starts by her telling the reader she’s a siren, followed by this monologue:

(Image Description: A starry sky with yellow text boxes that read “There are six of us in the entirety of the universe. Or so I’m told. Prophecies can be fuzzy with the specifics.”)

(Image Description: A starry sky with yellow text boxes that read “It seems when you’re a little girl, you can look up at the stars as if they will live on forever. As you grown into a woman, you reaize that stars die just like anything else. Thrashing, heaving, clutching at anything not to go quietly into the black.”) This text already shows not only a deep sense of loneliness - the only out of six like her in the whole of existence - but also that much of Lilith’s personality might come from this stuborness to not die quietly. Enter the flashback to when she was little. By her size and inteligence, I’m willing to guess 6/7yo+. Lilith watches as her dad dies (not specified of what). His last words are “Promise me you’ll see the galaxy” and “I’ll see you among the stars”. Right after that, an old lady, the oldest siren, walks up to Lilith. The old lady had been looking for her. Lilith watches as she dies and simultaneously gets her own siren tattoos. She asks the old lady what she should do, too, but the only answer Lilith gets is:

(Image description: white speech bubbles over a orange and yellow background. they read: “That is up to you. Do as you will and grow as you might. We siren have no code, we’ve only our song. It is yours to sing now.”) From this, we gather that Lilith has no one else to be with her. As the old siren dies, it’s understandable that Lilith has now two very different types of loneliness; literal and the one that comes from being turned, unwillingly, into something not quite human, and something that makes her unique and alone. The old siren also tells Lilith she will NOT be seeing her father among the stars. The flasback ends and takes us to Lilith in a bar in Pandora. Later she gets in Marcu’s bus and Borderlands the Game starts from there. In short, what we understand from Borderlands Origins is that Lilith had to fend off on her own since little, probably making so she’s really proud of her habilities and surviving. With time she starts enjoying this power, which comes with the short temper and will to keep going after challenges to push herself. Coupled with this comes the great sense of loneliness of being a siren, and of carrying her father’s wish forward. In my opinion, this turns many of Lilith’s actions into a search for a sense of purpose, of place. (not that she’s not having fun with it). Also, wether one considers the comics canon or not despite being written by one of Borderlands writes and being considered so, nothing above is news. It’s all in her behavior and extra game content. On to Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel TPS is told by Athena, one of the people (and playable characters) hired to help Jack. Lilith’s actions in TPS are short and sweet. She’s actually barely in the game. Lilith and Roland are helping Jack because he wants to stop Zarpedon from blowing up Elpis, Pandora’s moon. Shortly before they defeat Zarpedon, though, Jack gets word that one of Hyperion’s scientists might be a spy. He proceeds to throw all of them out in space and then says something about how it felt good. His tone is also glad, truthfull. Among other actions and commentary, this makes so Lilith, Roland and Moxxi decide not help anymore - because Jack might actually be... Not their brand of good. This decision culminates in Lilith later phasewalking into the Vault and punching a vault relic Jack’s found. It’s unclear wether or not her intention was to brand his face, but clear she wanted to destroy it - too much power for not a very good man. Pre-Sequel Epilogue: The TPS Epilogue goes down after BL2. Lilith’s pissed about Roland’s death, and her conclusion is that killing Athena for having helped Jack is what she wants to do. What she wants because it’s cleary a harsh action decided with anger, as many of Lilith’s actions. Mordecai and Brick note that this isn’t like her. (All is stop by eridians that say war is coming and we’ll need all the vaulties we can get) In the Claptastic Voyage DLC, Lilith also apologises to Athena, admitting her blame on Jack’s rise - should’d killed him, not just branded/punched the relic. Her apology comes with the realization and admission that ordering to kill Athena made her just like Jack; Lilith understand’s her shortcomings and tries to fix it. She doesn’t shy away from blame In short, TPS Lilith along with companions took actions based on their own morallity and what they thought would be best to Pandora and Elpis. In the epilogue, Lilith displays high levels of anger and impulse decision making - she’s very led by emotions, BUT is able of seeing her wrong doings and wanting to do better. Conclusion: Lilith is a very harsh person, both proud and short-tempered. She has fun with violence and her powers, but also goes out of her way to help people and those she holds dear. Many of her actions can be pointed towards not having enough interactions and education, specially in patience and strategy; and certain interactions. Lilith is a nerd and well intentioned, some of her behavior even seeming like what someone would do to look cool. Her temper gets the best of her. She’s the kind to look for purpose in quick missions, friends and helping. While much of Lilith’s character can be explained, it shouldn’t be excused. People can grow and change out of what they are. Lilith is a great, flawled character, and I’d like the conclusion of this analysis to be that she can grow as a person and character. She did what she did in the end of TPS because that’s what she ( and Roland and Moxxi) judged as the best to do at that momment; making sure an unhinged man didn’t have so much power in his hands. Regarding the Discourse: No, it’s not her fault for Handsome Jack being Handsome Jack. She didn’t make it any better, and it’s her comment that names him “handsome”, but the man was already dangerous and unhinged. It’s not the fault of her character and temper either; it was a decision taken by at least three people.

#long post #borderlands #lilith the siren #spoilers #bl2 #mmar talks #by request!

41 notes · View notes

fallforcs · 6 years ago

Text

Cinnamon

Art by: @jell-obeans

Author: @theonceoverthinker

Summary: What starts out as a simple apple picking trip for Emma Swan takes an unexpected twist when she discovers that the nice connection she’s finding between herself and the farm’s owner Killian Jones might be something more profound and, for Emma, terrifying than she bargained for. Emma then finds herself on a journey that pulls her between her own insecurities, her growing feelings for Killian, and the very will of Mother Nature itself. Can Killian truly be the apple of her eye or will the worms of Emma’s past keep her from taking that first bite?

Rating: G (Nothing of an equivalence to a trigger)

A/N: I want to give a couple of shoutouts.

First, to my beta, @lassluna. I can’t even begin to tell you what your tireless work on this story meant to me. Whenever I needed you, you were on our Google Doc ready to work. You’re an amazing beta – catching things before I could all the time. You were incredibly supportive and I felt that you were always working with me because you believed in my story and my writing. And your help with the story itself can’t be overstated. Honestly, there were times where I didn’t think I could finish this story, but knowing that I was doing it for you kept me going. Working with you was a privilege and I hope it was even a tenth of that for you.

Second, to my artist, @jell-obeans. Not only did you take on making me a piece at the last second, but you completely captured the tone I was going for. Your artwork presents a relaxed and casual sense of intimacy between Emma and Killian, and that’s exactly what I wanted my piece to offer for my readers. There’s a nice use of earthy autumn colors and the setting of the artwork gives off a nice sense of closeness. Finally, that Monopoly board and the tea box give a great sense of detail that I just love. It’s freakin’ gorgeous and I can’t thank you enough for all of your hard work.

Finally, a note to my readers. Thank you for taking the time to read this piece. When someone puts together a work and takes the time to painstakingly make sure that it delivers an experience that’s in its own way original, entertaining, and personal, it’s such a cool thing when that work is actually seen. So trust when I express my appreciation to you for giving me that, and I hope that “Cinnamon” can delight and warm your soul in return.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Upstate New York was truly something to see.

Around every corner Emma turned, she saw acres and acres of trees that cascaded along the landscape like snow piled onto a mountain. Every single one of those trees had the warm colors of autumn, and on their own, they’d be beautiful enough – Emma had certainly seen plenty of them on their own – but together, they melded and practically terraformed the steep inclines they rested on into a place she wouldn’t have minded getting lost in one day.

It was her first time to this part of the country. She’d been to New York, but it was always to the city on a job. This may has well have been a different state. Whereas New York City was an urban jungle – not without its greenery, but mostly sectioned-off greenery – Hudson was a dense forest with towns and road in the spaces between it. It moved alongside the land, and that made for a more difficult, but also more beautiful drive.

But among all the beautiful aspects of the countryside, again, none stood out more that those trees.

That’s actually what had brought her up here today.

Her friend Regina had bought the apples that contained the seeds of what would become a magnificent tree that was so very similar to those now on the other side of Emma’s window many years ago. Regina had always wanted a big apple tree in her yard, and she told Emma that when she first tasted the fruit of this one particular apple only available at this one particular farm, she knew it had to be that one. After trying one of the apples from the bags Regina had brought home, Emma had to agree.

Regina spent months trying to plant it before finally consulting a gardener – one Robin Locksley. Together – by Regina’s insistence together – they worked the land. As they worked, Regina began to swear to Emma that she was smelling marigolds all day long. She’d joke about him probably keeping seeds in his pockets.

It didn’t take long afterwards to realize what had happened. Regina had to ask Robin to be sure, but indeed, Robin’s favorite scent was those of marigolds.

When it came to the matter of the heart, everyone knew what it meant when you smelled someone’s favorite scent whenever you were in their presence. The world they lived in was by no means magical, but this was one truth that persisted throughout time that science could grant no other explanation. At the dawn of this realization, first recorded in journals from the Renaissance, the concept was thought to be a myth, but it was granted solidification as a fact through time and repetition.

Regina had found her soulmate.

Emma recalled Regina telling the story perfectly. Robin had laughed when she told him, but only at the fact that the pervasive smell of apples wasn’t just because of their efforts to grow the tree. The rest took care of itself. With their love secured, finally, not one, but two things grew. The first was Regina’s tree and the second was a love that was just as strong as the bark below the sunrise-colored leaves.

After a few years, the tree began to falter in its fruits. The apples lost their firmness and batch after batch became more inedible than the last. Regina and Robin had meant to go back to the same farm where Regina first got those apples. That was the plan.

But then life happened.

Time slipped away from them. Regina became mayor and their free weekends became fluxes of going to her stepson Roland’s baseball games and taking him to wilderness survival club meeting in between town meetings, tending to their neighbor’s trees and flowers, and general chores.

And then Robin became sick.

That’s where their story had left off, but it wouldn’t be the end if Emma had anything to say about it.

Emma wasn’t a doctor and there was little a bail bondsperson could do to take the occasional load off Regina’s back, not that it would probably be accepted, knowing Regina.

What she did have though was a currently empty schedule and the perfect idea for a gift that would lift the family’s spirits.

It was going to be a simple trip. Emma had made sure of it, and if everything went according to plan, she’d be home by midnight.

Can’t wait to spend another six hours on the road, as if the last six weren’t fun enough.

It would be a long day trip to be sure, but the shitty thing about her type of business was that one never knew when their next client would call asking for her immediate services, and the fact was that an apartment wedged in the corner of Maine didn’t pay for itself.

Google Maps had told her that she’d be approaching Jones Farms in just a few minutes, three to be precise.

Finally, after hours of passing through them, the forests came to an end and a subsequent clearing revealed a series of farms over the next few miles. Jones Farms was the fifth that Emma saw. She found the spot where she could park and her yellow bug – her sole companion on this elongated trip – at last got a well-deserved rest.

Emma got out of her car and as she stretched – a relief she couldn’t understate if she tried after such a long trip – she took in her surroundings. Right in front of her stood a wooden farm with a storefront alongside it and a wide stretch of trees behind it. Emma could just make out the sight of an apple or two across the distance. Just then, the door to the storefront opened, and Emma turned her attention that way. She noticed a man exit and come into her line of view, though somewhat masked by the shadow from underneath the roof of the patio. Upon taking notice of her, the man waved Emma over.

Emma was about to head to the storefront and get started on business. Then, as she took a deep breath of the crisp air, she smelled something she hadn’t expected alongside it.

Cinnamon?

The aroma didn’t as much dance up her nose as opposed to hit her nostrils like a brick to the face. And it wasn’t like Emma disliked it. It was actually the opposite, really. But it did leave a lingering question, one Emma couldn’t answer so easily:

Why did The Great Outdoors smell like a snickerdoodle?

Her curiosity as well as her mission compelled her to go forward towards the shop.

“Hello,” the man said. “Welcome to Jones Farms.” When Emma finally got close enough to make out the man’s features, she blinked.

To be fair, Emma didn’t know what to expect from the farm hands when she came here, but what she didn’t expect was him.

The man before Emma was roughly half a head taller than her. He had piercing blue eyes, dark brown hair with a set of bangs that were swept back, and a tasteful bit of scruff that peaked at the space between his nose and mouth and otherwise ran across his chin. A black jacket covered his upper torso and arms and below was a pair of dark jeans, but neither entirely masked the subtle hints of muscle.

All this to say, he was quite handsome.

Not a bad person to spend an hour or two with.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before, but it’s nice to meet you all the same. Killian’s the name,” he went on to say, extending a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma,” she responded meeting his hand with her own. “Emma Swan.” They shook, and Emma couldn’t describe it, but just the feeling of touching him was…nice.

His whole demeanor was nice, in fact.

No, not nice. Kind.

People were a generally easy read for Emma. One didn’t survive long as a bail bondsperson without such an ability. She’d always had an affinity for spotting lies for as long as she could remember, and the rest had developed with age. These days, Emma could easily tell someone’s intentions on sight, as if a map of their person was drawing itself right in front of her.

And right now, Killian’s map pointed to the big heart on his sleeves. It wasn’t a bad way to be. He was certainly more comfortable around new people than Emma tended to be, but Emma supposed that came with the job, customer service and all that. In any event, he had an air about him and Emma couldn’t help but find it infectious.

“It’s a pleasure. Now, how may I assist you today?”

“I’m looking for some Bloody Ploughmans.”

Killian raised both of his brows and bulged his eyes. “Such language,” he said, the mock offense in his voice as clear as glass, and a gloved hand clutching at his lapel as if to milk the reaction for even more. Emma gave a gentle roll of the eyes with a smirk that was quickly returned with a charming smile. “Sorry, can’t help but use that joke on the customers. To be fair, you would too if you had something with that name.” He released a small chuckle and Emma allowed her smirk to soften into a more genuine smile. Noticeably grateful, Killian gave a thankful nod. “In any event, a fine apple.”

“And you’re the only place that has them.”

“That’s because there’s few apple farmers who come from across the sea where they’re found.”

Emma nodded. The accent in his voice made it obvious that he was British.

“You’ve good taste,” Killian continued.

“Not me, actually,” Emma pointed out. “My friend. You may remember – she came here a few years ago – Regina Mills?”

Killian’s eyes brightened with what Emma could assume was recognition.

“Yes,” Killian confirmed. “I think a decade has past since then. I remember her because she insisted on trying every apple at the farm while she was here. People often make that promise – mostly kids – but she was the first to actually do it, and the only!” He started to laugh, and Emma found herself unexpectedly compelled to join in.

That’s Regina for you.

“She told me about that,” Emma said jovially. “And if you think that’s crazy, you should’ve seen her when her favorite cereal got discontinued! She broke open her piggy bank and dragged me all over town. We went to every supermarket and bought as many boxes as we could carry!”

“Did you two grow up together?” Killian was smiling at her.

“Yeah.”

“Relatives or friends?”

“Kind of both.”

Killian quirked his brow, looking as confused as a penguin in a desert. “I don’t follow.”

“Foster siblings,” Emma said, following a moment’s hesitation.

“Ah. Gotcha,” Killian said with a soft grin. His appreciation may have been unspoken, but the gentle sprouts of his dimples told Emma quite a bit of his gratefulness for sharing something like that to someone who was little more than a stranger.

It definitely made Emma feel better. She was always tremulous when it came to bringing up something like that, but though Killian had asked for specifics until it became unavoidable, it was clearly not his intention for her to reveal that and he’d given just the right reaction to it, leaving the ball in her court for more information without a bit of pressure.

“So anyway,” Emma resumed, getting back on topic, “Regina planted an apple tree with some seeds from that apple, but the fruit these days has got all these bumps on them – Regina said it’s something called brown rot – and she wanted to grow another. She had a hard time getting back down here, so I came here to get them for her.”

“Quite a generous offer,” Kilian said. “Regina’s taste seemed to have remained the same, both in apples and in company.”

Emma smirked. “You use that line on all your customers?”

Killian returned the expression without missing a beat. “Only for the best.” Emma felt a compulsion to blush.

This guy’s either the best salesman in the world or he’s Superman.

Well, whatever he is, I’ve got to get moving. Besides, it’s starting to look cloudy.

“So, how about we get started?” Emma suggested. “Bloody Ploughmans are great and all – my favorites – but I really want to make this just a one day trip and traffic is probably going to be a bitch getting back to Maine as it is.” At the location of Emma’s hometown, Killian’s brow raised.

“Maine? Well, that’s one hell of a day trip, but I can surely understand, so, as the lady insists.”

Emma nodded gratefully, and as she did, she noticed the smell of cinnamon and how it was still so strong in the air.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s that smell? I feel like I’m in a bakery.”

Much to Emma’s confusion, Killian gaped and the brow that was already raised as well as its brother practically flew out of his head. “Is this really your first time visiting an apple farm?”

“Yeah,” Emma answered, stuck between feeling guilty and laughing at the expression on Killian’s face through her befuddlement at the question.

With a click of his tongue, Killian smirked. “No wonder. You’ve never had an apple cider donut?”

Apple cider donut?

The words flowed off Killian’s tongue, and mental images of the idea of the snack started floating through Emma’s head. To add to that, the traces of cinnamon in the air made it all the more enticing. “Can’t say I have. They sound pretty good.”

“They’re better than good, Emma.” Killian pressed his lips together and looked at his store thoughtfully for a brief moment before turning back to Emma. “You know what, Emma? Come on in. I’ll give you a freshly made one, on the house.”

Emma was about to decline at the behest of her inner-chiding about her already expected-to-be long ride home, but her gurgling stomach betrayed her. Another smirk crossed Killian’s face, and if it didn’t look so good on his face, Emma might just be annoyed by it. Regardless, she was hungry and the donuts sounded delicious. “Lead the way,” she said as she signaled for him to do just that with a finger pointed towards the door.

“It’s weird though,” Killian commented as they enclosed on the shop’s entrance.

“What?”

“I smell the donuts too, but I haven’t made any today.” Killian then shrugged. “But then again, that machine is powerful and it’s old, too. Perhaps it’s just gotten a bit of a residual smell with age.”

Emma shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

“But trust me when I say this, Emma: If you think the cinnamon is powerful now, when this thing gets kicking, your nose will be straight-up filled with the stuff.”

And whether it was the hunger softly making itself known through the pangs in her stomach or the aroma that she started to feel acting as a premonition for the success for the rest of the day going forward, but Emma found the idea of a cinnamon-filled shop to be not only delightful, but also worthy of a show of delight and one final disclosement about herself.

“Well,” Emma said, smiling. “Cinnamon just happens to be my favorite smell, so get cooking.” Killian grinned and with that, he opened the door to the store and the two of them walked in.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

True enough to Emma’s expectations and Killian’s word, as soon as Killian put the apple cider donut machine to work, the smell of cinnamon grew ten times stronger.

The batter, Killian told Emma, had already been prepared and refrigerated the night before, so all he had to do was place some in the machine, and it would do the rest. Watching it go was quite the spectacle. The machine molded the batter into the correct shape for the donuts and plopped them onto a conveyor belt that would from there take them to be fried and adorned with their cinnamon sugar coating. It was a cool process to watch and Emma would’ve been lying if she said otherwise.

The two of them filled the time waiting for the donuts to finish with light conversation, first with a cursory tour around the store, and afterwards with Killian showing Emma how his apple cider machine worked.

When the donuts were at last done, Killian stood at the end of the donut-making machine, grinning like a mad scientist as the coating was sprinkled on the freshly fried pastries. “Gotta love that smell – the cinnamon and sugar coming together. Best in the world if you ask me!”

“It does smell good.” Emma took another whiff and felt goosebumps as she took it is. “I love my cinnamon candle at home, but it has nothing on this.”

“And it gets even better! Just wait until you taste one!” A moment later, an apple cider donut was in her hand and another in Killian’s. He clinked their donuts together and took a bite, with Emma immediately following suit.

What next hit Emma’s lips she could most closely describe as a lightning bolt of sweetness. Sugar and cinnamon so fresh that Emma swore they came off their original plants spread across her tongue like fireworks. The pastry itself hit her teeth like a goose down pillow and when it opened, the texture of warm cake spread through her mouth. Emma closed her eyes as she absorbed the taste while the rest of her donut radiated warmth between her fingers.

Ooh. Is that–?

“Cinnamon? Yup, it’s in the donut batter too,” Killian said. Emma nearly choked on her donut, releasing a cough so that she wouldn’t spit out her food. Her eyes bulged open.

Is he psychic?

Killian seemed to think so. At Emma’s reaction, he gave her a shit-eating grin. “You’re a surprisingly easy read, Emma, and even for me.”

“You read everyone so well?”

“All part of the job, love. I’m quite an old hat at it.”

No, not psychic. Just cocky.

Though I’ll admit: cocky looks good on him.

Emma returned the smirk, not ready to be defeated at the game she excelled so well at. “Well, I’m pretty good at reading people too, and you’re not exactly War and Peace yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Killian asked, his smirk having grown somehow even wider than before. “Then what am I thinking?”

This is too easy.

“You’re itching for me stroke your ego and compliment your donuts,” Emma answered, with not a single beat missed in the process. Killian looked impressed, his cocky smirk still present, but his eyes forfeiting his amazement.

“Very good. Now will you?”

She took a deep breath, revelling as cinnamon danced around her nose once more. “Yeah, they’re pretty good.”

The smirk on Killian’s face dissolved into a smile. “Always nice to hear.”

Emma was about to say something – granted, jokingly – about not letting the compliment go to his head when suddenly, a loud noise beat her to the punch.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

As the noise sounded off, Emma turned her head. Atop the cashier’s counter was a loud and colorful birdhouse with a clock in the top center of it. At the moment, a blue and yellow bird were rolling around a semicircle stretched out in front of the display of the time.

“The kids love it,” Killian commented, “and it’s a great reminder to check on our inventory regularly, especially in our peak season.” Nodding, Emma looked at the time, but before another second passed, her curious expression turned violently into a gawk.

Shit! It’s already one!

Killian had clearly noticed the change of face. “Are you okay, Emma?”

Emma sighed, remembering herself.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she said. “It’s just that I didn’t think I’d be here this long. I’ve gotta get moving. Look, thanks for the donut. It was really good. Tell you what: I’ll grab a half a dozen of those for the road and take two bags of the Bloody Ploughmans.” Emma dug her hand into the pocket of her jeans, the leather of her wallet brushing against her fingers, but she soon stopped at the sight in front of her: Killian frowning. “What?”

“Come on, Emma,” he whined. “It’s your first time at an apple farm, and I’m not about to let you just buy the apples without picking them first.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Killian, but I can’t.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Killian chided, waving a finger. “There’s nothing like the feeling of pulling an apple right off a tree and taking a bite out of it. It forms an intimate bond between yourself and nature.” Emma raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Besides,” he continued, “I sold out of my pre-picked bags of them yesterday. Unless you can come back another day, you haven’t a choice.”

Emma pouted to herself. “No, I can’t. It took me hours to get up here and this is the only day I’ll be able to do it for like a month.”

“Look, Emma. If you want, I could go and pick the apples for you if you really don’t want to. I know the situation’s hardly ideal what with the weather so perhaps I can assist.”

Still pouting, Emma resigned herself to the idea. “It’s okay. There’s nothing else to do here. I may as well help you.”

So much for my quick trip.

Also, I should grab some gloves from my car. From the way Killian’s talking, it might get cold soon.

Killian smiled, practically stubbornly in the face of Emma’s pout. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun,” he encouraged. “And I’ll come with you, take some pictures on your phone, and you can show Regina what a good time you had!” When faced with Killian’s grin, Emma felt her pout give out right before she grinned too. Killian seemed to be able to tell that he’d won the battle, his teeth flashing. “Will,” he called to a man sitting by the cash register in front of the store. “I’m going to accompany our lovely patron to the orchard for her first proper picking. You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Aye, aye!” the cashier said cheerfully. Content enough with the circumstances, Emma and Killian started for the exit out of the store. “Uh, before you go, Killian,” the man continued just before Killian could touch the doorknob, his tone now smaller. “Just reminding you that you said I could leave in two hours. I really need to get home soon.” Despite the meekness of Will’s words, Emma noticed that there was an underlying urgency to them too.

What’s beating him?

“Of course, Mr. Smee. We should be back with time to spare. Now come, Emma! The orchards await!”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Jones Farms ended up being far more extensive than Emma thought. While the trees looked to be close to the house and storefront, the walk to the orchards had taken about five minutes, and Killian told Emma as they strolled through the trees that the Bloody Ploughmans were in the back of the fields, past the dozens of Macintoshes, Galas, and Granny Smiths alongside their path. The trek made Emma feel like the layers of trees were practically swallowing her whole. She looked to Killian who contrarily seemed so at home as he navigated through the dense forest. His eyes were shifting from branch to branch, muttering to himself about the state of the fruits on the trees and the fences on the border of the orchard that were just visible from the path. From what she could make out from his mutters and expressions, it all looked good.

Just before Emma was about to turn her head back to focus on the way ahead, Killian met her eye. Instantaneously, his expression popped from one of intense focus to one of an equally intense embarrassment.

“So sorry for the quiet, Emma!” Killian said. “Just wanted to check on everything. You can never be too careful with one’s livelihood when it’s forced to lay bare against mankind and the elements, and since I’m here and all, may as well look now.”

“I get it,” Emma replied, assuaging Killian of his clear guilt. “It’s your business, and work always means more when you’re your own boss.”

Killian quirked a brow. “You know from experience?”

“I’m a freelance bail bondsperson.”

“That’s pretty cool! What’s the work like? Is it like all the TV shows?” Emma almost wanted to laugh at the childlike enthusiasm on Killian’s face. It was wide-eyed, curious, and honestly just cute.

All of that made it hard for her to do what she needed to next.

Emma scrunched her face and shook her head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but not really. I mean, sometimes, you’ll get a runner, and then you’ll have to play detective to find them, but it doesn’t happen often. Usually, I’m just filing paperwork, checking with the courthouses, and driving to defendant’s houses to check on them and make sure they haven’t skipped town. Thankfully, for most of the people I’ve worked with, they haven’t. It’s not the easiest lesson to learn when you’re a foster kid, but in my field of work, you realize that more people are good than not.”

Killian’s face fell, but only slightly. “Well, it’s at least an optimistic aspect of society nowadays, that those who you help are also working to help themselves.”

“Exactly,” Emma said, a feeling of profound satisfaction in her gut and a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. She hardly ever talked about work – mostly because it was as mundane as she described most of the time – but Killian just got what that mundanity meant.

I wonder what his story is…

…Couldn’t hurt to ask.

“By the way,” she continued, “how’d you get all the way from England to have an apple farm here in the states? They don’t have apple farms across the Atlantic?”

“They do, but –”

Wait, don’t tell me.

“Trying to avoid someone?”

Despite the interruptance, Killian seemed to take the question well, a brief low chuckle coming through his throat.

“That depends: Does an entire country count as someone?” Emma’s eyes bulged. Killian seemed to understand immediately where Emma’s mind had gone. “No, trust me. I’m not a criminal,” he explained. “Quite the opposite actually.”

“Oh?”

Killian pursed his lips. Though Emma could tell from there that the subject made Killian uncomfortable, right before she could stop him, Killian started speaking. “My brother and I were in the navy back home. He was killed in the line of duty and I lost my hand.”

Shit.

Emma grimaced, feeling guilty for ever bringing up the topic. She couldn’t imagine losing a limb, much less someone so close to her in a war. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“It is what it is.” Killian took a deep breath. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to spare Killian any further pain, Emma spoke again.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you want.”

“It’s alright,” Killian dismissed. “You told me a bit of your story. The least I can do is give you a glimmer of mine.”

Emma – touched – felt her hand drift to her chest.

“After being honorably discharged, I left the country,” Killian continued. “Life in England had never been easy for me, so I decided to make a new start in a new country.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yes. Our parents are long gone, one more loosely fitting that definition than the other, but gone all the same. I’ve Mr. Smee as an employee and a few townspeople as friends, but otherwise, no one really.”

Now that was a weird sensation. While it wasn’t something she was used to growing up, Emma’s small town these days carried with it a sense of intimacy. She had Regina who she was close to, but there were others as well and given the nature of small towns, she had at least some idea of everyone’s business. Sometimes, it was too much for her, especially due to her upbringing, but to be by yourself with all this land, Emma couldn’t imagine it.

“It doesn’t get lonely?”

“Oh, it does. To tell you the truth, I’ve hoped that one day, perhaps my soulmate will drop by the farm and from there, we’d settle down here together.”

Emma snorted, perhaps a tad more condescendingly than intended, but not enough that it looked like she hurt Killian in the process.

“You’re into that stuff?”

Killian raised a brow. “Who wouldn’t be?” She met his eye, and once more, he seemed able to read her thoughts. “You?” he asked, his surprise evident.

“Eh,” Emma shrugged.

“Hmm. I’ve always loved the idea,” he responded with a shrug of his own. “Being around someone and everything just feeling…right. Kind of like a safety net. The rest of the world gives us so much pain. It’d be nice to have one person who was always on your side, who you could always rely on, and could always rely on you.”

Boy, is that naive.

But Emma didn’t give voice to the thought. After all, when Killian finally found his soulmate, odds are that they’d have the same idea of what a soulmate is. And maybe it really would be as easy as that for them. For his sake, she hoped that was true.

As for her…

“I don’t know. I guess it just feels weird, like being in an arranged marriage by the universe.”

It was an understatement of her true thoughts, to be sure, but it was serviceable for their conversation.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Killian said, musing. “I’d say it’s closer to…an apple farmer showing you where to find the trees you want are.”

Jeez, he’s a total romantic.

But hey, if anyone can make the whole soulmates thing work, it’s probably him.

I can’t imagine anyone would turn him down with a face like that, and that’s before they’d spend a minute with him.

“Speaking of,” Emma redirected, “so what about the apple farming?”

“My brother Liam and I used to work odd jobs as teenagers to make money. We found being farmhands for this one couple’s orchard to be the best of them. Besides, even though I wanted to leave my old life behind, it didn’t mean I wanted to leave my brother. You know what’s funny?” Emma hummed inquisitively. “You said earlier that Bloody Ploughmans were your favorite apple. Well, they were Liam’s favorite too. And speaking of,” Killian said, pointing ahead. “Look, we’ve arrived!”

Indeed they had. Emma’s gaze followed Killian’s finger. Beyond a small clearing was a messily labeled was a sign for Bloody Ploughmans and three rows of trees that extended back until a fence roughly three hundred feet away.

“Emma,” Killian said, walking past Emma until he could face her from the front. “I’m going to check on the fence at the back of this section.” He then produced a folded bag out of his coat pocket. “Why don’t you get a head start, and I’ll be right back?” She nodded and took the bag, and with a final toothy smile, Killian took off, leaving Emma alone.

For a moment, all Emma could do was take in the trees. There was such a beautiful familiarity in seeing the Bloody Ploughmans. After the tree in Regina’s yard had proved itself to be ill beyond repair, Regina had chopped it down, leaving only a small stump where the strong bark once stood. Emma had forgotten how they stood, shorter to the ground than she remembered, but also fuller in its fruits and still as commanding in their presence as ever.

With the crunching leaves below her boots as her only companion, Emma stepped towards the closest apple tree.

Suspended in the air, just a half a foot above Emma’s head was a gorgeous looking apple. It was perfectly plump in its shape and was a shade of red that she recognized all-too-well.

Now that’s what I’m talking about!

Raising a hand up to the apple’s base, Emma pulled it towards her, twisting it slightly when she felt weakness in the top of the stem. When the apple was finally released, the branch that held it flung backwards – and as Emma found out before she could even hope to move to stop it – right into Killian’s unprepared face.

Oh crap.

Killian released a grunt that was deprived of any and all grace at the impact.

“Sorry,” Emma said meekly, an apologetic smile on her face. Killian enclosed his hand around the branch and steadied it. He didn’t look mad, but simply startled. As he sputtered, a leaf revealed itself to be in KIllian’s mouth, much to his clear disgust.

For the record, Emma did feel guilty. Truly, she did.

But she couldn’t help herself when she felt a bout of giggles in her chest as Killian coughed and pushed the leaf away.

So, after losing a battle of wills she never had a shot in hell of winning, Emma released a small chuckle, and much to her relief, Killian joined in.

“Might I suggest a less violent approach to picking apples?” he asked, chuckling not only from the absurdity of his previous situation, but also from the triumph that came with ridding himself of the stray leaf once and for all. “Not that your approach isn’t effective, but I’m quite fond of my face the way it is.”

So am I.

“Lead the way.”

“You got it, love,” Killian replied, a flirtatious wink at the word.

Emma felt her cheeks get pleasantly warm, making the cold air around her face feel all but nonexistent.

Killian took an apple less than a foot above him into his hand and with the other, took the branch.

“What you want to do is hold the apple - and you were right to give it a little twist at the stem - but what you want to do is keep the branch steady too. It’s not good for the tree for it to flail like that.” Emma watched closely, and as Killian spoke, she noticed his left hand - unlike the right - was gloved.

That’s probably the prosthetic.

Emma found herself impressed. The prosthetic moved almost as well as his hand did, perhaps a touch more rigidly, but it would be nothing anyone would be able to notice of they didn’t have the hawk-like eyesight of a bailbondswoman.

“So watch what I do.” Gently, Killian removed the apple while still keeping everything else relatively the same. Once the branch was safely put back in place, Killian showed Emma the apple. It didn’t gleam like an apple on a teacher’s desk, but it had this distinct and natural beauty to it within the thin layer of dirt at its surface. “And there you have it.” Killian gestured downward with his eyes and it took Emma a moment to realize that he was pointing at her bag. Immediately, Emma opened it, and both Killian as well as her own apple from earlier fell into it.

“Thanks.”

Killian gestured towards the very apple tree he had just picked from. “Now you try, if you think you can handle grabbing an apple without causing an earthquake, that is,” he challenged. The good-natured smirk on his face made it clear that he knew she’d be one to hardly pass up a challenge.

Good guess.

“Either way, I’m about to rock your world.” After taking a second to choose the perfect apple, Emma grabbed it, and was careful to use the strategy Killian taught her. When she was done, she hovered the fruit in front of Killian’s face, just as he had done with the one he picked.

“Indeed you have,” Killian remarked. “And a very nice choice on top of that, love! See? Told you it was a good idea to come pick the apples fresh.”

“Not like I had a choice,” she said, putting the apple into her bag.

“But admit it: it was still fun.”

“Fine,” Emma relented, an amiable eye roll trailing beside her words like a trusted friend. “It was fun.” As if to solidify the point, Emma grabbed another apple in much the same way as she did the last.

She hadn’t planned for today to go how it had. She never imagined that she’d actually had to go out into the fields and get her own fruits, but being around someone like Killian, someone so open and easy to talk to made her wonder why she’d have ever wanted to do this differently.

“Not to mention, Killian said, “you were also exposed to this beautifully crisp mountain air. Bet they don’t have this back in Storybrooke! Trust me, Swan, nothing makes you feel alive quite like when your lungs are full of it.” Dramatically with his arms open like he was performing the opening of The Sound of Music , Killian took a loud and deep breath. “Go on!” he encouraged.

And Emma did, albeit without the Julie Andrews pose. She took a sharp inhale and immediately, the fresh breeze began pouring throughout her entire being.

…Alongside something else.

Cinnamon?

Emma furrowed her brow. That didn’t make sense. They must’ve been a quarter of a mile away from the storefront of Jones Farms. And there’s no way with all the wind blowing that the smell from the donuts she ate over an hour ago was still strong enough.

So why was she still smelling cinnamon as if she was right in front of the machine itself?

Wait…Didn’t Killian say something earlier?

She remembered it so clearly.

“Gotta love that smell – the cinnamon and sugar coming together. Best in the world if you ask me!”

That’s what Killian said exactly. Word for word.

No…

But if Emma was right – and she got a good feeling she was – then so much now made sense: why she felt so comfortable telling him she was a foster kid, how he was able to convince her so easily to come up here and apple pick, and why Kilian couldn’t seem to take two steps without making her smile.

We’re soulmates.

Emma’s stomach clenched. She took another breath, this time more staggard.

This really wasn’t what she expected to happen today.

Soulmate.

Killian was her soulmate.

Killian, the kind farmer.

Killian, one of the most handsome men she had ever met.

Killian, someone she had already felt okay telling bits about herself to.

…

Killian, the hopeless romantic who was just ten minutes ago waxing about how great soulmates were.

Killian, the guy who thought that he’d find his soulmate and they’d be together forever like the ending of a storybook.

Killian, the guy who was now looking at her, seemingly able to tell that something was amiss.

And of course he could.

After all, they were soulmates.

“Everything okay, Emma?”

No. Things weren’t okay by a long shot. Killian was her soulmate and she was not ready to deal with that yet. There was so much to think about, so much to talk about, and a million ways that things could go wrong if it wasn’t handled carefully. Killian’s hopes were so high, too high, and telling him right now in the middle of a picturesque apple orchard, for as photogenic as she’s sure it would be, didn’t seem the best way to ease him out of that mindset.

At the same time though, that very mindset had begged the question: Had Killian figured it out, too?

Definitely not. If he had found out, he wouldn’t hide it. He’d say something. I can read him.

But if she could read him, it stood to reason that he could probably read her too, no matter whether or not he knew.

To be blunt, Emma didn’t want him to know, or at least, not yet. To tell him now, before she could figure out what to say would open a can of worms that she knew could hurt them both.

And currently, Killian’s question over her well being hung in the air, waiting to be answered.

Emma searched for a way out, knowing that a straight up dismissal of his concerns would only arouse Killian’s suspicion. Attempts at fake concerns fizzed in and out of her mind, killed by the consequences that could ensue in their wake.

Thankfully, Emma looked at her apple bag and found her solution.

Perfect.

“I’m just hungry.” Immediately, she grabbed one of the apples she picked and shoved it into her mouth.

Damn, that’s good! But it tastes a little different. Did I just remember it wrong?

Emma scrunched her face in confusion.

Just then, Killian started chuckling.

Fuck. Why does he have to have such a cute laugh?

“Uhh,” Killian started. “You should probably know that there’s a layer of pesticides over that apple.” Emma gaped at the apple which now had a huge chunk removed from it, a chunk that was by now likely chilling in her stomach. “Nothing that’ll harm you!” Killian assured. “However, it does throw off the taste. I think that should solve that mystery for you.”

Emma chuckled, remaining conscientious as to keep the nervousness at bay despite how difficult the task ended up being. After finishing her apple over some small talk with Killian, she went back to picking apples off the tree. Killian took another bag from his coat pocket and at her behest, started assisting her.

Okay, good. We’ve just got to finish filling these bags and then I can get out of here.

She’d come back. Emma promised herself and Killian that much, however silently. For right now though, she couldn’t handle a soulmate.

For God’s sake, this was supposed to be a quick apple picking trip, not a rom-com!

“I gotta say,” Killian spoke, taking Emma from her thoughts, “I admire you for your dedication to your friend, but it’s a weird time for you to come all the way out here.”

Emma quirked her brow. “Why’s that? Some sort of festival going on?”

Killian looked at Emma as if she was crazy. “No, love. Amelia.”

Oh, please don’t say love.

She could feel her heart protest that sentiment, the tenseness that existed since she found out the truth being somewhat mitigated by the cozy feeling of the single word.

“Who’s Amelia?” Killian bit his lip, which was quite worrisome given his more chipper disposition from just a few moments ago. “Killian?”

“Amelia’s not a person, Emma,” he responded, so soberly that she felt a phantom shudder as he stared at her. “She’s a hurricane, and a bloody strong one. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of her. You can hardly walk ten miles without hearing anyone talk about it.”

“Oh crap,” Emma said, taking a hand away from her apple bag to massage her forehead.

“If you want to leave,” Killian spoke, “you need to get out of here fast.”

It didn’t take Emma long to come to a decision. She’d head out now. It was too much to not only confront the fact that they were soulmates, but to be trapped in the same town…

No. Especially not after last month…

She’d get Killian’s number or come by again after the storm let up. That way, she could talk to someone about this back home first. Maybe Regina would know what to do. Or hell, maybe she made a mistake. It was fall. Maybe everything just smelled like cinnamon up here and if she came by a few months later, the smell would be gone.

…That probably wasn’t true, but Emma entertained the notion all the same.

Emma nodded. “Let’s get these apples packed up. I’ll pay you then head out.”

“Good thin-”

Two simultaneous beeping sounds interrupted Emma’s words and a feeling of vibration from her pants let her know exactly where it was coming from.

Killian got to his phone first. He looked for a few seconds at the device before turning back to Emma, his tenuous face giving her insight into what he was about to say.

“The hurricane’s already caught up with the next town over and the main roads that lead out of here have just been shut down as a precaution.”

Words dried up on Emma lips like an ice cube in a cup of tea.

Until Hurricane Amelia let up and those lonely roads could be filled once more, she was stuck here.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

After a brisk walk back to the buildings beside Jones Farms, Killian invited Emma to use his laptop in the farmhouse. Already, Hurricane Amelia’s strength started to show itself. The winds were picking up fast and it had started raining on the return trip. Still, Emma retained some degree of optimism. Until the roads were shut down from within the town, she could conceivably find a hotel to stay at and avoid Killian altogether.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on their side.

There were very few hotels in the area and those that were around either had no vacancies or were off of or directly on roads that were rapidly closing down more and more with every click on the mouse.

After an hour of searching and a final emergency alert that definitively shut down all roads in Hudson, Emma closed the laptop with a sigh.

“Nothing,” she concluded, her eyes dull with the haze that followed resignation.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I know you only planned for a day trip. But, if it helps, you’re welcome to stay here for the duration of the hurricane. I’ve a spare room upstairs that’s all yours.”

It couldn’t be understated how badly Emma didn’t want this to be her only option. Killian was a smart guy and while cinnamon seemed to be a common smell by the storefront, it would make itself apparent as an outlier soon enough. He’d figure out they were soulmates, probably before if she was being generous

However, the fact of the matter was that this was her only option. The winds had only gotten stronger and while she’d slept in her car more than her fair share of times, she’d never been stupid enough to do it during a hurricane and that wasn’t about to change.

As for Killian, she’d do what she could to handle things.

After all, if cinnamon was Killian’s favorite scent too, maybe there was some finagaling that could be done.

“Thank you,” Emma said. “That’s really sweet. Can I pay you or something?”

“Nonsense!” Killian dismissed. “Besides, you’re doing me a favor.”

“How’s that?”

“It gets lonely during these hurricanes. The power goes out more often than not, it’s dark and disgusting, I forget to buy books, and there’s little else to do around here than gorge myself on cider and donuts. It’ll be nice having a spot of company. We could have a drink, share a story by the fire, also gorge ourselves on cider and donuts, play a board game.” Killian smiled goofily at her. “I’ve got Monopoly,” he added with a shrug.

Emma, despite every bit of panic in her bones, couldn’t help but smile back at the joke. “I’m in, but only if I can play the race car.”

Killian shook his head. “I’m always the racecar, love.” At that moment, Killian lowered his eyes to the floor. Once Emma’s eyes followed suit, she saw the small dark and damp looking circle at her feet. “Tell you what. Why don’t we pause our battle over the pieces and get you out of those wet clothes? I’ve some clean sweats you can change into.”

“Aren’t you the gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman,” Killian countered, a finger pointed at nothing particular. “Now, how about I continue to show myself as a gentleman and escort you to your dwelling?” As he spoke, he mock extended his hand, as if asking a beautiful lady to dance.

If Emma hadn’t been trying to keep a secret, she’d have groaned.

Could he be any more romantic?

Hesitantly, Emma smiled and slid her fingers onto his palm, completing the joke.

Killian showed Emma the way to her bedroom. It was cozy and small with a queen sized bed, a dresser with a mirror against the front wall, and a window that gave a nice view of the orchard.

“The sweats are in the top right drawer of the dresser. If you need me, I’ll be in my room down the hall. I think I need some clean clothes myself.” With a tap against the door, Killian exited the room, leaving Emma all alone.

When his footsteps were finally out of earshot and a door clicked shut in the distance, Emma leaned against the nearest wall and sighed.

How am I going to handle this now?

After soulmates were introduced, it didn’t take long for them to realize it. For Regina, it had taken a few weeks, but she had the benefit of living far across town from Robin and by her own nature, was so focused on the Bloody Ploughmans that she went all that time missing the forest for the trees.

Killian, Emma was willing to bet, would not. Not only was he perceptive – and more emotionally speaking than most – but they were now in the same house and weren’t going anywhere until this hurricane passed. It wouldn’t take long before the smell of cinnamon became too abundant to ignore.

A sigh parted her lips.

So that left her wondering: should she tell him the truth now? On some level she wanted to. He was a great guy, if not a touch too idealistic in his views on love and harboring this secret was going to be a pain for however long she had to. That said, Emma also saw a future past the reveal, and things didn’t go smoothly there. Killian was so invested in the idea of soulmates. If Emma approached things the wrong way, it could make for a very awkward evening.

Besides, Emma reminded herself, she had a plan.

She’d go home.

She’d talk to her friends.

She’d maybe even see a therapist.

Then she’d come back and talk to Killian, when she knew the right thing to say.

But that meant until then, she’d need to fight the clock.

Emma looked out the window. Leaves flew through the air like bluebirds, and the comparison was only solidified by the unique whistle that the wind made. She was going to be stuck in the house for the night, maybe even two if things weren’t better the next day.

Of course I don’t have anything I can pretend is perfume or deodorant.

As Emma took in and mused over her situation, she took a deep breath. As the oxygen inflated her lungs like a vacuum bag, it revealed something quite curious: the smell of cinnamon was out of her nose shot.

And as loathe as she was to admit it, that revelation gave her a glimmer of hope.

Maybe Killian wouldn’t figure out they were soulmates if Emma played things smart. When they were both in their rooms, any clues that they were soul mates were nonexistent. Obviously, she couldn’t ignore Killian, but if she could keep in her room just long enough to keep any suspicions that he’d have at bay while not proving herself to be rude, she’d possibly be able to get away with their secret intact.

Just until she had that precious time to think.

A squishy feeling from below Emma’s boots drifted her away from her thoughts. Though not as big as the circle she made downstairs, this room’s beige carpet was starting to darken from the wayward drips of rain coming off of her jeans.

Speaking of thinking, I think I need to change clothes.

Emma looked at the top drawer that Killian pointed her to when she had first entered the room. Inside it was a pair of grey sweatpants as well as a matching sweatshirt. Both looked to be about a size bigger than she was, but Emma could tell that they’d fit fine enough.

So, to the sound of musical winds and thumping against the outer walls, she began to undress.

She got on the sweatpants and was about to put on the sweatshirt. Her hand had enclosed the garment when all of the sudden, less than six feet from her, there was a crash.

The entire explosion happened in an instant. Glass shattered and spread across the room like water over a beach at high tide. Right afterwards, the wind and rain began pouring in as aggressively as a hornet.

And somewhere in that mix, though she was uncertain of exactly when, Emma screamed.

“Emma!” Killian shouted as he ran inside. “Are you alright?” He looked at her with a primal fear in his eyes, only turning to look at the shattered window after a few seconds.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay. A branch must have crashed through the window.” Her words were proven true by the large piece of bark that currently leaned against her bed.

“Damn,” Killian muttered, right before turning to her again. “But at least you’re okay.”

Then something strange happened. Killian, who was noticeably only looking Emma in the eye, choked.

It was only at that point that she realized he, with a labored but steadily heaving chest, was shirtless.

In the moments where Killian had just entered the room, Emma had been too focused on the ruckus, as she should’ve been and the panic in his eyes as he examined both her and the scene.

But now the worst of the danger had passed, and his assets were fully on display.

And hers too.

Crap!

The sweatshirt - still not on her body, but pressed against her nonetheless - had done a fine job concealing Emma’s top half, but now was the time to properly wear it.

Killian seemed to realize this too. He held his left hand to his eyes and averted his gaze back towards the window.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I heard the crash and a shout-”

“It’s fine. I get it,” Emma interrupted, somewhat muffled by the sweatshirt that was going over her head. When it was finally on her person, Emma set about grabbing the stuff she’d brought into the room before stepping aside so Killian could inspect his window.

As Killian looked around, it became increasingly clear just how unsafe the area was. Glass was still falling off the window and rain was flying from the other side, and while the glass had mostly just missed him, the rain had been far more successful in that endeavor, hitting his face more and more with every passing second. After a full minute of this, Killian stepped back and turned to Emma.

“How bad?” Emma asked.

“Mother Nature’s quite upset with us. That branch did a clear number on this window and the room. I won’t be able to repair that, at least not until the storm’s gone. I can try to tape a shower curtain over it, but with the fierceness of this storm, I’m not confident it’ll hold. The most I can do otherwise is I bottle it shut with some towels.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“There’s a container down by the kitchen – big and blue, you can’t miss it – that could hold back the excess water from getting all over the floor and causing flooding. If you could get me that, that’d be great. I’m going to put my sweater back on and get to work.”

Emma headed downstairs and made her way into the kitchen. Sure enough, just as Killian said, there was a big blue container in the back.

Okay. Time to get this sucker upstairs.

Taking an edge of the container in each hand, Emma lifted it. She was all ready to go back upstairs and deliver the container to Killian when suddenly, something appeared out of the corner of her eye. Had she moved her head at any other angle, she would’ve missed it completely, but she hadn’t, and there it was, calling out to her like a sign.

A box of apple cinnamon tea and an old iron kettle right by its side.

Talk about fate.

The ensuing plan was formed in a matter of seconds and her hands were bringing the kettle to the sink after another pinch of them. Emma dropped the box and began to fill the kettle with water and stuck the last of the tea into the infuser inside of it, feeling a certain culpable delight as she got a whiff at the cinnamon, artificial for the first time since she’d discovered the truth. She set it on the stove and put the heat on.

The whole while that Emma conspired and enacted her plan, she felt her heart thumping heavily and quickly in her chest, beating as if she could be discovered at any minute.

Or like she wanted to be discovered.

Emma dismissed the notion as she continued to toil over her brew.

It’s for the best, just for now.

Once she was done, Emma grabbed the container again and brought it back upstairs to her room. As she entered, Killian was still at work, doing his best to hold the shower curtain down against the violent rain and winds. If Killian wasn’t already soaked from the downpour and his initial inspection of the window, he certainly was now. Emma quickly dropped the container in her arms and rushed to his side, holding the sides of the shower curtain he wasn’t using down.

“My hero!” Killian praised upon realizing what she was doing. The two smiled at each other and with the other sides of the shower curtain taken care of, Killian was able to make fast work of the project. After he was done, he put some extra towels on the floor and Emma put the container on top of them.

Breathless after the whole ordeal was done, Emma made a move to sit on the bed.

“Wait!” Killian cried before her tush could land. Carefully, he grabbed a piece of glass from just under her. “There’s more on there, too.”

Taking the hint, Emma leaned against the wall instead, just as she had when she first entered the room. At that moment, she noticed, much to her chagrin, that the smell of cinnamon had returned, and that the tea she prepared downstairs wasn’t anywhere close to boiling yet.

Fortunately, Killian seemed too occupied examining the destroyed room to contemplate the smell in any meaningful way. Emma looked on at the glass spread all over the floor and over the bed. The branch may have only given the window a single hit, but that single hit had evidently been more than enough to not only break the glass, but to shatter it entirely. All the while, the outside world was trying its best to wreck the window’s replacement. The wind puffed the shower curtain forward like a sail on the sea, and while it put up a good fight, there was no guarantee that it would be a solution that could unquestionably whether the storm.

All in all, Emma knew she couldn’t stay here.

Apparently, Killian picked up on that as well, for he moved to answer it for her.

“We’ll have to get you to another room,” he said.

Thankfully, Emma had a plan already brewing for that.

“Don’t worry,” she said, shrugging. “The couch looks comfy enough to spend a night or two on. I’ll ride out the storm there.”

And it seemed to be one that would work fine.

…For about as long as she was saying it.

But as soon as she was done, the pushback began.

Killian shook his head. “Not a chance. No guest of mine will stay on a couch, or at least not that couch. It my appear to be good for a nap, but trust me when I say its springs will surely kill you. No, you can have my bed, and I’ll weather that accursed thing.”

Emma groaned internally, knowing what she had to do. Damnit, the idea of them being in separate rooms was so perfect! It would’ve kept them apart and more importantly, keep the truth at bay, just until Emma figured out how to handle it.

But she couldn’t kick Killian out of his own room. Not after everything he had already done for her. Not with his low-hanging shoulders. Not with the way his hair that had fallen from the moisture of a long day’s work and a hurricane, doing more to show off his exhaustion than Emma was willing to bet his words ever would of Killian’s own volition.

And not after he had shown himself to be such a good guy.

“Why don’t we share it?” Emma suggested, fighting the hesitation that threatened to voice itself as best as she could.

Killian’s brows raised, and she could see him get smaller in the way he carried himself. “Are you sure?” he asked, the light glaze of nervousness obvious in his voice. “I-I mean, I promise to be a gentleman, of course.”

Despite her concerns, at the memory of a familiar phrase, Emma couldn’t resist the urge to make a little quip.

“I thought you were always a gentleman,” she countered.

“I-,” Killian started, but stopped his words in their tracks. After releasing a cough, he adjusted himself, looking like he was willfully banishing the worry from his system. He seemed to have accepted Emma’s offer with no reservations. “Thank you, Emma,” he said. Emma could feel his earnestness, just like she imagined he felt hers as she wordlessly told him that he was welcome.

The gratefulness there made for a meddlesome reminder that she was lying to his face.

Universe, you sure you didn’t mess this one up too?

He deserves someone who’ll be a real soulmate to him, someone who believes in the whole soulmate thing and that it really can last forever.

What he doesn’t deserve is a liar.

Suddenly, from outside the room, Emma could hear a loud whistle, pulling her from the inside of her head.

“Did you make tea?” Killian inquired, a cocked head.

“I figured it would be good to get ourselves warm after we were done with the window.”

Killian smiled. “Generous and kind. You’re one of a kind, Emma Swan, and I hope a friend.”

Emma felt her breath stagnate.

Once you figure out we’re soulmates, you’ll definitely want to be more than friends.

And that’s only going to make it worse when I tell you I can’t.

Because while you deserve a happily ever after, I don’t know if I can give you one.

I hope you know that when I finally tell you, it’s gonna hurt for me too.

He was close to her now, close enough to kiss if either of them wanted to.

It was annoying how appealing that was and how the notion so nearly overpowered her fears.

It was extra annoying given how the appeal of Killian Jones in general had so far won on more than one occasion, and she wasn’t about to let it win here.

“Monopoly!” The word burst out before Emma could process it. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for her to catch up. “Bet you won’t consider me a friend after we play Monopoly. So why don’t you get dressed and I’ll serve us up a cup of tea? Then I’ll show you how generous and kind I really am when I get those railroads from you.”

Killian smirked. “Game on, Swan. You best take the race car, cause you’re going to need it for luck. I’ll see you in five.” With that, he made off for his room, leaving Emma to descend the staircase with both hope and dread battling a what was essentially a Cold War in her chest as the scent of cinnamon vanished once more.

Oh believe me, I’ll need luck for a lot more than Monopoly.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Never let it be said that tea time couldn’t get intense.

Killian and Emma were quite the fierce competitors and Monopoly had run them well past the setting of the sun, running so late that they took a break to make dinner. All the while, their tea – and more importantly to Emma, the accompanying cinnamony aroma – continued to permeate the living room for the duration of the game.

“Shouldn’t have given you that race car,” Killian said, a good-natured tone present in his voice as he shook his head. “Told you it was lucky.”

Emma, proud of her victory, smirked. “Luck has nothing to do with it when you’re smart enough not to buy Baltic.”

“What did you want me to do? I had a Monopoly there!”

“Maybe use that to buy some houses on your yellows.”

She looked over at Killian, who was now slumping in his chair. A drawn out yawn roared from the innards of his mouth and much like a disease, it was quite contagious and suddenly, Emma was belting one out as well.

“Quite a day it’s been, between apple picking, hurricanes, a shattered window, and a positively gruesome game of Monopoly,” Killian said.

Emma, content as she rubbed her belly to alleviate the full stomach dinner and their dessert of apple cider donuts, snorted. “I’ve been to New York a few times, and the one thing I’ve learned throughout all of them is that you never know what you’re gonna get.”

“Does anything top this?”

“Not unless you count ramen burgers.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“You know, when the song said, if you can make it in New York, you could make it anywhere, our city neighbors took that a touch too literally.”

The two of them laughed for several long minutes. During that time, Emma’s guard began to drop and her mind wandered to places she hadn’t allowed it to go. She imagined a reality were she felt comfortable telling Killian they were soulmates, one where tonight could be celebrated as the first adventure in a life that would be full of them. She imagined coming home to a house draped with the scent of cinnamon and beaming, just knowing that inside was someone who would stand by her forever, no matter the obstacle.

It was a reality she had only recently barred herself from, but one that was so comforting to return to.

One that was too comforting to return to.

Shit

Emma knew she could drop the truth bomb now. Killian clearly hadn’t figured out the truth yet.

But the thought of it made her too nervous. Opening the door to the truth meant opening the door to their future together.

The only problem was that there was a chance neither of them would like where that door led, and that possibility held Emma back.

If things fail, I don’t want to hurt him.

If things fail, I don’t want to hurt me .

Killian, still oblivious to all of this, looked towards the distance at what Emma soon discovered was a clock.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “Why don’t you head off to bed?”

Emma felt a hitch in her throat, rendering her nearly speechless.

“Yeah,” she croaked, wishing that there was still some of the apple cinnamon tea left.

“You sound parched. How about you go upstairs and get settled in and I’ll grab you a glass of water.”

“Are you sure? I could grab it if you want.”

“Nah, that’s fine. Besides, there’s something I wanted to check on in the kitchen.”

Emma was vaguely curious about what exactly it was that Killian wanted to check on, but the idea of having some time to herself was too alluring to possibly risk by asking questions. And so she went upstairs, making a quick trip to the bathroom before heading to the bedroom across the way. Killian’s room was cozy, furnished with a neatly made king-sized bed with a navy comforter and one nightstand at each side, beige cabinets and drawers spread around the room, and a television parallel to the door. Much like Emma’s room, there was a large window, though it thankfully wasn’t broken.

Closing the door behind her, Emma sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands, finally letting out a half-hearted groan.

Killian was right: It had been a long day, and an even longer on for her.

This whole ordeal was harder than she’d thought. When she first learned she and Killian were soulmates, Emma hadn’t come to terms with it – she still hadn’t – but at least she had a plan and didn’t feel as tight knit to him as to make her feel too guilty about implementing it to stop herself from doing so. But the later afternoon and evening had exposed more than her prowess at board games.

It had exposed something of a normalcy. Were they together, she knew when times were good, that a day like this – the introductions and storm aside – could conceivably be what she could expect. The layout felt right enough: a trip to the fields, discoveries of even more personal stories, a night playing a game or even just watching TV together, and bantering all the while.

And Emma liked that. Talking with Killian was the most natural thing in the world. Even as she swallowed her insecurities through the hours she spent together, she could hardly say she was having a bad time throughout it. Spending time with him was fun. Killian was charismatic, but not too over-the-top and made the unexpected into an adventure just through his presence and sense of humor.

Yes, when times were good, Emma could see an ideal future with Killian Jones forever by her side.

The only troubling thing was the reality she was all too aware of: Times weren’t always good, and of that inevitability, she had no vision of what could come to pass.

What was Killian like when he was sad or upset? What about when he was angry or was going through real misfortune? A couple of times throughout their games, Emma was tempted to test those emotions, but she didn’t want to cause him harm, especially when he had done nothing to warrant it.

It was the exact same reason why she had continued to hold her tongue about the very matter of them being soulmates, and why she would continue to do so for however long she’d have to.

Now how long will that be?

Emma checked her phone. She opened up the weather app and saw a rain symbol right under the word “Tomorrow.” Of course, it wasn’t indicative of whether or not the hurricane would continue, but the possibility still existed.

Another groan, this time closer to a whine came out.

Damnit. Not what I wanted to hear.

She took a pause and another deep breath. It would be hard – just as today was – but she’d figure it out.

And so Emma picked herself up and settled herself into the left most and less lived-in side of Killian’s bed, all the while continuing to lick her proverbial wounds and try to plan for what the next morning might bring. The plush mattress underneath her form cozily ensnared her and the still whistling winds began to sing her their own kind of lullaby to the beat of the tapping rain against the roof.

Emma felt her upper eyelid start to succumb to its own weight, threatening to close. Just as she was about to let them, Killian stepped into the room, a glass of water in hand.

“Thanks,” Emma murmured sleepily while he placed the glass at her nightstand. She looked at him and noticed an apprehensive expression across his features. “Everything okay?”

In an instant, Killian’s expression made a complete change, now appearing as if he were just caught.

“Yes,” he dismissed. “Everything’s alright.”

If Killian had hoped to fool Emma with what he said, he was wrong. However, the pull of sleep won out over any curiosity that she had for the matter, and she let it go.

We’ll talk tomorrow.

A duet of good night’s filled the air, and as light left the room, so did all but the sounds of natures and snores.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

CRAAAAAACK!

In the midst of ebony left shortly after a shockwave of brightness, Emma gasped, startled awake.

A fear of thunder had never been something she ever fully got over from her childhood uneasiness, but this outburst of the elements was a particularly loud one and took Emma out of her slumber with a single crack.

“You okay?” a quiet whisper from beside her spoke.

“Killian?” Emma mumbled. She coughed once and composed herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, her volume restored. “Did I wake you up?”

“No need to apologize,” he assuaged. “And no, I was up earlier from another bolt. I’ve never been great with thunder either.”

“You could tell?” Even though she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, Emma could tell he was smirking as he heard her question.

“As I said earlier, you’re an easy read.”

Not to mention, your soulmate.

And suddenly, Emma too notice of the scent of cinnamon in the air. It wasn’t heavy, but what it was was hard to ignore.

She only hoped that Killian somehow had been able to do it.

Emma, biting her lip, checked her phone for the time. It was a little past two in the morning. That crack of thunder had fully woken her up and if Killian had been up for some time like he said he was, the same could definitely be said for him.

Great.

“May I turn on a light?” Killian asked from across the darkness.

“Yeah. Go for it.” A second later, the lamp from Killian’s nightstand lit up the room. It was bright enough to cause discomfort for a moment or two, but not enough to give that feeling of needing to start the day. Emma sat up in the bed, matching Killian who was already in the position. With her phone still in her hand, she tried looking at the weather app, but the service she had enjoyed all throughout yesterday was nowhere to be found.

“You can thank the hurricane for that little inconvenience. The service went out at least an hour or two ago. Small towns, you know. Cell phone towers are the first thing to go. I’m just glad we still have power, at least for now. Of course, if you need a phone, I’ve a landline downstairs. All yours.”

“No thanks. I just wanted to see an update on the storm.”

“I’m afraid that’s still up in the air.” As if to emphasize the point, a flash of lightning as well as an accompanying crack of thunder chose that moment to present themselves to the world. It wasn’t as powerful as its predecessor, but it nonetheless had the both of them letting out a small shudder. As they locked eyes, they gave each other a comforting smile.

“How bad was the one that woke you up?” Emma asked.

“Not too bad. Definitely not as loud as the one that got you, but to be fair, I’m quite perceptive when it comes to sounds to begin with.”

Apart from a courteous chuckle, Emma said nothing and for a moment, a silence bubbled in the space between them. She looked out the window at the skies. It wasn’t easy to see, but from what she could make out, the weather was just as violent, if not more so, than it was Hurricane Amelia first started up yesterday afternoon.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here,” Killian said quietly.

Emma shrugged. “It’s fine,” she answered. Though careful to keep the lie off her tongue, Emma found that it was a task she found easy enough to do when she thought of her relative fortune given the circumstances. After all, a broken window aside, she was in a safe house in the middle of a harsh hurricane. “Besides, you’re a good host.”

“Thank you,” Killian said. Emma took a glance at him and saw that he was biting his lower lip.

He’s…nervous?

She was about to give voice to her concern when Killian beat her to the punch.

“Can I say something?” he asked.

“O-of course.”

“Remember last night, when you asked me when everything was alright, and I said it was?” Emma nodded, the memory as fresh as the apples on the trees outside. “Well, I lied,” he confessed.

“Yeah, I figured. Just like I told you earlier, you’re not the hardest read either.” Killian gave a chuckle that was very much like the courtesy chuckle Emma gave him earlier, but otherwise remained quiet. At a closer look, Emma saw him once again biting his lip. “So, what’s up?”

“It’s just that I-” Killian stopped and took a deep breath before starting again. “Emma, I’ve noticed something.”

Oh crap.

As Emma listened to Killian and processed his words, she began to notice the speed at which her heart was beating. “O-oh?” she uttered. “What’s that?”

Killian, clearly too caught up in his own nerves, didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that hers were shooting through the roof. “Last night, while we were playing, I realized I was smelling cinnamon all around the house.”

“You mean from the tea?” Emma quickly suggested in a vain hope to deter Killian’s line of thought.

However, it didn’t work.

“That’s what I thought at first,” Killian explained. “But I’ve been drinking that tea for years now, and it’s never been that powerful. Even when we finished, the smell was still there. So when you went up to the bedroom, I grabbed the mugs, but when I took a whiff out of mine, I could barely pick up the scent. The smell went from being everywhere to practically gone. Then I went back to my seat in the den and tried smelling for it. I even went outside to see if it was the machine. But nothing.” He stopped and took another deep breath and turned to Emma, the corner of his lips tugged up ever so slightly. “And then I thought of something you said back at the store.”

Oh crap.

“W-hat was that?” she asked as if she didn’t already know.

“How much you loved cinnamon,” he said simply. “ So I came up with a little theory and tested it. I grabbed that glass of water for you and came upstairs and when I reached my room…the smell came back. It was just as potent as it was when you left.”

Oh crap.

Emma struggled to speak or even make a single noise.

“Emma,” Killian said, his volume just above a whisper. “I think we’re soulmates.”

As Killian’s – and unbeknownst to him, Emma’s – truth proclaimed itself once and for all, only one thin went through Emma’s head.

Oh crap!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

For the first few seconds after Killian announced his and Emma’s shared fate as soulmates, Emma felt her entire self go as blank as a sheet of paper. She found her ability to speak as nonexistent as a unicorn riding atop a dragon. Her thoughts blurred like the eyesight of a drunkard. Her hearing was muffled like a groan into a pillow.

Killian found out they were soulmates.

For as much as Emma had tried to prevent him from finding out the truth, she hadn’t thought of how she’d handle it when he eventually did.

But that time had finally arrived and now the best Emma knew that she could hope to do was try and hide the fact that she knew for as long as she did.

So when those mercilessly slow seconds at last passed, she realized she’d need to react somehow to the news.

Here goes nothing.

A smile and a “yeah” that was as excited as Emma could hope for was the response she settled on.

Right beside her, Killian was beaming, as ecstatic as Emma imagined he would be.

And as ecstatic as she feared he would be.

“I can’t believe–I’d always hoped–And with you–” Killian was practically tripping over the words that came out of his mouth at a mile a minute. “This is amazing!” he cried, the volume in his voice now bereft of its respect for the quiet of the early morning and was as loud as it would’ve been in the middle of the day.

In the midst of Killian’s tornado of thrills, Emma did her best to get swept up in it too.

With the bounciness of a box of puppies, he certainly made it enticing to try.

As he talked, Emma made the effort. She pushed for a hearty laugh and she made her smile large enough to match his.

While not entirely for naught – doing as much as could be conceivably done for the ten seconds of work she could afford to give in the time she had – it did little to banish the butterflies in her chest.

Suddenly, through her cotton sweats, Emma felt a patch of heat gently pressed against her. She looked to her side and saw that Killian had placed his hand upon her forearm.

“I’m so happy,” he said, practically cooing. Emma’s smile grew smaller, but at the same time, so much more sincere. “Are you?”

It was a tough question to answer.

Killian’s short term excitement should’ve made her happy. His smile should’ve made her happy.

And they almost did.

Key word: almost.

And there lied the problem.

Killian was a perceptive man. It was something he had proven himself to be throughout the past day and Emma knew better than to doubt it now. If she lied, he’d know it.

It was one thing to project a negative emotion onto something other than its intention. Emma was able to do it earlier on the orchard by feigning hunger. It was another thing to straight up lie about an emotion’s existence.

No matter how badly she wanted to feel it.

But it didn’t stop her from trying.

“Of course,” she answered, fighting with all her might to will her words into fact.

Sadly though, despite her wish, it didn’t take.

Killian’s face crinkled as he listened. His features darkened, his smile dissolved and his brows furrowed. “No you’re not,” he said, so much conviction in his voice that Emma believed that he was as sure of the truth as the sun is sure of rising each day.

And the exposure of that one lie seemed to start a domino effect of doubt.

“Emma, you have been smelling something, right?”

At least I can tell the truth about this.

“I have,” she responded, her tone now matching his.

“When did you first notice it?” he asked immediately afterwards. There was an imperativeness to his words, but his eyes were pleading with her. They looked to be trying to find an excuse to reject the truth that was undeniably becoming so clear.

Emma worked to give him that truth, but Killian had clearly run out of patience.

“You…you said earlier that you didn’t care for soulmates,” he pointed out. Emma saw him putting puzzle pieces together and finally, reaching the conclusion Emma was most afraid of. “Emma, Did you know…the whole time?”

No, it wasn’t the whole time, but it was damn well over half of one and well past when Killian discovered it. To point out the difference would be meaningless.

So Emma said the only thing she could.

“I…” Emma sighed. “I did.”

The effect was instantaneous. Killian’s lips seemed to be forming the word “why,” but couldn’t get enough support from his diaphragm to give it any voice. He slid back down so he was once again lying in the bed. His eyes took on such a sad expression. Emma wasn’t sure whether or not there was the start of welling tears, but there grew a certain puffiness to his eyes.

In short, he looked like she’d just ripped his heart out of his chest, and hell, in that moment, she felt like that’s exactly what she did.

Killian turned so that his back was to Emma. If Emma felt at a loss for what to say or do before, it was nothing compared to how she was feeling now. A verbal apology would do nothing, a touch would feel too intimate and raw, and now she couldn’t even apologize with her eyes.

Before Emma could think anymore on it, Killian got up from the bed.

She knew she couldn’t leave what had happened at that, but what exactly she wanted to say still left her struggling to convey properly. In the end, something that was a mix of a squeak and a protest came out of Emma’s mouth, though it was as meager as the size of an ant’s leg.

“I,” Killian started, cutting her off while not even looking at her with a hurt-strained voice. “I just need a minute.”

Out of his line of vision, Emma nodded, her mouth agape from the seemingly guiltlessness of how he went about his decision. Since yesterday afternoon when they had met, he had constantly given her a choice as to how he’d behave, whether formal or friendly. For the first time though, as he’d walked out of the bedroom door, he had taken the decision for himself alone.

As the door closed, vacating Killian’s form from her line of sight, so did the smell of cinnamon vacate Emma’s nose.

And once it was gone – after staying with Emma in the midst of a hurricane – Emma realized just how much she missed its presence.

Emma, who remained sitting up in the bed, listened as the sound of creaking floors grew softer and softer. For the next hour, she continued doing just that, frozen with both regret for her lie and hope that at any second, she’d hear him come back.

It was a childish presumption and after the shock and initial run of panic had worn off, it didn’t take long for her to realize that.

So what am I supposed to do now?

Throughout their time together, Killian had only expressed a true desire for only one thing: His soulmate.

And for almost just as long, Emma knew exactly where he would find them and chose to withhold it.

Were they worth the guilt that was now cutting into her chest? Worse, were her fears worth the betrayal in Killian’s eyes or the destruction of the newly formed yet completely solid companionship they had built thus far? Were they worth the tells of doubt and worries of worthlessness that spread across his features like sand over a beach?

No, of course not. And now that the fallout had ensued, she’d regretted making it so.

And it was now her job to fix it.

But how would she do it?

Was it better to give him his space, or should she talk to him before the situation became unfixable or at the very least too awkward to mend in a meaningful way?

As Emma pondered this, she realized that she ended up answering her own question and quietly, she got up from the bed and left the room.

The walk down the staircase had Emma’s heart feel like it was thumping like a rabbit’s foot with nervousness and anticipation. It felt like a puzzle to not let the errant boards squeak, as if she would further hurt Killian by making any premature noise, and when it was at last over, she felt relief.

She found Killian sitting on the couch, a box of apple cider donuts in front of him. He didn’t seem to register her presence, apparently too caught up in her own thoughts to do anything other than look down towards his hand and prosthetic.

As the scent of cinnamon returned once more, something that Killian either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t care any longer, a fresh pang of guilt attacked her: guilt over causing this and guilt that her nerves still had power over her even as she attempted to do damage control.

Should I be doing this?

Yes, she pushed herself. She should. A lie got her into this mess, and the truth would be what would hopefully set things right.

“Hey,” Emma spoke softly. Killian blinked and turned to her. His mouth opened as if to speak, but ended up staying silent.

So Emma chose to fill the air instead.

“Can we talk?”

With his teeth pursed against his lips, Killian nodded and Emma sat down at his side.

“Are you mad?”

Killian let out a sigh, as if he was finally releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I…I don’t know. Confused, definitely. Hurt too. But- no,” he seemed to decide. “I’m not mad.”

For a moment, Emma desperately wanted to smile. Despite his suffering and what could’ve been justifiable anger, Killian had chosen to instead be kind to her and honest with himself.

Universe, this guy is way too good for me.

But she couldn’t, for with every word Killian spoke, Emma felt her guilt pound at her like the wood beneath a judge’s gavel, and despite knowing that Killian hadn’t intended it, the pain was insufferable.

She was willing to bet that his pain could match it. After all, what does one think when their soulmate lies to them about it? Rejected? Unwanted? Like a trapeze artist who just lost their safety net in the midst of the circus?

Emma knew those feelings all too well.

Never had she imagined she’d pass them along to someone else.

What do I do now?

“I’m sorry I lied, Killian,” Emma said. “The whole soulmate thing, it’s…” – how would she finish that? – “Complicated.”

Killian, despite Emma’s every expectation, gave her a soft smile. It was as thin as a piece of angel hair spaghetti, but it said all that it needed to about whether or not he’d forgive Emma.

“It could definitely be worse,” he commented, shrugging with a lightness in both his form and tone.

“Really?”

“Remember that big TV special about the soulmates who hated each others favorite smells and had to video chat just so they could stay together? I’d say this is a touch easier.”

He’s got a point there.

“You’ve got a point there,” she said, reflecting her thoughts perfectly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. A jackrabbit on methamphetamine could’ve moved slower than Emma’s thoughts. Killian had taken her lie and apology far better than Emma could’ve hoped for or even deserved.

But what would they do now?

Well, one thing was for certain: Emma needed to start explaining herself.

“I was going to tell you,” Emma explained. “Not during this trip, but I was planning on coming back to tell you.”

Killian nodded, apparently taking the information in.

“May I ask you something, Emma?”

Emma knew what was coming, but nodded just the same.

“Why don’t you want to be soulmates?” The utterance was just as predictable and heart breaking as she expected it to be, and knowing that it was coming didn’t help it feel any better. “Is it just the concept of soulmates in general, or is it me?”

“No,” Emma practically shouted. “It’s not you.”

Well, not fully, but I’ll get to that.

Killian snorted, probably at the sheer loudness of her outburst. “Good to know. But why then?”

Emma took a deep breath. She hadn’t told anyone about a good deal of this. Hell, some parts even Regina wasn’t privy to.

And now she was about to tell Killian every bit of it, warts and all.

Well, he deserves the truth.

“I grew up in the foster system.” Another deep breath came to pass before Emma realized it. “But you already knew that. What you don’t know is that my parents left me on the side of the road.” Killian gave a nod, something Emma surmised was the best he probably felt he could do without coming off as pitying.

She’d be lying if she said it went unappreciated.

“When I was fourteen, a woman named Ingrid and her husband fostered me for a bit, and she and I grew close. We went on walks to the park, amusement parks, the pier. There was hardly a weekend we weren’t together. I really thought she’d adopt me. But then, one day, a social worker came and just like that, I was off again, with hardly a goodbye from her.”

Killian made eye contact with Emma, signaling to his hand as if asking permission to use it to comfort her. Emma gave him permission with another light nod, and Killian delicately placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Emma,” he said. “You don’t have to do this. It’s okay if you want to stop.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I want to. This is just…”

“A lot,” Killian finished.

“Yeah.” Emma took another deep breath. “Besides, you told me a bit of your story. The least I can do is give you a glimmer of mine.” Emma found herself able to smile at that homage to KIllian’s words. And just like Emma, Killian’s hand drifted to his heart.

Maybe we really are soulmates.

“I dealt with it and moved on – don’t get me wrong. After I made it through the foster system, I moved to a nice town, made friends, and got a good job. And then a month ago, I got a message from her on Facebook. She had looked me up and invited me to come to her house. So I went, hoping to get some answers.”

“And did you?”

Emma bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, the volume of her voice only a touch above a whisper. Killian gave her shoulder a small squeeze, and she melted into the touch.

“So what happened?” he prompted.

“I got right to the point and asked her why she gave me up.”

Killian gave a light smirk. “You’re the blunt type,” he excused when Emma gave him a raised brow.

Fair enough.

In keeping with that very same blunt nature, Emma continued. “She had a lot to say on the subject. Turns out she wanted me, but her husband didn’t. He had commitment issues, according to Ingrid. Foster care was their compromise, but the idea of actually adopting a kid? That was a different story. Ingrid loved me, but her soulmate Spencer didn’t and there was no way she’d be able to adopt me alone on an ice cream lady’s salary. And so I went back into the system.”

“I imagine that didn’t bode well for Ingrid and Spencer.”

“You’d be right,” she said. “After I left, apparently things went south with Spencer.”

“And they were soulmates,” Killian repeated. Emma nodded.

“Ingrid said she used to smell fresh mowed grass every day before she and Spencer split up, but unless the gardeners show up, she hasn’t had a whiff of it since, and when she does, she can barely stand it.” Killian moved his arm from Emma’s shoulder onto her arm and the warmth of a tender squeeze graced her skin again.

“Swan –”

Emma lifted a hand to stop Killian’s words early, silently begging him to let her keep going. Killian closed his mouth, and she continued on.

“Before I left her house last month, Ingrid warned me about soulmates and love and all of it. She told me soulmates were like two scoops of unlabeled ice cream. You could get two that complement each other perfectly, like vanilla or chocolate, or you could get two that go together like cilantro lime and carrot top.”

“Are those actually ice cream flavors?” Killian had a face that was just as silly as his question was.

Emma, at a loss for words, albeit for an entirely different reason, gave Killian a look that screamed of exasperation with another raised eyebrow for emphasis.

Killian’s expression lost its hold, though its kindness remained as it was. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“You’d be surprised what ice cream can taste like,” Emma said, indulging him. Then, remembering her point, she sighed. “But you get it right? I mean, we’re soulmates, sure, and you’re great, but I- with what happened- how can we know if we belong together? Soulmates usually work out, but sometimes they don’t and I don’t want to end up like Ingrid. And I know that it’s just one time, but it just got me thinking: What’s going to happen when things get tough? Right now even, we live six hours away from each other and I don’t even know if either of our careers would allow us to move. Just…with the odds against us like they are, it’s..” When she was finally done speaking, she took a deep breath, finally allowing an admittedly very patient Killian to take the floor.

“It’s just got you nervous,” Killian finished.

Emma gave him a light smile. “You know me well.”

“Better now that we’re really talking.”

“And what do you think of me now?”

“That you’re an intelligent woman, although you could stand to trust a bit more.” Emma massaged the bridge of her nose with her fingers and after a moment, her entire hand encapsulated her face as she openly groaned into it.

He’s not wrong.

“You also understand love in a different way than I do, and that’s not a bad thing,” Killian continued. “Thank you for telling me your story. And I get why you’re so skittish at the idea of us being soulmates.” Emma removed her hand from her face.

“I know you want one,” Emma said. “You wanted someone who’d always be with you and live up here on the farm and survive everything with you. I’m just not sure if I can be that. That’s why I kept quiet. I just wanted some time to figure out what to say after I told you the truth.”

“And it was just a hope, but hopes can change.”

“But how much of your hopes are you willing to bargain with? I don’t even know what the answer would be with me.”

It was true. Emma liked her affordable and established home in Storybrooke. She liked being close to Regina, the closest thing to family she had. And while her job certainly had its hit-or-miss days – though she reminded herself that no job didn’t have that – she liked it more than she didn’t and it was the first career she felt she’d ever been truly good at.

Even if things worked out with Killian, could she see herself giving all of that up? And if not, would there be room for compromise or would they just fall apart?

So much of her didn’t want to find that out.

And suddenly, she felt that same racking of nerves that she allowed to control her all throughout yesterday.

“Emma,” Killian called. She looked up at him.

Guess I got caught up in my own head.

“You’re getting caught up in that head of yours,” he mock chided. Emma took a deep breath.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too good at that?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to,” he countered, smirking. “Emma, I honestly understand what you’re talking about.”

“You do?”

“More than you would think,” Killian commented. He bit his lip and Emma by now was more than well aware of his own tell of nervousness. “Remember when I told you about my parents?”

Emma nodded slowly. “Yeah. You said they were gone, but one more than the other?”

“Indeed I did,” he concurred. “My mother died when my brother and I were young. She said she and my father were soulmates and that she’d smell a freshly printed pound every day when he came home from work, just as he’d recount the smell of the sea whenever he was by her side to us.”

“It didn’t last?”

“No. Shortly after her death, he left us. Apparently, he loved the smell of pounds so much, that he made off with a briefcase of them one day, but forgot us on the way out. While I didn’t get to spend much time with my mother, I know she’d never have wanted that.”

“You’re right,” Emma agreed. “I can’t see anyone related to you who’d do that.”

“Then I’m happy to know I take more after her then. Anyway, Liam and I did a lot of traveling when we were on our own, and do you know what I discovered along the way?”

“Bloody Ploughmans?” Emma quipped.

“Smart ass,” Killian shot back, smiling all the while. “No, Emma. Soulmates. All kinds. Ones that worked out, and ones that didn’t. Ones that were divorced, widowed, went off into the sunset, and everything in between. And I realized what made the good ones good and the bad ones bad: Effort. Emma, even soulmates are still human, and no matter what, humans will do as humans do. What will make us work or not work will be the effort we give to each other. And I like you, Emma. I like you a lot. I promise that if we try, I’ll work with you night and day to build a future and a life together.”

Suddenly, Emma felt a weight on her hand, very much like the one she felt hours ago when Killian first discovered their shared destiny.

“So can we at least try?” he finished.

Emma took in what he said. She took in everything – about him, about her, about her past, about his past, about the smell of cinnamon that permeated every bit of air that they breathed, and about their hearts. And in between it all, a fight ensued from within her. Pulses nervous and infatuous lunged for each other like two wrestlers in a championship.

Finally, when she was at last done taking things in, and one set of emotions finally overcame the other, she took one last cinnamon-filled deep breath and gave her answer.

“Okay. Let’s try.”

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Emma ended up staying at Jones Farms for another three days. Together with Killian, they endured the remaining gusts and shocks of Hurricane Amelia and after it passed, began rebuilding the thankfully not-too-tattered parts of the farm side-by-side.

With every second that passed – through a greatly-needed nap following their heart-to-heart, a power outage, lots of conversations, and even another game of Monopoly – Emma felt herself feeling more comfortable with the idea of a soulmate, and thus, more in love with Killian as he showed her just the kind of soulmate he would be.

Killian had truly proven himself to be a man of his word, taking the initiative and bringing up uncomfortable subjects that Emma introduced that night such as how often they’d see each other and where they would live if things worked out.

When things worked out. That had been Emma’s push for herself. Because before the evening of their third day together, Emma had truly believed in a when for them.

And all throughout their days and nights, the rich aroma of cinnamon embraced her senses, only now, instead of queasiness that came from fears of the future, it brought on the same warmth one would get from a hearth, a symbol of the love she’d choose to let reside there in its place.

They would’ve continued, but dinner time had interrupted their bubble of isolation with something borderline unwelcome: A new client for Emma. Though she tried to give herself reasons to decline, the reality was that she couldn’t live on love alone.

Regardless of her decision, the idea was tempting.

But even Killian had supported the idea of returning to Storybrooke, and that all but solidified her answer.

“It’ll just go to prove what I already suspect,” he said. “We can overcome everything, especially a little separation.”

And so it was agreed, albeit reluctantly. Connections were made on every platform from their phones to their Facebook accounts and after a final connection in the bedroom, they were ready to leave each other.

Or as ready as they were ever going to be.

They stood in the front of Jones Farms – and Emma swore it was the spot where they’d first shook hands – as they said goodbye.

“I need to get back,” Emma moaned, more at herself than anyone else, especially Killian.

“I know,” Killian said, smiling sadly.

Emma found that it was so hard to pull away. There was a comfort with Killian, just like a spot of shade under an apple tree, and she didn’t want to lose it.

No. I won’t lose it.

“But I’ll be back soon,” she reminded both Killian and herself.

“And I’ll be waiting on bated breath until you do.”

Killian cupped Emma’s face and Emma leaned into the touch. Hardly another second passed before she closed the already small distance between their lips once more.

Like velcro being opened, Emma found it damn near impossible to separate from Killian, but it was done all the same, though their eyes stayed locked until Emma finally drove off and she was willing to bet that Killian’s remained on her for as long as her bug remained in view.

But despite that longing to be together once more and the pain that came with the wait until then, they relaxed, for they knew they’d be embracing the welcome smell of cinnamon soon.

#ffcs 2018 #fallforcs #fall for captain swan #blind date with a fanfic #cs ff #cs ff au #cinnamon #raventherambunctious #theonceoverthinker

119 notes · View notes

gray-autumn-sky · 6 years ago

Text

Happiness Can’t Be Arranged, Chapter 30

Regina’s still giggling as she makes her way out of the back room and already she can hear Ruby’s sewing machine whirring. Her cheeks are warm with embarrassment and she’s tingly with excitement. She’s never been one to shy away from imprudent behaviors; in fact, most people who’d known her long enough would say she gravitated toward them. More times than not, she acted on feeling, doing what felt right in the moment, consequences be damned. But even then, she kept it to herself, involving only those who were absolutely necessary. In front of others, she was proper and dignified.

So, asking Ruby’s assistance in seducing her husband was a bit out of her comfort zone, but not so far removed that she couldn’t bring herself to do it or be excited about the result.

The lace she’d selected for the robe had a pretty pattern of fleur de lis and she picked a red satin ribbon to trim the edges. Ruby sketched out a design with bishop sleeves and suggested using the red ribbon as cuffs, but she’d held her breath and shook her head, explaining she wanted the sleeves to be less confining. Ruby blinked, and for a moment just stared at her as understanding set in, and as her cheeks turned pink, Regina bit down on her bottom lip and looked away as Ruby stammer through an awkward so trumpet sleeves would be better, then.

When the sketch was complete, Ruby took her measurements to ensure the robe would fit more snugly than her dresses, and she could barely look at her when she told her she’d had to measure her bust… without barriers. Slowly, Ruby helped her out of her dress, then locked the door as Regina stepped up onto the stool before the mirror. Her hands trembled as Ruby measured, barely making eye-contact as she did so—and then every now and then, one of them would erupt in giggles and set the other off.

In the end, though, she was happy with the decisions they made. The lace would pool around her feet with a chapel-style train. The robe would be snug around her shoulders and breasts, then taper away from her body, in almost shapeless form once it reached her hips. The mid-section was a bit more fitted and the ribbon would be sewn along the edge with another going the opposite way to create a sash to close up the robe, if she chose to—a feature she had no intentions of using, at least not for their assumed purpose.

But of course, she couldn’t actually bring herself to admit that particular detail.

Ruby helped her back into her dress, fastening up the back as she explained that once the lace was cut, it wouldn’t take long to make—after all, she was simply trimming fabric and sewing in darts. She held her breath as Ruby told her she could probably have it to her that very evening—and that set her heart aflutter.

She offered a sincere thanks as her cheeks flushed. Ruby just smiled and nodded and thanked her for delivering Belle’s letters. Then, as she made her way out of the backroom, she grinned as Ruby tore open the first letter, losing herself in Belle’s note and no longer thinking about their awkward exchange.

Now, she stands at the back of the shop, watching as Robin leans against the counter and chats with Granny Lucas.

For a moment, all she can do is stand there and watch.

He’s smiling in that charming way that often makes her blush—fidgeting with a bobbin as he talks about her nimble fingers and incredible talent—and she giggles softly to herself at the realization that he’s flirting.

Robin says something that can’t quite make out, but it elicits a hearty laugh from Granny, and again, a giggle bubbles up from her chest as Granny swats at his arm, obviously enjoying whatever he’s said.

She catches Robin’s gaze and he offers her a quick wink before looking back to Granny and whispering something low.

“You’re a lucky one, you know that?” Granny calls as she crosses the room toward them. “You got a good egg for yourself.”

“I know it,” Regina says as she reaches them. A grin draws onto her lips as Robin links his arm through hers. “I think I’ll keep him.”

Robin offers a laugh as he murmurs a Thanks, and Granny nods, her eyes still fixed on Robin.

“I don’t usually like it when my customers bring in their husbands,” Granny says, slowly looking from Robin to Regina. “There aren’t many places around here that are a woman’s place, and I like this to be one.”

“Of course—”

“Most of the time men come in here nosing around and—” Granny’s voice halts and she laughs. “Well, that doesn’t much matter. The point is, I like when you come in.” Regina grins as Robin beams. “There’s not many men who flatter me.”

Robin’s brow arches. “Well, I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s something to do with the gray hair and wrinkly skin, not to mention the calloused fingers.” Granny laughs again and shakes her head. “I appreciate you being so willing to humor an old woman. It’s been a long time since anyone’s even bothered.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” he says, quickly offering Regina a wink before looking wide-eyed at Granny. “Highly doubt that.”

“I’ve been a widow longer than I’ve been anything else. So, yes, it’s been awhile.”

“Did you never want to marry again?” Regina asks with a genuine curiosity.

“No,” Granny admits. “Never.” She shrugs and looks between them. “I like my independence, and as much as I hate to say it, the only way for a woman like me to be independent is to be a widow.” Her smile fades as her eyes shift to focus on Regina. “Being a young widow is hard and I say my independence is my reward for enduring it.” Regina’s brow furrows as a grin twists onto her lips. “As much as your reward is a second, good marriage.”

“I am quite the reward,” Robin teases as he nudges her.

Regina laughs softly as she bites down her lip, her eyes turning to Robin as she considers how true Granny’s words are. She is lucky and she doesn't consider that enough. “He’s alright, I suppose.”

Robin leans in and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, and again, her cheeks warm at the public affection. Granny just smiles, not giving her any reason to pull away, so she leans into it a little, enjoying the sweetness.

“Did you pick out something stunning?”

“I… I think so.”

“I’d ask if I’ll like it, but I always think you look beautiful. You could wear a sack and I’d think it was gorgeous on you.”

Her cheeks flush deeper. “I think you’ll like it.”

Granny just shakes her head and grins. They say their goodbyes as she continues winding thread around bobbins, and as they make their way out of the shop, Regina explains that she’s been thinking of commissioning Ruby to update the boys’ wardrobes. Robin agrees that it’s needed—Henry’s breeches are looking a bit snug at the knees and Roland’s been tugging at his sleeves—and she decides that once they’re back at Sherwood, she’ll write.

Robin is quick to point out that they could easily go back, but Regina disagrees, wanting to write as an excuse to send Belle to Ruby. As they round the corner he murmurs something about her being a hopeless romantic and she rolls her eyes.

It’s lighthearted and easy, and she doesn't want it to end, so she asks if he’s hungry and suggests they have luncheon in town. Robin agrees easily, also not ready to return to Sherwood, and together, they turn in the direction of their favorite pub.

“I almost forgot to ask,” she says, looking over at him. “How did your meeting go?”

“Meeting?”

“Yes, you went to a meeting and I went to the dress shop.”

“Ah, right.”

“Are you avoiding—”

“No, no,” he quickly interjects. “I just… wanted to put it out of mind.”

“Didn’t it go well?”

“I… I don’t actually know,” he admits, looking back at her with an incredulous look. “I have no idea.”

“How can you—”

“Gold was… speaking in riddles,” he sighs. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Did he have anything to say about Zelena?”

Robin shrugs. “Just… that I should count my pennies.”

“Pennies—”

“I assume that’s his way of telling me to look out for my inheritance.”

“Possibly,” she agrees. “Did he say anything else?”

“Nothing that made sense.”

“Oh—”

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to him and paid for—” Robin stops and sighs. “It’s all been a waste of time and energy, and only caused me anxiety. I know no more than I did going in.”

Regina’s brow furrows. “Did he… riddle anything else?”

“Nothing coherent.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, well… maybe…”

“He kept singing sins of the mother over and over.”

“What?” Regina’s face scrunches. “Zelena’s mother?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s dead.” Robin only shrugs. “And Zelena has no children.”

“I know. I told you none of it made sense.”

“That’s all he said? That and to count your pennies?”

“And something about finding strange bedfellows.”

“Well, that one makes sense,” Regina says, sighing as she thinks of her father-in-law’s sickly sweet relationship. “I wish it didn’t.”

“Yeah—”

“Nothing else?”

“The last thing was something about two sides of a coin and having no preference over either of them. I didn’t catch the exact words, I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was happening.”

“A penny?” she asks, a grin tugging up at one corner of her mouth. “A two-sided penny?”

Robin’s eyes roll. “Hell if I know.”

“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get any answers.”

“I am, too,” Robin admits as they wind down the road toward the public house they’ve occasionally frequented when in town. “But at least it’s done and over.”

“It is?”

Robin nods. “I paid for information. He thinks he gave it to me. We’re done.”

“And good riddance.”

“Here, here,” Robin calls out as they approach the pub. “Now, can we please talk about something else? I’m getting a headache.”

“Alright,” she says, easily agreeing as a little laugh bubbles up from her chest. “How about how you were shamelessly flirting with Granny Lucas in front of me.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No,” Regina admits. “It was… sweet.”

“I like her. She’s a good woman.”

“She is.”

“And I do like her.”

“That was clear.”

“I like people who like you.” Regina’s eyes widen as Robin reaches for the door, pulling it open. She doesn't reply; she’s not quite sure what to say, but nonetheless, she smiles. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I’m starved and I can smell the corned beef from here.”

They step inside the familiar, dimly lit pub and she looks around, spotting an open table by the window—and as she looks around, she can’t help but notice the bartender’s clenched jaw. She watches as the man, who normally smiles when they enter, tosses down a rag and rounds the bar, walking briskly toward them.

He looks upset, she notes as her stomach lurches. Upset with her.

Though she can’t quite pinpoint why that is, she’s sure that they’re about to find out.

In a fleeting thought, she tells herself that she’s overreacting, that she’s misreading something. After all, they’ve been here a handful of times and never had there been a problem. They often stopped in for a drink or a quick sandwich, they occasionally brought in the boys for a scoop of ice cream or some raspberry cordial, and never had anyone taken issue with her presence. She thought back to the last time they were there, just before heading north to the Hunting Lodge for the Harvest Ball and nothing had seemed off then. They were easily seated, the boys were given extra sweets, and the very bartender that was marching toward them now looking so sullen and serious had spent the better part of an hour standing at their table chatting with Robin about some ideas for renovations.

Nothing had changed since then, she reasons.

But that wasn’t exactly true.

All of those times—the last included—were before Zelena’s little dinner party, before her dirty laundry was publically aired for everyone and anyone to hear and gossip over. And the look the bartender wears is one she’s seen before. It was the one the housekeeper at Dragon Head wore when she handed in her resignation just after Regina and Henry came back to live there, it was the one the Ladies’ Maid who’d dressed her on her wedding night had worn as she stared at her through the mirror as she hesitated to touch her as though the scandal could somehow be caught, and it was the same as the one Celeste wore whenever she entered a room. It was a look filled with disgust and disdain, and a look she’d earned.

Robin extends his hand, as he always does, but the bartender shakes his head—and her stomach flops.

This isn’t good.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. “I’m going to have to ask that you leave.”

“Leave?” Robin repeats, his brow furrowing as he looks to Regina, as if he didn’t hear the bartender correctly. “You’ve more than enough free tables—”

“I’m sorry.”

Regina watches as Robin blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“I… can’t seat you.”

Her heart beats a little faster as the bartender’s eyes shift to her as if to explain.

It’s not that he can’t seat Robin; it’s that he won’t seat her.

She understands, but Robin doesn’t.

“Are you refusing me service?” Robin asks, obviously offended and clearly stunned. “Why on earth would you refuse me service? I’ve always paid my tab and—”

“I am sorry, but I… I can’t allow…” Again, his eyes shift to her and again, Robin doesn’t catch it. Regina feels her own eyes sink closed as she wills herself to keep her tears at bay and prays that Robin lets it go, but he doesn’t. “I am sorry.”

“Do you have a reason?” The bartender hesitates and though she can’t see him, she can feel his eyes on her. “Do you—” Robin’s voice halts. “Oh.”

“If you’ll just—”

“You won’t seat me because I’m with my wife.”

“Yes. This isn’t… that kind of establishment.”

“What kind?” Robin counters, anger rising into his voice. “The kind where I own the property that this pub sits on? The kind where my name is carved into the sign out front in a town named after my family home?”

Regina’s eyes open and she draws in a breath. She wishes she could shrink away, that she could disappear. A few men have turned to look, obviously aware that something is amiss, but she refused to let herself look at them, instead focusing on the floor. “Please don’t make a scene,” she whispers in a voice that’s barely audible—and in a voice Robin doesn't seem to hear.

“You can’t refuse me service. I own this pub.”

She can tell it's difficult for the bartender, and she wonders if he’s gotten complaints the handful of other times she’s eaten there. “Actually,” he says, his voice still low. “Your father does.”

That only makes it worse.

Robin’s face goes red and his jaw clenched tighter, and again she murmurs a quiet let’s just go that he doesn't seem to hear.

But the bartender does, and he looks guilty or maybe just ashamed.

She thinks of all the times she’s been here, long before Robin came into her life and long before the bartender before them worked in it. As a young girl, her father often brought her here for a limeade and biscuits whenever her mother was being particularly rough on her. They’d sit at the bar and he’d have a beer, while she happily sipped her drink and kicked her feet against the stool. They’d talk about horses or whatever her lessons were focusing on at that point, and Dragon Head and Cora’s anger would seem a thousand miles away.

After she’d grown up, she came to realize the pub was her father’s home-away-from-home. It wasn’t uncommon for him to spend an entire evening drinking and playing billiards or even a few days in a room upstairs with a good book. Undoubtedly, a great deal of money had been spent in this pub by her family over the years, and though she was firm in the belief that a person shouldn’t be allowed to pay their way through life, this somehow seemed so unfair.

But then, this was just another consequence of her choices.

It had nothing to do with her father or Robin or Robin’s father. It had everything to do with her.

“Did my father tell you to refuse us?”

Regina draws in a short breath. “Robin, please…”

“No,” the bartender answers, “But I have my principles, just as your father does.”

“Principles,” Robin scoffs. “I’m sure.”

“I can’t have… certain types of people here,” he explains. “I don’t want people talking, and I can’t afford to lose business because my pub is… marred.”

“Marred—”

“Tainted.”

“Because of… my wife?”

The bartender offers a half nod, and again, her eyes sink closed to keep her tears from falling. “Please, Robin,” she says again, this time an octave louder. “Let’s go.” Her eyes flutter open just in time to see Robin look to her, and just in time to see everything about his demeanor change—he feels sorry for her, or pities her, or maybe he’s just embarrassed of her. “Please. Don’t make a scene. Just leave it alone.. We’ll go.”

“Alright,” he murmurs as he takes her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “But this isn’t over.”

“Robin—”

“Thank you.”

Robin’s eyes narrow as the bartender’s shoulders straighten. “I’m not giving this up for your benefit. Let’s be clear, and I mean it when I say it’s not over.”

“I’m sure you’ll do what you must,” the bartender says, “just as I’ll do what I must.”

Robin’s jaw clenches and Regina’s fingers tighten around his hand, giving it a little tug as she takes a step back, desperately wanting to leave. Her face is hot and her stomach is in knots and the longer she stands there idly, watching the two men staring each other down, the harder she finds that it is to breathe.

“Please, Robin…”

Finally, Robin breaks the bartender’s gaze and nods, looking to her. She takes another step back and he steps back with her and then, as they turn to the door, Robin freezes and she follows his gaze to the bar where Jefferson Hatfield sits, drinking.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Robin glares at the bartender whose shoulders straight as his chin tips up. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Like hell you don’t. I—”

“Can we please just go?’

Robin looks to her, his jaw tight and his eyes filled with anger. Silently, she pleads with him—pleading to go without issue, to not make a scene, to not make this whole situation worse—and he seems to understand her. He offers a little nod and gives her hand a squeeze, and her heart is beating so fast and so loud, she doesn’t quite catch Robin’s last words to the bartender before they leave.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a burst as soon as the door closes. “I’m—”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Well, that depends on—”

“No,” he says, cutting in as he pulls her toward him. “It depends on nothing. He was wrong.”

For a moment, she lets him hold her, hoping it’ll calm her down. But all she can think of is how much she’s complicated his life—he can’t even go and have a simple drink without causing a stir. Her stomach flops and the tears she’s been holding back come rushing to her eyes.

She pushes away. “I think we should go.”

“There are other—”

“No,” she cuts in, her voice rising over his as she shakes her head. “That was too embarrassing. I can’t do that, not again.”

“Regina, you—”

She bristles, feeling like she might be sick. “Can we please just go back to Sherwood? I’ve already been away from Henry for too long. What if he’s sicker or—”

“Alright,” Robin says, easily agreeing. “We’ll go back.”

She nods as he takes her hand, pulling her into his side as they walk toward their carriage. He rubs her arm and tries to make small talk about the boys, but she can still hear the anger behind his voice and her stomach feels too queasy to respond. So they end up riding back in silence as she stares out at the countryside, hating herself.

_____

Robin sighs as he watches the bedroom door close behind Regina. He falls back against the wall, tipping back his head and wondering how they went from enjoying such a carefree day to… this.

The whole way back from town, Regina didn’t speak. Instead, she stared blankly ahead, refusing to look at him. He could see her flushed cheeks and teary eyes, and he didn’t quite understand it.

Of course, he understands why she’s upset. He’s upset, too. What happened that afternoon at the pub was unnecessary and uncalled for. He hated that she bared the brunt of the guilt for what happened between her and Jefferson and he hated that she was expected to hide away and adjust her life while he was able to keep on living his life as if nothing happened. He’d been over it again and again, and though he wasn’t exactly an unbiased party, he couldn’t see how she was the one to blame.

Yet, every time that one night cropped up, it was thrown in her face, ripping off the bandage and making her wounds new again.

All while this time, Jefferson sat back and sipped his scotch.

But she knew that she didn’t have to be embarrassed, not with him, and she knew that he knew all of her secrets, that he didn’t hold them against her. She didn’t have to clam up or avert his eyes in fear of judgement. She didn’t have to accept the so-called consequences of her sins without complaint. She didn’t have to tolerate it. Though he knew his opinion smacked with the privilege that came with his status—the privilege that came with their status—people in town didn’t have the right to throw her lowest moments in her face, they didn’t have a right to deny her service, and they didn’t have a right.

But she let them.

And, now, he realized, so did he.

By turning around and leaving, he let them use her mistakes against her. He let them think it was acceptable to deny her, to speak about her as they did. He let them think that they had the upper hand.

“You look… like hell,” Mal says as she walks down the long corridor that connects the boys’ rooms to theirs and wipes her hands on the white apron tied around her waist. “You’re not catching the plague, are you?”

“No, it’s… it’s something else,” he tells her. “How’s Henry?”

“Definitely on the mend.”

“And Roland? Still no symptoms?”

“Just boredom.” A grin twists onto Mal’s lips. “Nothing’s fun without Henry.”

In spite of himself, a grin tugs up on his lips. “You’d never know that it wasn’t that long ago when Roland was an only child.”

“How easily he forgets.”

Robin nods. He likes that his son seems to have forgotten that detail of his childhood. “They get on well. Regina and I are lucky.”

“You are,” Mal agrees. “The girls I was last with were always at each other’s throats. They were little hyenas.”

“Hyenas—”

Mal nods. “The littlest one was sweet, but her older sisters were… well, for lack of better description, catty little bitches.”

Robin’s brow arches. “You don’t sugar-coat things, do you?”

“I try not to,” Mal tells him, her shoulders straightening. “There doesn’t seem much of a point in selling a false version of things.” She shrugs. “They were pretty. Their awful personalities hardly mattered in their world.”

“So, they married and—”

“Are the mistresses of their own houses, probably raising their own terrible children.”

Robin laughs at that. He appreciates the candor, especially now. “Weren’t they… practically related to you?”

“Mm, practically, yes. But not quite, and even then, I’ve no reason to make family seem better than they are. There’s little point. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone has flaws, myself included. Why pretend we don’t?”

Robin’s eyes narrow as he stares at Mal, considering her words. Since coming to Sherwood, Mal has been Regina’s ultimate defender. She’s looked out for her and protected her, she’s stood up for her and given her a friend in the house. It hadn’t quite occurred to him that everyone in Mal’s good graces hadn’t been given the same benefit that Regina had, and he wondered why. But he wouldn’t ask; he didn’t care enough to. After all, he liked that his wife had an ally, and that was that.

“That’s… an interesting perspective.”

“And an unpopular one.”

“It shouldn’t be though,” Robin tells her. “That sort of honesty could do the world some good.”

“Perhaps,” Mal shrugs. “But I’ve never cared much about popularity. If I did, I wouldn’t be where I am now.” She pauses and he bristles, wondering if that’s about taking a position at Sherwood. “If I did the popular thing, I’d be married to a pig farmer two towns over.”

Robin blinks a couple of times. “What?”

“I was promised to someone and… I ran away and went to school instead.”

“I thought you had your father’s blessing to pursue a career?”

She grins. “And to run away.”

“Ah—”

“Not that I needed it. I’d have done it anyway.”

Robin grins, thinking again of Regina. She once had that same spark, but unlike Mal, life had too effectively tamped it down and he wondered if it could ever be rekindled. He thought he saw signs of it—here and there, usually when they were away from Sherwood—and he’d seen it earlier that afternoon in Granny’s shop, but then, as always, it was stomped on.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re sulking or are you going to make me guess?”

Robin blinks. “I’m hardly sulk—”

“Roland does the same thing when he’s mad.”

“Oh.”

“What happened?” she asks, her voice softer as she nods to the closed bedroom door. “Does it have something to do with the reason you’re out here and not in there? Or something to do with the fact that Regina’s all but vanished?”

“She... hasn’t vanished,” he sighs. “She’s laying down.”

“Is she well?”

Robin shrugs. “Just a bad day.”

“So, she isn’t sick—”

“No,” he confirms. “Neither of us are sick.”

“If I make you some tea, will you tell me about it?” Robin’s eye narrow as a soft grin edges onto Mal’s lips. “Another thing you have in common with your son.”

Robin laughs softly and sighs, then nods and follows her down the corridor to the small sitting room outside her bedroom. It’s a tight space that fits little more than a table, chairs and a stove, but Mal moves around it easily as she reaches for a second tea cup that sits on a shelf above the stove.

He sits down when she asks him to, and looks through the open door to her bedroom, finding it tidy and warm. He remembers the pains Regina went to to get it ready, and how she and Belle had raided the attic trying to make the room look cozier than it did when it belonged to Celeste. Mal seems to have added some personal touches—a quilt and a tiny little portrait of whom he can only assume is Rose—and the open window framed in curtains shows off a relatively nice view of the estate’s property.

“So, what happened?” she asks, joining him at the table and pouring the tea. “Everything was fine when the two of you left, and you’re not sick.”

“No, not sick,” he reiterates with a sigh. “Um, so we had some business to attend to in town.”

“Yes, I remember that part.”

“Right,” he murmurs. “Well, Regina went for a dress-fitting and I ran another errand.”

“Alright. So you went one way and she went another…”

“And we rendezvoused for luncheon.”

“Nice.”

“Except not.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “We went to the public house in town—”

“I remember it. My father used to go there.”

Robin nods, his jaw tightening again and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck. “We were refused service.”

“On what grounds!?” Mal demands, matching his outrage.

“Regina.”

“Regi—oh.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve gone there before?”

“Countless times.”

“With Regina?”

“Yes,” he says again. “Often, actually.”

“And you’ve never not been seated before?”

“No.”

“What changed?” Robin sighs and his brow arches as he watches as understanding settles in Mal’s eyes, remembering what happened weeks before at Zelena’s little dinner party. “I could kill that wicked, red-devil.”

Robin nods. “Apparently, it’s not that sort of establishment. The barkeep didn’t want gossip spreading.”

“Yes, but all the respectable ladies hang around public houses to do their cross-stitch.”

“And the worst of it was that, all the while, Jefferson Hatfield was sitting at the bar, drinking.”

“That bastard.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he murmurs. “Well, with a few additional expletives added in.”

Mal’s jaw tightens. “I held back.”

“I just… I was so stunned.”

“What did you do?”

Robin sighs. “Channelled by inner Richard Locksley and made a threat.”

Mal takes a sip of her tea, looking so strangely demure as she says, “To disembowel him? That’s what I’ve had threatened… and meant.”

“Uh, no. Just… to, um… revoke his tenancy.” He frowns, feeling oddly inadequate. “I wanted to haul off and punch him, or—”

“But Regina would have done the same to you. She hates making a scene,” Mal tells him, sighing as her eyes momentarily press close. “The after effect of being raised by Cora Mills. She hates a scene.”

He nods. He knows that.

And he hates that whenever she goes, she seems to cause one ensuring that she’ll never publicly be comfortable in her own skin and never feel fully at ease.

Robin takes her through the day, sparing no detail, and he feels an odd mix of validation and inadequacy as Mal listens and adds her opinions.

But before they can get too far into the discussion, Henry’s head peaks into the sitting room as he calls Mal’s name.

She’s up in a second, her anger fading as she goes to him and he tells her that he’s hungry.

Robin stands, making his presence known, and he scoops up Henry (and his dragon) as Mal goes down to the kitchen to scrounge for some sort of bland snack—a task that shouldn’t be too hard, given his father’s distaste of flavor.

“Where’s my mama?” Henry asks as Robin carries him.

“Laying down.”

“Is she sick?” Henry asks. “Did I get her sick?”

“Oh, no. She… just a had a little headache.”

Henry nods. “There’s a powder for that, you know, and it tastes like chalk.”

Robin grins as they enter into the nursery. “Sounds like you’ve got some first-hand experiences with that.”

Henry frowns. “I’ve had too many powders lately.”

“I’ll agree to that. Being sick is no fun.”

“None!” Henry agrees, sighing. “Roland’s not here.”

“Still not allowed in?”

“Not yet,” Henry tells him, frowning again. “I even miss my lessons.”

“Well,” Robin murmurs, pushing his hand up to the boy’s forehead and finding it cool. “Why don’t we get you into some proper clothes and see if we can set up a game—”

“Can we go on a treasure hunt!?” Henry asks, his hazel eyes wide. “Please?”

“I was… thinking something with a bit less activity.”

“Oh.”

“Like checkers, or chess.”

“Mal’s been teaching me and Rol—” Henry’s voice stops abruptly and clears his throat. “I mean, Roland and I… or…” He sighs and looks helplessly to Robin. “Or is it me? I can never remember. Ever.”

“I think you’re thinking a little too hard about it and I also think I remember hating learning grammar.”

“You did?”

Robin nods. “But don’t tell Mal.”

“I won’t,” Henry giggles.

Robin sets him on his bed and picks out some clothes, noting that Regina’s right, his breeches are a bit snug. Nonetheless, he helps Henry gets dressed, allowing him to wear just his socks to the sitting room where Roland’s been camped out on his own for the day. Robin takes his hand and Henry takes his dragon’s hand, and all of them join Roland.

Roland immediately lights up when the door opens and bounds toward Henry, rambling on about watercolors and German and arithmetic. He reaches for his brother’s hand and pulls him to the desk, showing off a series of papers that Henry only grins at.

Robin gets out a chess set and sets it up, then calls the boys over to join him. Henry sits on one side of the table and he holds Roland in his lap on the other, and when Mal joins them, she sits beside Henry—and Roland mutters something about automatically losing now that Mal’s involved in the game, a detail that makes Henry beam.

They’re half way through the game when the sitting room’s door opens, and Regina peeks in, smiling meekly as her eyes meet Robin’s.

“Are you feeling better, Mama?” Henry asks, brightening as he looks to her. “Because I am!”

“I am so glad to hear that,” she says, coming in and closing the door behind her. “And yes, I am much better.”

“Are you really?” Robin asks, as she joins them at the table.

She nods, offering him a shy, but genuine grin. “I am.”

“Good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mal echoes as she rises. “Now, you sit here. I was just keeping your seat warm.”

“Oh, I’m rubbish at chess. You should—”

“Oh, great,” Henry mutters under his breath as Roland giggles. “I’m gonna lose now.”

Regina makes a joke of it as she slides into the seat Mal had just occupied—and then, as the game resumes, she makes a comment about being happy in her little bubble with the three of them, and he feels his anger bubbling again.

Not at her, but at the fact that the only place she seems able to relax is in these rooms, that the rest of the world is too unfriendly, and that a few desperate and youthful decisions will forever confine her.

_____

They spend a quiet evening in with the boys, playing games, drawing and telling stories. Though normally, this sort of thing would drive the boys mad and have them practically climbing the walls, on this night, it works for all of them. While Henry’s feeling better, he’s still a bit weak, and Roland’s simply glad for the company of his mother and brother. And for them, it’s nice to just relax and try to let the events of earlier in the day go.

For Regina, it seems to work.

By the time dinner rolls around, she’s back to her usual self, smiling and laughing with the boys—and he has to remind himself how good she is at faking her emotions for their sake.

For the most part—though, he’s not sure if it’s for better or worse—they manage to enjoy the evening and he’s able to forget.

But every now and then, at the most inopportune of times, he finds himself thinking of Jefferson, sitting at the bar and drinking, enjoying himself while Regina was denied; and then, the thought was followed by the memory of Regina’s tears.

For awhile, he’s able to shake it, but each time it comes back harder and stays longer, and eventually, he finds it impossible to focus on anything else.

Which only makes him angrier.

“You know,” he begins, distracted. “We came back in such a hurry, I don’t know that I locked the stables.”

Regina blinks. “The stables—”

“Well, the stalls.”

“So, you’re telling me it’s possible the horses are… running free?”

“That sounds fun!” Roland says, innocently looking between them. “Can we go and wrangle them?”

Robin laughs gently, averting Regina’s gaze and focusing on Roland’s wide eyes. “No, but I think I may have to.”

“We can’t come?” Roland frowns, pouting out his bottom lip. “But it sounds fun, and we haven’t had fun all week.”

Regina’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t look convinced.

“I’ll just run down and check—”

“And if you’re not back, you’re… wrangling the horses?” Regina asks, her brow arching. She knows that he’s lying. “You’re seriously going to—”

“Precisely.”

“This isn’t fair,” Roland whines. “I never get to do anything.”

“Well, if that’s not a sign that it’s nearly bedtime, I don’t know what is,” Regina says, sighing and shaking her head as she turns her attention to the boys. “Let’s go get you both changed.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Robin says pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, then tussling the hair on top of both boys’ heads. “Promise.”

Regina offers a curt nod while Roland grumbles and Henry blinks up at her with hooded eyes—and once more, she chooses to focus on them rather than him and his obvious lie. Roland continues to grumble as she pauses to hoist Henry onto her hip, then she laughs gently and takes Roland by the hand, taking them back to the nursery. For a moment, he just stands there, watching them go and wondering if he really wants to leave them but no sooner than he questions it, he thinks of Jefferson drinking and having a good time, likely playing darts or billiards, gambling and playing cards, and he thinks of Regina’s embarrassed tears—tears cried on account of him.

He bristles as Regina starts to hum the beginnings of a lullaby, and he hates that she always has to be so guarded. He watches her press a kiss to Henry’s forehead as his head falls to her shoulder and he cuddles to her, and all he can think as he watches them is how unfair life has been to her—unfair to her while rewarding Jefferson.

As he turns away from the nursery, his fists clench as heat rises up the back of his neck—and despite his best efforts to convince himself that all he wants to do is clear the air and have a conversation with the barkeep, he knows deep down that’s not what’s going to happen.

It’s not what he wants to happen.

And if Jefferson Hatfield is still there—there, freely enjoying himself—he’ll be having more than just a conversation with him.

He takes a shortcut through the woods and when he arrives into town, he can see the pub aglow. As he draws closer, he feels himself growing angrier; and as he draws closer, he can hear cheers and laughter coming from it. It’s a busy night and as he jumps down from his horse, hastily tying him to a post, he sees several regulars gathered at the tables and at the bar. When he scans the crowd, he sees neither the bartender who denied them service nor Jefferson.

Someone else is schlepping drinks and someone else is sitting in Jefferson’s place, and for a moment, he just stands there, unsure of what he wants to do. But as he stands there, sorting out his thoughts and feelings, he spots a smoky corner where a card game seems to be underway. At first, he’s not sure why he zeroed in on that particular table, then he watches a man stand and toss down his cards in a huff, and as he grabs his beer and stalks away, he sees Jefferson, sitting back and smiling smugly as he collects his earnings.

It’s as if everyone else senses his rage and as soon as he steps forward, a pathway is formed.

As Robin walks toward Jefferson, he feels his cheeks redden with anger and his fists clench. With every step and with a rapid fire pace, he thinks of Regina—the way she’d focused on the floor, refusing to make eye contact and wishing she could disappear, the way she’d refused to leave Sherwood after the stunt Zelena and Jefferson pulled at the dinner party, the way she expected him to distance himself as so many had done.

He thinks, then, of the story she shared—how desperate she’d been to find a way to support herself and Henry, how she felt she’d had no other options, how all other options had failed. And he thinks about the position that Jefferson had been in, too. He knew her and still, he took advantage of her.

Regina and Jefferson had never run in the same social circle—the tension between the Locksleys and the Mills created two factions that kept them separated, and Regina always kept herself on the periphery of high society—but still, he knew who she was and the hardships she endured. Daniel’s death had spread like scandalous rumor through the town and through the countryside and with it came whisperings of what would happen to Regina and her son—to Cora Mills’ daughter and grandson. People speculated that she might fall to ruin, others assumed Henry and Cora would funnel money to her somehow, and others speculated that she’d create a whole new life for herself in a distant place where no one knew the scandal that surrounded her.

That speculation usually ended in one of two ways—that she either got what she deserved or that her life worked itself out as it usually did for those born into her position. Nonetheless, for most who speculated, Regina Mills’ fate was out of sight and out of mind.

But for Jefferson, she was anything but that.

He knew that life hadn’t worked itself out for her and he knew how desperate she was. He had an opportunity that few in their social circle did—he had an opportunity to help. And instead, he took advantage, only thinking of himself and his own pleasure, and then, then when it was denied, he made an already terrible situation worse. He spread rumors and lies, making sure everyone knew just how low Regina Mills had sunk. No longer did they need to speculate.

So, finally, when she did find reprieve, when help did come to her, she returned to Dragon Head shrouded in more shame than when she’d left it.

Most could forgive a youthful dalliance and most would agree that Daniel’s death was sufficient penance for her sins, but thanks to Jefferson, she had a new set of sins to live down—and this time, as they’d been reminded that very afternoon, most could not easily forgive.

Jefferson barely looks up as he reaches him, likely assuming that Robin’s another man looking to win back his money in a game of cards. His lips part and he smiles smugly, looking like he’s about to say something crass, but before he can, Robin’s fist smashes against his jaw.

A gasp and murmur travel through the pub as Jefferson is knocked to the floor. Robin’s shoulder’s square as he watches Jefferson squirm and struggle to find his feet. He’s vaguely aware of the forming crowd, but he can’t focus on them; instead, he watches as Jefferson gets up. He touches his fingers to his busted lip, and looks back at Robin with wild eyes—and for a moment, all Robin can do is scoff at his confusion—then, as he watches Jefferson’s fist tighten and his confusion turn into a little laugh, Robin feels his rage building up again as his shoulders instinctively square, ready for a fight.

He takes another swing, this time, only knocking Jefferson back a couple staggering of steps—and that’s the hit that seems to piss him off. Again, Jefferson touches his lip, this time finding it bloody, and as he looks at the blood on his fingertips, his fist begins to ball up. Jefferson charges forward, but he’s too drunk to keep his balance, and when Robin steps slightly to the right, Jefferson turns into the edge of the table. It stops him for a brief moment, but it’s long enough for Robin to get in one more good shot. This time, he punches him square in the nose and harder than the first time. The blow knocks Jefferson down and this time, he slams the back of his head on the edge of a hard, wooden chair.

For a moment, Robin just stands there, watching as Jefferson writhes on the floor. People around him are hollering and laughing, but he can’t seem to make out any of their words. His ears are ringing and his heart is pounding, and he’s vaguely aware of that this doesn’t feel done—and he’s vaguely aware that if he stays any longer he might not be able to stop himself.

The whole way from Sherwood to the pub, he kept telling himself that just one punch—one good, hard punch—would make him feel better. But now that he’s here, he realizes that’s not at all the case, and he realizes that he always knew that it wasn’t.

He takes a step toward Jefferson who’s laying on the floor, rubbing at the back of his head, and before he can take another step, someone steps up behind him and pulls him back. He doesn’t see who it is, but he pulls back his arm and keeps his eyes fixed on Jefferson.

He can’t look away, and he finds himself fantasizing about grabbing him up by the collar and dragging him to his feet, only to knock him down again, and he thinks about how good it would feel to ram the tip of his boot into the pit of Jefferson’s stomach—but as he steps toward him again, he’s once more pulled back and he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize mutter a low Stop, he’s not worth it.

Robin pulls away and when he turns back, he can’t tell who pulled him back. He searches the faces of the men around him, and he can’t make out a single one, so it gives him a moment to think—and it’s then that he realizes the voice was right. Jefferson isn’t worth it. He spots the barkeep in the back of the room. He’s standing back and watching with wide, curious eyes, and Robin thinks of how different he looks now than he did then. When he turned them away that afternoon, he’d been so quiet and short. He’d avoided eye contact, often focusing his attention on the floor or on a spot of wall just beyond them; but now, he’s just standing there watching and not intervening.

Robin looks away, turning as he looks at Jefferson, still lying pathetically sprawled out on the floor and hears another low warning of He’s not worth it.

It’s odd the way that shifts his thoughts to Regina, remembering how she begged him to go that afternoon without causing a scene, and he can’t help but think how upset she’d be if she were there with him, or even if she knew where he was. He sighs to himself, thinking of his flimsy excuse—one only his young and gullible sons bought—and he feels guilt prickling up from his core.

And then, before he can change his mind, he turns on his heels and leaves, jumping onto his horse and running him as fast as he can back to Sherwood.

______

When he arrives at Sherwood, John is waiting by the door.

He offers him a nod as he takes the reins of his horse, and as Robin enters the long foyer at the front of the house, he wonders if John has been waiting there the whole time.

There’s a fire glowing in the library and it occurs to him that he could check in on his father—that perhaps he should confide what happened that evening at the pub—but when he hears Zelena’s high-pitched and nearly manic laugh, he turns away, deciding that conversation can be saved for the morning.

He goes up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

His shoulders relax as he reaches the hall that leads to his and Regina’s rooms, and suddenly, the thought of curling up in bed with her as a warm fire crackles in front of them, sets him completely at ease. But when he pushes into their bedchamber, he finds it empty. The bed is still made up and Regina’s dressing table is untouched, and a smile draws onto his lips as he realizes that she’s likely still with the boys.

He finds her in the rocking chair with each boy at her side, their legs tangled over her lap as she reads to them. Roland is sucking on his thumb and Henry’s head is on her shoulder, his little fingers playing with the lace piping on her dress. Mal’s door is open and he can see her mending some of the boys’ socks, listening as Regina reads Keeper’s Travels in Search of His Master

a book Regina’s been reading to the boys—and a book Roland’s missed reading for the past several nights.

Robin chuckles softly as he sits on the edge of Henry’s bed and Regina grins, momentarily looking up from the page to acknowledge him. She doesn't say anything; instead, she just keeps reading the tale of a little dog’s harrowing journey home. Robin looks between them boys—Henry is sated, looking on the verge of sleep, while Roland hangs on every word, enthralled as though he could listen for several more hours.

Regina keeps reading, but he can’t help notice the way her eyes zero in on his hand, and it’s only then that he realizes how red and scuffed his knuckles are. Her brow arches as he pushes his hand into his pocket, like a child who’s been caught, but again, she says nothing. It’s not until Henry falls asleep that she folds the book closed and turns her attention to Roland, promising they’ll continue the story the following night. Begrudgingly, he sighs and nods, and agrees that it’s not fair for Henry to miss a part of the story just because he wants to stay awake for more.

Robin rises from Roland’s bed to take Henry from Regina, and from the corner of his eye, he watches Mal sit up a little straighter as she stares into her sitting room; then, with a hurried glance toward the nursery, she puts down her sewing and goes toward the room. He hears the door close behind her, and he can hear her voice, speaking lowly, in the hall just outside the nursery.

Regina doesn’t seem to notice any of it, and neither do the boys—and as he tucks Henry into his bed and positions the blanket around the boy’s shoulders, he tells himself that it’s likely nothing to worry about.

He and Regina switch sides, and he watches momentarily as she leans in to kiss Henry’s forehead, then he turns his attention to Roland. He sits on the edge of the bed as Roland yawns, but before he can wish him sweet dreams, the nursery door opens.

John is standing there and Mal is beside him—and behind them are two men in black suits and hats.

Roland gasps and sits up and Regina stares wide-eyed into the hall—and then, she slowly turns to look at Robin, her eyes sinking closed as she focuses on his scuffed knuckles.

“Mr. Locksley,” John says in a low voice, mindful of Regina and the boys, “These men would like to speak with you in the hall.”

Robin blinks. “These men—”

“Yes.”

“Who are they?” Roland asks in a small, innocent voice.

“Just some men from town,” Robin tells him as his eyes shift to Regina. “I, um… I must’ve forgotten that I had with a meeting with them.”

Regina’s jaw tightens, and even Roland doesn’t believe it. “They… they look like watchmen.”

“Mr. Locksley,” one of the men calls. “We need to speak to you now.”

His voice is loud and firm, and it wakes Henry, who sits up in bed with wide eyes. “What’s happening?” he asks, groggily looking to Regina. “Who are those men?”

“They’re watchmen!”

Henry looks to Roland.

“Why are watchmen here?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Henry,” Robin says.

“Now Mr. Locksley,” the other calls.

And this time, Robin nods and steps away from Roland’s bed.

“What the hell is going on?” Regina asks, whispering loudly as she follows him to the door. “Where did you go?”

“It’s… it’s probably nothing.”

“Robin—”

“Stay with the boys.”

“Robin—”

“I can stay with them,” Mal cuts in—and momentarily, he and Regina both look back to the boys who are both teary and nervous. “I can—”

“No,” Regina cuts in. “I should stay with them.”

“I won’t be lo—”

“Though I’d love to know what’s going on,” Regina cuts in, her voice cool.

“Mr. Locksley, we won’t ask again.”

Regina's eyes sink closed and she turns away from him. A knot forms at the pit of his stomach as he leaves the nursery, careful to close the nursery door.

“Can I ask what this is—”

“We’ll ask the questions, Mr. Locksley,” one of the watchmen says. “Now, were you at the Sherwood Pub this evening?”

“Around nine o’clock.”

Robin swallows as he thinks of Jefferson and that stupid, smug smile and the pathetic way he floundered on the pub’s floor. “I was.”

“And when you were there, did you see a Mr. Jefferson Hatfield?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yes,” the watchmen agrees. “Quite unfortunate.”

“Quite unfortunate, indeed,” the other watchmen says as he reaches into his pocket. “Because Mr. Hatfield is charging you with—”

Robin grimaces. “Can we discuss this elsewhere, gentleman?” He looks back at the closed door. “Perhaps out of the earshot of my wife and sons?”

The watchmen agree and they all go downstairs, except for Mal who joins Regina in the nursery.

Robin pulls them into the drawing room, a room that is generally unoccupied, and away from the prying ears of hallboys and footmen who would quickly report anything back to the butler who’d report directly to his father. John hovers at the door to ensure that no one enters as the watchmen recap Jefferson’s story—and Robin nods along with it, not disagreeing with any detail.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?”

“Only that it was a long time coming.”

“Is that is?”

Robin nods. “I… assume you know of my history with the Hatfields?”

The watchmen look uncomfortable, but they both nods and one murmurs more of your wife’s family’s history, as he avoids eye contact.

“So, then, I can assure you that what happened this evening was unprovoked.”

One of the men nods. “That doesn't change the charge.”

“Or that we’re here to arrest you for the charge.”

Robin blinks. “For defending—”

“Mr. Hatfield did not hurt your wife.”

“Like hell he didn’t!” Robin replies, his voice rising. “Perhaps not tonight, but—”

“From what I understand—”

“You understand nothing,” Robin cuts in. “What happened tonight between Jefferson Hatfield and I—”

Robin’s voice halts abruptly as the door opens and John steps aside to let Richard into the drawing room. “We can hear the yelling straight from the library. What the hell is happening here?” His brows arch as he takes in the watchmen. “What brings you here?”

“We’re here to arrest the younger Mr. Locksley.”

“On what charge?” Richard demands. “That’s preposterous.”

“It isn’t, though, sir,” the watchman says. “Mr. Locksley’s admitted to it all.”

Richard blinks. “And what is it all?”

“Assault,” the other watchman tells him. “It seems your son got into a little scuffle with Mr. Jefferson Hatfield.”

Richard’s eyes narrow as he looks to Robin. “What sort of scuffle?”

“I… hit him a few times,” Robin says. “It was deserved.”

For a moment, Richard says nothing and Robin bristles, waiting for the likely lecture about how Regina’s tainted his life. But the longer he waits, the less likely it seems to come. Instead, Richard stares at him, almost blankly, before turning his eyes to the watchmen.

“Don’t do anything,” he says at last. “I’ll be back momentarily, and then we’ll all sit down for a chat.” Richard turns on his heels and on the way out, he whispers something to John, and then John goes to the little bar near the hearth and pours two glasses of brandy.

The watchmen accept the drinks, looking a bit befuddled, but otherwise compliant.

It doesn't take long for Richard to return and when he does, he again whispers something to John. Robin watches curiously as John’s jaw tenses, but nonetheless, he nods, then disappears out the door.

“Now, gentlemen,” Richard begins. “We all know that a little bar fight between young men is nothing uncommon, and while I’d like to think my own son is above such low and childish feats, I’m not stupid enough to think he’s incapable of them.”

“He’s admitted—”

“I understand what he’s admitted,” Richard says cooly. “But lots of boys get into scuffles when alcohol is involved, and you and I both know the Hatfields are known cons.”

At that, Robin’s brow arches.

“I don’t know why my son felt so inclined to strike him—”

“Multiple times—”

“That seems irrelevant,” Richard decides. “What is relevant, however, is the fact that the Hatfield boys have made a habit of making enemies. They squander their wealth and steal it back through card tricks and schemes. Everyone knows it and everyone tolerates it because their father was an honorable man.”

“That doesn’t—”

Richard doesn’t seem to hear the watchmen speak. “So, how much will this cost me?”

“The charge—”

“You can’t tell me you’re going to arrest my son on the account of a Hatfield.”

“The charge is quite serious, sir. I can’t, in good faith—”

“Do you have children?”

Robin watches as the watchmen both nod.

“A son and two daughters,” one of them says.

“And I’ve a child on the way,” the other tells him.

Richard nods. “All charges come with a price, you see. You can arrest my son and take him away, and in the morning, I’ll go into town and post his bail, and all your efforts tonight will be undone. Or, I can pay it now, and give you each, a... I suppose we could call it a bonus… for your efforts in expediting this process.”

Again, Robin watches as the watchmen exchange a questioning look.

“I assure you, it’ll be worth your while,” Richard says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a cheque book. “I don’t imagine you couldn’t use this,” he murmurs, as he moves to the little desk in search of an ink well to dip his pen. “And if you can’t immediately put it to use, perhaps you could invest it, and give your children their start in life.”

Richard finds the ink well and dips the tip of the pen into it, then on a scrap of paper, he writes another. “I’m no mathematician, but I think this should cover it?” He turns the paper toward the watchmen. “Of course, this would go to each of you.”

Robin cranes his neck and his brows arch at the amount written on the paper scrap. Then, when he looks to the watchmen, they’re standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws, staring at an amount likely more than they’ll ever earn as watchmen.

“Can we agree to this?” Richard asks. “I’d like to know before I waste a note on—”

“I… I think… I think that’ll be sufficient,” one of the watchmen says.

“Yes. Sufficient,” the other agrees.

“Good,” Richard tells them as he turns back to the desk. “I appreciate your willingness to expedite this process for us.” He blows on the cheques before turning back to the watchmen. “And, of course, I’ll appreciate your discretion in this matter. You see, it’d be quite embarrassing for my family if this got out.”

“Of course.”

“Understood.”

The men accept the cheques and leave, leaving Robin and his father alone in the drawing room.

“Um, thank you. I—”

“I can’t afford more scandal brought onto this family due to your wife’s indiscretions.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Regina wasn’t the one who—”

“No,” Richard says, shaking his head. “She didn’t. But you did on her behalf.”

Robin blinks, stiffening and feeling like he has whiplash. Richard didn’t have to write the cheques and he’d done it in a way that made it seem rather insignificant, in a way that made it seem like he understood. “I… won’t apologize for defending her honor,” Robin says, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. “And when I see a double set of rules—one for her and one for everyone else—I won’t accept it.”

Richard’s brow furrows. “Rules?”

“The pub refused us service today.”

“Regina?”

“And me.”

Richard nods, considering it—and though Robin’s hardly an expert on his father’s thoughts, he notes that Richard seems bothered by that detail. “Because you were with her.”

“Presumably.”

“And what’s this to do with Jefferson Hatfield?”

It seems a stupid question, considering how closely tied Regina and Jefferson’s stories are, but Robin answers it anyway. “Well, it has everything to do with him, but to add to the insult, while we were being denied, Jefferson was being served.”

“Served—”

“Yes, he was sitting at the bar drinking.”

“I see.” For a moment, Richard ponders it, and once again, Robin can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. “I won’t condone you acting so foolishly—”

“I’m not—”

“I knew this would happen, eventually, once you married her. You always need to play the hero, and now look where it’s gotten you.”

“Regina isn’t at fault for—”

“Well, it’s done, now,” Richard says dismissively. “And know the amount I wrote on those notes will come off of your inheritance.”

Robin’s eyes roll. “I should expect nothing less.”

They go their separate ways—his father to check on Zelena and himself toward the nursery, and when he reaches the end of the hall, he spots Regina standing outside the door.

He smiles a bit awkwardly as he starts toward her, planning out some sort of apology as he goes.

But he doesn’t get out the words.

“Wrangling horses?” she asks, her brow arching.

“I… I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have lied. I just—”

“I can’t believe you did this.”

He blinks, unsure of what she’s talking about exactly.

“I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid!”

“While, I admit, the actual act was rather foolish, my intentions—”

“What if you’d been arrested?” she interjects. “Oh, my god, Robin, what if you’d killed him?”

“I… think that’s a bit extreme.”

“Is it?” Regina counters. “Because I’ve seen those sorts of fights—the sort of fights where two drunk and angry men—”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that it just takes one punch for things to go terribly awry.”

Robin’s jaw tightens—that had occurred to him, at some point. “Regina, I think it’s important to consider—”

“And what would have happened had that happened?” Her voice hitches and it’s only then that he sees how upset she is, and he doesn’t quite understand it. “What would’ve happened if you’d been hauled off to jail on murder charges or—”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. I hardly—”

“What would’ve happened to me and Henry? To Roland? I can’t imagine that your father would’ve let us stay or let me still see him. I doubt—”

“Regina,” Robin says, cutting in and letting his voice raises over hers. “It's useless to dwell on what could’ve happened. It didn’t. That’s that. It’s over.”

“But it’s not, Robin. It’s not. I constantly worried about what’ll happen if I lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I’m not—”

“Well, I didn’t plan on losing Daniel either, and look how that worked out!”

“That’s… that’s different.”

“Is it? Because a half an hour ago, two watchmen were here ready to haul you off to jail.”

“But they didn’t!”

“Because your father paid them off!”

“Are you…” His eyes narrow as her voice trails off, unsure of which part of this is making her so upset. “What exactly are you mad about? Jefferson? Because—”

“I asked you to leave it alone. I asked you to ignore it. I asked you not to make it worse. And you did! You didn’t listen, Robin. You didn’t think about anything other than what you were feeling!”

He’s taken aback by that. The only thing he thought of was her.

Regina’s jaw tightens and she shakes her head as she looks away from him, obviously pissed. “You have no idea what it’s like to live at someone else’s mercy!”

And that pisses him off. “Mercy?”

It might be just an issue of choosing the wrong word, an issue of semantics, but the word she chose seems to imply control and worse that he somehow controls her, and that she’s trapped.

Since their marriage, he’s made a concerted effort not to do either of those things, to include her and make her feel a part of every decision made. At first, he’d done it to prove to her that he didn’t marry her for some sort of ulterior motive, to prove that she was more to him than someone to warm his bed; then, it became about defining a partnership and creating a marriage of equals.

“You think you’re living at my mercy?”

She looks straight at him. “Aren’t I?” It’s worse than a sting, and he has to bite his tongue. Regina looks away, dropping her eyes down and grimacing, and for a moment, he thinks she might apologize and say she didn't mean that. But instead, when she looks back, she shakes her head. “I’m going to bed,” she tells him. “I’m tired.”

“I am, too, but I think we need to talk about this.”

“There’s little point in that,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “You’ll just ignore me.”

With that, she walks away, leaving him standing in the middle of hallway, unable to sort his thoughts and feelings. In the back of his head, there’s a little voice that tells him she’s partially right—she did ask him to leave it alone and he did lie to her that night—but still, to imply that she has no autonomy because of him, that she lives completely at his mercy suggests something he’s uncomfortable with and suggests something that’s patently untrue.

And again, that implication gets under his skin.

Nothing about this day has gone the way he intended, so why would it end in the way he intended?

Turning on his heels he sulks toward the stairs. If he goes to bed now, he’ll either end up in a fight with Regina or lie there alone tossing and turning, and neither of those things are anything that he’s interested in doing. So, instead, he goes down to the empty library and pours himself a large glass of bourbon, deciding to drink his feelings until he passes out.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

#oq ff #oq fic #outlaw queen #hcab verse #oq au

7 notes · View notes

ninzied · 7 years ago

Text

Blame It On the Mistletoe [OQ]

Robin searches for the perfect way to earn a kiss from someone special while Regina glowers her way through the holiday, pretending not to care who that special someone might (or might not) be. A Missing Year Christmas. For @onceuponanadvent. [ffn | ao3]

It’s almost Christmas, she’s forced to remind herself for no less than the tenth time that evening. It’s time for tinsel and holly and good will towards others, not for simmering tempers or the plotting of multiple deaths in the castle – well, just the one. She’d happily settle for one at the moment.

Christmas, Regina.

She takes a deep breath.

“Not a creature was stirring,” she carries on reading, more firmly this time as she flips to the following page. “Not even a—”

There’s more muffled giggling from one corner of the drawing room. The same insufferable corner that’s been trying on Regina’s last nerve for the better part of her evening, with all that maddening cheer and those secretive grins about whatever the hell they’ve been whispering away to each other.

“Regina?” pipes up a small voice by her ear, and the tension snaps between her shoulders, sapping right back out of her. “Not even a what?”

Big brown eyes blink expectantly up at her as she tilts her head down toward the boy – something creaking with the effort – and gives him a full-watted smile, as though she hasn’t just been glaring most murderously at his father on the other side of the room.

“Not even a mouse,” Regina tells Roland in a theatrical hush, and he looks rapt at the idea, wiggling closer to examine the book’s illustrations, a whole family of mice fast asleep in a tiny plaid mitten. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care…”

Another bit of stifled laughter, and any hopes of St. Nicholas soon being there are ground to a halt as Regina clamps her teeth together, endeavoring not to explode.

She’d tasked the thief with stringing the garland – what should have been a quite simple thing, considering his qualifications as a forest person with some presumed knowledge of trees. She’d told him as much when he questioned her confidence that he could be something of use for a change, and she’d even been gracious enough to ignore him when he had the audacity to smile at her answer.

He was right, as it turns out. She should have known better than to trust him with this.

He’d apparently enlisted some help in one Belle and a Ruby, the three of them disappearing shortly after supper and returning long after what seemed entirely reasonable to Regina, looking flushed from the cold but pleased with their fresh armfuls of pine. They’d sat themselves down on a set of cushions closest to the hearth, and there they’ve been cozily huddled ever since, the box of ribbons and bells Regina had brought them forgotten on the floor as they sip on warm drinks and laugh about some story Robin’s just told them.

Belle’s response has Robin’s eyes crinkling with a half-held smile, and then he’s turning an ear toward Ruby as she chimes in and places a familiar hand on his knee, squeezing affectionately there.

“There’s a special plant for that, you know,” Ruby is saying, with a suggestive arch of an eyebrow at him, and then she seems to realize too late how loudly she’s just spoken, shrinking slyly into her mug with a not-so-sorry grin to match. Even Snow glances up from her knitting – an assortment of red woolly stockings already piled high by her armchair – and looks at her curiously, to which Ruby winks back before mouthing a mischievous Later that has Belle fighting a grin of her own.

Robin, however, is looking thoughtful all of a sudden, biting his lip as though he would have quite liked to know more if not for the audience they’ve made.

It would take almost no effort at all, thinks Regina, a mere flick of her wrist and those pointy pine needles could inflict some real damage, remind him of the work to be done instead of all this shameless flirting, ruining storytime with Roland and – speaking of Roland—

The boy is not so subtly craning his head over the book in her lap, in a clear attempt to see for himself what all this fuss with the “sugar plums” must be about, and Regina feels the anger leak out of her again, a nagging guilt filling up in its place.

“Here, why don’t we try this.” Regina scoots Roland back a little, liberating the book and standing it onto its spine for a second. With a wave of her free hand, the book gives a rustling shake before bouncing to hover mid-air in front of them, blocking the rest of the room from view. Its pages flatten of their own accord, and the sugar plums begin to dance a jerky stop-motion dance around slumbering children’s bonneted heads.

“Whoa,” says Roland a moment later when the book, quivering again, turns the page onto an open window and blows out a dusting of snowflakes at them.

He dabs a finger delightedly at each glittering clump on his clothes (“Look, Regina, it’s gone!”), and she smiles, feeling pleased that they finally have this small bit of space to themselves. She simply can’t be bothered with anything else, really, beyond the approach of St. Nick’s miniature sleigh, and the whoop Roland makes at the sight of his eight flying reindeer.

He nestles himself more snugly into the crook of her elbow while she narrates their little movie to him. It’s easier now to imagine those coy murmured sounds at the other end of the room as nothing but meaningless noise, and more than once Regina even almost-smiles to hear Leroy’s voice booming nearby, tipsily heckling Friar Tuck over a half glass of sherry and what otherwise would have been a rather solemn game of chess.

The animations have slowed their progress considerably, but Roland doesn’t seem to mind – quite the opposite, in fact, requesting that they turn the same page back several times to see St. Nick get stuck partway down the chimney yet again before tumbling out with a comical thunk!, like a plunger losing its suction, spraying up soot and spilling his satchel of toys.

“One more time?” Roland asks with hopeful, pleading eyes, and Regina looks apologetically at St. Nick as he stops brushing flecks of ash from his beard and sags his shoulders resignedly at them.

The reindeer, in their restless trotting along the roof of the book, eventually discover that they can leap right off the edge of the cover and into Roland’s lap, cantering about and thoroughly distracting the boy for a while, leaving St. Nick to unpack his toys at his leisure.

He’s looking quite jolly, smoking up a storm with his pipe and helping himself to another chunk of cookie when Robin’s silhouette looms into focus overhead. His expression is rueful but knowing as he gazes down at his son, and surely enough, Regina glances at Roland to find him blinking blearily up at them both, looking a bit sleep-dazed as she sits him upright. The reindeer, dozing in random folds of his cloak, stir drowsily, ears twitching as they stretch out wobbly legs.

“No, not yet,” Roland protests when Regina signals a hand for the book to close and stow itself away, and it might have sounded halfway convincing if not for his poorly stifled yawn punctuating the end of it.

St. Nick gives Roland a wave of goodbye before corralling his reindeer back to their sleigh, and they’re about to take flight – hooves scraping over the parchment, kicking up the last bit of snow – when the covers fold closed, tucking them all out of sight.

Roland looks despondent until Regina taps him gently on the nose, promising to pick up where they’d left off tomorrow, and then she’s scooping him onto her hip as she stands.

“Thank you, for spending the evening with him,” Robin tells her, and it’s then that she notices the full ropes of garland twined in one hand, fragrant branches of pine festooned with her bells and fastened together with red satin bows. Burrowed amongst the needles are tiny pine cones she hadn’t seen them bring in, suspended in place by drizzles of wax that could only have come from a drawer in her study.

Behind him, Ruby and Belle are nowhere in sight, but the chairs they had occupied are overflowing in wreathy mounds of garland now, looking half-alive in the crackle of firelight, and Regina lets the memories wrap around her and tighten for a moment, the scents of spiced apple, warm laughter in the kitchen, hot cocoa dashed with cinnamon as the whipped cream sinks and melts away.

“He’s quite fond of your company,” Robin continues, and Regina’s gaze snaps back to his with what she hopes is an indifferent expression. “He has also wondered on several occasions why no one else can tell a story quite like His Majesty can.”

“They can’t,” says Roland, turning round solemn eyes on her, and she feels herself crack open with a smile at that.

Robin is delicately setting his whorls of garland onto the end table next to her, arms held out for his son as she passes him carefully over. Roland immediately tucks his head beneath Robin’s chin, face pressing into his neck with a deep, sleepy sigh, and Regina, feeling slightly chilled without that warmth bundled into her side, fights the instinct to cross her arms over her belly instead.

Robin catches her glancing toward the garland again, his smile going crooked with something like shyness as he asks her, “How do they look?”

“Passable,” she says stiffly, closer to the truth than she might have allowed had Roland not been curled up in his arms, blinking those heavy eyelashes at her.

“I confess I had help,” Robin explains needlessly, scratching a hand over the back of his head with a sheepish expression.

“I can see that.”

“Actually I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” he goes on, even managing to look halfway chagrined about it, and she wonders why he’s telling her this. She couldn’t possibly care any less who he consorts with in his spare time, but she would prefer he not insult her intelligence about it.

Not that she’d ever grant him the satisfaction by admitting such a thing out loud.

“I’m sure,” she replies, toneless.

He seems to be waiting for something else – something more – from her, watching her with those relentless blue eyes, his patience unfathomable when all she can do is try not to set herself or any other part of the room on fire.

Her gaze wanders pointedly away from him until he’s caught on, politely clearing his throat. “We’ll take our leave for the night, then.” He nods his head to her, careful not to jostle Roland awake with the movement. “Your Majesty.”

They’ve gone from the room by the time she looks up again, seeing nothing but empty doorway ahead, and she stands there a moment longer before her attention is drawn back to the mountain of pine and red ribbon beside her. Ignoring the feel of Snow’s too-meddlesome eyes on her back, she trails a finger over the soft bed of leaves, feeling their needle-like tips and wishing, inexplicably, for an entire forest of pine to open up out of the ground and swallow her, soothing, into darkness.

…

Regina doesn’t have time to dwell on the thief in the days that follow, the castle a bustling racket of last-minute things and an air of general disorder that tends to precede such a large-scale event.

The garland, on her part, already hangs across every inch of available surface, spun around banisters and draped across curtains and hearths, everything sprinkled with tiny twinkling lights that brighten from afar and then gutter out whenever somebody gets too close. The lights are particularly baffling to all parties involved – “But how can a flame be so small?” and “Where’d you manage to find a plug in this joint, sister?” – with the small exception of one, Roland’s simple but enthused “It’s magic!” putting everyone else’s questions to shame.

To her everlasting exasperation, Regina gets placed on lighting duty as a result, her scowling refusal met with an equal resistance from Snow.

“I can ask the Merry Men to put up some torches instead, that might look nice,” Snow suggests, with an alarming gleam in her eye. “Or—” she adopts a tone of innocence that Regina has never found remotely convincing “—maybe there’s time for them to get us a tree? I know you would have preferred not to—”

“I’ll take care of the lights,” Regina snips, earning a radiant smile from Snow that makes her feel as though she’s lost yet again. She’s already humored her enough by agreeing to this whole heinous affair; after all of Roland’s beaming at the prospect of “Christmas,” which Snow had most deviously planted into his head, Regina simply couldn’t find it in her heart to refuse.

So she’d gamely thrown up a few festive twigs here and there, but she’d drawn the line at a fifty-foot tree, and it grates on her still that Snow could be so oblivious as to not understand why. It simply feels wrong that Christmas should not only go on as planned but do so in such a grandiose fashion, when there will be no cookies to put out before bedtime, no gifts to uncover with a jubilant “Santa was here!” while bacon sizzles on the stove…

Regina is finishing up in the ballroom, lost to her thoughts as she sends the last of the candles floating toward the ceiling, its flame safely cradled in a thin orb of glass.

“That’s quite a sight to behold,” comes a low rumbling remark from below.

His presence had come entirely unannounced, and she’s so startled by it that she loses her footing on the ladder, slipping down and landing – most mortifyingly – into Robin’s arms with a small noise of surprise. They circle around her as he stagger-steps backward, bracing her fall with the front of his torso, and she feels cold and unusually warm all at once.

She shoves him away the moment her heels touch the floor, irritated that he should look so smug when it was his fault to begin with for disrupting her balance.

“Have you not seen a candle before?” She straightens her garments, brushing out barely-there wrinkles with an affronted look in his direction.

“I have,” he says, maddeningly, his gaze never straying from hers.

“Then I fail to see why you had such a need to make a fuss,” she tells him repressively, flipping her hair back over one shoulder and folding her arms across her chest, fingertips tapping out an impatient rhythm.

“You missed a bit there,” says Robin, entirely unfazed by her grievance with him, and before she can put a stop to it he’s moving forward to catch a stray lock by her ear with his thumb, brushing it carefully back.

He drops the offending hand casually down to his side the next instant, as though nothing out of the ordinary has just happened. He smiles at her, and she stares at him, unsure how she ought to be feeling about this sudden liberty he’s taken with her.

Regina looks him up and down as though he’s hidden the answer from her somehow. He’s just come from outdoors, she realizes; there’s a rosy nip of color to his cheeks, a faint chill still clinging to his clothes that she can feel from where she stands. He looks refreshed from his walk or whatever the hell he’d been up to out there, content and untroubled by all the commotion around them, and perhaps it’s that which has made him so bold.

God knows she could do with some fresh air herself right about now, away from this place with its cloying good cheer and its sparkling resolve to forget.

Robin shifts just a little, his other hand slipping back into his cloak with a studied nonchalance that can’t go unnoticed, and the seconds seem to slow into something interminable as she stares at the glossy spiked leaves in his hand, the winking red berries as he disappears them out of her sight.

Her vision tunnels black at the edges for a long, peculiar moment.

She thinks she might be furious with him.

She’s all too aware of the fact that this thief is – admittedly – not a half-terrible one; he’s pulled one stunt too many right under her nose for her to blame it on sheer luck or coincidence alone, and she knows that he could have plucked those leaves straight out of her hair and made it look halfway convincing, had he desired it.

That he should have wanted her to see this, his badly feigned stashing away of something meant entirely to provoke a reaction from her, has her bristling with a dark need for him to look foolish for once.

“Do you have big plans for that holly?” she inquires, tone mocking.

Much to her satisfaction, a genuine flush creeps up his neck, his gaze dropping away on an abashed sort of chuckle. “Not precisely, no. It was not what I’d originally had in mind.”

“I imagine not,” she says sneeringly, and the image of him arm-in-arm with Ruby and Belle presses its way into her mind unbidden, a dangle of mistletoe and a too-innocent Well what do we have here? as he smirks and they giggle, leaning in for a kiss.

Regina thins her lips together, wishing she could have been spared the unpleasantness of having to think up such thoughts. Where Robin must’ve gotten the impression that she could care in the slightest about his romantic entanglements is, quite frankly, a mystery to her.

“I suppose I’ll just have to keep trying, then,” he says lightly, with a playful sort of resignation that grates on her all over again.

She scoffs out a harsh-sounding laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Any last semblance of levity seems to withdraw from Robin’s features, something cautious taking its place. He peers carefully up at her, brows knitting together as though he’s puzzling over what could have gotten her riled up in this way.

“Will I see you at the ball this evening?” he wonders after a moment, his tone now one of polite curiosity, and she blinks at him, derailed by this new line of questioning.

“Regrettably, yes.” Her hands curl around her elbows, pulling them closer without any conscious thought for this sudden need to hold herself in.

She can’t read the look in his eyes as he asks her next, “And the odds of you favoring me with a dance?”

He’s stretched back up to his full height, but still she manages to look down her nose at him as she replies stonily, “I don’t know what would possibly compel me to do something like that.”

He nods his head to her. “I understand.”

There doesn’t seem to be anything left for him to say beyond that, and after another few heavy seconds of silence that sit strangely in Regina’s chest, he excuses himself with a final, courteous tilt of his chin.

She watches him, motionless, as he makes his way across the hall, pausing near the door when Leroy hollers his name and gestures for some assistance with a lopsided wreath that he can’t quite reach on his own. Robin’s face splits into a mischievous grin at that, and he taunts him with something good-natured that has Leroy throwing his head back, laughter all but roaring out of him as Robin kneels and pretends to offer a shoulder to spot him.

It feels cowardly, somehow, like running away by resorting to magic, but Robin and Leroy are still by the door, and – damn it – there’s Charming too, walking in now with a look like he might get ideas about coming over to make conversation with her.

Grabbing the flame from a torch as it bobbles by (“Hey!” says Happy in protest, before catching the razor-sharp edge in her eye and beating a hasty retreat), Regina pulls it to pieces with her fingertips until three dozen flickering lights are half-bursting out of her palms. She wraps them in their little glass orbs, and just as Charming has lifted his hand to her in greeting, she lets go, scattering them everywhere with a tinkling brightness that briefly shields her from view.

The air around her smokes purple, churning, and as the hall spins itself out of focus, she thinks she sees movement by the door, a flash of deep green and a head turning back, before she looks rigidly away.

…

As evening approaches, a dread she can’t place takes root in her belly, turning over and over with alarming intent until there's hardly room left for anything else.

“I shouldn't be the one reminding you to eat something,” Snow scolds her during their midday meal, piling a sizable mound of peas onto her plate. “There. Finish your vegetables, Regina.”

She might have thought to refuse her had Roland not been dragging his father toward them at that precise moment, coming to an energetic halt with the top of his head barely visible over the edge of their table.

Robin hangs behind with a perfectly bland expression while Roland grins a toothy grin, faces Regina and asks in a manner he’d clearly rehearsed, “Will you please save a dance for me today, My Majesty?”

There’s an amused little humming from Snow, and even Charming on the other side of her appears to be fighting a smile.

Regina glances up at Robin, unable to contain her surprise. He’s grimacing an apology to her, as if to say he hadn’t been the one to put his son up to this, but he needn’t have gone to the trouble of making that clear; considering the cold way she’d treated him earlier, she can’t imagine why he would want her anywhere near his child.

“Only if it’s all right with your father,” she turns back to Roland with a kind but firm voice.

Roland rounds on him in an instant, clasping his hands dramatically together and wheedling, “Please, Papa? Please?”

“Of course it’s all right, my boy,” says Robin, looking mildly taken aback that it’s even a point worth debating, and his eyes alight on Regina’s again with a bright, piercing blue she hadn’t prepared for, taking her in for a moment. His forehead creases, gaze going soft, and his lips part like he might have something more he wants to say before they’re sliding into a lopsided smile instead.

“Okay,” says Roland with a pleased air of finality, pulling Regina back together, and her eyes move away from Robin’s. Roland is looking very serious, informing her in a solemn voice, “Papa says vegetables have magic too, and they will make me tall and strong just like him someday.”

Robin clears his throat. “Perhaps we’ll let Her Majesty finish the rest of her meal in peace, yeah?”

Roland beams. “See you later, Regina!”

“I look forward to it,” she tells him, feeling Robin’s gaze on her again.

“Bye, Princess Snow,” Roland adds with a wave, proceeding down the table, “Bye Mr. Charming, bye Mr. Grumpy,” and then Robin’s nudging him gently along before they wind up saying a personal goodbye to everyone at court.

“Looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,” Snow murmurs slyly under her breath once they’ve headed back to their own table. She turns to side-eye Regina in a way that's not at all subtle, a knowing smile playing outrageously at the corners of her mouth.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Regina says shortly, pricking a single pea with her fork and raising it up to her lips. She takes a bored little nibble, pointedly reaching for her water glass next when Snow opens her mouth like this conversation is anything but over.

Charming comes to her unwitting rescue then, drawing Snow’s attention away with a query about caroling selections to go with dessert at the party (Regina bites down too hard on a pea at that, her teeth clacking painfully together).

They’re still in a heated debate over sing-alongs – “Is it really necessary to write out all of these lyrics?” and “They’ve been living in the woods for the last thirty years, David, of course they won’t know the words to ‘Carol of the Bells’” – when Regina slips quietly away from the table with an empty plate in her hand.

She takes the long way back to her bedchambers, avoiding the ballroom and all its festive reminders of what lies in store for the evening. Any lingering thoughts she’d entertained of skipping out on the ball altogether are rather pointless now that’s she promised Roland a dance, and the reality of it begins to settle like a deep ache in her bones, that Christmas is happening whether she likes it or not.

…

One dance. She’ll dance the one dance, and stay long enough to turn Robin down when he invariably tries to cut in.

That is, if he were anywhere to be found at the moment.

She’d seen him only briefly at dinner, glancing toward his corner of the banquet hall just in time to catch the Merry Men welcoming their two newest members, installing a rosy-cheeked Ruby next to Robin with Belle bouncing a joyful Roland up and down in her lap one bench over. They’d all clinked out a boisterous toast, goblets overflowing with the mulled apple cider that Granny had coerced Regina into whipping up last-minute when Leroy’s “special home brew” failed to pan out.

She’d picked at her roast quail, the butternut squash and the stuffed sweet potato, tightly smiling her way through conversation with Snow and Charming whenever they thought to pause in their murmuring sweet nothings to one another. She’d occupied herself by toying with the centerpieces, leafy red and white poinsettias that she painted gradients of pink with a bored little swirl of her fingertip. Her own goblet had sat untouched, irritation prickling her whenever her eyes fell to the sprig of holly someone had tied around its slender glass stem.

By the time Regina looked up again Robin and his party were already halfway relocated toward the ballroom, wielding a variety of instruments that she couldn’t recognize apart from Friar Tuck’s lute and Little John’s set of what looked to be matching mini-tambourines.

A concert of sorts is well underway when Snow and Charming eventually head into the ballroom themselves, Regina trailing begrudgingly in just behind them. The twinkling garland and the ceiling of candlelight have cast everything in a soft, hazy glow, the sharp scent of pine all around them.

A makeshift campfire sits in each corner, their flames childproofed with voluminous bubble-like shields that shimmer and bob upon contact. Small dessert tables have been set up nearby, each one manned by a dwarf in charge of distributing speared sticks of marshmallow for toasting over the fire.

“Regina, this looks amazing,” says Charming while Snow’s mouth drops wordlessly open, and it doesn’t feel quite like work this time when Regina graces them both with a smile.

She’s loitering by the refreshments when Roland comes to cash in on the dance that she owes him. She thumbs off a smearing of chocolate from his cheek as he chews on the last of his marshmallow, explaining to her in detail how perfectly roasty and brown it had gotten on the outside.

Little John, she’s noticed, has ambled up to the table while keeping an eye on the boy, and when she nods that she’s got him he salutes to her with one of his jangling tambourines, shuffling off to rejoin his band.

Once she’s gotten Roland suitably cleaned up, she lets him pull her by the hand to the middle of the floor, curtsying gamely when he nearly doubles himself over in a very grand bow. They’re surrounded by a blur of couples, dancing out the intricate steps to folk songs that Regina finds just as foreign as the rustic contraptions strumming them out.

Immune to the rush of movement around them, Roland tugs her gleefully about in spirited little spins, looking thrilled when she does a showy sort of half-crouched twirl beneath his arms. She’d forgone her usual leather and velvet specifically for this purpose, dressing instead in something soft and breathable that tumbles down in an ankle-length flourish.

“That’s a handsome dance partner you got there,” Ruby’s voice rings out, and there’s a sparkling swish of crimson as she whirls past them on Will Scarlet’s arm.

Regina is turning around on instinct, only half-aware of what’s she doing until she’s skimmed over the crowds and not found him. Belle is fairly easy to spot, currently being spun by another one of the Merry Men nearby, but their leader is conspicuously nowhere in sight, and that pit of dread flares up full-force as it occurs to Regina that she knows exactly what he must be doing out there.

She’s passed a blissfully wiped-out Roland back into Little John’s care, tended to the fire bubbles, and endured several awkward civilities with Snow’s dwarves in the process by the time Robin finally reappears.

He’s been in the woods again, just as she’d suspected, untying his cloak and draping it over one of the hooks by the door as Ruby and Belle shimmy over to greet him. He smiles at them, but it doesn’t touch his eyes in quite the same way as it normally does, something disheartened in it as he turns up empty palms at them.

There’s a collective swell of sympathy around him, Ruby touching his arm as Belle rubs a hand over his shoulder, and then Ruby is raising her goblet with a coyly arched eyebrow, standing on tiptoe and laughingly pressing a kiss to Robin’s cheek.

They’ll be making their way onto the dance floor soon enough, Regina thinks, shifting grimly back toward the refreshments with half a mind to rip the stupid holly from every last goblet and burn them all into crisps.

She’s endeavoring to curb her more violent impulses when she hears him, the sound of his voice alarmingly close all of a sudden, and she turns to see him approach with a full, easy smile for her.

“It appears that I’ve missed the big dance.”

She glances away. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

He helps himself to a drink, and she stiffens when his arm brushes past hers for a moment. He leans his back against the table, resting his hand but a hair’s breadth from hers as he surveys the crowd and she continues to glare at the goblets in front of her.

When he speaks again the words come from low in his throat, pleasantly rough around the edges as he inclines his head toward her. “You look unspeakably lovely tonight, by the way.”

She touches a hand to her hair without thinking, feeling a traitorous warmth open up in her chest. She’d left it all down in waves for Roland, knowing how he likes to play with the ends whenever he can get close enough to reach, and she’s absurdly grateful for the way it curtains around her now, obscuring the flush in her cheeks from view.

“Well,” she recovers quickly, making a vaguely disdainful gesture at him, “you look…barely recognizable.”

Robin chuckles at that. “The Prince was kind enough to lend me some of his things.”

“‘Kind’ is one word for it.”

“You don’t approve?” He sounds amused.

“I see no need for costumes,” she tells him curtly. “All Hallows’ Day has already passed.”

It doesn’t quite land like the insult she’d intended it to be, Robin only “Ah”ing with that unshakeable smile of his, and she’s at a loss for what else to say. She tears her gaze away again, trying not to observe too closely how Charming’s navy-colored doublet folds flatteringly around Robin’s form, or how it brings out all that blue in his eyes when he looks at her the way he is now.

He twists toward the table, leaning into her ever so slightly to set his glass down, and she catches faint traces of Charming’s scented oils on his clothes, bergamot and some rich kind of spice that threatens to overpower her senses. When he straightens back around, however, he smells briefly like Robin again, and she simply breathes in all that fresh air and pine for a moment, almost forgetting herself as he bumps their shoulders together.

But then he’s gazing back out at the dance floor, and she doesn’t have to turn to know that the other girls can’t be far off, perhaps wondering themselves why he’s chosen to linger as long as he has with her when they’ve clearly been waiting for him.

Her fingers inch toward a goblet, letting the spike-tipped holly dig into the pad of her thumb.

The movement catches his eye, and there’s a playful lilt to his tone as he confesses to her, “I thought I may as well make some use of them, considering how spectacularly they failed me in other regards.”

The words are exploding from her before she can smooth out the anger in them. “You do realize that mistletoe doesn’t actually grow here, don’t you?”

There’s a pause as he absorbs the heat of her outburst, his voice perfectly even when he replies, “I hadn’t been aware of that, no.”

“Well now you are.” She rips the holly clean off its stem, crushing it into a fist. “So you can stop with your sad little attempts at wooing everything female in sight – it’s become rather tiring to watch, quite frankly.”

Robin is no longer smiling when she’s managed to summon another scathing look in his direction. He sounds oddly pained as he asks her, “Is that what you think this was about?”

“On the contrary,” she all but snarls at him, “I don’t make a habit of wasting my time thinking things about you and your…urges,” that last word spit out like it’s something unsavory to her, and Robin stares at her as though she’s grown two extra heads, his mouth opening in a sort of speechless disbelief before clenching shut.

“I’d presumed no such thing,” he says at last, his tone cooler than she’s ever heard it before, and it numbs something inside of her, everything turning to stone. “But thank you, for the clarification. You’ve made your thoughts more than apparent on the matter.”

Regina squares her shoulders at him, willing her tongue to unstick and scorn him some more, but she can’t seem to call up any of her earlier rage, not when he’s looking at her as though she’s someone he can hardly recognize either.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Robin bows at her, all the unreserved warmth of his features drained into blankness as he rises and captures her gaze with his own. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

She whirls back to the table, gripping blindly for those torn bits of holly and wishing, with a desperation she’s not sure she’s ready to understand, that she could un-see that empty look on his face as he turned and walked away from her.

…

She hasn’t made it far from the ballroom when she hears the soft padding of footfalls behind her, and something sprouts wings in her chest as she spins around to face him, an apology already half-formed on her lips.

“Hey,” says Snow, and Regina swallows it back, features hardening to hide the disappointment that must have been showing.

“Yes?” she asks, tone clipped.

“You’re leaving?”

“Your powers of observation really are nothing short of astounding.”

“Because in that case,” Snow carries on without even batting an eye, “I have something I wanted to give you, for tomorrow.” She shrugs when Regina blinks incredulously at her. “There was no Christmas tree to put it under, so…”

“Can you please be done bringing that up?” Regina’s biting tiredly out as Snow takes a step forward, pressing a cushiony bundle of fabric into her arms. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until—”

Never, is what she’d been about to say, but the words drift into a bewildered silence as Regina untucks a corner, slowly folding it back.

A large, blanket-like square comes tumbling out of her hands, stretching nearly to the floor as she lifts it up by the edges. It’s patterned with wide stripes, red alternating with grey, the wool thick and terribly soft as Regina touches one side to her cheek, her mouth, the tip of her nose.

It smells like coming home.

“I thought it might be a good addition to storytime with Roland,” Snow is saying, her voice barely audible over the swelling ache in Regina’s chest, rising up to her ears and blurring out the corners of her vision. “Speaking of which…”

Regina is busily gathering the blanket back into her arms, trying to blink away that burning sensation in her eyes. “What?”

“I also wanted to ask if you were okay,” Snow tells her, in that tone of heavy gentleness Regina so usually loathes to hear out of her, though she finds she doesn’t have the heart to feel bothered by that at the moment.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I saw you and Robin talking, back there.”

Regina sees that once-molten blue, taking all the warmth with him as he turned his back to her, and she shifts the blanket a little closer, tightening her grip. “What about it?”

“I don’t think Roland was the only one pining for a dance with you.”

Regina shakes her head. “You must be confused.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Snow admonishes lightly, “and we both know a certain someone who would agree with me, if he were here.”

After a long, miserable pause that Regina makes a point not to fill, Snow sighs and concedes for the time being. “Anyway. Merry Christmas, Regina.” She squeezes her arm before turning to go.

Regina fingers the yarn work, tracing its loops and thinking of another life, another Christmas, where her heart is whole and it wouldn’t be wrong to hope for these things that Snow seems to believe should come so easily to her.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she hears herself saying.

Snow looks back at Regina, with a slow-spreading smile that makes her face glow. “Just think about what I said,” she offers, eyes too kind and too knowing at once. “That can be your gift to me.”

Regina continues to stand there long after she’s slipped out of sight down the hallway. She gently touches the blanket to her face again, her world a sea of red and grey for a moment before she folds it carefully back up in her arms.

…

It occurs to her that she has no earthly clue where Robin has even been staying these past many months in her castle. He and his men have laid claim to the lower quarters, she knows, those rooms that her servants had once occupied what feels like another lifetime ago. Beyond that, however, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to tell any of the rooms apart, and it seems highly unlikely his men would’ve thought to label their doorways.

Robin had explained it to her once, when she questioned their choices, how they preferred the simplicity of these quarters – the welcome bareness of all this space without any of those additional luxuries he’s certain none of them would know quite what to do with anyway.

“Besides,” he’d leaned in with a smirk, “that way you needn’t worry about any of us helping ourselves to your things.”

(She’d never worried, but it seemed unwise to correct him when he was already so determined to show his amusement with her.)

Regina had insisted that he at least consider one of the upstairs chambers, with a terrace garden Roland could play in during the summertime, and a separate bath to afford them some privacy, which Robin had politely declined (“We are greatly indebted to you, Your Majesty; this is already more than we ever could have asked for”).

She’d renewed her offer of the upper floors when winter began to settle around the castle, pointing out their superior heating, but still he continued to refuse her – “It’s not so terrible down there,” he’d said, tone winking, “if you wanted to stop by and see for yourself some time” – and so here she stands now, helplessly glaring as a corridor of identically unmarked doorways looms into darkness ahead of her.

She’d waited for the sounds of the ball to dwindle before venturing back out of her own rooms – not for fear of being discovered by someone else on the way, not quite that, but of some truly distressing notion that she wouldn’t find him alone.

Still, the prospect of making door-to-door inquiries after Robin, particularly at this late an hour, is less than appealing to her. Not to mention the fact that all the things she needs him to hear have, inconveniently, eluded her as to how exactly she plans on saying them.

Regina takes a step forward, grimacing to hear how it echoes off the damply chilled walls. She loiters at each door, scrutinizing them as though some sign will appear if she stares hard enough.

She’s strongly considering the use of a quick locator spell when she nearly walks right into it – a little white spruce that comes barely up to her knee, tucked back against the wall beside an otherwise unremarkable doorway.

It’s a spindly thing with short, stunted limbs, sparsely covered in yellow-tipped needles – rescued, she thinks, from a winter it would not have likely survived – but there’s a charm to it too that Regina couldn’t deny if she tried. A knot of small gifts lies crammed underneath it, brown paper packages with To Roland From— scrawled onto their sides. A menagerie of small wooden animals has taken up residence between the branches, whittled out lions and foxes prowling about while barn owls and doves soar around them.

And there, at the top of the tree where a star should have been, someone has thought to place a single shoot of holly.

She knocks on the door before she can talk herself out of it.

There’s a pause, her heart thundering madly, and then she hears a shuffling sound from within. The door cracks open, spilling out a dim candlelit glow into the gloom of the hallway.

“Regina?”

Robin is suddenly standing before her, his everything silhouetted in light, and she has to blink several times before her eyes can fully adjust to him there. He looks mildly astonished but not, she thinks, displeased to see her, shoulders loosening as he lets the door swing back a bit further.

He’s changed out of his ballroom attire into a simple cotton tunic, its neckline opening into a deep vee down his chest, shirt cuffs rucked carelessly up his forearms. He doesn’t smell all wrong anymore, though she can still see Charming’s clothes hanging from a rack just inside, and she’s sorely tempted to dispose of them in a way that may or may not involve fire.

There’s a hint of movement deeper into the room, and she spots a Roland-sized lump in the shadows, slumbering soundly away on one of the bed pallets.

“I’m sorry,” says Regina, feeling appropriately dismayed, “Roland’s asleep, and I – I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” Robin cuts in immediately, and he slips through the doorway, gently latching it closed behind him. His forehead wrinkles with concern while he looks her over, as though he can’t fathom why she would turn up like this short of some life-threatening event, and, well, she supposes she can’t fault him for that. “Is something the matter?”

She shakes her head, unsure how to answer that question.

Robin frowns. “You’re trembling,” he states, and his hands flex ever so slightly down by his sides, a strained sort of movement before going still again, as though he’d been about to reach for her.

“It is a little chilly in here,” she tells him, feeling a peculiar leap in her chest when Robin’s eyes crinkle at her.

“Now where have I heard that one before?” he teases her lightly, crossing his arms and leaning his weight into the door.

She rolls her eyes, glancing away before she can smile back at him. “I wasn’t wrong.”

“I think that’s debatable,” he counters easily, dimples deepening when she huffs out a small exasperated noise.

“Well,” she says in a quiet, stilted voice, “I suppose not all of us can be warm-blooded like you.”

Robin seems perturbed by her admission, brows drawing together as that smile of his flickers out. “That’s not how I see things, Regina.” He waits for her to look at him again, voice low and firm as he tells her, “Not from where I’m standing.”

Regina can only stare at him, overwhelmed for a moment, at a loss for how she can even respond. She’d come to apologize, but here he is with all of his kindness instead, his warmth and his nature to be uncommonly gentle with her, as though she deserves nothing less.

She stands rooted there, gazing up at him with something like shyness and something like shame, and then she gives the tiniest shake of her head again when words continue to fail her.

Robin seems to read her struggle without comment, clearing his throat to casually relieve all the silence. “So,” he says, something mischievous in his tone as he uncrosses his arms to gesture toward her. “Are you going to tell me what you have planned for that holly you’ve stolen off of my tree?”

He’s biting back another smile – he seems to have some never-ending supply of those, with her – as she blinks down at the holly in her hands. “Yes, actually.” The words have to scrape their way out, and she swallows before going on. “I wanted you to have this.”

She holds out her hand to him, and the fine-pointed leaves begin to round out their edges, their glossiness fading into a fuzzy-soft texture. The holly berries lose their bright red hue, a pale yellow-green coloring their surfaces instead.

“Mistletoe,” Regina explains to him needlessly, everything inside of her giving a lurch that’s not altogether unpleasant when Robin stares back at her, wondering.

She presses her hand into the space between them, indicating for him to take it, but still he doesn’t move, only gazing down at the plant again before fixing her with those blue, depthless eyes.

Her throat is dry as she tells him, “Now you can go and kiss whomever you like.”

Robin tilts his head interestedly at her. “Anyone?”

She’s finding it increasingly difficult to read him.

“Yes,” she says, feeling rigid all over, “I believe that’s the idea.”

The air has thinned, and she can’t seem to quite catch her breath as he takes a step closer to her. He guides his palm beneath her hand, gently cradling there, bringing his thumb around to touch one of the mistletoe leaves.

“You know,” he says then, his tone unbearably light, “I’m not actually sure how this is supposed to work.”

Regina glances up at him, too flustered to pass it off as something else, but then the look in his eyes is making it hard for her to feel anything but warm, so warm, and so terribly endless.

His voice is slightly hoarse as he tells her, “You may have to show me.”

She’s swaying forward without any memory of losing her balance, her head more than dizzy when he places a hand at the small of her back to steady her.

“It’s not meant to be difficult,” she hears herself say, half-scowling, half-breathless already, her hands now caught rather uselessly against his chest to keep from leaning any further into him. “You stand under it and—”

“Like this?” he husks, and he shifts over her until the bridge of his nose is just grazing her eyebrow.

“Not…no, not exactly,” she says, barely above a whisper, and her eyes flutter closed.

She’s not sure who moves first, but his mouth is on hers the next moment, a tender press of heat that seems to last only seconds, pulling away from her much too soon. He drops his forehead to hers, and she feels his shoulders rise and fall with a ragged exhale before he’s gathering her back to him, as though unable to keep from kissing her again.

He captures their lips more firmly together, holding her steady as he kisses and kisses her, deep feverish things that feel like a promise to carry her away. The ache of their burn shudders through her, and she opens her mouth to his with a sigh, losing her breath and perhaps another small shard of her heart to him each time he draws back and looks at her like he may never let go.

He drags his fingers through her hair, cupping the side of her neck in his palm and angling her closer. His mouth slants over hers, moving with a scorching intensity as their tongues slide together and tangle. His thumb sweeps with an exquisite tenderness over her jawline, her cheek, and the way that he’s holding her, the intimacy of him wanting to know her like this, is almost more than she can bear.

They’re both more than winded by the time they part again, lips hovering back together as the sharpness in their breathing starts to even out into something not quite so dizzyingly shallow. Robin nuzzles his nose into her cheek with a quiet little groan, his stubble scratching over her skin as he ghosts another kiss to the shell of her ear.

Her hands tighten their grip on his tunic collar, where the sprig of mistletoe has been all but crushed into one of them, drooping and half-forgotten.

“I think we’d better try that once more, don’t you?” Robin murmurs, his voice a bit raw, and she shivers into him. “To make sure it’s still working properly.”

“I think it worked just fine,” she says, not without her own touch of eye-rolling playfulness. He grins a bit naughtily at her, and the swooping sensation that tugs at her belly in answer makes her feel impossibly young.

“Do you, now?” he wants to know, with a boyish sort of smugness that somehow makes him all the more desirable to her.

Her heels rise off the floor as he pulls her back into him, hands spreading heat up and down her spine until she can’t help but shiver again. The lower half of his body is pressed invitingly against hers, but still she braces her arms to his chest, not willing – not ready – to let herself have all of him, all of this, in the way that she so dangerously wants.

She’s wandered too boldly to the edge of some precipice, daring to know what happiness feels like, but she can’t bring herself to think on how she will pay for this later. Not yet.

Not now.

Robin’s smiling down at her with a sky full of blue in his eyes, looking very much like he wants to kiss her some more – and oh how she would let him – but as she brushes her mouth against his, there’s a distant scuffling behind the door, followed by a sluggish yet plaintive “Papa?” that makes them freeze together, chagrined.

Neither of them seem willing to move away first, but then Roland is calling out sleepily again, and Robin concedes with a sag of his shoulders, stealing one last kiss before releasing her from him.

He rests against the doorjamb, taking a minute simply to soak up the sight of her, and Regina looks away when she can no longer contain her smile from him, feeling warm in more ways than one as Robin gives the door a reluctant nudge open.

“Good night, Regina.”

“Thief,” she returns, and his teeth dig enticingly into his lower lip before he’s slipping back inside, carefully shutting the door behind him.

She’s turning to go when the tree gives her pause. It looks a little more melancholy now without that wink of holly up top, and she tilts her head, considering what else it might be missing.

She breaks off a needle of spruce when she’s finished, lifting it gingerly up to her nose and letting the scent of the forest accompany her all the way back to her rooms.

…

Breakfast in the dining hall the following morning is – as to be expected – an elaborate retelling of the prior evening’s events, how Little John misplaced a tambourine bell, and how Leroy had the misfortune of finding it, after nearly cracking a tooth on a marshmallow.

How one very elated Roland had woken to find a “real life star” on top of his tree, not to mention the gift a “Mr. St. Nick” must have left him on his chimney travels, as it was the only one that hadn’t been labeled, and how he couldn’t wait to show his new book of stories to Regina.

And then Robin, looking entirely too handsome for his own good, gazing warmly at her over a cup of freshly brewed coffee, a world of unspoken things in his eyes meant only for her to know.

She must be gazing just as distractedly back, because Ruby is suddenly sauntering by with a brassy-loud “Well, it’s about damn time” and a look of sly comprehension at Belle.

Regina senses Snow straighten at that, but before she can get any ideas about prying for more – already raising a hand with a soft “Shush!” at an oblivious Charming beside her – Regina raises her own mug and takes a studious sip, feigning ignorance while Snow beams aggressively in her direction.

She keeps her eyes trained on her plate after that, though her mind wanders and wanders to join him again through the rest of the meal. She excuses herself from the table when she can no longer stand to hold back any longer, feeling Robin’s gaze swing around to follow her careful departure out of the hall.

She’s chosen to linger by a stairwell when he comes in search of her, pretending to fuss with a bit of garland that’s come undone from the banister.

“Your Majesty.”

Regina smiles without turning, idly plucking up a loose pine cone and melting its wax with a fingertip before pressing it back into place. “Robin.”

She doesn’t hear him approach, but the new warmth that surrounds her is unmistakably his, and it would be such a waste, really, not to bask in it for a short while.

“Can I help you?” she inquires, all lofty innocence as she turns to address him.

His attention has caught near the side of her head, brow furrowing slightly as he murmurs to her, “You’ve got a bit of something right…” He lifts his hand with a May I? expression before reaching just past the line of her vision, fingertips grazing her hair. “There,” he breathes after a moment, and a familiar spray of round, green-berried leaves blooms into view as he pulls his hand away.

Regina blinks accusingly at him, feeling quite nettled at how thoroughly she’d let herself walk into this. “You—you stole that from me!”

“Begging your pardon,” says Robin, in the tone of one deeply wounded, “but how could I have stolen something that was intended for me as a gift?”

Her lips thin disapprovingly at him, but she’s charmed in spite of herself, that treacherous thing in her chest taking flight as he snakes an arm around her waist and tugs her against him, looking triumphant.

Still she refuses to fully soften for him until he’s pointedly directing her gaze to that plant, and then she can no longer not kiss him, it seems, when he’s smiling like this, just for her.

She’ll blame it on the mistletoe later, she thinks, relaxing into him with a content little sound as he touches his lips back to hers.

Later. Yes. Perhaps then.

#outlaw queen #oq ff #oq fic #oq advent #missing year #my scribbles

48 notes · View notes

onthebridle · 4 years ago

Text

2020 Poule d’Essai Des Poulains Preview

It’s been a while. A long while. But we are back and giving it another go!

A tumultuous year off the piste has gifted us a titanic tussle on it. When all was rosy in the Racing garden, the French Government scythed down the ParisLongchamp plan for the Poulains. Fear not as the affable, enigmatic and folically gifted Olivier Delloye cleared the table and pivoted to a charming corner of Normandy!

A straight mile for a Guineas? Wonderful idea! No UK or Irish based horses? Wonderful-(ish) idea! Not that they’ve won many recently anyway. No crowd? Well that’s pretty grim but rules are rules.

Onto the runners!

VICTOR LUDORUM

Shamardal this, Shamardal that. Shamardal for you and Shamardal for you too! Victor Ludorum (a Shamardal colt) was an immovable object from the Winners Enclosure throughout his 2yo career. ParisLongchamp was his particular playground of choice, breaking his maiden there by 3.5L (that could have been a lot more) and having his finest hour in the G1 Jean Luc Lagardere beating Group winners Alson, Armory and Ecrivain of whom we will encounter next.

Posters were up, the word was out. Victor was back. May 11th, ParisLonghcamp - tune your TV and watch the Prince on his pathway to his crowning.

Drawn on the Phillipe Chatrier court at Roland Garros and given his relaxed style of exiting the stalls it was not a shock to see him mid division and holding his own just off The Summit. The shock however came at the long sweeping bend at ~600-800m. Victor pulled the arms out of Mickael Barzalona’s sockets. Previously keen at this point in the Lagardere it was much more pronounced but he settled somewhat entering the straight. It would have been quite the effort to peg back The Summit who had set off with a wet sail and he was nursed home by Barza for 3rd. The crowning has been furloughed.

Undoubtedly below his best and suffering from ‘Fabre-itis’ that punished the Petit General’s yard in the opening week, an upgrade will almost be demanded from him and an upgrade he will likely give us. Barza was quoted as saying, “I’m not worried about what happens next” - so why should we be?!

ECRIVAIN

We’re blessed with 5 senses; sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing. The brothers Wertheimer know a few of these closely, nay, intimately and on a grander scale than most can imagine. Smell, the fine scent of their grandfathers Chanel No5. Taste, the vintage rouge of their Margaux & Saint-Emilion vineyards. Touch, their (ahem) tasteful swimwear and lingerie collection. Sight, the hands ticking on their Bell & Ross chronometers. The remaining sense is hearing. Hearing their name announced as the winner of the Poulains has been absent since Falco in 2008. A period too long for winners like the Wertheimers. Entraineur Carlos Laffon-Parias knows all of this well. Victory in 2008 belonged to him also. Much like their Margaux, it was a vintage year for the Poulains. Rio De La Plata simply could not get near him.

Ecrivain is his latest project. 2/2 to start his career, including a G3 on just his second run, he finished 4th in the Lagardere whilst both catching the eye and frustrating his patrons at the same time. For his comeback in the Fontainebleau, look to the previous sentence and multiply. Simon Rowlands’ Sectionals show he should have finished closer and he probably would have had he not taken the sceneic route through the Bois Du Boulogne. It was one you sensed that Maxime Guyon would want back.

He isn’t shy to the front of the field, often sitting in the passenger seat beside the pack driver so look for him to be on the scene again at Deauville. The orders from CLP were to “Wait, Finish and Not Hit” - one would imagine Max will hear different ones next time.

THE SUMMIT

Expecting Alson? Sorry not sorry.

Henri Alex Pantall trains the son of Wootton Bassett for Jacques Cygler at his staggeringly beautiful yard in Beaupreau around 400km west of Chantilly. The name Jacques Cygler may be memorable to you thanks to his wondermare export Sistercharlie.

The Summit does not have the sexy row of 1′s you get visiting the Victor Ludorum page or the 100,000€ fee you have to pay for a dance with Lope De Vega to produce Ecrivain but he has run, and run, and run. Up and down the distance ladder from 1300m to 1800m and another rung up to 2000m it seems the Cygler/Pantall equipe decided that the perfect spot is 1600m.

A win on his debut over the distance at Lyon Parilly and a second in a true slug fest at Saint-Cloud on poor ground he would never die wondering. Flash out the gate and prominent throughout is the method to which he lives by. This would prove to be a perfect tactic when teamed up with crack rider PC Boudot in the Fontainebleau. Yep you guessed it, the gates were open and he was gone. Out and away he played the field in a way Ivan Hajek would have been impressed with. Relaxed around the bends when others floundered, nose forward and ears back he sauntered to the 400m pole and found himself a length clear. That length then became three at the 200m pole and PC gave him a polite tap whilst observing those behind before giving it the full betting shop punter fist pump.

Pantall made it known he had grown and “thickened” over the winter. Another duet with PC Boudot has not materialised unfortunately but fear not, Olivier Peslier has been legged up and he isn’t shy of the Winners Enclosure. A victory here would complete the Poulains/Pouliches set for Alex Pantall and in consecutive years too. A summit thoroughly achievable.

THE OTHERS

Contenders, are you rrrrready?!

Alson - The first of Andre Fabre’s two other contestants, he was 2nd in the Lagardere sandwich under Frankie Dettori before going on to on to win a farce of a G1 Criterium International at ParisLongchamp beating Armory. This will be his first run under the Masters tutelage but without a prep run and the original aim of Newmarket, could this be a stepping stone to something like the St James’s Palace Stakes at the (not so Royal) Royal Ascot? Hard to trust.

Arapaho - It wouldn’t be a Classic without the navy of Mrs Sue Magnier now would it?! Andre Fabre’s third dart at the board was given a slight headache over 1400m by Mageva but he was plenty worth his win and has one of the most wonderful actions. Untested at the distance and uncertainty around his rider makes me uneasy on his chances. It would be a special day for his breeder; Mme Elisabeth Fabre. The choice of PCB, the interest has already rocketed and his price shortened.

Celestin - Twice a winner for Fabrice Chappet including a romp of a Listed win at Toulouse on foul ground he was competent in his return at Chantilly behind Reshabar for the local owner/breeders Normandie Pur Sang. It would be the sweetest of wins for them but a shock result.

Kenway - An admirable foe if ever there was one. Frederic Rossi’s charge has put his gloves on, mouthguard in and gone through the ropes with all of the big hitters listed above. A particular distaste for The Summit would be permitted given his 5th in the Saint-Cloud slugfest and the 4th in the Prix Fontainebleau. You won’t miss him - coming late with his head in the air and thick milky noseband pressing through. A place option at best.

Reshabar - Far from a penalty kick for Markus Munch it would symbolise a rapid rise for the son of Ifraaj who defied 59/1 odds to break his maiden in a Class 1 race at Chantilly. On the day he was quite brilliant from the front but the same strategy this time will undoubtedly come with company. Field’s rag.

Shinning Ocean (Supp) - The Prix D’Escoville winner was parachuted into the race by owner/breeders Normandie Pur Sang for a tidy sum. His performance at ParisLongchamp was a mirror to The Summit with Soumillon tugging the field along at a sedate pace initially. Coming down the hill at ~650m, the Belgian decided to find 3rd gear to go a length clear. The revs at 1000m had subsided again and the paced dropped as he was joined by Warzuzu. A slap round the chops at 1200m and he was gone. Two became four and peaked at five lengths clear before the cigar and slippers were out. Soumi is back for more and he has a score to settle with Ecrivain and is a very interesting runner for Christophe Ferland who is chasing his first Poulains!

THE VERDICT

Point 1: Pace will not be an issue. The Summit, Reshabar and Shinning Ocean aren’t ones for hanging around. Mix in the potential pacemaker angle of Alson and it’s a bit of a free for all that could get out of hand. In the passenger seat you’ll have Victor and Ecrivain with possibly The Summit joining them too should the pace dial needle push towards breakneck.

Point 2: Draw. Draw. Draw. The previous Poulains run at Deauville saw Brametot win from Stall 3 and The Gurkha from Stall 11. Helpful. Given the reduced number of horses we could see them all go to the middle or to the stand side rail or split into two groups. Given the temper of some runners and a wide track at Deauville you don’t want to be drawn next a basketcase but you wouldn’t mind a bit of pace either.

Point 3: Jockeys. Victor - check. Ecrivain - check. Kenway - check. Reshabar - check. The surprise came when Pierre Charles chose Arapaho over his Prix Fontainbleau companion The Summit who will now have the ever consistent, ever classy and evergreen Olivier Peslier on top. Alson is a gift for Cheminaud so the tactics on him still mystify.

All of these in mind I will unashamedly be sticking with VICTOR LUDORUM. Visually superb in the Lagardere and undercooked for his return expect a reinvigorated version and with the Petit General’s form turned up to 11 he is the one for me. It is difficult to see outside of the other major contenders filling the places and of the two I would count The Summit as his biggest challenger.

A Shamardal for France and maybe a Shamardal for England too?!

A final note - it was a real shame to lose Helter Skelter before this race as he would also have been a worthy adversary to those mentioned in the article.

0 notes

weekendwarriorblog · 5 years ago

Text

The Weekend Warrior Jan. 17, 2020 - WEATHERING WITH YOU, BAD BOYS FOR LIFE, DOLITTLE

Only the second column of the year, and I’m already questioning how long I’m going to keep writing this. In case you haven’t heard, I’m no longer writing for The Beat. I don’t really want to talk about it, but it was generally a horrible experience that I put up with since I needed the work/money. It turns out that someone I thought I knew, someone I respected and considered a friend for almost a quarter of a century, turned out to be a truly awful person. That’s really all I’m going to say... for now. (The Beat decided not to run my final Box Office Preview, so that’s incorporated within, as well.)

The good news is that Makoto Shinkai’s latest animated film, WEATHERING WITH YOU (GKIDS), will hit U.S. theaters this Friday after a few “fan previews” on Weds and Thursday night. If you don’t know the name of that Japanese animation filmmaker then you clearly didn’t see the fantastic sci-fi film Your Name, which was an absolutely enormous hit, grossing $354 million worldwide, most of that in Japan, China and South Korea in 2016. That movie eventually opened in North America in 2017 and made another $5 million, but it’s probably one of my favorite animated films. (Your Name will be playing again at the Metrograph starting February 7 if you haven’t seen it.)

But back to Weathering with You, which is another wonderful film from Makoto-san, this one about a high school senior named Hodaka who runs off to Tokyo and runs into financial problems in the gloomy city (boy, can I relate) until he meets Hina, an optimistic girl who has the ability to stop the rain and clear the clouds, something that they turn into a thriving business. It’s a simpler premise than Your Name for sure, but it’s still steeped in magic and fantasy that really makes it a very special film.

You can get tickets for Weathering with You here.

BAD BOYS FOR LIFE (Sony)

Cast: Will Smith, Martin Lawrence, Alexander Ludwig, Joe Pantoliano, Paola Nuñez, Kate Del Castilo, DJ Khaled Directed By: Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah (Black, Gangsta, Image) MPAA Rating: R

Oddly, it took three whole weeks to get our first sequel of 2020 – that is, if you don’t count The Grudge, which actually is a sequel. I guess that would make Bad Boys for Life the first sequel that people actually may want to see, because it reunites Will Smith and Martin Lawrence, the stars of two very popular buddy cop movies a nd two of the biggest stars of the ‘90s.

The first Bad Boys came out in 1995 when both guys were pretty big TV stars, Lawrence on Fox show Martin and Smith from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Oddly, Lawrence already had quite a bit of film success from the “House Party” movies and Eddie Murphy’s Boomerang when he was paired with Smith.When the original Bad Boys opened with $15.5 million and grossed $65.6 million, that was considered pretty good for the time, especially for first-time director Michael Bay. That’s right. Bad Boyswas also Bay’s debut.

Ever since then, things have gotten crazy, especially for Smith, who starred in Roland Emmerich’s blockbuster Independence Day just one year later, the first Men in Black the year after that, and the rest is history. Lawrence went on to a couple big movies of his own, including the copycat Blue Streak, but other than 2000’s Big Momma’s Houseand its sequel six years later, he just didn’t have much draw when he tried other things. 2011’s Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son made about half what its predecessor made (about $38) million and then Lawrence vanished for a while.

Smith and Lawrence reunited for 2003’s Bad Boys II, again with Bay, who was also a much bigger director by then (and that was even before the “Transformers” movies) and that opened with $46.6 million and grossed $138.5 million domestically, showing how much bigger both stars had become.

That brings us to Bad Boys for Life, the third movie that may or may not have quite the same audience as the last movie. Little-known Belgian directors Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah take over from Michael Bay for this threequel, and oddly, it’s Smith’s fourth movie in the past year after the disappointing showing for Ang Lee’s Gemini Man and the animated Spies in Disguise over the holidays. On the other hand, Smith also had a huge hit last summer with Disney’s Aladdin,and that seemed to be enough to appease his fans who had gotten used to him doing one movie a year.

In some ways, Bad Boys for Life might feel a little like Men in Black 3, which Sony Pictures released in the summer of 2012, just nine years after the previous movie’s $190 million. While it didn’t seem like a necessary sequel, the third Men in Blackstill made only a little bit less. Obviously, nine years wasn’t enough to sour anyone on Smith’s character, although that movie also was now eight years ago, and we’re coming off a year of a ton of disappointing sequels.

Oddly, the MLK Jr. weekend has become a prime weekend for buddy cop movies, two of them seemingly inspired by the “Bad Boys” movies, as Ice Cube and Kevin Hart teamed up for Ride Along and its sequel. Both of them opened this weekend, the original six years ago to $48.6 million over the four-day weekend, and its sequel two years later made $41 million over the extended weekend.

That would seem like a pretty good barometer for Bad Boys for Life, if not for the fact that it’s a sequel to a movie that came out 16 years ago with a much hotter blockbuster director. Will audiences who were 18, 19, 20 when Bad Boys 2come out be anywhere near as interested in Smith and Lawrence’s shenanigans now that they’re well into their 30s?

Reportedly, Bad Boys for Life cost $90 million, although it’s doubtful that Sony expects the movie to make all of that money domestically. Bad Boys II made almost the exact same amount overseas than in North America, although the international market has exploded in the 15 years since then.

Reviews will probably hit around the same time that this column goes live or maybe slightly earlier, so it might be hard to tell if there’s a consensus either for or (more likely) against it. (It’s a sequel being released in January. Do you REALLY think that critics are gonna give it a fair shake?)

That just leaves the question of how well Bad Boys for Life might do, considering that Bay isn’t involved and Lawrence hasn’t been in the public eye very much. I think Smith’s ongoing popularity and the number fans of the previous movies should help the movie make close to $40 million over the four-day weekend, give or take. It certainly will offer something new for the key 20-to-40 year old males that already saw 1917.

DOLITTLE (Universal)

Cast: Robert Downey Jr., Ralph Ineson, Michael Sheen, Antonio Banderas, Carmel Laniado, Jim Broadbent, Jessie Buckley with the voices of Emma Thompson, Rami Malek, John Cena, Craig Robinson, Kumail Nanjiani, Octavia Spencer, Ralph Fiennes, Selena Gomez and more Directed By: Stephen Gaghan (Syriana, Gold) MPAA Rating: PG

Next, we have a slightly oddball of a first new family film for the year, as well as Robert Downey Jr’s first non-Marvel movie in a very long time, playing the classic kids book hero Doctor Dolittle, a doctor who can talk to animals. The children’s books by Hugh Lofting originated all the way back in 1920, and it was only eight years later before it was adapted into a silent animated short film. Probably the most famous movie (at least for 30 years) was the 1967 version of the movie starring Rex Harrison, but Eddie Murphy took on the role in 1998 for two hit movies released by 20th Century Fox (so maybe we’ll see them on Disney+ soon?).

Which might make you wonder how Universal got its hands on the property and why the studio isn’t making it a bigger deal about 2020 being the 100thanniversary of the character? Well, kids, it’s something called “public domain,” which allows anyone who wants to make a movie based on the character to do so. In this case, it’s Oscar-nominated filmmaker Stephen Gaghan, best known for his political thriller, Syriana, which got George Clooney his first Oscar. Obviously, a family-friendly fantasy adventure seems like an odd choice, but obviously, this is a real movie.

The story involves Dolittle being called to save Queen Victoria (played by the wonderful Jessie Buckley, star of Wild Rose) who is dying. Dolittle brings along a young lad named Stubbins (Harry Collett from Dunkirk) as well as a slew of animals voiced by a menagerie of actors. We’ll get back to them in a bit.

Obviously, Downey’s presence will probably play a larger part in anyone’s interest in the movie, since I’m not sure Doctor Dolittle has been able to maintain any sort of place in the pantheon of popular children’s book characters among younger readers. (I could be wrong.) This movie is co-produced by Joe Roth, who helped pave the way for big stars to take on popular fantasy characters, putting Johnny Depp in one of Disney’s bigger pre-Marvel/Lucasfilm hits, Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, James Franco in Sam Raimi’s Oz the Great and Powerful, and Angelina Jolie in Maleficent. Universal (who previously teamed with Roth for Snow White and the Huntsmanin 2012 and its less successful sequel) are hoping that Downey can bring a similar starpower to Dolittleto get people into theaters.

The last time Downey took on a non-Marvel literary character was his eponymous turn as Sherlock Holmes in the movie directed by Guy Ritchie just over ten years ago. That made a half a billion worldwide, and its sequel two years later did similar business. Other than a starring role in Todd Phillips’ Due Date and the passion project The Judge with Robert Duvall, Downey hasn’t done much outside the MCU. But why should he? Apparently, he is getting somewhere around $50 million to make each of those movies, and for most people, that’s early retirement money, especially after wrapping up the role inAvengers: Endgame, the highest-grossing blockbuster of all time (globally). And yet, we’ll supposedly be seeing Downey’s Tony Stark in this year’s Black Widow, probably in flashback, so he’s clearly not putting the rest of his career in the hands of playing Doctor Dolittle.

The rest of the cast might not be as important but the movie does star the popular actor Michael Sheen (Good Omens), Antonio Banderas (who just received his first Oscar nomination earlier this week) and then the voices include a strange mix of British and American actors, includingEmma Thompson, Rami Malek, John Cena, Craig Robinson,Kumail Nanjiani, Octavia Spencer, Ralph Fiennes, Selena Gomez and more. It’s kind of a shame they couldn’t find a role for Kevin Bacon, as it would make that “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” game so much easier.

Family movies have generally been tough to predict, especially ones that may or may not interest teen and/or older audiences, which is certainly the case here. Opening Dolittle on a weekend with no school on Monday is a wise move by Universal, as well as doing so in January where there isn’t as much competition for eyes. More than anything, Dolittle will be a very good (and possibly sobering) test on whether Downey is a box office star when not playing Tony Stark… or Sherlock Holmes.

The movie has not caught the attention or interest of the ever-outraged #FilmTwitter, except to make fun of it, but that doesn’t mean younger kids won’t want to see a fun adventure with talking animals, and the latter should help Dolittle make somewhere between $25 and $28 million over the four-day weekend.

This Week’s Box Office Predictions:

Despite the impressive opening for Sam Mendes’ 1917 last weekend and its ten Oscar nominations, it’s very likely that either Bad Boys for Life or Dolittle (or both) will knock it out of first place this weekend. It definitely could be a close race for second place, depending on how well the latest movies from superstars Will Smith and Robert Downey are received. Expect Greta Gerwig’s Little Women to also get a nice bump from its own Best Picture nomination this weekend.

(Note: All the numbers below are for the four-day holiday weekend.)

Bad Boys for Life (Sony) - $42.5 million N/A (up $4 million)*

1917 (Universal) - $29.5 million -20%

Dolittle (Universal) - $23.5 million N/A (down $3.5 million)*

Jumanji: The Next Level (Sony) - $12 million -15%

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (Lucasfilm/Disney) - $9.5 million -38%

Just Mercy (Warner Bros.) - $9 million -7%

Like a Boss (Paramount) - $7.5 -25%

Little Women (Sony) - $6.6 million -15%

Knives Out (Lionsgate) - $4.6 million -18%

Frozen II (Disney) - $4.5 million -24%

*UPDATE: Okay, my earlier predictions may have been a little unrealistic and it’s pretty clear that Bad Boys for Life, which has gotten decent reviews, will do significantly better than Dolittle, despite there not being much family competition. I’m adjusting accordingly.

LIMITED RELEASES

Besides Weathering with You, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon’s kid (well, he’s 30) Jack Henry Robbins’ movie VHYES (Oscilloscope) will be out in select theaters and presumably VOD sometime soon. It’s a fairly odd movie made up of bits recorded on a VHS camera meant to look like it was recorded off various television stations by a teen, which includes bits of “late night adult television.” It’s pretty amusing more for appearances by the likes of Kerri Kenney and Thomas Lennon from “Reno 911,” Mark Proksh from “What We Do in the Shadows,” Charlyne Yi and more. It will open in select theaters Friday, including the Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn. It has some funny moments but it’s a little disjointed; I’m sure it would be great in an environment that involves drinking.

Also on the genre side of things is Gille Klabin’s directorial debut The Wave (Epic Pictures), starring Justin Long and Donald Faison, a weird movie in which Long plays an insurance lawyer who goes out on the town with his co-worker (Faison) but then gets dosed with a hallucinogen. It will open in select cities and On Demand Friday.

Alex (Taxi to the Dark Side) Gibney’s latest doc Citizen K (Greenwich) will open at the Film Forum on Wednesday, this one looking at Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the wealthiest man in Russia who was valued at $15 billion from his Siberian oil before being thrown into jail by Putin. I haven’t seen the movie, but it recently received a nomination from the Writers Guild (WGA).

A couple mostly VOD horror films out on Friday are Pedro C. Alonso’s horror/thriller Feedback (Blue Fox Entertainment), starring Eddie Marsan, Paul Anderson and Ivana Baquero (Pan’s Labyrinth) and Andy Newberry’s The Host (Vertical Entertainment), starring Maryam Hassouni, Mike Beckingham, and Dougie Poynter.

REPERTORY

Before we get to the regular stuff, if you happen to have some free time on Saturday, like the whole day, you should get down to the Anthology Film Archives for Subway Cinema’s latest all-day marathon, “It’s the Nineties, Stupid!” a collection of six rare and probably very weird films from the ‘90s shown on 35mm. These events are always a lot of fun, and there may still be some tickets left if you act quickly.

METROGRAPH (NYC):

Welcome To Metrograph: Reduxcontinues this weekend with Seizun Suzuki’s Branded to Kill (1967) and Edward Yang’s A Brighter Summer Day (1991). I personally haven’t seen either but might give one or more a try.This weekend’s Late Nites at Metrograph is Paul Schrader’s 1985 movie Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters, a movie I’m not really familiar but apparently, it stars Ken Ogata as Japanese artist Yukio Mishima, who committed seppuku. This weekend’s Playtime: Family Matinees is the classic sci-fi film Them!(1954).

ALAMO DRAFTHOUSE BROOKLYN (NYC)

Next Monday’s “Fist City” screening is Wesley Snipe’s Passenger 57 (1992), the “Terror Tuesday” is Adam Wingard’s 2014 movie The Guest, starring Dan Stevens, with Wingard in person for a QnA, and then next week’s “Weird Wednesday,” January 22, is the 1990 film Brain Dead, starring Bills Paxton and Pullman, hosted by YOURS TRULY!! Yes, I’m making my Alamo debut with a movie from the ‘90s I absolutely loved.

THE NEW BEVERLY (L.A.):

Today’s “Afternoon Classics” matinee is John Huston’s The African Queen (1951), while Friday’s “Freaky Fridays” is the 1985 horror film, Silver Bullet. Friday night’s midnight offering is Tarantino’s Django Unchained while Saturday’s midnight movie is Scorsese’s Raging Bull, celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. The weekend “Kiddee Matinee” is Miyazaki’s Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989).

FILM FORUM (NYC):

The West Village theater begins an expansive new series called “Black Women: Trailblazing African American Actresses 1920-2001” on Friday, and it’s fairly self-explanatory except that there are a lot of films that have rarely been seen in recent years, such as Otto Preminger’s 1954 film Carmen Jones, starring Dorothy Dandridge; Vincente Minelli’s 1943 film Cabin in the Sky with Ethel Waters and Lena Horne, and even Pam Grier as Coffy in Jack Hill’s 1973 film. This is going to be a very special series, one unlike anything else that’s been done on the New York rep scene, and I wish I could afford to check some of these movies out. As part of the series, “Film Forum Jr.” will play the 1972 movie Sounder, for which Cicely Tyson received an Oscar nomination.

EGYPTIAN THEATRE (LA):

On Friday, Beyond Fest presents a 35mm print of the 1993 movie Freaked with directors Alex Winter and Tom Stern and most of the cast and many of the crew in attendance. Hosted by my pal, Drew McWeeney! On Saturday, there’s a matinee of Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954) and then that night is a double feature of Marlon Brando’s One Eyed Jacks (1961) and Peter Fonda’s The Hired Hand (1971). Sunday Print Edition is a matinee of 1945’s Hangover Square, then later on Sunday is the first Sean Connery Bond film, Doctor No (1962). Sunday night is a screening of Hitchcock’s Rear Window (1954).

AERO (LA):

On Weds. night, Greg Proops is presenting the hilarious Barbara Streisand-Ryan O’Neal comedy What’s Up, Doc? (1972) as part of his monthly film club. On Thursday the 16th, the Aero is showing Raging Bull in a matinee as part of its “Films of Marty and Bob,” then Friday is the 15thannual Focus on Female Directors, a mix of older and newer movies including the recently nominated short, Kitbull. Saturday begins “A Tribute to Noah Baumbach” with a double feature on Saturday night of Frances Haand Mistress America, his two collaborations with Greta Gerwig. Sunday is a double feature of his earlier films The Squid and the Whale and Kicking and Screaming. Tuesday’s offering in “The Films of Marty and Bob” is the classic King of Comedy, one of my favorite collaborations between the duo.

QUAD CINEMA (NYC):

On Friday, the Quad begins the series “Origin Stories: Bertrand Bonello’s Footnotes to Zombi Child” aka Bonello’s new movie, which opens next Friday. This series will include lots of genre films that influenced the film,including Carpenter’s The Serpent and the Rainbow, De Palma’s Carrie, The Exorcist: Extended Director’s Cut, I Walked with a Zombie and the Aussie classic, Picnic at Hanging Rock (also a director’s cut).

MOMA (NYC):

This week’s Modern Matinees: Jack Lemmonare Billy Wilder’s Oscar-winning The Apartment (1960) with Shirley MacLaine, the 1955 film Mister Roberts Thursday, and Costa-Gravas’ 1982 film Missing on Friday. Also, the International Teen Cinema series Show Me Love continues through Sunday. (You can click on the link to see what’s playing.) Another series, To Save and Project, the 17thMOMA International Festival of Film Preservation will run through the weekend and next week with some interesting choices like Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death (1964) and Mystery of the Wax Museum from 1933.

FILM AT LINCOLN CENTER (NYC):

Although most of the screens here will be taken up by the 2020 New York Jewish Film Festival (see below), but FilmLinc is also getting a head start on its annual “Film Comment Selects” with the New York premiere of Jeffrey Peixoto’s Over the Rainbow and a 35mm screening of Darren Aronofksy’s controversial 2017 film mother!, starring Jennifer Lawrence. Okay, neither are that old but still sort of repertory.

IFC CENTER (NYC)

“The Films of Studio Ghibli” ends on Thursday, so it might be your last chance to see many of these films theatrically before they move to HBO Max later this year. Otherwise, it’s most of the same movies screening at midnight: David Lynch’s Eraserhead and Mulholland Drive, as well as James Cameron’s The Terminator. Ah! Looks like the IFC Center added its new winter repertory series after I wrote this week’s column. Weekend Classics: Luis Buñuel will screen the filmmaker’s 1972 film The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoise, The Terminator (1984) is screening as part of Waverly Midnights: Hindsight is 2020s, and Late Night Favorites: Winter 2020 is Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) but ALSO Prince’s 1984 classic, Purple Rain.

MUSEUM OF THE MOVING IMAGE (NYC):

As part of the exhibition “Envisioning 2001: Stanley Kubrick’s Space Odysey,” MOMI will have a screening of Stanley Kubrick’s film on Saturday afternoon with actor Dan Richter appearing in person. (For $25, you can get access to the exhibition after the screening.)

ROXY CINEMA (NYC)

The love for Nicolas Cage continues as the Roxy will screen Brian De Palma’s Snake Eyes (1998) on Wednesday and Saturday, and Joel Schumacher’s 1999 film 8mm on Thursday.

LANDMARK THEATRES NUART (LA):

This Friday’s midnight offering is Pink Floyd’s The Wall (1982) by filmmaker Alan Parker.

FILM FESTIVALS

Going back to Film at Lincoln Center’s 29thAnnual New York Jewish Film Festival – which I oddly have NEVER attended (mainly since I don’t have an outlet to write about it) – it begins on Wednesday with the New York premiere of the doc Picture of his Life, about underwater photographer Amos Nachoum. It will run through the end of the month, closing on Jan. 28 with the New York premiere of Dror Zahavi’s Crescendo about a world-famous conductor, and the Centerpiece selection is Marceline Loridan-Ivens’ 2003 film The Birch Tree Meadow. I’m not really sure why I haven’t gotten to more of the films in this festival, but it’s mainly because it offers so much, and I never know what’s good or bad and what’s worth my time, which is kind of a shame.

STREAMING AND CABLE

Okay, it’s a little funny that media mogul Tyler Perry is making his transition to Netflix with a film called TYLER PERRY’S A FALL FROM GRACE on Friday, and unlike most of Perry’s movies, I was invited to a press screening, which I sadly couldn’t make since I have to see Bad Boys for Life. It’s about a young woman named Grace (Crystal Fox) who confesses to killing her husband so her lawyer needs to learn the truth.

I also haven’t been able to watch the Viola Davis-McKenna Grace dramedy Troop Zero from filmmakers named “Bert & Bertie” but it will premiere on Amazon Prime this Friday. It also stars Oscar-winner Allison Janney and Jim Gaffigan, but it takes place in 1977 Georgia where a young girl (Grace) dreams of going to space by being recorded on NASA’s Golden Record.

Next week, we get The Gentlemen (STXfilms), the latest ensemble crime movie from Guy Ritchie, which I’m really excited about, and the horror/thriller The Turning (Universal). Again, I’m not really sure if I’m going to be writing anything more after this.

#TheWeekendWarrior Movies WeatheringWithYou #BadBoysForLife Dolittle RobertDowneyJr WillSmith

0 notes