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laurawritesandgames · 4 years ago

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Title: The Children We Never Had

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Beetlejuice/Barbara/Adam

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: References to miscarriages and abortion

Summary: As Delia and Charles prepare to start their family together, Barbara reflects on her chance to have her own children. What once seemed so simple can become much more complicated when you’re a ghost....

Delia and Charles had just completed the first round of IVF treatments. Delia was fanatic about getting all toxins out of the house, so one Saturday the Maitlands, Beetlejuice and Lydia were helping Delia get rid of any plastic containers in the kitchen, to be replaced with glass containers.

“Why is there so much Tupperware?” Delia exclaimed.

“One of Mom’s friends sold Tupperware, and we had a few parties,” Lydia said. “Mom was sick for years. If she’d been able to keep up with the science, I doubt she would’ve kept them. She was nuts about the environment.” Lydia frowned thoughtfully. “Say, Delia, what exactly are your thoughts on vaccines?”

Barbara and Adam shared a look. They knew from the Maitland-Deetz’s biweekly parenting meetings that Delia had anti-vaxxer tendencies. She was, at least, open to a respectful discussion about vaccines. Give Charles a few conversations and she’d probably give in to science and reason—the newlyweds were crazy for each other.

Not that Lydia had any of that context.

“I’m just not convinced vaccines are necessary. I have some very interesting websites I can show you later, Lydia. There’s a lot of doubt about the so-called ‘science’ that Big Pharma doesn’t want you to see.”

Lydia’s lip curled in the disgust.

“Are you an idiot?!” Beetlejuice said. “I lived in a world without vaccines. It was shit!”

“I just don’t know if I’m willing to take that risk,” Delia said, with her polite, argument-deflecting smile. Adam’s parents had been masters at avoiding conflict, so Barbara knew what would happen next. She’d say something light or silly and try to get everyone focused on the kitchen again.

“I should draw a door and bring you to the Netherworld, Delia. Give you a tour of Diaper Town so you can see all the dead babies that’re there from before childhood vaccines were a thing.”

“Diaper Town?” Lydia asked.

“Eh, that’s not the real name—just what we called it. Where the dead babies go. Ugh! I had a shift in Diaper Town for a few decades. It was the worst.”

“I imagine they look like they did when they died,” Lydia said, thoughtfully.

“And they never age! That’s the only reason people hang around babies—because they eventually become not-babies.”

“What about miscarriages? Mom had a few before me. Is there going to be a clump of Deetz cells in the Netherworld?”

Barbara reached out for Adam’s hand and found it within seconds. (He’d been across the room a second ago. He must have teleported.) She clenched it. Hard.

Beetlejuice didn’t notice.

As a ghost, you were always cold. Barbara couldn’t get colder. She also couldn’t swallow to try to wet a dry mouth. Her hands wouldn’t grow cold and prickly with shock. Her emotions were completely disconnected from bodily sensations. She could feel Adam behind her and leaned back into him slightly. Not that he made her feel warmer. Nothing ever would.

If she’d been alive, she might’ve looked like Delia: her face pale as she forced a too-wide smile onto her face. “Let’s all talk about something else, shall we? I don’t want any bad vibes.” Her hand rested on her stomach. During one of their parenting meetings, she’d mentioned she only had a few eggs left. “Not—not right now.”

Lydia glared at her. “Seriously? Hearing about a dead woman’s fertility issues isn’t going to hurt your fetus.”

“The Deetus,” Beetlejuice added. “Deetz fetus. Get it?”

Lydia ignored him. “Bad vibes aren’t a thing!”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that one.” Delia hurried out of the kitchen. “Would anyone mind a smudging ceremony? Just to clear the air and usher in tranquility?”

Lydia followed with a shriek of rage. “’Smudging ceremony’? Are you from an Indigenous tribe, Delia? Because if you’re not, that’s major cultural appropriation!”

“Ooo, cultural appropriation! I know that one!” Beetlejuice said, delighted. When he’d first come back from the Netherworld, the Maitlands had held a few sensitivity seminars for him so he could stop getting into arguments with Lydia. Beetlejuice’s views were a weird mix of surprisingly progressive and incredibly archaic. “It’s a culture, not a costume!” He floated over to Barbara and Adam. “Did I do that right? Do I get a kiss?”

It took a lot of effort to focus on Beetlejuice right now. “Sorry,” Barbara said. “We’re not going to reward you for being a decent person. But thank you for trying.”

Beetlejuice huffed in disappointment.

Adam cleared his throat. Barbara glanced at him. Adam tilted his head slightly at Beetlejuice, raising his eyebrows questioningly. He was asking her for permission to tell Beetlejuice. After a moment’s thought, Barbara nodded. Beetlejuice liked to keep things light, but he was their boyfriend, after all. He should learn a bit more about Barbara and Adam.

“What happens to children who died before they were born?” Adam asked quietly.

Beetlejuice shrugged. “I dunno. I was born dead in one of the original versions of the musical, but it ain’t canon. There aren’t any fetuses floating around the Netherworld. Maybe they go someplace else?” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “I got nothing.”

Out of habit (not because she actually needed to breathe), Barbara sighed in relief. Thank God, was her first thought, despite having a pretty good idea that God didn’t exist. She let of of Adam’s hand, giving him a small smile.

“Why do you wanna know?” Beetlejuice asked.

Barbara shared another look with Adam before saying, “When I was 22, I got pregnant.” She cleared her throat. She hadn’t talked about this in years.

Beetlejuice didn’t like silences. Immediately, he said, “Quit pulling my leg. If you were pregnant, then where’s your—”

It took a few moments, but his eyes finally widened and his jaw dropped. “Oh. Ohhhh. I didn’t think…” His hands began flapping, then running up and down his sleeves and fiddling with his cuffs. “So we’re bringing in some of the movie backstory. Okay. Okay. Sure.”

“The what?” Adam asked.

“Nevermind. So you guys had a miscarriage.”

“An abortion, actually,” Barbara said.

Beetlejuice stopped bobbing faintly, freezing in mid-air. His voice rose in pitch as he said, “I saw the tags on this fic and I assumed you’d be hurt/comforting me! I’m the one with all the issues! Who the hell told you that you guys could have issues?!”

“What now?” Barbara said, forcing her tone to stay even.

“And also, our lives weren’t perfect,” Adam said. “I just want to remind you that both of my parents are dead. So…yeah. When we were alive, we had struggles and challenges like everybody else.”

Beetlejuice began coughing. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, eventually pulling out a foot and tossing it on the ground. (Barbara had learned not to ask whose foot.) “Um. Can I try again?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Feel free.”

Beetlejuice opened and closed his mouth a few times, but didn’t say anything.

Adam said, “Just so you know, Bug, this isn’t something to share.” Beetlejuice was a compulsive oversharer; they’d learned to explicitly tell him what was appropriate and what wasn’t.

“It’s not because we’re ashamed,” Barbara said quickly. “It’s just our story to tell, that’s all.”

“Right! I can do that.” He focused on something in the middle distance. “Although maybe some people could really examine their need to inject complicated real-world issues into a stupid five-page fic for Beetlelands Week. Not every fandom and every fic can bear that weight! And some characters definitely aren’t designed to deal with shit like this! They’re awesome Deadpool-style badasses and not…not…whatever this needs!”

Barbara loved Beetlejuce, but he was getting on her last nerve. I didn’t think he’d completely disassociate like this. It’s only a goddamn abortion. He didn’t even have to deal with anything! “Well, I’m sorry my and Adam’s history is such an inconvenience for you. I’m going to go find something to do. If you want to talk when you’re not spiraling and doing whatever this is, come find me.”

Barbara teleported to their bedroom, the Deetzes’ former guest room, upstairs, and Adam teleported with her.

Tears wavered in his eyes. Startled, she held him, stroking his back.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“No, don’t be.”

He sniffled a few times, wiping his tears away. Their ghostly bodies still remembered how to produce tears, and if Beetlejuice was any indication, that memory would stick with them for centuries. He whispered, “We would’ve had a child. If it weren’t for me—”

Adam had always felt needless guilt about mentioning the abortion first. She’d thought he’d gotten over it. “You didn’t force me. We had student loans, the recession had just hit the year before, we couldn’t find work, and most importantly? We weren’t ready. We were barely ready 10 years later, when we had a house and good jobs.”

He smiled sadly, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know where this is coming from.” He stroked her cheek. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

She blinked. “I’m…fine? I’ve been fine for 10 years.” She hadn’t been fine immediately before and after the abortion. There’d been lots of crying, praying, and long conversations, but that had been a long time ago. Gently, she asked, “I thought you were, too. Was I wrong?”

When did we really talk about it except immediately after? Barbara couldn’t recall.

Adam gave her that same distracted smile he used to give her after his parents’ funeral. He was a brave little soldier, marching forward. “You weren’t wrong. I’m fine.”

You didn’t push when you saw that smile. “I think I’m going to read something. Want to join me?”

“I wouldn’t mind working on the model a bit more. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” She kissed his cheek, and he went up to the attic to work on his model of Winter River.

She was choosing between Michelle Obama’s biography a polyamory how-to guide when a spider skittered underneath the door. The spider climbed up the wall then began spinning a web in the corner of the room at unnatural speed. Letters appeared in the web.

SORRY

I WAS A BAD BOYFRIEND

It’s a Charlotte’s Web homage, Barbara realized. She’d loved that book as a child. He remembered. “Apology accepted, Beetlejuice.”

He knocked on the door. Opening it revealed him reading from index cards. Delia, who was using her life coach skills to help Beetlejuice adjust to being part of the family, had encouraged him to write down important things.

“I should have reacted a lot better than I did,” Beetlejuice read. “You and Adam trusted me with with a part of your lives, and I should have liz—lizden? Shit, I’m bad at spelling.” He looked up from the cards, rocking back and forth on his feet. “Anyway, thanks for trusting me, baby. Sorry I was being a dick about it. You and Adam having an—an abortion had nothing to do with me or my feelings.”

Beetlejuice could talk about the filthiest sex acts and talk about rotting corpses without flinching, but now he was stumbling. Interesting. “Well, ‘we had an abortion’ might’ve been a lot to throw at you. We could’ve prepared you better.” She nodded him inside, and he floated in. She closed the door behind her. “I imagine abortions weren’t really talked about in your day.”

“Well, we thought ladies’ wombs wandered around their bodies, so…no.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Um…are you okay?” He fidgeted. “You’re all…y’know, motherly and shit. Are you sad about having an abortion?”

“No. I mean, I don’t love that I needed it. Adam and I were a lot more careful making love after that, believe me. But Adam and my family had my back, and luckily I live in a state where I can access an abortion easily. I also found some forums, and chatting with people who’d also had abortions helped me feel less alone. Honestly, until Lydia brought up miscarriages today, I hadn’t thought about my abortion in years.” Feeling awkward, she chuckled. “Um, really glad I won’t have to deal with a clump of cells following me around in the Netherworld, though.”

She felt a twinge of guilt for not feeling guiltier. Her Good Christian Girl upbringing still reared its head now and then. But I did what was best for my family at the time. That’s all anyone can do. If I’d known Adam and I were going to die 10 years later, we might’ve done things differently, but how could we have known that?

“So, that’s my story. I was supported and very lucky. I’m not sad or guilty or anything.” She frowned. “Adam might be, though. He was strangely upset.” Did I do something wrong? Has he been suffering for years without me noticing? “He’s upstairs working on the model again.”

“I’ll cheer him up!” Beetlejuice said. He clapped his hands together. “It’s hurt/comfort. Time to be goddamn comforted, Adam.”

“I’d give him a few hours.” Adam was a brooder. There was a certain point where he just wouldn’t engage.

Beetlejuice chuckled, patting her smarmily on the head. “Your boring, married-couple rules don’t apply to me, Babs. I’mma shake things up and heal his wounded heart. You can come up and watch, if you want. Watch me win.”

Barbara made herself laugh as she tried to ignore her jealousy. Beetlejuice was just being his usual low-grade dickish self, but what if he was right? Maybe Adam will respond better to Beetlejuice than to me. I didn’t expect Adam to be this sad, after all. What else have I missed? “If you succeed, feel free to come back and give me a play-by-play of your victory.”

Beetlejuice poofed away, and Barbara picked up the how-to guide to polyamory. It couldn’t help to get a refresher.

If Beetlejuice made Adam feel better, then that was a win for everyone. She could ask him how he’d done it and learn from him. The entire point of dating Beetlejuice was to break out of their old patterns and add a little excitement to their afterlives.

Barbara was lying down on their bed, reading the first chapter when Beetlejuice teleported back in.

“You mighta been right,” he grumbled.

“It’s almost like I’ve been dating him since I was 16.”

“Of course you were high school sweethearts. You two are so cliché, I blocked that out.” Beetlejuice floated closer, whining, “Sexy raised his voice to me, Barbara!”

Barbara set the book down. “Oh, I’m sorry, Bug.” That was the Adam equivalent of full-blown shouting. (Adam had shouted at Beetlejuice before, of course, but that was when Beetlejuice had been a villain.)

“Me! The favourite!”

Barbara raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you should read this chapter with me about egalitarian polyamorous relationships—and how terms like ‘favourite’ are toxic.”

Beetlejuice floated away from her. “Mmm, nope, too many things to do.”

She’d expected that. It wasn’t clear when Beetlejuice had died, but it was definitely before therapy and couple’s counselling had become more mainstream. He didn’t have the same ability to talk about and reflect on his and other’s feelings that Barbara and Adam had. Usually, he just reacted to his own. Barbara wouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with Beetlejuice if she’d been unwilling to teach him.

“Lemme know when he’s ready to talk, okay?” the demon continued.

“Well, I don’t have a psychic link to him, but I’ll try…if you read this chapter with me.”

Beetlejuice crossed his arms over his chest, harrumphing. After a few moments, he shrugged, floated over to the bed, and curled up beside her.

If her eyes could water, they might have at the smell of rotting flesh. But Barbara quickly got used to the smell. “Let me guess—your clones poked around and didn’t find anything else interesting happening right now?”

“Ha! Busted! Delia, Lydia and Charles are still arguing about vaccines. Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap. Making out with you is way more fun.”

“We’re learning how to have a more equitable, communicative relationship. Not making out.”

“We’ll see, baby.”

They approached Adam later that afternoon.

He looked up from a figurine he was painting, expression guilty. “I’ll come down when it’s time for dinner, okay?” he said quietly. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Is there anything we can do for you now?” Barbara asked.

He looked between Barbara and Beetlejuice. His eyes were so haunted…. Barbara took a few steps forward.

“Adam?” she said softly.

“You said we weren’t ready,” he murmured roughly. “What if we would’ve been? We never even gave ourselves the chance….”

He showed her what he’d been working on: a little child figurine with her blonde hair. “There would’ve been part of you and me living now. Someone with your hair and my eyes, or your smile….”

Okay. We haven’t talked about the abortion in years, and now he’s making a model of what would have become our child. So, this is new. But I can handle this. I know him. I’ve got this.

Nevertheless, a tiny part of her really wanted to tag out and let Beetlejuice handle this one. Not that he would’ve done well—he was frozen except for his eyes, frantically flicking between her and Adam.

While Barbara thought of the most empathetic, respectful way to respond, Beetlejuice blurted out, “Someone’s got a case of the Shouldas.”

“Hmm?” Adam grunted, looking uninterested.

“You know, shoulda done this when I was alive. Shoulda done that. Every newlydead goes through it. Of course, usually they’re stuck in an endless void and not chilling in the living world with their sexy boyfriend.” Beetlejuice nodded to Barbara. “And your sexy wife.”

So he had learned something from that chapter they’d read together. Barbara gave him a small smile. “How do newlydeads usually get through it?” she asked.

“‘Get through’ is real optimistic, Babs. They just get crushed by overwhelming despair and hopelessness. It’s the Netherworld. Everything sucks there.”

Adam grunted again.

Beetlejuice rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I can’t really talk about ‘healing’ and shit….” He gestured frantically for Barbara to do something.

One thing about spending so much time with Beetlejuice was that you got used to out-of-the box thinking. It was time for a little experiment. Barbara didn’t give herself time to think, and dove right in.

“Congratulations, Maitlands.” She made air horn noises. The words ‘The Life We Never Had’ appeared in bright text above the model town. “Welcome to your life where you had your child!”

Adam and Beetlejuice both stared at her in stunned silence.

“This got so dark, so fast, but I kinda love it,” Beetlejuice commented.

“Well,” she said, “first of all, forget this house. We’d probably be living with your parents. They don’t even live in town.” She took a few moments to create a mental map, then gestured at the model. It grew larger, to the surrounding counties. Adam’s family farm was on the outskirts of this new map.

“And forget the CPA degree. No way we can afford that now. But your uncle Eddy has that plumbing business. He’d probably give you a job.” She manifested Eddy’s truck, making it drive through town. “I’d probably knit and sell things on Etsy…. Wait, it’s 2010. Does Etsy even exist?” Barbara couldn’t remember. “Or I’d sell them at the local farmer’s market. We probably still love our projects, even if we don’t have as much time for them now.”

Barbara could’ve gone darker. In this future, she would’ve been stuck in Adam’s parents’ home with no career prospects and a baby she wasn’t sure she wanted. If anything was a recipe for postpartum depression, that would’ve been. But she kept it light.

“Oh, jeez,” she realized, “I forgot all about names! What do you think of Aspen?” Barbara had always wanted a nature-themed name.

“It has the word ‘Ass’ in it,” Beetlejuice complained. “Do you want bullies to give your kid swirlies?”

“You’re not here, mister. You don’t get a say.”

“Hey, that’s right! We never meet if you don’t move into the house.” Beetlejuice frowned. “Truly, this is the darkest timeline.”

“What about River?” Adam said. “For our child.”

“River. That’s beautiful. Okay, so little River goes to school here.” She gestured to the school in town. “What do you think? Good grades?”

“Of course.”

“And then you guys commit crimes!” Beetlejuice interrupted.

Barbara raised her eyebrows.

“What? Boring people commit crimes all the time and become awesome. Weeds? Breaking Bad?”

“I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t.”

“Argh, fine, I was just getting bored of all this slice-of-life shit. Let’s spice things up!”

“Ooo, maybe we solve crimes? Like a cozy mystery set in rural Connecticut.”

“Committing them is way more fun, but I’ll take anything at this point. Your ideal lives are so boring! River’s gonna do meth just to feel alive!”

“They might fall in with a bad crowd in high school,” Barbara said.

“Thank you! A little conflict, please. It’s the essence of drama!”

“But we’d be there for them,” Adam said. “Hmm. Mom and Dad would still die, I suppose. I’d probably disappoint my Maitland ancestors and sell the farm.”

Barbara watched him intently. He wasn’t smiling, but he seemed a bit more engaged than he had been.

“We could move into one of the homes here,” she suggested, nodding to one of the small houses on the outside of town.

“That’s gonna really suck for you when the zombies attack,” Beetlejuice said.

Barbara kept making up their fake life, with Adam chiming in every now and then, both of them trying to ignore Beetlejuice’s input. They tried to give River a nice life, with a full-ride scholarship to NYU (which was, coincidentally, Lydia’s dream school), lots of friends, and a home that may not be full of money but was full of love.

Eventually, Adam smiled and shook his head. “Thanks for playing dolls with me, guys.”

Barbara hugged him from behind. “If you need time to mourn, take all the time you need. Beetlejuice and I are here for you.”

Adam wiped some tears from his eyes. “I think I do. Sorry, sweetie. Sometimes all the things we never got to do…they just hit me, hard. Even things I’d made peace with long ago. I spent so much of my life worrying….”

Barbara moved to stand beside him, kissing his cheek. If she could’ve made him feel warm, she would have.

Beetlejuice was spaced out, staring into the middle distance. Thinking of his own Shouldas, maybe? Nah. He never looks back unless he’s trapped in a traumatic memory about his mother. Probably wondering when we can make out again.

She nodded him over, and he blinked, coming back to the present. Hesitantly, he floated over and rested his chin on Adam’s head.

They were both still and silent, two things Beetlejuice hated, so it wasn’t surprising when a horde of centipedes skittered across the model, or a tiny King Kong grabbed a figurine and climbed up to the top of the town bell tower, roaring.

Lydia interrupted them when she she poked her head into the attic and told them dinner was ready. “And the leftovers will be stored in glass containers—if you leave us any leftovers, Beej. Delia cleared the cupboard of all plastics. Don’t worry about the baby, either. If Delia continues to believe tea tree oil can cure pneumonia or whatever, Dad and I will get the kid vaccinated when she’s not around.”

Barbara smiled at her chosen daughter. Beetlejuice was right; they weren’t stuck in the lonely void of the Netherworld. There was life and family just downstairs. “I’m glad. But I’m sure we’ll be able to convince her otherwise. We have nine months.”

“You’re more optimistic than I am, Barbara.”

Adam put the River figurine with the smattering of other children outside the grade school. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

The three of them followed Lydia to the dinner table.

#beetlelandsweek2020 #beetlelands #goldenbeetle #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #adam maitland #barbara maitland #beetlejuice x adam x barbara

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slutforgoodliterature · 5 years ago

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Bucky x Reader - Then what are you waiting for?

Prompt: You and Bucky have been playing this game and ‘who’s gonna make the first move’ for ages now, and finally he grows some balls.

Warnings: smut, (semi) public foreplay, dirty talk, light dom/sub tones

It was a Friday night, and somehow you ended up at some high-class club in the middle of Vienna. You and the team had been tailing this sleazy human trafficker for days now, and you finally managed to corner him in Klub Indigo.

And you were the bait.

“Y/N, at your 10 o’clock.” Steve’s voice came over the tiny intercom in your ear that was hidden in the voluminous waves of your hair. Subtly, you shifted your dancing body to locate Vinz Ratmayr, the asshole who was responsible for at least a dozen deaths of young women, in the last few weeks alone.

Fighting back the urge to rush him and stomp his head into the ground, you met his eyes through lowered lashes and seductively bit your lip. He reacted as well as you’d all hoped, and with a cocky smirk, he stalked over to where you were swaying your hips to the beat.

“Hook, line and sinker.” You muttered as you twirled, your arms raised above your head and your hair cascading down your back. You felt the warmth of another body behind you and fingers caress your waist. Pretending you didn’t want to break each of his fingers one by one was difficult, but you managed to keep your seductive smirk painted on as you turned in his grasp and run your hands up and down his chest.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one struggling to keep it cool. A low growl in your earpiece followed by a “Down, Bucky” let you know a certain James Buchanan Barnes was barely holding himself back from storming onto the floor and taking the guy out with his bare hands.

After several minutes of dancing (if you could call very one-sided grinding ‘dancing’) your target leant down to mutter into your ear.

“Lass uns hier raus.” Let’s gett outta here.

You nodded enthusiastically, beyond eager to get this show on the road.

“Lead him my way.” Clint's voice told you, and you spotted him along a row of balconies to your left. You began to lead Vinz towards the stairs by his hand, but he pulled back, motioning towards the neon green ‘Ausfahrt’ sign. Exit.

You tried once more to persuade him to follow you up to the stairs, but he tightened his grip and pulled you even harder to the steel door that would lead you out to an alley.

This was not part of the plan.

You sent Clint a worried look before following Vinz reluctantly, scanning the room for your other friends. You made eye contact with an extremely concerned Bucky, whose eyebrows were knitted together and was chewing harshly on his lips.

“Ok, Y/N. Change of plan. Exit to the alley. Wanda will meet you out there and hold him until we get there, ok?” Came Steve’s order, and you nodded your head slightly, knowing he was probably looking at you.

“I’ve got your back, draga mea.” You had no idea what Bucky had called you, but it warmed your cheeks (and your heart) all the same.

“As always.” You could hear Natasha’s snide comment even without the earpiece and looked up to see her dancing nonchalantly in front of you.

You let Vinz lead you out to the alley, where as soon as the door slammed behind you he backed you up against the dirty brick wall and caged you in with your arms. It was a position you had been in many times before, usually with quite a rather temperamental winter soldier, but this had a completely different vibe to it.

Before Vinz could even say a word, his eyes glowed red and widened. Wanda appeared from behind him, her fingers caressing the air next to his temples and rendering him incapacitated.

“And... scene.” You could hear Clint’s smirk before you could see it, as he and Bucky came bursting through the Klub door. Bucky immediately rushed to you, scanning your body from head to toe to make sure you weren’t hurt.

Once he was able to see that you were fine and that there was no immediate danger, he also noticed your tight red dress that clung to your body, leaving very little to the imagination.

“You did good, kid.” Steve clapped a hand onto your shoulder amicably, but you didn’t miss the narrowing of Bucky’s eyes on his best friend’s hand.

“Always the tone of surprise.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Now, why don’t you boys run along with your prize, my dance got interrupted.” You were ecstatic that your hours upon hours of stakeouts were finally over, and decided that you deserved a break. One that included heavy techno music, dancing and a whole lot of alcohol.

“I’m with Y/N on this one,” Natasha stated as she peeked her head through the Klub door. “See you, fellas, later.” She motioned you to join her and you did so gladly.

“Shouldn’t one of us stay with you?” Bucky spoke up, looking solely at you. “You know, for protection.”

“You don’t trust me with your girl?” Natasha questioned.

“She’s not my-”

“I’m not his-” You both began, then stopped exasperatedly, releasing that speaking at the same time wasn’t going to do you any favours.

“Look, you ain’t fooling anyone, but that’s none of my business.” She smirked at you, “Now, are we dancing or what?” She tugged at your arm, but you sent one last look at Bucky.

“You can join if you want...?” You suggested, but he was now looking at the ground, a red tinge on his cheeks.

“Nah, I’m good.” He continued to avoid eye contact with you as he looked at Steve. “Plus, Stevey here could probably use the help.” You nodded and allowed Natasha to pull you into the club, letting yourself be overcome with the heavy pulsing of the club music.

2 hours, 4 shots and about 80 songs later, Natasha pouted at something over your shoulder. You followed her eyes and saw Bucky and Clint scouring the club.

“Oh poo, they sent the babysitters.” She whined, ducking her head when they began to look in your direction. You waved enthusiastically at Bucky, whose clenched jaw relaxed a great deal when he finally found you. He gestured at you to go to him, but you laughed and shook your head, beckoning for him to instead come over to you.

He and Clint shared a few words, after which the dark-haired, blue-eyed and utterly gorgeous Winter Soldier began to awkwardly manoeuvre through the gyrating crowd to you. Natasha, swearing at being found out, began to twirl away from you.

“I’m gonna let you handle this one.” She sent you a knowing wink before disappearing into the throng of bodies.

“Howdy, partner.” Bucky had to yell over the music to be heard as he reached you, and you immediately slung your arms around his neck and attempted to get him to sway with you.

“Hiya, sarge!” You giggled into his ear, the light buzz of alcohol egging you on. Certainly not enough to be anywhere near drunk, but definitely enough to make you confident enough to call Bucky Sarge.

And you could tell that name did something to him by the way his back straightened and his hands came up to grip your waist. Tight.

“You ready to go home?” He asked you, his head dipping so his lips could brush against the shell of your ear. You shuddered at the feeling of his breath ghosting your neck.

“Just getting started.” You shook your head, your voice breathless. He hummed in amusement, letting your hips under his hands guide him in a quick dance.

“You know, we’ve been doing this dance for a while now.” He mused, his hands dropping dangerously low, sending your stomach into a spiral.

“But you just got here.” You pointed out.

“That’s not the dance I’m talking about, and you know it.” He growled into your ear.

“I’m not quite sure I do.” You whispered back, your fingers playing with the ends of his long hair.

“You’re playing with fire, iubi.” His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips. You arched into his, your bodies becoming flush.

“Am I?” Your questions were driving him mad, you could tell by the clench of his jaw and the coil of his muscles.

“Doll, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He groaned, resting his forehead on yours. Your heart began to thump so loud that if it wasn’t for the music, you were certain he’d be able to hear it.

“Exactly the same as you do to me.” You let out, connecting your eyes with his, watching as they widened at your admission.

“I wanna kiss you.” He whispered, his tongue darting out along his full lips.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You breathed, and finally, his lips crashed down onto yours.

You met him with the same amount of force, arching into him as your arms pulled his head down even further, the new angle giving you more power.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he basically lifted you off the ground. The metal of his right arm dug into your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You brought your hands down to cup his face, the stubble along his jaw scraping your palms deliciously. He pulled back just enough to disconnect your lips but still be breathing the same air.

“That...was something.” He muttered, his lips red and swollen, as you were sure yours were.

“That...took way too long.” You laughed lightly, carding your hands through his hair.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He winced.

“Nothing to apologise for, sarge. Not with a kiss like-” His eyebrow raised at your nickname for him and he cut you off with his mouth. This time, there was no competition to see who had the most strength.

He completely dominated you.

His tongue swiped across your lips sinfully before dancing with your tongue. His lips had an almost bruising force as they captured and sucked your own, sometimes drawing it out in a punishing capture between his teeth.

You gripped his hair tight, allowing yourself to be swept up in the monsoon that was Bucky Barnes. His hands began to travel lower and lower, soon reaching the hem of your extremely short dress. He began to toy with it, so you ripped your head back.

“Bucky...” You tried to control your breathing, but it was hard as he took this opportunity to place rough kisses down your neck and along your collar bone.

“Yes, doll?” You barely heard his cocky tone over the music, and his wandering hands were plenty distracting, but you knew that if he didn’t cool off then you were going to be arrested for public indecency.

“We’re...in...mmm, fuck!...public.” You struggled to grind out as his mouth reached a particularly interesting spot under your ear. You could feel him smirk against your skin and you had to yank his head up by his hair in order to get him to stop the sensuous ministrations he was conducting on your skin.

“I’ve waited this long to have you like this, moaning my name...” he trailed a metal finger under your dress and along the inside of your thigh, leaving you a trembling mess. “I really don’t give a shit.” He bit his lips seductively and regarded you from hooded eyes.

You nodded, not really understanding what you were encouraging, but knowing that so help you, god, if he stopped, he would be a dead man.

His metal fingers brushed against the front of your very lacy and very thing panties, sending shockwaves through you. You gasped and gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into the flesh of his left shoulder but his metal one giving no leeway.

He brushed against your core again, this time using the hand on your hip to pull you against him and his cursed fingers in a way that you knew would get you into trouble. You could feel his rock hard length against your abdomen, his hips grinding into you roughly.

“Surely, just 10 more minutes.” You moaned as his fingers continued to torture the front of your heat, barely applying any pressure. The ghosting of his fingers was sending your nerves alight.

“I’m not a patient man, draga mea.” He groaned into your ear, his hot breath caressing the side of your neck.

“I know, I know.” You couldn’t contain the moan that escaped you as he ground you against his clothed manhood, pressing it against you. “But I want it to be perfect, not-”

“In the middle of some club.” He finished for you, resting his head against your forehead as the two of you tried to catch your breath.

Several minutes and a cab ride full of inappropriate groping later, you and Bucky crashed into his room at the motel. He slammed the door behind him with his foot as he carried you to the bed before dumping you on it.

Not giving you any time to recover, he crawled on top of you, trapping your body beneath his own hulking one. He gripped your hips menacingly and yanked you further down the bed, towards him. You let out a gasp, encircling his waist with your legs and using the leverage to bring him down to you.

He held himself up by his forearms that were framing your face on the mattress, his heated kissed sending you into a frenzy. Finally, he sat up, pulling off his top and baring his mouthwatering chest to your hungry eyes.

Using his metal arm, he grabbed the side of your strapless dress and as if it was paper, ripped it straight down the seam. Your mouth dropped as he flung away the offending material.

“I fucking liked that dress, you dick.” You couldn’t believe he’d just done that, but the open-mouthed kissed he was pressing along the top of your bra was making quick work towards his forgiveness.

“So did I,” He admitted, “But it was in the way.”

“Cocky bastard.” You muttered, moaning loudly when he ground his stiff member onto your centre roughly.

“That’s cocky.” He smirked and you gripped him by his hair and pulled his face roughly to yours.

“You talk too much, sarge.” You hissed, your still fully clothed parts were bucking against each other, and meeting his lips halfway. He pressed you into the mattress, undoing your bra with only a minor stumble before swiftly ridding you both of the rest of your clothes.

He lay over you, every inch of your skin covered by his own. Your hands caressed his back soothingly as he lined up with your entrance.

“Wait, I don’t have a-” He began but you shushed him.

“I’m on the pill.” You assured him.

“Is that the thing you take every morning?” He asked, and it melted your heart that he noticed. You nodded, and his eyes became fully blown with lust.

“In that case...” He entered into you swiftly, making your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

“Holy...fuck! Bucky...I...” You struggled to breath normally, your nails digging into his back. He gave you a chance to adjust before pulling back out and thrusting in again. Hard.

He picked a torturously rapid pace and stuck to it, his hips smacking into yours with each push and pull. It was all you could do to not scream out his name at the top of your lungs, and instead bite down hard on your fist.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight for me.” He groaned, his metal arm stroking the column of your throat delicately.

“Only for you, Sarge.” You moaned out, arching your back to meet the thrust of his hips. He growled and suddenly gripped your throat with his metal hand.

Not enough to cause any discomfort, but certainly enough that you knew it was there. You loved the feeling of him dominating you, and you could sense you were close to the edge.

“Are you close, baby? You gonna let go for me?” He gripped the back of your thigh with his other hand and pushed it towards the mattress, testing your flexibility, continuing to thrust into you at a punishing pace.

“I’m close, Bucky.” You let him know, and he somehow sped up his hips. The headboard of the bed was now banging against the wall, so he let go off your throat to grasp it, not only stopping the noise but also giving him new leverage.

The sight of him above you, his muscles contracting with each movement and his blue eyes boring into yours with such lust and desire sent you over the edge. You cried out his name as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you, your legs spasming around him.

“That’s it, Y/N, cum for me. Good girl.” He praised, working you through your mindblowing orgasm as he kept fucking you.

“Holy...shit! Bucky...!” You moaned as he continued his movements, a second-knot building rapidly in your lower stomach.

His hand reached down and began circling your clit, sending you spiralling into another orgasm, even more intense than the first. His name left your lips like a chant as your legs tightened around his waist.

“I can’t...ohmygod!” You moaned pornographically as you came down from your high once again. But he still wasn’t done with you.

“Come one, doll, you got one more in there for me.” He gritted his teeth, shifting your hips up to hit a whole new spot in you. It sent shockwaves up your spine and made your toes curl.

“Bucky, I don’t know- fuck! I can’t-” Tears were forming at the corners of your eyes at just how good you felt. He reached down and caressed your face soothingly, his flesh fingertips dragging against your cheekbone and your jaw.

“Yes, you can. And you will.” He whispered against your lips before dipping his tongue into your mouth, mapping out the crevices of your mouth.

His pace slowed to a slow and sensual one, still reaching places in you, you didn’t even know were possible, but his new speed allowed it to become all the more intimate.

You reached up a hand and cupped his jaw, your lips moving with his as you could sense him draw closer to his finish. His metal arm left the headboard, it no longer banging, and dropped between the two of you, finding your clit.

The sharp coolness of the metal against your heat caused you to gasp, which to groaned into.

“I’m almost there, Buck.” You moaned against his mouth, one hand gripping his hair and the other scraping your nails down his back. The feeling of your nails drawing blood on his back made him groan even louder into you and he applied direct pressure onto your bundle of nerves, sending you over the edge with a scream.

He followed right after you, his hips stuttering as he spilt his seed into you. You both struggled to catch your breath, your foreheads touching and you opened your eyes to find him staring in amazement at you.

“I adore you.” He stated before pulling out of you and collapsing onto the bed next to you, pulling you almost on top of him. Your heart wouldn’t stop its dance as you snuggled up to him, resting your head against his own erratic heartbeat.

“And I, you.” You said, stifling a yawn, your eyes fluttering closed into a peaceful sleep, finally in the arms of the only man you wanted.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #avengerssmut #Smut

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Together We Make Three Part 2 (AAA Girls) - Albatross

AN: Finally got the second part finished! Hope you all like it. Honestly, if it weren’t for hearing you guys say you wanted something with the AAA Girls I’m not sure this second half ever would have gotten written.

The shows went on as planned and while Alaska struggled at first to find a sense of normalcy with the others, she eventually managed to settle back into her familiar, comfortable relationship with them. Neither Courtney or Willam officially confirmed what the exact nature of their relationship was to her, but she felt confident she had a good idea of what was going on behind closed doors with them. Or at least what would be going had they not been on tour. The constant traveling from venue to venue provided little opportunity for true privacy for the girls. Beyond the cramped tour bus during the day, the girls were sharing rooms at night in an effort to cut down on excessive hotel costs. To their credit, Courtney and Willam did keep up appearances by following a rotation of who would share a bed with who when a single room was booked but once inside Alaska still noticed little things that the rest of the crew was unlikely to ever see. Whenever the two were set to share a bed, unfailingly in the morning Alaska would find them curled around each other in such a tight embrace they could have fit into a twin-sized bed without any lack of space. On the nights where she was sleeping with one of them, the two would always face each other on the parallel mattresses and talk until they fell asleep. It was cute, Alaska had to admit, but that did nothing to dull the pain in her chest when she saw them lost in their own world. That’s not to say they actively excluded her from anything but still…she couldn’t help but feel a bit like an outsider looking in on something she would never be a part of.

The most recent leg of their tour had brought the girls overseas for a short European stint before returning them back home for their final two weeks of shows. Tonight was unusual from the rest of their run in that they did not have any gigs scheduled for that day or tomorrow. Sure there had been an interview earlier when they first arrived in the city and a quick meet and greet set up for the next day, but the rest of the time was theirs and they were able to fully enjoy the area for once.

For tonight’s hotel arrangement, Courtney was set to have the queen sized bed all to herself while Willam and Alaska shared the king. Unsurprisingly, Courtney was eating a late night snack in bed and chatting with Willam as he laid on his stomach and lazily flipped through the channels for anything decent to watch. Alaska herself was taking advantage of the short reprieve from traveling and was carefully cleaning her makeup supplies. As each piece appeared clean and ready for a fresh use, she placed it back in its designated spot in her makeup tote. Once everything was reorganized and in its proper location, she set the tote on the ground in front of the bedside nightstand and relaxed back against the headboard. Between the skipping sentences on the TV and the other girls’ rapid conversation, Alaska noticed that one of the phones charging on the nearby outlet was vibrating. Leaning over from her reclined position, she elbowed Willam lightly in the ribs and informed him, “Phone’s buzzing.”

Almost immediately, he sat up and scrambled over to check his phone on their shared nightstand. To Alaska’s utter indignation, that seemed to mean him practically sitting in her lap as he refused to disconnect the phone from the power cord before reviewing the text. He seemed completely unaware of her discomfort as he balanced himself over her leg and scrolled through his cell before finally announcing, “Nothing important,” and placing the phone back in its original position.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he finally took notice of the younger queen’s expression.

Alaska stared hard at him but when he gave no indication of even registering why his place in her lap should be awkward, she gave an exasperated sigh. “Notice something off with this…position?” she asked sardonically as she motioned between their two bodies with her hand. Blankly, Willam stared down at where he was currently sitting before the realization finally caught up with him. With a smirk, he repositioned his legs to properly straddle her hips on either side and lifted her chin up gently. “Yeah…you should be on top,” was his smooth reply. Her face was burning bright as he lowered his lips down to ghost over hers and said softly, “We can fix that…”

Before Alaska could even muster the brainpower to begin thinking of a response, she found their positions reversed and her body was now precariously leveraged just inches above the sandy blonde’s. As she stared down at the smaller queen beneath her, she felt him press a faint kiss to her lips and guide her hand down to rest on his waist. Her heart was pounding as she tested the waters by slowly slipping her fingers beneath the fabic of his tank top to trace hesitantly over his warm skin. Willam bit his lower lip briefly at the contact and Alaska could hear his breathing getting heavier as she timidly ran her fingertips along the hem of his sweatpants. His reactions to the simplest touch took her breath away and all she wanted to do was draw out every little noise or moan that could possibly be contained in his body. She wanted to hear him pleading for more as he was reduced putty in her hands. She wanted to see him completely lose his composure as she pushes her way inside him, bringing him to edge and back, over and over again until he’s just about ready to go insane…She wants them to have what he and Courtney have…

Oh, fuck…Courtney.

The thought of the other queen had her frozen in place. What was she doing? Was she really making a move on one of her best friends?

An internal war was brewing inside Alaska’s head and clouding her thoughts to everything around her. But like a light shining through the clouds; Willam’s hand on her face drew her attention back to something clear she could focus on. He delicately brushed away her bangs so that he could look her square in the eye and whispered compliantly, “You can do whatever you want…”

A lump quickly formed in her throat at his words and she clumsily scrambled to sit herself upright. This was too much! How did she allow herself to get caught in this fucked up mess? She could feel her eyes starting to sting as she clutched her hands to her chest in a useless effort to slow down her racing heart. The entire situation was quickly becoming an overwhelming sea of emotion that threatened to drown her any second. Then like a perfectly timed life-saver being thrown around her; she felt a comforting hand placed on her upper arm. Alaska’s head guiltly snapped up to see Courtney standing beside her with an affectionate smile. “She means it you know…” Courtney said softly, “…do you want to?”

Alaska stared dumbfounded at the blonde and then down to Willam who seemed to be holding his breath as he awaited her response. Her lip was trembling as she admitted, “Y-Yes…”

Willam quietly released a relieved sigh and Courtney’s smile grew just a tad wider as she asked gently, “What do you want to do first?”

The question hit Alaska like a bucket of cold water. Her immediate thought was ‘Everything! Anything!’ but she found she couldn’t vocalize a single, precise action. She felt like a deer caught in headlights and could barely manage a stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”

“Why don’t you start with a kiss and see where that goes?” Courtney encouraged.

Alaska nodded absently as Willam sat himself upright again and leaned in towards Alaska. He tenderly turned her face back to his and asked, “Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” Alaska said breathlessly as Willam’s thumb ran over her cheek. His smile was the last thing she saw before their lips connected in a delicate dance and her eyes slid shut. It was hard to describe exactly how the kiss felt. On one hand Willam was so careful with her; careful not to push her too fast, careful when cupping her face, careful even when climbing back into her lap. On the other, there was so much passion lurking behind each touch. The same electricity from before was still present in everything Willam did. As Alaska became more relaxed and pulled Willam in closer, he saw that as an approval to lose himself in the kiss. It was only after air became an issue that he allowed himself to be detached from her in any way.

There was just enough time for Alaska to catch her breath before she felt Courtney tilting her chin up to capture her lips herself. The kiss was brief but served its purpose. As Courtney pulled away, Alaska could feel her cheeks heating up once more and stared at her in astonishment. “You too?” she asked in complete shock.

“Look who finally got it,” Courtney laughed.

“About time,” Willam muttered as he placed random kisses up and down Alaska’s neck.

“How long have you…?” It was hard to thinking with Willam’s lips roaming over her skin but she had to ask.

“Quite awhile now…almost as long as Willam honestly…” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

Alaska glanced down at Willam for more information but he was not so subtly avoiding her look and focused instead on leaving a trail of kisses from her jugular up to the sensitive skin just below her ear. “Why don’t we save the Q and A for later, huh?” he offered between rough licks and soft nips over her weak spot. She let out an affirmatory noise as she tightened her grip on his waist and thrust her hips ever so slightly to get just a tiny bit of release. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth to muffle a small whine as she felt her skin being worked into a bitch of a bruise.

“Hey, don’t hide it…I want to hear you…” Courtney chided as she gazed deep into her glazed over eyes.

Her head felt like it was spinning out of control and the best she could manage was a weak nod, not trusting herself to form a proper sentence. She needed more friction, more contact, more anything.

“P-Please Court…” she whispered hoarsely.

Quickly the blonde’s lips covered hers in a passionate, needy kiss. Unlike Willam, who border lined on romantic during their lip lock; Courtney did not hold anything back. She was greedy and possessive in claiming Alaska’s mouth and something about that in contrast to her earlier actions just made the situation so much more intense. Usually Alaska would tower over other girls and almost felt a sort of power in that but tonight Willam and Courtney were the ones in control of her and the submissive position of being trapped between the two queens offered an entirely new level of excitement.

As Courtney kept her mouth occupied, Alaska began slipping her fingers around the waistband of Willam’s pants. He was now freely grinding against her but seemed to have no inclination to assist in removing his clothes. Alaska groaned in frustration and broke the kiss in order to focus on removing the offending fabric. She had barely worked it down an inch before Courtney’s hand on her wrist stopped both of the queens’ movements. “Tonight’s gonna be all about you,” she told Alaska, “I’ll take care of getting her ready, okay?”

Her mouth went dry as she gave a small nod and released the hem of the pants from her grip. She watched with wide eyes as Courtney whispered to Willam to strip while she searched for condoms and lube in his suitcase. To Alaska’s surprise, he immediately slipped off the bed to comply with Courtney’s directions without so much as a sarcastic noise or eye roll. Though he didn’t make any particular show of removing his clothes, for Alaska it still felt like she was watching her own private strip tease. Willam seemed to sense her eyes on him and glanced back at her with a flirty smirk. “See something you like?” he teased as he sauntered back in front of Alaska.

“Y-Yeah,” she choked out. She hated how needy and desperate her voice sounded but it was hard not to feel weak around that near perfect body. His skin was perfectly tanned and his muscles were toned just the right amount. He looked like he was made to be admired in bed.

“You know, this usually works a lot better when everyone loses their clothes,” he reminded her as he hovered over her and gently ran his fingers through her hair. Feeling just a bit more bold, Alaska replied back, “You gonna help me then or are you all talk?”

Sliding her shirt over her head, Willam shot back with a smirk, “Well, I am known for running my mouth…”

“And for offering it…” Courtney muttered with an eye roll as she finally found the supplies she’d been searching for. Her comment was left either unheard or ignored as the other queens reconnected their lips and worked on separating Alaska from her remaining clothing. The task was delayed as Willam insisted on crowding Alaska back into the mattress and climbing over top of her. The two seemed to devolve back into horny teenagers with their frenzied clutching at each other’s bodies trying leave as little space as possible between their bare skin. Alaska’s hand found its way to Willam’s hair and entangled itself tightly in his curls while her other slipped into the small of his back and kept him flush against her. As for Willam, he at least attempted to help work the last few clothes off her body but his fingers kept taking detours to trace over every inch of skin they could reach.

Courtney watched them going at it with an amused smile for a minute or so before she made her way back to the side of the bed and licked a light trail from Willam’s tailbone up to Alaska’s hand. He shuddered at the sensation and drew back from Alaska’s mouth just enough to take in a sharp gasp. “Fuck, Court! A little warning next time!”

“What’s the fun in that? It’s not often I get to catch you by surprise,” she replied back with a smirk. “Besides, I thought we ought to get this show moving along, if that’s alright with the both of you.”

Both Willam and Courtney glanced towards Alaska and waited for her response. Though it was plain to see they both were eager, it was still unexplored territory to include a third person, much less someone they genuinely cared for. The last thing either of them wanted to do was make her of all people feel uncomfortable or forced to participate in something that didn’t feel 100% right. Alaska didn’t need them to verbalize those thoughts; it was written clearly on their faces as they patiently stared down at her. Her heart felt warm and light as she told them firmly, “Yes.”

Courtney leaned past Willam to press a quick kiss to her lips and said, “If you change your mind at any point, just say the word and we’ll stop.”

“No questions asked,” Willam reiterated.

Alaska smiled up brightly at them and gave Courtney another small peck before she drew back. “Can you lift up your hips a little?” she asked as she lightly tapped on Alaska’s outer thigh. Immediately, her hips were in the air and the other girl wasted no time in stripping off her pants and underwear. Courtney let out an appreciative murmur as she ran a finger along Alaska’s exposed length and mused, “Mm…Bill’s gonna love having this inside her…” before beginning to coat her fingers in lube.

Alaska did her best to suppress a shiver at the statement but nothing could be done to hide her flushed cheeks. Willam took notice and pressed his smirk to Alaska’s ear and whispered, “You know I will…I can’t wait to feel every inch of you sliding into me…taking me so hard I’ll be bruised into next week…Bet you’ll make me scream too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Screaming your name so loud the whole damn city hears…maybe someone’ll even ask during the meet and greet. They’ll beg to know who was topping me so hard I can’t even sit without flinching..and when they hear it’s you? God, they’ll fucking lose their shit…It’ll be on everyone’s lips before the camera’s flash goes off.”

Alaska’s breath hitched and knew she must be as red as a cherry. It certainly didn’t help when Courtney scolded him mildly, “Don’t tease her, you cunt.”

“Why not? She looks so cute with that blush.” To accentuate her point, Willam traced her fingers over Alaska’s cheek, her signature smirk growing wider as the hue darkened. “I’d love to how deep that goes-”

Anything Willam might have followed up with was cut off as Courtney applied a steady pressure of her finger against Willam’s hole and slowly pushed her way in. Knowing her game, Willam glared back at her with a silent command to move faster. Courtney of course ignored the demand and taunted her, “Since you enjoy teasing so much, I thought I’d repay the favor.”

“Bitch,” he quipped back doing his best to hide the waver in his voice as she added a second finger but maintained the snail-like pace.

“Play nice and so will I,” Courtney warned.

“Fine,” Willam muttered through gritted teeth as he rested his head against Alaska’s shoulder. Automatically she found herself running her hand in soothing circles across his lower back as he grew used to the scissoring motion inside of him. She could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he took in deep, precise breaths to convince his muscles to relax. Slowly his body melted into hers and if she focused hard enough she could hear little whines and mewls catching themselves in his throat.

Courtney caught her eye as she pulled out for another coating of lube and darted her gaze meaningfully towards Willam. “She trying to hide them?” she asked knowingly.

“Mh-mm,” Alaska replied with a smirk.

Rolling her eyes, Courtney told her, “She always does that…but I know how to work them out of her.”

“Shut up!” Willam called out, partially muffled by his lips skimming across Alaska’s skin. “I’m right here, you know!”

“Then you know we want to hear you,” Courtney shot back in a sickeningly sweet voice as she teased Willam’s entrance once more.

“No,” he said firmly.

Joining in on the fun, Alaska told him in the same mocking tone he used earlier, “But you sound so cute…”

He pulled back to glare at her but the instant he opened his mouth all that escaped was a desperate whine as Courtney slid three fingers inside him and went back to work opening him up. As their eyes connected, Alaska saw the fight draining out of him until all that remained was a hazy lust-filled look that was further accentuated by the shallow intakes of air he took. Taking advantage of the momentary silence, Alaska leant close to his ear and taunted him by asking, “No response? I expected more from you…”

Clutching at her shoulders in an effort to retain some control over himself, he gasped, “Fuck…all the way off. Just wait till she’s doing this to you.”

She almost shuddered at the thought but right now the way Willam was trying his damnedest not to lose it held the majority of her attention. For each thrust inside him, his mouth parted just a little wider with every gasp until nothing could be done to muffle his breathy calls of their names. Courtney kept her pace until he was eagerly rocking his hips back into her and sweat dripped across his skin as he struggled to keep himself from coming apart completely under her touch. Taking the cue, Courtney withdrew and tossed the condom wrapper and lube next to Alaska for whenever they felt ready to continue.

Carefully pushing both herself and Willam into a seated position, Alaska placed her hand over the condom and asked if he was ready. Willam nodded his head feverishly and practically snatched the wrapper from beneath her fingers as he crashed his lips back to hers for a minute. She could feel the need emanating from every pore of his body as he took charge of rolling the condom down her length and applied a final layer of lube.

Positioning himself over her member, he slowly slid himself down until their hips were flush against each other. Alaska watched his face contort in pleasure as each inch disappeared inside him and was left a shaky, trembling mess in her lap. It was hard to tell if he was even looking at anything properly as his eyes glazed over and his grip on her shoulder became tight enough she was sure she’d see bruising tomorrow. He buried his head into the crook of her neck and placed a distracted kiss to her skin. Alaska could feel the heat of his breath as he begged, “Please…please, 'Laska. Move.”

She faltered, concerned about hurting him by moving so soon, but complied as Courtney gave her a nod of affirmation. Very carefully, she wrapped her hands around his hips and gave a shallow thrust. When he seemed to be alright with the action, she slowly built momentum and soon found him joining in the motion. It only took a short amount of time before his thighs began shaking and he was gasping her name into her ear. Nothing could persuade him to loosen his grip on Alaska’s shoulders as he overtook the taller queen and set to work creating a faster pace. They were nearly in time with one another but the position made it difficult for them to fully compliment each other’s movements. As Willam whispered out that he was getting closer, Alaska decided to remedy the situation and take back control for herself.

She steadied Willam’s hips, ignoring his confused and resistant behavior as she slipped from inside him and whispered a forceful command to lay on his back. To her mild shock, he quickly got into position without a word, almost in the same manner as a puppy eager to please it’s owner. Making a note to herself to question that aspect later, Alaska recaptured his lips, swallowing back the moans he released as she re-entered him. She wrapped his legs around her and soon set a punishing pace to leave him a writhing mess beneath her. His neck was arching with every graze against his prostate and Alaska took advantage of that as a chance to mark his skin much in the same manner as he had done to her. Her nails dug into his hips but he didn’t seem to notice or care as he wrapped a hand around his cock and pumped in sync with her thrusts.

All too soon he was cumming over his hand and stomach, crying out her name so loud it’d be a wonder if no one else in the hall had heard them. Alaska made sure to draw out his orgasm as much as possible until his moans died out into fading whimpers and slowly withdrew from him, discarding the condom off to the side as he worked to get his breathing under control. His hair looked like a beautiful tangled mess of curls splayed out against the bedding and his eyes held a dazed look as a content grin spread across his face. He was still panting as he pulled Alaska in for a sloppy kiss before shifting his gaze to the other bed where Courtney sat watching with keen interest.

“Quite a show you two put on,” she complimented as she made her way to the edge of the other bed and captured Willam’s lips for brief peck.

“Jealous?” Willam mocked, complete with an over the top Australian accent to match Courtney’s.

Rolling her eyes, Courtney smirked and placed her mouth over Alaska’s for a domineering lip lock that left her almost as breathless as Willam had been. “I think you and I could do better,” she cooed into Alaska’s ear. Running a hand over Alaska’s thigh, she asked, “What do you say?”

Alaska found herself nodding rapidly before a proper thought even formed in her head and begun to move back from Willam. “Stay,” Courtney commanded in a tone Alaska could hardly believe came from the same person.

“Ooh, front row seats,” Willam smirked, send a quick wink to Alaska. Tracing his fingers across her cheek, he murmured, “You’re gonna look so beautiful when you’re wrecked.”

Alaska was at a loss for words, mouth hanging slightly open as she tried to think of anything to say back. Failing to find any sort of response, she simply crashed her lips against Willam’s and waited as she heard Courtney stripping off her clothes beside them. Only a short time passed before she felt the bed shifting with additional weight and Courtney’s hand was tracing across her lower back. “Ready?” she asked softly.

“Please,” she gasped out.

Alaska swore she could almost hear Courtney smiling as she flipped open the tube of lubricant once more and spread a generous coating over her fingers. “Hands and knees,” she whispered.

Quickly complying to the demand, Alaska found herself in almost the same position as the one that had started the whole adventure. Almost hesitantly, she found Courtney pressing the first finger outside her entrance and slowly slipping inside her. Once she had stopped, Alaska released a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in and leant down to kiss Willam as Courtney began moving inside her. It all felt so routine as Courtney added in a second finger that Alaska hardly noticed a difference until the third finger was pressed outside her hole. The moment it was inside and Courtney resumed her stretching motion, Alaska felt like her body was slowly being consumed by a raging bonfire.

Her vision seemed to blur as pleasure overtook her senses and just vaguely she felt Willam’s fingers gliding across her chest. “Knows what she’s doing, huh?” he asked with a slight laugh in his voice.

“Yeah,” she gasped out.

Unlike Willam, she had no problem letting any noise escape past her lips and it certainly had its affect on Courtney. If anything, she encouraged Alaska to be louder with each skillful brush against her walls. She felt like she was barely holding it together when she felt Willam’s mouth over hers once again. Grateful for the distraction, she allowed herself to become lost in the kiss as Courtney seemed intent on drawing out her preparation. By the time the older queen seemed content with her work and pulled her fingers out; Alaska felt like a hot mess, whining audibly at the loss, completely disregarding how desperate she must look.

“Calm down,” the Aussie teased as opened her own condom wrapper, “Gonna take care of you in just a minute.”

Willam turned Alaska’s face back to hers and promised, “Totally worth the wait, trust me.”

Alaska nodded her head absently and took in a short gasp of air as she felt Courtney lining up with her entrance. Her hands gripped at the sheets as Courtney gradually pushed her way in until their hips fully met one another. Running a hand over Alaska’s waist, she waited until she felt the tension leaving her partner’s body before she began moving. Her movements was tentative at first, clearly concerned about hurting the younger queen, but once she heard the whining and felt her thrusts being eagerly matched by Alaska, she swiftly got to work building up a break neck pace.

Sooner than Alaska would ever admit, she was like a rag doll in the Aussie’s hands, taking everything she was willing to give and still begging for more. She loved the feeling of reckless abandon that Courtney exuded, especially when combined with her casually observant nature. Anything that produced a stronger than normal reaction, Courtney made sure to repeat ten-fold. She was both rough and gentle with Alaska as she laid claim to the other’s body. She handled her with care, almost but never using quite enough force to leave any marks. That was a key difference between her and Willam; Courtney would make sure she’d never lose the memory of how she made her feel, while Willam made sure she’d be reminded every time she looked at her body. He loved to leave scratch and bite marks, even if sometimes it was unintentional. He wanted to be sure that every encounter would not be easily forgotten.

And it certainly didn’t seem like he’d be forgetting about this showcase anytime soon. He watched intently as Alaska fell apart under Courtney’s touch, so close she could barely form a warning between her broken moans and cries. Always one to help, Willam pulled Alaska down to reconnect their lips and wrapped her hand around the other queen’s dripping length. Alaska very nearly whimpered at the contact but any noise she might have made was eagerly swallowed by Willam who wasted no time in licking his way into her mouth. The show of dominance from both queens was too much for Alaska and shortly after she found herself exploding over Willam’s hand and stomach to join his own mess from earlier. After just a few more thrusts, Courtney followed suit, releasing into Alaska with a breathy moan of her name. After taking a moment to calm herself down, she carefully slipped out of Alaska and pulled off the used condom. Knowing the others were far more worn out than she was, Courtney took charge of organizing the clean up and climbed out of the bed in search of washcloths.

Nearly the same moment that Courtney’s weight left the mattress, Alaska collapsed onto the bedding next to Willam, panting like a dog in the summer as a lazy smile stretched across her lips. Brushing aside her sweat slicked hair, Willam told her in an uncharacteristically sweet tone, “Knew you’d look beautiful afterwards.”

Rolling her eyes, Alaska pressed a soft kiss to Willam’s lips, breaking away just in time for Courtney to return with the washcloths. While Alaska wasted no time in cleaning herself off, Willam was more than eager to pull Courtney on top of him for their own long overdue kiss. The pair’s bodies melded together so well it was almost as though they were never meant to be separated. Watching them work so fluidly against each other created a little pang of envy in Alaska’s stomach but she pushed it aside as they broke apart in order to ask in a timid voice, “So we…we’re still going to talk about this tomorrow, right?”

Courtney’s attention was immediately on her even as she gave Willam a light tap on the arm when he groaned at the question. “She never was one to talk about her feelings,” Courtney explained apologetically as she gave a short yawn. “Took me forever to get her to admit she even has them. But yes, we are going to talk about it tomorrow….All of us,” she reiterated, sending a pointed stare at Willam.

The dirty blonde shot her dirty look but didn’t make any further comment on the matter. He simply gave himself perfunctory cleaning and wrapped his arms possessively around Courtney’s waist as she laid down between them. “Unless there was something you want to ask about before then?” Courtney inquired cautiously.

Sleepily shaking her head, Alaska let out a tiny yawn and grinned at the two of them. “Tomorrow’s fine,” she reassured them as she nestled close to their reclining bodies. “Too tired now.”

As Courtney pulled her in even closer, Alaska noticed a fond smile stretched across both queen’s lips. For the first time in months, she felt 100% content as she fell into a deep sleep curled into two of the people she cared about the most. She was certain that however the conversation would be started tomorrow, together the three would find perfect harmony with one another.

#finally some good fucking food -vix #albatross #aaa girls #Smut #willam belli #courtney act #alaska thunderfuck #rpdr fanfiction #canon compliant #together we make three #poly

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labyrinth-of-headcanons · 6 years ago

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Hairpin

Chapter VI

Main Pairing: Kouen X Chaima (OC) Genre: Romance/Drama

Like the tradition requires, Chaima was supposed to give the hairpin to the man she’d marry. While she never believed in the day to come, for her to really follow her mother’s words, she couldn’t have foreseen one little accident that would turn her life around in the little time they spent together. However, with Kouen’s sharp words and keen mind, it was only a matter of time until she found herself falling more and more for the prince that captured her heart.

a/n: Some struggles with the conversation but I am just happy to be able to write about then interacting with each other :3 I hope you enjoy this chapter!

She should have cleaned. She should have picked up the loose papers on the floor, made her bed, and closed the drawers of her dresser. Chaima quickly moved in front of the prince to shut the loosely hanging drawer displaying her skirts. Her head was as red as Kouen’s hair, and for once she was happy about the slight darkness in the room that hid her from his sight, even if it was just for a little. He simply stood in the doorway, arms crossed and face as stern as ever. She had never found her room to be extremely small, but for both of them there was barely any space to stand upright in it.

It was a strange mixture of shame and realization. For the first time, Chaima thought that her living conditions weren’t as good as she always had praised them to be. Even to her it was unclear why she felt so ashamed in front of him all the time, but she did. Through the small window that lightened the room, she could see how the dust twirled through the air, and Chaima couldn’t help but let out a quiet, desperate sigh. Wringing her hands in front of her stomach, she looked at the floor. It was dead quiet between them, even a needle hitting the ground would have been louder.

She held her breath for most of the time, disconnecting a little from what was happening. Even more so, Chaima flinched when Kouen moved further into the room. He knelt down - surprisingly elegant she found - and picked up one of the papers on the floor. Standing up with it, he inspected it in the small light resource they had. “Writing practice?” he mumbled. The question in his voice pierced through her like an icy dagger, and she just returned to looking down in shame.

The way he had looked over to her clearly showed he wanted some answers, but Chaima kept silent, not feeling like saying anything. He proceeded to pick up more of the notes on the ground as well as one of her mathematic books which rested next to her bed and also acted like a nightstand for her candle. He looked through the papers, flipping a few pages in the book, all while Chaima fumbled nervously at the fabric of her skirt. The prince was nice enough to put the book back and then came closer to her and put the papers on the dresser. The only thing Chaima could think about was, Now he cleaned up my mess.

She took a quiet, deep breath, still standing with her back to the dresser with her eyes glued on the floor. By now, he stood so close next to her, their shoulders touching, and he was still busy with looking through her notes. “There’s a mistake,” he pointed out, finally making her wake up from her tense state. First she looked at him while he kept staring at the papers, then she followed his fingers down to a specific word he was pointing at. Turning around, she looked over it, finding nothing wrong. “It would be… this,” Kouen said while drawing a character onto the paper with his fingers.

“I don’t know that one yet…” Chaima mumbled, only realizing what she had said once it had left her. She bit her lip in shame, hanging her head low, all while he observed her. Slightly turning towards the maid, he picked up her right arm, pushing all her fingers out of the way except for her pointer and began running it over the rough paper. He did it once, twice, and a third time. Then he stopped, taking away his hands while she remained the same. She had watched his doings in a mix of horror and curiosity, and when he prompted her with a small, “Do it yourself,” she did what he had showed her. And she did it for a few seconds until her brain got used to it. She didn’t know the meaning yet, but she was sure to look it up later.

“Now you know it,” Kouen stated simply, and Chaima - a little flustered about her actually getting so invested in the act - pulled back her hand and nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness...” she replied, a light blush on her cheeks. He sighed for a short amount of time. It had her wondering why, but she felt too shy to ask if he was okay. “So you didn’t learn writing as a child?” he asked, making her return into a flustered state, before she replied, “No…” Some wrinkles appeared on his forehead and he inspected her for a few seconds. “You are not from Kou?”

Now it was her time to be confused. Eyeing the small mirror on top of her drawer from the sides of her eyes, she saw her reflections. How could he think someone of her complexion would come from Kou? “No, I’m from Balbadd, Sir,” she replied, finding some pride in these words. He turned around towards her fully, crossing his arms in front of her chest. “Where exactly?” Somehow the way he stood didn’t look so menacing anymore, as it did the first few times. Still, Chaima took a step back, making it easier for her to look up as they conversed.

“Tanhae, next to the upper harbor of the country.” He confirmed that he knew about the place she spoke of by nodding at her words. However, the wrinkles still held firm onto his forehead. “You came quite some distance. What made you do that?” That was the moment her stomach started to tighten. Never had she spoken with anyone about this before and thinking about it made her anxious. How would he react? Would he even care about something as low as her backstory?

She kept silent for a while, prompting him to sigh again. It frustrated her too, knowing she couldn’t just speak up for the sake of herself, and it hurt seeing him dismiss her from it. Chaima’s voice was very quiet and brittle when she finally talked, “There’s more money to earn in Kou…” It was more like a whisper and her posture ducked away from him as she spoke. Head trying to hide between her shoulders and hands clutched in her lap, she looked like a mouse, frozen in place at the mercy of her predator.

“There wasn’t much left in my hometown and I support my family with all I have. They figured it was better to send me elsewhere than to work there,” she explained, peeking through her eyelashes up to him. He was indeed staring at her intently but it seemed like he was interested in her words. “How long have you been here?” he continued to question. “Almost six years now, Sir.” Chaima heard him hum in response. “When will you go back?” Kouen asked. It struck her as an odd question, but it made sense for someone so politically involved as he was to ask it.

“I’m not sure yet, Your Highness. I… we need the money,” Chaima stuttered, nervously wringing her thumbs around each other. She took a deep breath. Yes, it was a sensitive topic, but who could she better direct her words at than a person of his status? “My siblings, I have two, they are starting school this summer.” She made a short pause, looking at the papers nervously. But then her expression softened as she added, “They’ll be the first in our family to do so.”

She stepped closer to the drawer, pulling out the third from the top and revealing many neatly bound letter packs. They were tidily positioned, allowing every space to be used. A few still laid loosely in the drawer since they weren’t enough to bind them together yet. “My mother said it’s all thanks to the money I sent them.” She picked up the one that was on top of the others, unpacking it from the envelope and giving it to the prince.

While he looked a little perplex about the offer to read something so private, he took over the letter, his eyes scanning it carefully. When he was finished, he turned the paper once to make sure he didn’t miss anything, before folding it and giving it back to her. “I see,” he mumbled. The letter had spoken about how Chaima’s parents bought the school uniforms for the twins and did a medical check-up. It was not like she expected him to praise her for what she’d done, but for a moment, Chaima wanted to share her pride and joy with him. There was nothing more important than family to her.

“And yet,” he started, giving the room another look over before continuing, “are you okay with this?” His hand made a vague gesture through the room. “Do not get me wrong. I am well aware there are worse conditions for some servants,” he added. The tone of his voice changed as he said that, it was as if he had told a statistical fact and there was no such thing as empathy in it. “However, to live here for more than a short period of time seems unpleasant.”

Chaima let out her breath, following his hand and looking over her room intently. “Your Highness, forgive me for saying this, but I do not know much about you.” She felt how his body tensed at her words since he stood next to her. Chaima didn’t care - no, she couldn’t care less in that moment. “Do you have siblings, Your Highness?” she asked, smiling wryly at him. There was no spark of happiness in her eyes. Instead they were pleading with him to just go along with what she wanted to say.

“I do. I have a lot of younger siblings,” he replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest again. He seemed defensive and his words had a somewhat taunting ring to them, but Chaima didn’t mind. At that point she couldn’t resent him for how he was anymore. Their relationship might not have been close, but for the moment they were merely seeing eye to eye with each other. “Then you must understand that, no matter how hard or unpleasant something is, as the oldest you will do anything to support your family. Tell me if I am wrong, but don’t you feel the same, Your Highness?”

The staring contest that followed was merciless. Chaima figured at some point it was time to give up, as she watched his face contort after confronting him with this. It signified things like ‘Don’t talk like you know me’ and ‘You’re right but I do not appreciate it’. If you look at him long enough, he’s not that hard to figure out, she thought. Nevertheless, she felt like she had found a weak spot, and biting her lower lip, she was only seconds away from apologizing.

Much to her surprise however, he was the first one to advert his eyes. Or well, he closed them, thinking for a second about what to say. “You’re right. I would go to great lengths for them.” His confession caught her off-guard and she felt the control over her mouth slip away, making her jaw drop in surprise. Victory swelled in her chest and she couldn’t help but smile at him. There was some newfound respect for the prince in her, as she had never expected him to admit something like this.

Turning away from him again and looking back into the room once more she said, “And that’s why this isn’t so bad at all.” Chaima drove her hand over the footboard of the bed, starting to list, “There’s a bed,” pointing at the dresser, she added, “something to put my belongings in, and a window even.” She smiled at him sweetly, feeling very pumped after having brought her point along successfully. “I never had such a nice room before, not even at home.”

Kouen gave her a quick nod. He looked somewhat defeated but he did uphold his dignity at all times. Maybe that’s what royalty really was: losing, but with grace. Though - and Chaima thought it was a little childish of him - it’s not like they had been in a war. In the end, she wondered if agreeing with her really was something he was so against doing. Was it because in the end she was just a servant? Or was there something more behind it that she didn’t know about?

To her, the man was like one of those books she used to study. Filled with questions and riddles that seemed too complex to her but were probably easier than she thought. And yet, just like those books, he really did spark her curiosity. Even with the few words they had shared, she felt there was so much more she wanted to tell him. And she also wanted to hear more about him too. Maybe it was just his voice Chaima wanted to continue ringing in her head, but she noticed how she hung onto every word that left his lips whenever he opened them.

“If you are putting it like this, it sounds as if they are taking really good care of their servants,” he noted. The prince had found a more leisurely position, leaning against the dresser while facing her, standing on the opposite direction of him. “Well…” Chaima gulped. She knew better than to spoil the comfortable atmosphere they had, by complaining about her employers. So she simply said, “They take better care of us than the ones I was at before. And they… give us work… Oh! And they pay good.”

She heard an surprisingly amused snicker from him as he stated, “You did good to memorise that.” She let out a nervous laugh. He got me, Chaima thought, not replying to him. Less than a minute passed, and the two of them stood around in the small room in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable atmosphere, but certainly it would have been better if they had talked to each other.

“What does Your Highness-” As soon as she started to speak up, Chaima heard an all too familiar sound. Footsteps that quickly came up the stairs and dared to expose the prince’s presence. Out of reflex, Chaima jumped over to the door, shutting it right before she heard how the steps passed her room. They seemed to have gotten a little slower around the area of her door, maybe having noticed that someone closed it the moment they approached. Hearing the room next to her’s rattling, Chaima could figure out it had been Nysete who had come back to her own room.

Chaima felt her face paling and a cold shudder run through her as she realized she should have never entertained the prince in her room for so long. Now she was at risk of being exposed, and if she had interpreted the reactions of her co-workers correctly before, this would bring her into a dire situation. Turning towards her visitor again, while leaning against the door to keep it shut, she whispered, “We have to leave.” Kouen had stood up tall again, taking a deep breath at her insecurity showing.

There was a somewhat annoyed expression resting on his face, as he agreed, “Very well.” Chaima didn’t dare to waste any more time. She opened the door and peeked through the gap carefully, making sure no one could see the two as they slipped out and made their way down. Luckily, Nysete had been the only one coming back from her duty and Chaima could lead the prince away easily.

It had surprised her how obedient he acted, following her every step. The moment they reached the sliding door out to the main hallway, she made sure no one was there to see them too. The tension leaving her body as she let out a deep sigh, she stepped aside, letting the prince go out first. Chaima wouldn’t let this be taken from her, to escort him the five steps to the door of his room, and fulfill her ‘mission’.

The two of them stood in front of it for a few moments in silence. She finally bowed politely, giving the prince a weak smile. “It was a pleasure, Your Highness. Please excuse my frantic behavior throughout the time we spent together.” Her voice was slightly more quiet than it had been before, as she still feared that anyone could be listening in on them, but he seemed to understand her. Giving her one, firm nod, he opened the sliding door to his room, turning towards her once more before entering.

“I’ll expect you to guide me back to my room this evening after dinner, Chaima.” Her expression faltered under the sudden command. She was surprised about his words as well as him still remembering her name. Flabbergasted, she nodded, mumbling “Okay?” Their eyes met for another moment. Chaima wondered when his piercing red had turned into quite such a shimmering color, and for a moment his expression seemed much softer again.

“After excusing so much from you, you need to pay me the respect I’m due,” he said. There was seriousness only in his choice of words, but his voice sounded as if he was joking with her, friendly even. Chaima couldn’t help a small grin escaping her, before she immediately bit her lip, realizing that’s not how she was supposed to act. Sadly her mind didn’t react fast enough to forbid her from speaking the words that slipped her lips next.

“Well, if the prince says so,” she replied in a just as jokingly manner. The silence returned and she flushed bright red, noticing that he seemed surprised about that comeback. Bowing deep, she backed away, stuttering, “I’ll be with you later then! Goodbye!” Before he could get back to that, she had gotten into the servant hallway again, slamming the door shut a little bit too forceful.

Kouen stayed behind, covering his mouth with his hand as he noticed the smile crossing his lips. “Brother?” he heard from behind. “There you are! We were searching for you, the meeting is already over-” His sister, the princess, approached him steadily, her voice coming to a halt as she noticed his expression. “D-did something happen?” He shook his head slowly, the smile not fading from his lips at any point in time. “Nothing,” he replied, stepping into his room and closing the door behind himself.

Once she had recovered from the first shock of how she had ruined their conversation, Chaima groaned inwardly. Everything had gone so well, just why had she said something so stupid again? She pushed herself off the door she was leaning against and walked down the hallway to the outdoor area again. Passing the laundry room, security chambers and kitchen, it seemed like an eternity since she had last been there in the morning.

The air was still refreshing, though slightly colder, as she stepped down the stairs and into the grass. Like before, the white sheets were swaying peacefully in the wind and as she approached them, she remembered how the two had bumped into each other. Red flushed her cheeks, as the warmth rose in her body, and she began to take down the sheets, trying to keep herself composed.

What a weird man, she thought. Folding the sheets neatly, her mind drifting off to the image of him in her head. She didn’t notice how her heart skipped some beats as she thought about him. And Chaima didn’t give the euphoric feeling in her stomach any mind as she thought about meeting him later that day again. After all, even though it was an unfamiliar feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering excitedly through her, how would she have figured out its meaning when she never felt like this before?

#Magi #SnB #Magi: The labyrinth of headcanons #Magi: Sinbad no Bouken #Sinbad no Bouken #Magi Imagines #Magi Headcanons #Magi Scenarios #OC #OCXCanon #OC Story #OC shipping #fanfiction #ow #Hairpin

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gray-autumn-sky · 7 years ago

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Meant to Be Yours, Chapter 29

Robin and Regina find Henry.

Thanks for @evilqueens, @glindalovesshoes and @stick-to-the-lasagna-lady for helping with this-- for letting me bounce ideas off them, editing sections at a time, and offering feedback. This chapter was difficult to write with me being sick and having very little energy and your help made such a difference. This chapter would not have happened without you ladies :)

Previous chapters can be found HERE.

It’s strange the way time is moving--everything seemingly in slow motion, yet every time she blinks, something else is happening and a new scene unfolding in front of her, as if each blink fast-forwarded just a little bit.

At some point Graham had arrived, accompanied by a few other officers. He talked to the secretary and to Robin, and for a split second, he’d caught her gaze, offering her what seemed like an empathetic little smile before she looked away and he continued on. Robin told her they’d asked them to stay until the search was over, that they had questions--run of the mill sorts of things--that they needed to ask her. She’d nodded numbly as he sat down beside her and held her hand--and all she could think was that none of this was going to help. Graham could never know the whole story--even if she told him, she’d sound crazy--and it was her secrets that were putting her son in danger.

All of this was a waste of time, but she couldn’t do anything about it--and even if she could leave freely, she isn’t entirely sure where she’d even begin. The handful of clues she and Robin uncovered in the Tremaine’s room at Granny’s only pointed to plans beyond Storybrooke and had hardly painted a full picture…

She couldn’t even be sure when it was that Henry was taken and she was very well aware that they’d likely get out of Storybrooke as quickly as they could, heading back into the real world where they had the advantage.

Graham returns and momentarily, she’s pulled back into the moment. Robin gets up quickly and she watches as he and Graham talk to each other--and once again, everything feels hazy, like it’s happening in a dream she’s watching from afar rather than just a few feet away from her. She watches as Graham explains something and Robin nods along, and then her jaw stiffens as she watches Graham shift Henry’s backpack into Robin’s hand. She thinks to get up, but by the time it occurs to her, Robin is on his way back and sitting down beside her as he explains one of the officers found it hanging in the closet in Mary Margaret Blanchard’s classroom where the children usually kept their things during the day.

Her hands tremble as she takes it, her fingers rubbing over the Captain America shield on the on front of it, and she can’t help but remember the day they’d brough it.

Henry had been so excited to pick it out--his eyes widening as she nodded and confirmed that she really had meant it when she told him he could pick out whichever one he wanted. He’d spent almost an hour milling through the small section of the department store, investigating each bag for several minutes, picking out the colors and designs he liked best. A smile tugged onto her lips as she watchedhim investigate the pockets and available storage, which ones had adjustable straps and which came with keychains and pencil cases and other little things that seemed to increase that backpack’s coolness. Then, once he’d settled on a few, he carried them over to the mirror by the women’s hats and scarves in the adjacent section, trying on each backpack before finally settling on the red, white and blue one shaped Captain America’s shield--and he’d looked up at her with big eyes, asking if he could really have it….

Taking a breath, she tugs at the zipper at the front pocket--the inner circle of the shield with a a stair sewn into the center, and with a wistful smile, she remembers how this part of that bag had been such a selling point for Henry. Her fingers trace over the alternating blue and red bands that hold his favorite pencils and tucked in the little mesh pocket is a well-used pack of colored pencils and the blue highlighter he and Robin use to circle his answers on his math work.

Momentarily, her eyes press close and she feels Robin’s head dip forward, his forehead resting at her temple as his arm slides around her. She can feel her tears welling behind her eyes, threatening to slip out and her chest suddenly feels tight, aching with loss.

Robin presses a kiss to her hair and he rubs gently at her back as her eyes open and her tears slip free, and in her ear he whispers she doesn't have to do this now, but she takes a breath and unzips the main part of the bag--and the first thing she sees is the story Robin had told her about that morning, a story about the Evil Queen saving the day…

It’s ironic, she thinks as she looks down at Henry’s illustration of the queen--of her--flying over Storybook in an outfit that looks a lot like the one Disney chose for her, her black cape flapping in the wind and her gold crown slightly tipped to the side--and it suddenly occurs to her that Henry expects her to save him and the idea of failing him stabs at her core as guilt washes over her and once more, she tells herself that this is her fault.

“We’re going to find him, Regina,” Robin whispers as he presses a soft kiss to her temple. “We’re going to find him and bring him home, and this will all be over soon.”

“You can’t know that…”

“They can’t get far,” he tells her. “Not really…”

“They can go anywhere.”

“Not… anywhere,” Robin murmurs as he pulls back and reaches into his pocket. “We still have the bean.”

She sighs as she looks at it. “They can leave Storybrooke.”

“Graham put out an Amber Alert,” Robin’s quick to say. “If they leave Storybrooke…”

“Robin, you’ve been down that road. You know how wooded it is and how densely populated it is.” She sighs as her eyes press closed. “That’s what makes Storybrooke, so… well-placed.” Robin only sighs in reply as his arm slides around her shoulders and he draws her back to him. “Besides, suppose someone does spot them… what then? What happens if Graham tries to cross the town line and can’t.”

“Then… we’ll just have to get to him first.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” She asks. “We’re stuck here until…”

“Regina,” Graham’s voice cuts in. “We’re almost done here, but I need to… ask you a few questions before we can wrap up.” She looks up at him, blinking as his words register and she feels her shoulders tighten. “Perhaps we can go into the conference room for a little privacy?” She nods and stands, and immediately, her knees feel weak and wobbly, and before she can even reach for him, Robin’s hand slips around her waist and his other hand takes her hand to stabilize her. She smiles faintly and watches as Graham’s gaze shifts to Robin. “Uh, I need to talk to her alone, actually…”

“Oh…okay,” Robin murmurs, not letting go of her.

“Why?” She hears herself ask, her shoulders once again tightening. “Am I…” She pauses as her breath catches in her throat and the thinks of the times Graham accused her of using Henry to fill a void in her life, insinuating that she was only playing house and would soon tire of him. “Graham, do think that I have something to do with…”

“No,” Graham cuts in. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Would you tell me if it were?”

He sighs a little and nods. “There’s nothing to tell, Regina,” he says, his voice softer than it usually is when he addresses her. “It’ll only take a few minutes. I’ve already got Mr. Locksley’s version of things, now we just need yours. It’s standard procedure.”

“I’ll be right here, love,” Robin tells her as he gives her hand a quick squeeze before letting it go. “This is almost over.”

She nods again and takes a shaky step forward and then another, feeling oddly disconnected from herself as she follows Graham into the little conference room at the back of the office. Graham’s hand hovers just over the small of her back, not quite touching her as he guides her in, and then pulls out a chair. She stares at it for a moment, struggling to make the connection between what he’s doing and what she’s supposed to do, and wondering how any of this is actually going to help.

Of course, he was under the impression that it would...

Finally, she sits down across from him, blinking blankly as she watches his lips move, unable to make sense of anything he’s saying as she feels an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

She can easily remember the last time she felt this way--so lost and disconnected from everything--and she can easily remember the sound of her father’s gasp pulling her back into the present. She remembers how his eyes had widened as he stared at her, crouched down on the stable floor with Daniel’s lifeless body cradled in her arms, and she’d looked to him with a look of complete and utter disbelief. She didn’t hear what he said to her mother and she didn’t hear her mother’s reply--the only thing she could hear was her own voice in her head, telling herself again and again that this was her fault, that none of this would have happened if it hadn;’t been for her, that Daniel would still be alive if he hadn’t loved her...

“It’s my fault,” she murmurs. “This is all my fault.”

“Why would you say that, Regina?”

She shrugs. “I set this into motion.”

“No, you didn’t,” Graham insists in a firm and steady voice. “They’ve been looking of him since he--”

“I created a path that led directly to him.”

“What?”

“I wrote to them,” she tells him, looking up. “I wrote to them and I…” She sighs. “They obviously traced the letters back to Storybrooke, back to Henry…”

Graham takes a breath. “When did you write the letter?”

“There were a few,” she says, remembering the uneasiness she’d felt when she sent the first. “This winter, then… a couple in the spring.”

“And what did they say?”

Her eyes sink closed. “Nothing… nothing significant. I just wanted to make them feel…” She scoffs at how stupid it sounds. “I wanted to make them uncomfortable, I wanted to seem like…” Her voice trails off and her eyes press closed. “I wanted to make them feel like

“This winter,” Graham repeats. “As in… December? January?”

“After Christmas,” she tells him, “That’s when I sent the first one.”

“Well, they were on your trail long before that.”

She blinks as she looks up at him. “What?”

“A New York social worker filed a complaint in October saying that the Tremaines had been harassing him, and then, right before Thanksgiving, his office was broken into. Nothing was taken, but Henry’s file was disheveled. They obviously went through the file, and I’d assume they took pictures and…” His voice trails off and he takes a short breath before reaching out and placing his hand over hers. “They knew where Henry was long before you intervened. You didn’t do this, Regina, and… though I haven’t always been understanding of your choice to adopt a child, I… have to admit, you’ve been a good mother to him. It’s… changed you,” he says as a slight grin tugs onto his lips. “For the better.”

Swallowing hard, she nods, still not quite believing it and her eyes fall to his hand over hers--and for a moment, it strikes her that this interaction is possibly the most intimate and genuine they’d ever had.

They talk for awhile longer and, once again, she has trouble following along and staying in the moment. And then, suddenly, he stands, his hand pulling away from hers. “So, my advice to you is to go home, take Robin with you and… just wait. A lot of the time, in these sorts of situations, the kidnappers will call the child’s home for ransom or...” His voice trails off as her eyes widen a little. “I know waiting is hard for you, but…”

“I can’t just sit there, Graham. I can’t just… wait it out.”

“Try.”

“You know I can’t sit still.”

“Again,” he sighs. “Try.” She nods as she stands. “I’ll call you in a little while to check in and let you know of any progress we’ve made, and…” His voice trails off and he hesitates for a moment. “And hopefully, I’ll be bringing your boy back to you.” He grins a little and nods, and his lips part as if he’s about to say something, but then an office knocks at the door and his attention shifts.

“CPS just faxed over the papers we requested.”

“That was quick.”

The officer shrugged. “Isn’t everything in New York fast?”

Graham nods and offers her a quick smile. “We’re going to find him, Regina.”

She follows him out and her eyes fall to Robin, sitting on the little couch against the back wall with Henry’s backpack. He rises when he sees her and almost immediately, his arms are folding around her as he draws her to his chest--and more than anything, she wishes she could find comfort in it.

“Are you free to go?”

“He wants me to go home and wait.”

Robin blinks. “Well, we both know you won’t be doing that.”

“He said he’ll call…”

“And, he can,” Robin insists. “I’ll have John or… someone go wait there and…” A smile draws onto her lips as she takes a half step back and looks up at him. “What?”

“You sound like you have a plan…”

He shrugs. “Not particularly, but we’re not going into this completely blind.”

“Aside from Neverland, what do we actually know?”

“Well,” he murmurs, taking a quick look around. “We know that Gold is somehow involved and we know they expect to open up a portal.” She nods and takes a breath, trying to piece together the crumbs he’s laid down. “Now, if Mrs. Tremaine was the here until three, no matter when they took Henry, Mr. Tremaine wasn’t going anywhere without her… and something tells me she’s the brains behind this operation.”

She nods. “Gold owns property all over town, so… I assume… they took him to one of those places.” She swallows as her eyes shift up to hers. “And it’s not like they’d take him back to Granny’s.”

“She’d rip them to shreds.”

“That’d be enjoyable consider what I’ve fantasized about doing to to them,” she scoffs, watching as a grin tugs onto his lips. “What?”

“Just…” He shakes his head. “I just saw a little glimmer of the fire I’ve been waiting to see.”

“Fire…”

Robin nods. “I think it’s time that… you let the Evil Queen out to play. I think it’s time for her to save the day.”

She blinks as her fingers curl into a fist and she feels an odd tingling sensation at the tips--something she’s felt more frequently in the past hour than she has in the past twenty-some-odd years odd the curse--and she feels her jaw again tightening. “She doesn't need to be let out,” she says in a low voice. “She’s already out.”

_____

Her hands tremble was she leads Robin down into the vault--and somehow it seems odd to her to be doing this, to be attempting magic.

In the earliest years of the curse, she’d missed it to the point of withdrawal.

For her, magic had become an addiction. Though she’d resisted her ability at first, once she’d started she could hardly stop; and, at first, that had scared her. But then, little by little, she became more comfortable with it, she became accustomed to using it for anything and everything. It was means of transportation, it was a means of getting the things she wanted, and it was a means for revenge. It didn’t take much effort and the results instantaneous--and she found her craving the thrill that rippled through her whenever she used it.

And then, the curse had taken it away.

It had forced her to be without magic--and at first, it had been like ripping away her security blanket, but it taught her to rely on herself rather than magic and it taught her restraint. While magic wasn’t completely gone from the world she created in Storybrooke, she found little use for it--and she went years and years between uses…

And each time, in some way, had involved Henry.

She can still remember the day she’d given him up--the day she’d left him with his social worker, tearfully admitting that she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t be his mother no matter how much she’d wanted it. The pain in her chest had been unbearable--and everytime she closed her eyes, she’d picture his chubby cheeks and his hazel eyes watching her go, watching her give up on him.

Then, after a few days, she couldn’t manage it anymore, and found herself standing in the vault mixing a potion that would take it all away--that would make her forget those sweet hazel eyes.

She’d held the chalice to her lips and she’d breathed it in, closing her eyes--and she saw him, just as she always did. She felt hot tears burning in her eyes and her hands began to shake, and she’d dropped the chalice down onto the table--and just couldn’t do it. Because as painful as it was to remember him--to remember the little boy she’d loved and let go--somehow not remembering him seemed a far worse fate.

“Okay,” she breathes out. “It’s been… years since I’ve done this.”

“Can I help?” Robin asks, watching as she opens a cabinet and drops down to her knees, surveying the contents. “I want to help.”

“I need something of Henry’s. Something personal, something… undeniably his.”

“Alright,” Robin murmurs. “How about this…” She looks up, fully expecting to see Robin holding out Henry’s backpack to her--but instead, he’s holding out the little illustration of the Evil Queen that Henry drew the night before, and her breath catches in her chest as she takes it. “Now what?”

“Now, I… just mix everything and… hope it works.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well, magic isn’t… it’s not reliable here,” she tells him. “It’s a world without magic.”

“But you’ve done it before,” he tells her. “The bracelets you and Henry gave to me and Roland to get us over the town line, and the tea you gave me to make me remember.”

“I got lucky with those things,” she tells him, as she grabs a couple of dusty jars. “And those aren’t quite as complicated as this.” He blinks and she shakes her head. “It’s… hard to explain.”

“Then don’t,” he says easily. “If this fails, then… we’ll move on to Plan B.”

“You… have a Plan B?”

“Not yet,” he says easily as he holds out his hand to help her up. “But we’ll think of something.”

Nodding, she draws in a sharp breath and starts to mix the ingredients. She doesn't say anything as she works, instead concentrating her attention on the potion, trying to channel a part of herself she’s long put into the past. Her fingers continue to tingle and it trails up her arms--and she takes that as a good sign, if only because it’s the only shred of hope she has that this will work--that magic will prevail--and it’ll lead her to her son. And then, this nightmare can all be over.

Finally, she takes a shaky breath and reaches for the comic--and for an all too brief moment, her shoulders relax and the comic floats up into the air. She smiles as her heartbeat quickens and Robin’s eyes widen as he watches it--and then, it falls back to the table, flat.

“What…?”

“It didn’t work,” she says, her voice barely audible as her eyes press closed and her shoulders slump forward.

“What if we try the backpack, or…”

“It should have worked,” she says with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter what the object is, as long as it belongs to the person you’re trying to find. The object wasn’t the problem, the problem was…”

“Not you.”

Her eyes roll as she looks to him, shaking her head. “Maybe I’m too emotional or…” She shrugs. “Or maybe my magic just isn’t strong enough.”

“Yet.”

Her throat tightens as tears well in her eyes--and she feels so helpless. Turning away from Robin, she pushes her hand through the front of her hair and draws in a sharp breath, finding it difficult to keep her lungs inflated and impossible to clear her head and think of the next step.

“Regina, this isn’t your fault,” Robin says, reaching out and touching his hand to her arm. “Magic isn’t even supposed to…” He stops and she turns to face him as his voice fades. “Would a portal be able to open in a place where magic doesn’t exist at all?”

“I… don’t know,” she murmurs as she shakes her head. “Why?”

“Because if magic is too weak here in a place where magic could be possible, then… we can pretty safely assume that the Tremaines haven’t left Storybrooke because if magic is difficult here, it’d be impossible elsewhere.” His eyes shift up to hers and he smiles gently. “Right?”

“Maybe,” she nods. “Just… where in Storybrooke? How are we supposed to find him?”

“Plan B,” Robin replies easily. “We form a good old fashioned search party.”

Her brow arches. “A search party…”

“Yes,” he says. “People who care about Henry… people who care about you.”

“Henry, maybe, but…”

“Regina,” he cuts in. “People in this town do care about you, whether you choose to believe that or not.” He sighs as he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “And now really isn’t the time for you to get caught up in your self-deprecation.” A slight grin tugs onto her lips and she nods. “So, tell me, where might we find a map of this town?”

“Um, City Hall,” she tells him, taking in a short breath. “In my office.”

“Then, let’s get out of here and--”

“There’s a shortcut,” she cuts in as she motions to a darkened little enclave at the back of the vault. “Through there. It leads to my office.” Robin blinks at her and nods, reaching for Henry’s comic and tucking it into his back pocket--and then, just before taking her hand, he reaches for the crossbow he’d brought in that afternoon and straps it to his back--and a moment later, they’re in the tunnel toward her office.

When they arrive, she goes to a cabinet, pulling out a roll of maps--all slightly different, but all of Storybrooke. Robin calls Granny--and it’s not long before there’s a small group of people sitting around the table in her office. She’s touched when her secretary pops in, giving them all bottles of water and letting her know that she ordered dinner for John and Roland who’ve been camped out at her house since late that afternoon--and she seems genuinely touched when Regina thanks her.

Beneath the table, Robin gives her hand a reassuring squeeze as they explain that Gold is likely involved with the kidnapping and they’ve reason to believe the Tremaines wouldn’t leave Storybrooke, so the logical thought would be to search some of Gold’s more secluded properties.

“He owns this little building at the docks, it’s all boarded up,” Robin says, “And is usually easily looked past.”

“And he owns a farmhouse at the edge of the woods,” Regina tells him, pointing down at the map. “No one lives there, but he pays taxes on it and maintains it.”

“And it’s just far enough off the road where no one would notice any activity,” Archie says. “I’ll take Pongo and go--” He stops as Regina pulls her hand away from the map. “You keep doing that,” he says, his voice soft and non-accusatory and she’s suddenly aware of her tingling fingers curled into her palm. “Are you…”

“She’s probably trying not to put her damned fist through a wall,” Granny cuts in, her brow creasing as she looks to Archie. “Her boy is missing. The fact that she hasn’t torn this damned town apart is a small miracle.” Taking a breath, she squares her shoulders. “Ruby and I will go down to the docks. I know a few people down there who supply our fish. If they’ve seen anything peculiar, they’d tell me.”

“Good…”

“Yeah,” Regina breathes out. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Granny replies with a wink. “We’re going to find him.” Regina smiles a bit as her cheeks flush--and for a moment, she feels an overwhelming sense of guilt. “And where will you two go…”

“This cabin,” Robin says, pointing to a spot on the map. “It’s… a long shot but…”

“It’s awfully far,” Archie murmurs. “Wouldn’t they…”

“Should someone call Graham?” Ruby cuts in, suddenly, looking between them. “Shouldn’t he…”

“He’s doing his job,” Granny says, her voice rising over her granddaughters. “The more people out there looking for Henry, the better.” Taking a breath she rises from the table and nudges Ruby’s arm. “Now, let's go. We’re wasting time just sitting here talking about what we should do.”

“Thank you,” Regina’s quick to say as her eyes meet Granny’s.

“Thank me when we find that sweet boy of yours,” Granny tells her, offering her a quick wink before she and Ruby exit the office, with Archie and Pongo following behind.

“He’s lucky to have them all…”

“Regina, they didn’t just show up for Henry. They showed up for you, too.”

She shrugs. “Because they don’t--”

“Because they’ve come to care about you.”

“They don’t know--”

“They do know you, Regina. They know the you that you are now.”

She bristles uncomfortably, not quite convinced, but deciding it doesn't matter who thinks what or why--at least not now. Now, the only thing that matters is finding Henry.

“So, why the cabin…”

“Because I think that’s where he is.” Her eyes widen as she looks up at him, watching as he pulls Henry’s Evil Queen comic from his back pocket. “Look at this…”

“Robin., he drew that yesterday, long before--”

“No, look at the last one,” her tells her as he flips to the last page. “All the others are drawn nicely, and go along with the story… they’re traced in marker and colored in with crayon, and then… this one.” Regina blinks down at the hastily drawn little cabin--drawn in pencil with no coloring or matching story. “Maybe he overheard something and…”

“Wanted to leave us a clue.”

“He’s a resourceful kid…”

She nods. “Yeah. He is,” she murmurs, looking down at the drawing as a soft smile tugs onto her lips as she feels a little flicker of hope that extinguished when the locator spell had failed, and taking a breath, she hopes that this time, she won’t be let down--and that she won’t let Henry down.

_____

Henry looks to the door for what feels like the thousandth time--and he takes a breath, shifting uncomfortably in the hard chair by the fireplace, trying to free his hands.

From where he sits, he can just barely see out the window. It’s getting late. The sun is getting lower and there’s an orange glow coming in from the window, and he knows it’ll be dark soon--and for an all too brief moment, he wonders if they didn’t find the drawing he’d left for them or that if they had, they hadn’t seen it as anything more than a drawing in a book of a lot of similar drawings...

She’ll come, he thinks to himself, pushing that thought away. She has to come...

His eyes close as he tips his head up, already able to feel the misty rain--and all he can do is hope that the storm won’t last, too long. He burrows down into the too-warm winter coat that serves as his only real protection against the rain, and he closes his eyes, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach.

On evenings like this, he’d normally have ducked into the library or a museum and wandered around until the weather cleared. In the library, he’d find a book and, if it weren’t too busy, he’d find a plush chair to cuddle up in and lose himself in the story, pretending that he were the main character and his life was anything other than what it was. Sometimes, he’d sneak up to the top floor with the book--a dusty room where old newspapers were held, a room no one ever seems to visit. There weren’t comfortable chairs up there, but there was a nice window with a thick ledge that he liked to sit on--and there, he could go completely unnoticed, or better yet forgotten.

But today was a Sunday and everything closed early. So he’d returned to his usual spot--a thin sliver of an ally between two buildings where there was a little bit of an overhang, that he’d hoped would keep the rain out.

He closes his eyes as thunder cracks above and he holds his breath, wishing that he were somewhere else--wishing there was something that could take him away from this moment. He thinks of Harry Potter--a favorite escape--and he thinks about how amazing it would have felt to get that letter from Hogwarts, a letter inviting him into a world of magic and acceptance, a world where he had friends and shelter, and a world away from the abusive tongues of the Dursleys.

His eyes open as the rain begins to beat down, dripping down from the little overhang as large puddles begin to pool on the sidewalk in front of him, slowly but surely stretching toward him. Groaning, he draws up his legs and hugs them to his chest, trying to shrink himself into the little dry space that remains.

For a while, he just sits there, watching as people pass him by, seemingly completely unaware of his presence and his gaze--and when when his stomach rumbles again, he reaches for his backpack and pulls out the last of his candy. He frowns at the half-eaten Kit-Kat bar and breaks off a piece, reminding himself that it’s better than nothing...at least it’s not cold out, he thinks to himself--that would be worse, that would be the only thing that would make this evening worse.

Tears brim in his eyes as the rain beats down harder and his stomach rumbles again, disappointed that the candy only seemed to make him hungrier. Pressing his eyes closed, he hugged his legs tighter, resting his head on his knees--if the rain wasn’t going to stop, he hoped that at least sleep would come quickly…

“Well, isn’t this just great,” a voice muttered. He lifted his head to watch a woman drop down two bags at her feet on the wet sidewalk as she rummaged through her purse--and his eyes widened at the bakery box just within his reach. Catching his lip between his teeth, he pushed his arm through the sleeve of his coat, stretching out his hand for the box. “This couldn’t be any worse,” she said, as she lifted a phone from her bag and looked at it, shifting her foot in front of the box.

“At least it’s not cold,” he murmured, not necessarily to her, but more as a reminder to himself--but nonetheless, she flinched and looked down at him with wide eyes and parted lips. He felt a grin tug onto his lips as he looked up at her--she looked nice, he thought, after all, she was the first person who’d ever noticed him there, stuffed in his spot between the buildings, that had to mean she was a nice person, or at least, a caring one. “It’d would be worse if it were cold out and raining.”

“Oh,” she breathed out. “Yeah, I… I guess it would be.” She blinked a couple of time as she looked at him, then looked to the tight space around him, taking in his blanket and and backpack, his winter coat and the way he hugged his legs to himself. “Trying to stay dry?”

“I guess so,” he’d told her, as he looked away, feeling oddly embarrassed as his stomach rumbled loudly.

For a moment, she didn't’ say anything; instead, she just stood there, staring at him--and a little grin edge onto his lips at the realization that she didn’t seem in a rush to go away, and he wondered if she’d share whatever was in the bakery box at his feet.

Then, she bent down. “I… I’m… I’m wondering if you like hot cocoa,” she asked, catching him off guard as he nodded.

“With cinnamon.”

“Hot cocoa with cinnamon,” she says, as a smile stretches over her lips. “Would you like to get some?” His eyebrows arch at the question and he’s quick to nod, smiling as she reaches out and takes his hand. “Come on. If we run fast, we’ll barely get wet,” she told him as she tugged him up and toward the diner across the street…

She’ll come,” he tells himself again. A little grin edges onto his lips as he thinks of his mom, bursting into the cabin and taking them all by surprise as a fireball floated up from her hand. He giggles to himself as he pictures their faces--a mix of shock and horror--as she blasted them back to wherever they’d come from… like a scene from a comic book. She’ll be here….

He giggles quietly to himself--and then suddenly, he’s aware that the conversations have halted and everyone’s eyes have shifted to him. He shrinks back in his chair and blinks a couple of time before looking down a his lap--and though he’s not looking at them, he can feel hard eyes watching him.

“What’s he laughing about over there?” Mr. Tremaine asks.

“Who knows?”

“Does it matter?” Mr. Gold asks, sighing in frustration. “You said you have proof…”

Henry looks up and nervously, his eyes slide across the room, watching as the Tremaine’s talk to Mr. Gold, assuring him that their plan will work. Gold sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look convinced, and somehow, that’s amusing.

“Of course we do,” Mr. Tremaine says, sounding a bit unsure… and he wonders what proof they need or why it matters.

Gold’s eyes narrow skeptically and Henry watches as the Tremaines exchange looks--and likes that this man seems to make them nervous, and decides to take it as a good sign. He doesn’t know though, if it truly is. He’s only ever seen Mr. Gold in passing--sometimes at Granny’s or walking down Main Street, and sometimes, he’ll catch his gaze as he walks by his shop. It’s usually then that his mom’s hand tightens around his, tugging him a little more quickly as they pass--and though, Robin likes to take him and Roland to the various shops along Main Street, they’ve never once stopped in at the pawn shop.

Henry’s stomach drops, at that thought--and once more, he reminds himself that his mom is on her way… that his will all be over soon.

“If you want my help,” Gold says flatly. “I need proof that you know where my son is. It’s as simple as that.”

Henry watches as Mrs. Tremaine nods to her husband and he feels his shoulders stiffen as he watches him rise from the table. He goes to a suitcase by the door, smiling smugly at Henry as he lifts it and unzips it. Reaching inside, he rummages through until he lifts a sketchbook from it--a leather bound one, not so unlike the storybook of the Enchanted Forest that he has at home.

“Here…”

“And what’s this?” Mr. Gold asks. “Doodles.”

“Sketches.”

“From Neverland…” Mr. Gold blinks and Henry feels his eyes widen-- Neverland?, he wonders to himself. The place where Peter Pan lives? He sighs a little and he watches as Mr. Gold takes the book. “A fairy gave it to us.”

“A fairy…” Henry blinks as Gold looks between them--and then, his breath hitches in throat as he looks down a they page. “Bae,” he murmurs.

“That’s him, isn’t it? The son you’ve been waiting to be reunited with?”

“It’d be an even swap…”

“One boy for another,” Mrs. Tremaine adds as her eyes shift to Henry.

“And why should I believe it’d be as easy as that?” Mr. Gold asks, cooly, as he he looks up from the book. “Why make the swap at all? What’s in it for you?” Again, the Tremaine’s exchange looks and Gold’s eyes narrow. “You need me,” he says. “You need the Dark One.”

A little gasp escapes Henry, but no one seems to notice it.

“We could… call it an alliance,” Mrs. Tremaine tells him, sounding suddenly nervous.

“An alliance…”

“Sure, why not?”

“And, suppose I agreed…”

“It’d get you your son back…”

Mr. Gold nods. “Assuming this sketch is real.”

“How else would we have known what he looked like?”

Henry watches as Gold’s eyes narrow and he leans in a little, looking between them. “Yes, that’s a very good question,” he says. “How do you know what my son looks like?” Again, they exchanged glances as a little, almost mechanical sounding laugh escapes Gold, sending a little shiver down Henry’s spine. “Suppose I agree to this,” he says again. “We can’t just… drive to Neverland.”

“No…”

“We’ve figured that out,” Mr. Tremaine says, too confidently as he rises from the table.

“Have you now?” Gold asks, craning his neck as Mr. Tremaine goes back to the suitcase and flips it open. “Something from that fairy you mentioned, no doubt.”

Mr. Tremaine huffs as he pushes aside the contents of the suitcase--and then, as his fingers slip beneath the lining, his breath catches. Frantically, he pushes his hand deeper, his eyes widening as a thin layer of sweat begins to form at his brow. “Where is it?” He barks, his eyes shifting to Henry. “Where the hell is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The bean!”

“What bean?” Henry asks, blinking and scrunching up his nose. “And why would you keep beans in your suitcase? That’s gross.”

“You know very well what bean you little shit! You took it. I know you did. That’s what you were grinning about before, wasn’t it?”

Henry’s eyes widen. “Even if I did know what bean you were talking about,” he begins. “How would I steal it from your suitcase, which is all the way over there on the other side of the room, when I’m all the way over here, tied up on the opposite side of the room?”

A snicker escapes Gold as Mrs. Tremaine sighs in annoyance and pushes herself up from the table. “You’re just not looking--”

“I am looking,” Mr. Tremaine snaps. “It’s not my fault that little…” His voice trails off. “He’s always been like this, more work than he’s worth.”

Mrs. Tremaine’s eyes narrow. “Well, if it hadn’t been for his so-called mother--”

“She’s not my so-called mother,” Henry cuts in. “She’s my mother.”

“Well, whatever she is, she ruined a perfectly good plan to--” Her voice halts a she shoves her hand into the lining of the suitcase, her eyes widening as she discovers the same thing her husband did a moment before. “I don’t believe this.”

A grin edges onto Henry’s lips--and while he’s not entirely sure what his mom messed up for them, he’s glad that she did.

“So, you’re telling me that… all of this has been for nothing,” Gold says, his voice suddenly icy. “You’ve no way to open a portal…”

“We do!”

“But you don’t,” Henry says, his grin gowning more confident. “You just said you don’t.” Both look to him, eyes widening and he feels himself growing more daring. “You might as well just give up now.”

“Give up…”

“Or you’ll have my mom’s wrath to deal with.”

“And what makes you so sure your mom will save the day.”

“Because that’s what she does,” Henry says simply.

“You make it sound like she’s some sort of hero,” Gold says, rising up from his seat at the table. “Like, she’s… a savior or some kind. No,” he says, shaking his head. “She’s nothing more than a pawn in my game.”

“She is a hero.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”

Henry shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t…”

Gold’s eyes narrow. “You’re so much like her.”

“Thank you.”

“But just like her, you’re wrong about this,” Gold says. “If I’ve a chance to get to my son, I’m not going to let your mother get in my way.” He grins as his eyes shift to the Tremaine’s. “The bean couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away…”

“No…”

“You might be the Dark One,” Henry cuts in. “But if you’re so powerful, you wouldn’t have needed my mom to get to your son.” His brow arches as Gold looks back to him with wide, indignant eyes. “And you certainly wouldn’t need the two of them.”

Taking a breath, he grins--and once more, his eyes shift to the door and no one seems to notice the footsteps he hears near the window...

She’s coming, he thinks as he settles back and watches as the Tremaines bicker about the missing bean. It’s almost over...

_____

Regina looks at the cabin just down a stretch of the dirty road--and her stomach flops as a thousand worst case scenarios flash before her eyes.

She thinks of Henry, mostly, and the terrified look he’d given her at every mention of his foster parents. She can still easily see him, sitting across from her in the booth of the little New York city diner she’d taken him too, his eyes wide as his voice shook as asked her if she was from Child Protective Services and would be sending him back to his foster family. Her heart had broken at the realization that whatever life he’d run away from would be one that was worse than sleeping alone in the rain in a big, dangerous city. He’d pleaded silently with her not to call, not to send him back to him--and it’d been in that moment, she’d promised to protect him. She hadn’t said it, not with words, but her intent was there--and Henry knew it. She’d asked him to trust her, and he did. Months later, he’d told her that there was just something about her, that he knew she was a good person and that she wouldn’t hurt him. He’d called it a super power. At the time, it’d made her heart swell with something that’d been completely indescribable, but completely wonderful--and it filled her with the belief that maybe she could be the person he thought she was, that she could be the hero he believed she was.

And she couldn’t help but feel like she’d let him down, like she’d broken that promise, like she’d failed him.

All because of her own pride and need for vengeance.

“Come on,” Robin murmurs as his hand catches hers and gives it a tight squeeze. “Let’s go get him.”

She nods and draws in a breath, letting her eyes momentarily sink closed, and she hopes that it’s not too late.

As they near, they can hear two voices arguing--voices they assume belong to the Tremaines--and she feels a twinge at her core. Robin takes her hand and leads her around the back of the cabin--and he rolls his eyes as he quips about how they hadn’t even bothered to lock the deadbolt.

She tries to smile, but she can’t--and her breath catches in her lungs as Robin slowly pushes open the door. For a moment, they linger there, listening. She watches as Robin sends a quick text--likely to Graham or the others--and once more she hopes that this won’t somehow make it worse…

And then, almost as soon as they start forward, Robin holds up his hand and stops them.

“Did you hear that?” A man’s voice says

“It’s probably just the wind…”

“I know what the wind sounds like…”

“Sometimes cabin’s like this just make noises,” Henry says--and her heart swells at the sound of his voice. “It’s because the ground underneath is moving.”

“Always such a smart ass…”

Regina’s eyes shift to Robin, watching as he readies his bow. She takes a breath and the tingling at her finger tip--and for the first time in longer than she can remember, she feels a warmth at her palm. Her thoughts shift to Henry and his sad scared eyes, and the tingling intensifies. Her jaw tightens as she thinks of how amazed he’d been by even the smallest of gestures and she thinks the little mentionings of neglect and abuse he casually tossed out as if they were nothing, as if they were normal--and as her eyes open she watches a little ball of fire rises up against her palm.

Robin’s brow arches as he looks from her to fireball and back again--and then, a smile edges onto his lips, his eyes shining with a pride and confidence she wished she could feel.

“I think someone’s here…”

“May I remind you, we’re on private property and in the middle of nowhere and…”

Gold sighs with frustration as Robin and Regina take cautious steps forward, careful not to let the floorboards creak. “I can’t help but feel like you’re just avoiding the--”

“Did you lock the door?” Mrs. Tremaine snaps.

“Of course…”

“No, he didn’t,” Henry’s voice cuts in.

“And how would you--”

“You didn’t lock the deadbolt, and that’s the real lock.”

Regina watches a little grin edges onto Robin’s lips--and it occurs to her that this is something Robin’s taught her son and a for an all too brief moment, she’s grateful for all of the Saturdays she’s had to work, grateful for Robin’s influence and the self-assurance it had instilled.

“How do you--”

“Everyone knows that,” Henry cuts in--and it occurs to her that he doesn’t sound afraid. “Just like everyone knows a slip knot isn’t how you bind someone’s wrists.”

As they near, Regina watches as the Tremaine’s exchange looks and Mr. Gold’s eyes sink shut--and then, there’s a mad dash toward Henry. Mr. Tremaine reaches him first, pulling him up from the chair and holding him back against his chest.

“Hurt him, and I will end you,” Regina hears herself say, suddenly feeling a burst of confidence as her eyes meet Mr. Tremaine.

“Louie,” Mrs. Tremaine sighs as he looks sharply toward Regina. “Ignore her. She’s powerless.”

“No, she’s not,” Henry says as his eyes meet hers. “She has magic.”

“Not in this world,” Gold interjects as his eyes shift and narrow Regina. “She’s no one here.”

“That’s not true,” Henry insists. “She’s the Evil Queen and a hero.”

“She can’t be both. Not all magic is dark.”

“This isn’t that stupid wizard book that you--”

“I know,” Henry cuts in, nodding as his eyes slide to Robin and Regina and a little grin edges onto his lips. “It’s better.”

Regina musters a smile as her eyes meet Henry’s and she suddenly feels more determined than she was even a moment before. She can feel her magic bubbling up inside of her and she’s ready for a fight--ready to prove that her magic doesn’t have to be dark, ready to prove that she can be the hero her son believes she is. Taking a tentative step toward them, her eyes shift to Gold and Mrs. Tremaine and once more she feels that warm tingling at her fingertips. “So, you know,” she says cooly at the realization that Gold has his memories, that he not only knows her as the mayor by as the Evil Queen. “You know who I am. You know the monster you made me into…”

A sinister little grin edges onto Gold’s lips. “A necessary evil…”

She nods. “Maybe, but my son is right. I can be both the Evil Queen and a hero.”

Gold laughs. “You’re only as powerful as I allow.”

“Interesting,” Regina murmurs as she lifts her palm. “Because from where I’m standing you have no power, and I have it all.” Her brow arches up as a small fireball lifts up over her palm. “Now, give me my son back.”

“Louie, don’t… don’t listen to her,” Mrs. Tremaine says, her voice cool. “We’ve come too far…”

Her eyes shift to Mr. Tremaine, watching his eyes widen. “Let him go, and you get to live.”

“She’s bluffing…”

“Am I?”

“And, even if she is,” Robin cuts in as he steps forward and lifts his bow, steadying it against his shoulder. “I’m not. Let him go before I make you wish you had.”

“And you are?”

“He’s Robin Hood,” Henry supplies, grunting as Mr. Tremaine’s arm tightens around him.

“Someone who never misses a shot,” Robin answers easily. “And someone who has everything you want.” Gold’s eyes narrow and Mrs. Tremaine turns sharply toward him as he pulls the bean from his pocket. “This is what you’re after, right?” Gold’s eyes widen as they focus on the bean at Robin’s fingertips. “So, I suggest you take the easy route and let the boy go or you can be swallowed into an an unknown abyss to god-only-knows where.”

“There is no easy route. None of this has been easy.”

“No?” Regina asks, her eyes shifting to Gold. “So, a magic bean that opens up a portal to Neverland… or wherever you think you need to go, that’s not the easy way?” Her eyes narrow as her heartbeat quickens as the dots start to connect she’d been unable to even see before. “Because the hard way would be manipulating someone into casting once-thought impossible curse, damning an entire population to an unknown realm just... just to… try to prove that you’re not the coward that you are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gold returns.

“But the question is, why do you need them? What’s in--” She stops as she looks between the Tremaines, and hatred practically seethes from her as she looks back to Gold. “Oh, I get it. Your son is in Neverland.”

“And I won’t let you of all--”

“Me,” Regina cuts in, laughing in spite of it all. “You’re right. You’re not going to let me do anything because you can’t.” She shrugs as her eyes slide to Robin, still standing steadily beside her with his bow drawn up. “You’re powerless. Just like you always have been. That’s why you need these two…”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“No, I think I do. I’m not going to let you trade my son for yours.”

At that, Mrs. Tremaine laughs. “As if that’s the only trade…”

“Isn’t it?”

“He’s just one piece of it,” Mrs Tremaine says in a cool even voice. “And I have worked too hard to get what I want out of this.” She laughs as her shoulders square. “I remember you as a little girl, you know. So sickly sweet and stupidly brave…” She scoffs. “And those pathetic little notes you sent prove that you haven’t changed much. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you really spawned that little shit.”

Regina’s jaw tightens--and then, almost involuntarily her fingers begin to curl and she watches as Mrs. Tremaine swallows hard, her eyes falling to Regina’s clenched fist. “I don’t care about your goals or your motives. I don’t care who you owe or what you think you deserve, but you will not use my son to get it.”

“Careful, Regina,” Mrs. Tremaine murmurs, her voice husky as Regina’s fist tightens. “You might show him a side of yourself he can’t forget…”

“Unless she casts another curse,” Mr. Tremaine adds unnecessarily.

“Let him go…”

“Don’t you dare, Louie. She’s bluffing. She’s all smoke and mirrors.” She gasps as Regina’s fist tights and momentarily, Regina’s eyes slide to Henry, watching the way he’s watching the scene unfold. Taking a breath, she grips harder and Mrs. Tremaine gasps as her feet start to lift from the ground. “You wouldn’t,” she insist as she struggles to keep her voice. “He’d never forget it. He’d never forgive it.”

“Let him go.”

For a moment, nothing happens. They’re all at a stalemate--and then Gold, makes a move. He tries to prove his way out from around the table and before she can even consider what he’s doing or why, Robin reaches into his pocket and tosses down the bean. A series of gasps ripple through the room as gust of air pushes through and the floor opens up, swirling wildly as a portal opens.

For a moment, Regina just stares at him. In all the years of the curse, he’d kept a low profile. He ran his shop and collected his rent, making threats and posturing his pseudo power, and just waiting it out. Deep down, she’d always knew that there was more to more to the curse than she was willing to admit--and though she believed for a short time it was her way of exacting vengeance, that it was her way of finding some semblance of happiness, it hadn’t taken her very long to realize that wasn’t at all the case.

She’d been played, and she was miserable.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. In truth, it’d been a long time since she had--and when she tried to figure just where things had changed, when she’d changed, she couldn't help but remember those desperate moments when she’d summoned Rumplestiltskin in hopes of bringing back her one chance at love. He’d duped her them--making her believe it was possible, twisting her intentions and feeding her poisonous thoughts until she’d slowly but surely believed them.

He’d made her into someone she wasn’t simply because he’d been too much of a coward to do his own bidding. She’d been his pawn--sometimes willing, sometimes not--and it’d been the insecurities he’d planted deep within her that kept her up at night, that told her she wasn’t good enough, that told her she didn’t know how to love. Those insecurities had become a part of her, they’d formed the Evil Queen. They’d forced her to give up Henry once and they’d forced the situation they were in now. Had not been for Rumplestiltskin the Tremaine’s never would have found Henry, and they certainly wouldn’t have the opportunity to use him as a bargaining chip.

Her jaw tightens as she watches the portal swirl, edging closer to where Gold stands--and then, a with a quick flick of her wrist, Gold’s feet fall out from underneath him and tumbles into the portal. Regina’s eyes widen as he falls, her heart skipping a beat as her stomach flops--and for a brief moment, she wonders if she went too far. But then, she feels a sense of relief wash over her. Her hands shake as she turns back to Mrs. Tremaine, arching her eyebrow and almost daring her to continue.

“You still think she’s bluffing?” Robin asks as he looks to Mr. Tremaine who's still starting wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the portal. “Do you think I am?”

“Let my son go,” Regina says in an even voice. “Or you can join the Dark One in Neverland with… who only knows what.”

“I can’t… we can’t go there without…”

“Shut up,” Mrs. Tremaine snaps, her voice strained. “Shut. Up.”

“I don’t think…”

“Jump,” she yells. “Take the boy and jump. It’s closing! This is the last chance!”

Regina’s heart clenches as her eyes shift to Henry and before she can react, an arrow flies from Robin’s bow, striking Mr. Tremaine’s shoulder. He screams out and grasps at the arrow--and Henry slips free. He runs toward her she drops down to her knees. Her arms fold around Henry and everything else blurs away as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, and she’s only vaguely aware of Mr. Tremaine stumbling back into portal and pulling his wife down with him.

The portal closes as their screams dull--and the cabin door opens.

“I knew you’d find me,” Henry says, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You found my clue!”

“Robin did, actually,” she says as tears well in her eyes. “How did you…”

Henry doesn’t let her finish. Instead, he pushes himself forward and back into her arms. She pulls him up against her, cupping the back of his head as she tries to hold him as close to possible, and then as his lips press to her cheek--and, suddenly, everything feels different.

For a moment, everything stands still--frozen, static, and unchanging.

And then, reality bursts forward. Henry’s kiss is like a shock--extending past the two of them and rippling out in the room. The lights flicker as a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the room, followed by a series of gasps from the doorway.

Henry pulls back, startled as he looks around them with wide eyes--and she feels a smile curl onto her lips as she slowly begins to understand what happened--that a true love’s kiss has broken her curse, that her son’s love for her was strong enough to undo the darkest and most powerful curse ever wielded.

“Henry,” she breathes out, her voice catching in her throat. “Oh, my god, Henry. You did it!”

“Did… what?” He asks, swallowing hard as he looks around them. “What did I do?”

“You broke the curse,” she tells him as she draws him back to her chest, holding him tightly as her heart races and she tries to focus on the fact that she has him back and that they can finally move forward. Her eyes close as tears well in her eyes, pushing out from the sides, as the rest of the world fades away...

_____

She’d only been vaguely aware of their audience--Ruby and Granny, Archie and Graham--all there to witness the breaking of the curse. She hadn’t paid much attention to what happened immediately after, but Robin had huddled in the door with them for a long time--and finally, she’d heard Granny’s voice insisting they should “let her alone” and give her a little space with her son. Graham had argued and Ruby grappled to understand--but somehow, Robin managed to convince them to let it go for the evening, promising that they’d deal with it in the morning and reminding them they all had a lot of catching up to do.

His arm had folded around her as he guided her and Henry back to the truck. Henry recovered quickly, chattering on at how brave he was because he knew she’d save him, and retelling all the details as if he hadn't been kidnapped at all, but had been on some grand adventure. She listened and nodded, but all the while, all she could think of was how close she’d come to losing him that day--how close she’d come to losing everything.

“I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower,” Henry tells them as they step into the foyer. “I smell like smoke from the cabin.”

“There are worse things to smell like,” Robin teases as he tousels his hair.

Henry giggles a little and shrugs his shoulders and a moment later, he disappears up the stairs--and finally, Regina feels her shoulders slump forward as the emotion from the day finally catches up to her. Robin smiles as he turns toward her, folding his arms around her as he pulls her against his chest, and for just a moment, she lets herself melt into him.

“I can’t believe it’s over…”

“I know,” he murmurs back. “Henry broke the curse. Who would have thought?”

“He’s… he’s kissed me before,” she says in quiet voice. “I don’t understand what was different about this time.”

“Maybe it was just… the perfect mix of things.”

“Maybe…” Taking a breath, she pulls back to look at him. “And now, I have to deal with it.”

“And you will.”

She nods. “I… half expected to be greeted at the door by an angry mob with… I don’t know… pitchforks and torches, demanding I be burned at the stake or…”

“I think, right now, everyone’s just… coming to terms with it.”

“So, you’re telling me I have something to look forward to?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs back as a grin tugs up from the corner of his mouth. “But whatever happens, you won’t deal with it alone.” She nods and draws in a breath as his fingers rub absently at her hip. “You have Henry, and you have me, and you have Rol--”

“Oh, god, Roland,” she breathes out, her throat suddenly dry at the thought of Roland knowing her true identity and being afraid of her. “He remembers--”

“He remembers… lots of nights sitting around campfires, telling stories and… swimming in rivers and…” Robin laughs as he leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead. “He never knew you as the Evil Queen, so tomorrow, when you see him, he’s going to look you the way he always has. You’ll still be Henry’s mom and my girlfriend, you’ll still be the woman who can get him to eat strange food like red peppers and tofu… and you’ll still be the woman who’s given him the closest thing he’s ever known to a mother’s love.”

“I don’t think I could stand it if--”

“He won’t fear you. I promise.”

Nodding, she takes a step back in. “I thought he was supposed to be here, with John…”

“When we found Henry, John took him home. He thought it’d be better if--” His voice falters and she sighs with understanding. “Roland might not be afraid of you, but John is a little concerned about… well…”

Her brow arches. “Does he think I’ll put a curse on you?”

“More like incinerate me.”

“Ah…”

Robin shakes his head. “I could bring Roland back here and--”

“No,” she says, taking a breath as she looks to the stairs, her thoughts shifting back to Henry. “No, you need to have some alone time with your son and… I think I need some alone time with mine.”

“Okay,” Robin nods. “I’ll be over tomorrow morning and… we can make butterbeer pancakes for the boys and figure this thing out.”

“Butterbeer pancakes…” she repeats, her brow arching. “That’s...a very specific breakfast.”

“It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“That’s odd.”

“Well, I found this book and I thought the boys would get a kick…”

Shaking her head, she laughs. “Do I even want to know where you found it?”

“Probably not.”

A slight grin edges onto her lips and for a moment, she’s thankful for the normalcy of it. “So, butterbeer pancakes before the lynch mob arrives?”

Robin sighs. “There isn’t going to be a lynch mob.” Leaning in, he presses another kiss to her forehead. “Regina, if you need anything--or if you just want to talk or have someone talk to you until you fall asleep--call me. Don’t hesitate.”

“I will.”

“Promise?” She nods. “Okay,” he breathes out as he takes a half step back. “I love you…”

“I love you, too,” she returns as he takes another, wider step back. “Thank you for… everything today. I don’t think I could have--”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he cuts in. “Give Henry my love, alright?”

She nods. “I will.”

He offers her a wink and wave before leaving, and from the window by the door, she watches as he pulls out of the driveway. Taking a breath, she locks the door and turns off the light, feeling vaguely dizzy as she considers what the next day will bring.

Ascending the stairs, she goes to her room and changes into a pair of pajamas before taking off her makeup--and somewhere in the process, she decides the best way to tackle whatever is coming at her is to do it head-on. She doesn't quite work out the details but by the time Henry turns off the shower, she’s resolved to hold a town hall meeting the following afternoon.

“Mom?” Henry asks as he pokes his head into her room. “I know it’s been kind of a long day, but… can you read to me tonight?”

“Of course,” she breathes out as she looks at him through the mirror of her dressing table, smiling at new pair of pajamas featuring the Incredible Hulk flexing his muscles in various poses--a pair that Robin picked up the other day for both boys, insisting he couldn’t pass up at buy-one, get-one sale.

Henry waits at the threshold and reaches for her hand, leading her to his bedroom. She watches as he climbs into his bed and situates himself, and she can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief when he reaches for Harry Potter instead of the leather bound storybook on his nightstand.

“I barely remember where we left off,” she murmurs as she slides into bed beside him and watches as he opens the book toward the marked page. “It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs back as he looks down at the page. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Sure…”

“Am I going to school tomorrow?”

“Oh, well… I think a lot of people are going to be taking a few days off.”

“Probably,” Henry says, nodding as he looks back to the book. “It’s probably for the best.”

“A lot of people have… a lot to work through and figure out and…”

“And I’m supposed to have a math test tomorrow.” She watches as a little grin edges onto his lips and a soft chuckle bubbles up from her core as she bends her head to kiss the top of his head. “So… you… you really have magic.” She nods as he looks up at her. “That’s… really cool.”

“It can be.”

“Can be?”

“Well, it can be dangerous, too.”

“Like what happened at the cabin?”

“Yeah, exactly,” she murmurs back, taking a breath as she combs her fingers through his wet hair. “Did you… want to talk about that? Maybe instead of reading?”

For a moment, Henry hesitates and then, he closes the book in his lap. “Where did they go?”

“Neverland, I think…”

“Like, as in, Peter Pan?” She nods and a little grin edges back onto his lips. “Maybe the crocodile will eat them.”

“That’s… a possibility.”

“Are there stories about Neverland in that book?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “There could be. We could look…”

“Maybe later…” Henry murmurs back. “I just… wondered what happened to them.”

“Are you… upset that…”

“No,” he cuts in, shaking his head as his eyes meet hers. “I’m glad they’re somewhere else.”

“They are… definitely somewhere else.”

“And they can’t come back?” She shakes her head and Henry takes a breath. “Good.” For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nuzzles back against her. Her arm stretches around his shoulders and she cuddles him close, and for awhile, it feels like he’s drifting to sleep. “Mom, can I ask you something else?”

“Sure…”

“Can you...do magic tricks and stuff?”

Blinking, she lifts her head. “Magic tricks?”

“Yeah, like… you know… the cool stuff magicians do.”

“Well, I’ve… never tried to pull a rabbit out of a hat or pull a bouquet of flowers from my sleeve, but I do know a few tricks.”

Henry brightens and her chest tightens as he smiles. “Can you show me one?”

“You… want me to do a magic trick?” He nods and she sighs, her heart fluttering as she tries to think of something as he sits up and watches her expectantly. “Okay, well… I am a bit rusty,” she murmurs as she pulls away from him and sits up a little straighter, drawing in a long breath as she brings her hand up, curling it toward herself as her closes and she conjures the image of a cupcake--and then, once she has it, she blows the tips of her fingers, slowly opening her eyes as her hand uncurls.

Henry gasps as the cupcake appears, hovering over her flattened palm. “Wow… is it… is it real?”

“Take it,” she tells him. “See for yourself.”

Slowly, he reaches out, gasping a little as his fingers come into contact with a very real and very large cupcake. “This is amazing,” he whispers as he examines it. “It’s real!”

“I know.”

“Can I eat it?”

Laughing she nods, flicking her wrist and shrinking it down to a bite-size version. “Now you can.”

Henry blinks. “I’m not even mad that you made it into a littler one! That’s so cool that you can shrink things!” She laughs a little as Henry bites into the cupcake, his eyes widening as he looks up at her, looking stunned and amazed that it’s real. Shaking her head, she wipes a little frosting from the corner of his mouth and he giggles as he settles back against his pillow. “What else can do you?”

“Well… I’m a little bit rusty, but I can do all sorts of things.”

Henry nods and takes another, smaller bite of the cupcake. “Can you enchant stuff?” She nods as his eyes shift to hers and she can see the excitement beginning to bubble up behind his eyes. “So, you could… make all my action figures come alive and they could--”

“How about we discuss that another time,” she cuts in, chuckling softly at his excitement as she thinks of the absolute chaos that would ensue if she brought his action figures to life and allowed them to battle bad guys and… do whatever it was that an eight-year-old imagined his action figures could do. “It’s late,” she adds as she stretches her arm across his shoulders. “So, how about we save some excitement for tomorrow and do a little bit of reading before bed.”

“We have had a lot of excitement today,” Henry tells her, his voice suddenly calmer and sincere as he pops the remainder of the cupcake into his mouth. “I’m glad I’m home now.”

“I am, too.”

“I know I said I was brave, but…” Henry’s voice trails off as he cuddles into her and he takes a breath. “What they wanted to do sounded really scary.”

“I bet it did,” she murmurs as her chest clenches and she momentarily thinks of what might have happened had Robin not found Henry’s drawing or had she listened to Graham’s advice and just gone home. “But it’s over now, and… what they wanted to happen didn’t happen.” She takes a breath and pushes away the thoughts, reminding herself not to dwell on what didn’t happen or what might have happened and to focus on the here and the now. “Okay,” she murmurs as she draws in a long breath and lets a smile pull onto her lips. “How about a little more Harry Potter?” Henry nods as she reaches for the book and her heart skips a beat as he cuddles closer and waits patiently for her to begin.

And for just a little while, everything feels completely normal again. Henry laughs as they read a section about Fred and George Weasley’s joke shop and she doesn’t think about what the next day will bring them--she doesn’t think about how angry people are going to be or how she’ll possibly defend the things she’s done; and when Henry nuzzles closer to her as Harry prepares to return to the Dursley’s for yet another summer, she finds herself smiling softly as a sort of serenity washes over her, and she finds herself thinking--in a fleeting, passing thought--that everything will work itself out, however it’s meant to.

#oq ff #regal believer #outlaw queen #mtby verse #ouat fanfiction #season 1 au #ouat au #oq au

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chasingthecosmos · 5 years ago

Text

Call Me But Love

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: T Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Twelfth Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 2/40 Read on AO3 here.

“‘Oh, dear. Looks like we might have picked up an extra passenger,’ the Doctor grumbled to himself. His gaze raised to Rose’s once more and she was struck by the sheer intensity of it and the way that he managed to look at once so familiar, and yet so different from what she was used to. 'Best find something to hold on to,’ he warned her ominously.”

A Season 8 & 9 AU centering around Rose Tyler and her newly-regenerated Doctor as they both struggle to maintain their relationship in the face of some unknown force that seems to be drawing them together. Will they be able to solve the mystery of who is pulling the strings before it’s too late?

This is a direct sequel to “By Any Other Name” and might be a bit confusing if you haven’t read that first. Tags will be updated as I go.

For once, Rose was glad for the TARDIS's meddling with her plans, as she was immensely grateful for the help that Jenny, Vastra, and Strax posed for her. Without them, she wasn't entirely sure if she would have been able to look after the Doctor all on her own while he was in such a state. It certainly took effort on all four of their parts to get his unconscious body back to Madame Vastra's estate, and it took all of Rose's considerable strength and patience to get him changed out of his old jacket and bowtie that no longer fit him quite right and into something a bit more comfortable when he finally came back to consciousness a short while later.

She had never thought that she would find herself actually missing the hologram projectors that he had insisted they use not so very long ago, but then again, life with the Doctor was nothing if not unpredictable.

"It's simply ... misunderstandable to be ..." the Doctor growled as Rose forced him to stop wriggling long enough to slide a clean, cotton night shirt over his head. "I don't know what it is. Who invented this room?"

He glared down at her as she finally settled his new clothes over his shoulders and Rose met his unfamiliar gaze warily. He was breathing heavily, as though the very act of changing his clothes had drained him of what little energy he had left, and his new blue eyes were still hazy and unfocused as he stared down hard at her.

"Doctor, please," she whispered quietly as she met his gaze with an earnest expression and attempted to reach into his scattered, broken thoughts to try and calm him, "won't you lie down? You need to rest ..."

"But it doesn't make any sense ..." he insisted as he turned and swept on of his arms out across the small bedroom that they stood in. "Look, it's only got a bed in it. Why is there only a bed in it?"

"Because it's a bedroom," Rose sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes at him and fighting the urge to shove him down onto the mattress by force, just to get him to be quiet. "It's for sleeping in."

The Doctor eyes widened to comical proportions as he glanced in horror from Rose, to the bed, and back again. "Okay ... so you've got a whole room ... for not being awake in. But what's the point? You're just missing the room! And don't look in that mirror!" He was scowling again as he brushed past Rose and pointed a finger angrily at the large glass mirror that was hanging on the wall behind them. "It's absolutely furious!" he exclaimed as he met his own gaze and glared.

"Doctor, please!" Rose insisted, stepping between him and his reflection and forcing him to meet her steady gaze once more. Please, love, please calm down ... she begged him silently as she fought to make sense of his frazzled thoughts. She could feel a crushing hopelessness weighing down on her as she stared up at him and fought to find even the slightest hint of familiarity or recognition.

The Doctor was still staring down at her with those thick, furrowed brows, his face leaning in close while his mind trailed away and spun off in a million different directions that Rose simply couldn't follow. "Wait a minute, why do you keep talking like that?" he demanded suddenly, his gaze narrowing on her suspiciously. "What's gone wrong with your accent?"

"Sorry?" Rose asked in confusion as she watched him stumble away from her with a look of apprehension on his face.

"You sound all ... English!" he insisted, throwing his arms out dramatically as he passed a helpless look around the small room. "Now you've developed a fault!"

Rose sighed in frustration and gritted her teeth together as she propped her hands on her hips and quietly regarded him. It seemed that no matter how many times she called out to him, she simply couldn't get him to focus - his mind was still far too discordant and disconnected after being scrambled by the regeneration energy that had swept through his entire being. She knew that she had one last resort, but she was hesitant to use it.

After a few moments of consternation, Rose finally opened her mouth and whispered the Doctor's true name into the quiet of the room around them. It was a risk that she normally wouldn't have taken in the middle of a strange house and in an unfamiliar time-period, but they were in the midst of some very dire circumstances, and that called for drastic actions to be taken. She knew that using the Doctor's name was the one, true way to guarantee that she would have his full attention, and it worked almost immediately as the Doctor seemed to freeze in place and turn on her with an expression of wide-eyed shock.

The name on her lips, which was normally only ever spoken with an air of reverent, loving devotion, was now whispered as a quiet, desperate plea, and it felt so horribly wrong that it made Rose want to cry.

"Doctor, I know that this is confusing for you ..." she murmured as gently as possible. "Believe me, it's hard for me, too. But right now, you need to calm down and rest, or else you're just going to make the process that much harder."

The Doctor's features fell back into his new, severe-looking scowl once more as he silently regarded her, but he still allowed her to take him by the hands and lead him slowly towards the bed without complaint, for once. Rose, however, could still feel his thoughts racing haphazardly around them in dizzying, incomplete circles as she forced his long limbs under the sheets and directed his head towards the pillow.

"I remember the last time you regenerated, you know," Rose murmured with a rueful smile as she slowly tucked him into the newly-made med. Memories of that life from so long ago made Rose nostalgic for a time when she had had a family and friends to fall back on whenever things like this happened. She wondered what her mother and Mickey would say if they could both see her now. "Back then it seemed that we couldn't wake you up for anything. Now it's like I can't get you to sit still."

"Had to go into a healing coma," the Doctor agreed, his voice coming out rough and distant-sounding as he gazed wearily up at her. "Taking the entire time vortex into your head will really take it out of you."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Rose teased gently.

The light-hearted banter seemed to raise the Doctor's spirits somewhat and the edge of his lips lifted ever-so-slightly as he gazed up at her. "You should sleep, too. It's past your bedtime, Amelia," he muttered, shifting the covers around himself and lifting them as though to invite her into the bed with him.

"Doctor ... it's Rose, remember?" she reminded him nervously, not liking the feverish look that was now in his eye and the way that his mind seemed to be tripping over his various thoughts and memories, unable to find sense in the patterns and faces of his past twelve lifetimes.

"Come along, Pond," he insisted, attempting to sit up once more and struggling against Rose's hand as she urged him back down to the bed.

"Ssh, sleep now, love," she whispered softly, placing her index finger against his lips to stop the rest of his frenzied words. She flashed him a small, sad smile as she quietly projected the sensation of unconsciousness into his thoughts and the Doctor finally let out a long, shaky sigh, his eyelids drooping wearily as the tension in his bone seemed to slacken. He still hadn't fallen completely asleep yet, but at least he had come to a halt at long last and his hallucinations seemed to have subsided for the time being.

Rose gazed down at him in pensive concentration as she studied his new features and attempted to sort out the frazzled, tangled consciousness in the back of her mind. Even now, it seemed that the Doctor's thoughts were running off without him, attempting to find sense in the mess that his regeneration had left behind.

Alone, alone, so alone ... he seemed to moan frantically.

You're not alone. I'm here, Rose assured him, her own thoughts trailing against the rough, unfocused edges of his mind.

He immediately grasped onto her presence as though she were a lifeline, his grip on her mind almost painful as he desperately tried to right himself and regain his bearings. Don't go, don't leave, please stay ... he begged.

Terror gripped Rose's heart in that moment, but she wasn't entirely sure if it was his or her own as he helplessly drug her down with him into the sea of chaos that was raging within him.

I'm not going anywhere, Rose assured him as confidently as possible as she fought to steady her breathing and remain within her right mind. Stay with me, come back to me, she coaxed him gently.

A pitiful, moaning sound escaped from the back of the Doctor's throat that broke Rose's heart and made her chest swell with a sharp stab of protectiveness. She moved further onto the bed beside him and took one of his hands in both of hers, noticing that his skin felt even cooler than normal as she held it close to her chest and tried to ignore the odd new shape of his fingers.

Rose had seen so many different versions of the Doctor, and she had loved every single one of them. She knew that this one would be no different, and that in time, she would find her hands fitting into his as easily as they always did, no matter what shape either of them took. She simply had to believe that that was true. The alternative was ... simply unthinkable.

"Please come back," she whispered as she pressed her lips to his knuckles and sent a wave of peace throughout his mind that seemed to calm the turbulent waters of his thoughts for a moment. "Please don't leave me ..."

"Rose ..." His voice was no more than a rough, muttered whisper, but it was the first time that she had heard her true name on this new man's lips, and it gave her the small spark of hope that she knew she had been looking for ever since he had changed. It also gave her the confidence that she needed to pull up the edge of the sheets of the bed and slip into the small space at the Doctor's side, her arms going around his middle as she settled in as close as she dared and desperately attempted to transmit some of her warmth into his chilled skin.

Rose closed her eyes and moved the palm of her hand over his chest so that she could count his heartsbeats and use their steady rhythm to slow the pace of both of their thoughts. She felt the Doctor shift slightly, as though he were turning his head closer towards her familiar presence, but she didn't both to open her eyes and look as she quickly drifted off into unconsciousness with him, her mind joining his as they fell into a deep, restless sleep.

-------------------

Rose's dreams were filled with memories and equations and emotions that she knew were not her own. When she was finally startled awake once more by a loud, pained roaring, she felt somehow even less rested than she had been before she had drifted off to sleep.

When she felt the cold, empty space beside her in the bed and realized that the Doctor had somehow managed to disappear into the night, she reached out over their bond on instinct in an attempt to find him. However, she was met with nothing more than a flurry of panic and a thick mental barrier that kept her firmly separated from the rest of the Doctor's thoughts. It seemed that he was slowly coming back to himself, but he was determined to keep her shielded from the tangled, chaotic mess that he had accidentally pulled her into before.

This was further proven to be true when she quickly joined Jenny, Vastra, and Strax and came upon the Doctor standing on an old stone railing and looking down at the flaming remnants of the dinosaur that they had accidentally time traveled into Victorian London.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Rose called up to him in quiet concern. She silently begged for him to come down and talk to her, or at least share with her what it was that was currently troubling his thoughts so much, but she was met with nothing more than silence as he refused to even turn around and meet her gaze.

"She was scared," he breathed quietly as if to himself. "She was scared and alone. I brought her here, and look what they did ..."

Jenny, Vastra, and Strax all attempted to help the Doctor to see reason, but he seemed determined to be obstinate as he growled down at all of them, pointedly ignoring Rose the entire time as she silently felt out the edges of his silent, closed-off mind.

"Why can't I meet a decent species?" he groaned in frustration. "Planet of the pudding brains!"

"Doctor ..." Rose piped up gently, refusing to let his biting words get to her as they once might have done, "I know you're upset, but you need to calm down and talk to us. What is the question?"

"A dinosaur is burning in the heart of London," he growled, finally turning to meet her gaze with a carefully blank expression that did nothing to disguise the anger glowing in his eyes, "nothing left but smoke and flame! The question is ... have there been any similar murders?"

Jenny, Vastra, and Strax all exchanged a weighted look between themselves before Madame Vastra replied gravely, "Yes. Yes, there have."

#doctor who #dw #fanfiction #fanfic #dw fanfic #dw fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #the doctor #twelfth doctor #rose tyler #twelve/rose #twelvexrose #the doctor/rose #the doctorxrose

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leiaskywalkvr · 7 years ago

Text

another hope - chapter ii

summary: Rebels have stolen the Death Star plans. Entrusted with the task of seeing them safely to Alliance leadership, Prince Luke Organa of Alderaan races to Tatooine, hoping to find and recruit Obi-Wan Kenobi, a survivor of the Jedi Purge. Pursued by agents of the sinister Galactic Empire, Prince Luke is running out of time, and must find a way to keep the plans that carry the last hope for the Rebel Alliance from falling back into Imperial hands…

characters: leia organa, c-3po, r2-d2

length: 3.7k words

ao3 link: (x)

Needless to say, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were rather shocked when Leia returned home with an unconscious, blood-covered stranger and two droids. They stared at her, almost unbelieving, as she told them about how she had seen the escape pod crash and found the boy inside. She was worried Uncle Owen would be angry with her for being reckless and going to investigate the wreck by herself, but he remained silent as she spoke.

“We had better get him inside out of this heat,” Aunt Beru said, when Leia had finished with her story. “We’ll put him in your room, Leia, and see what we can do. I think I have some bacta patches lying around somewhere for that cut on his head…” She turned and hurried down the steps, leaving Leia and Uncle Owen to deal with the boy.

Wordlessly, Uncle Owen walked over to the speeder and helped her lift him out. She grabbed his legs, while Uncle Owen wrapped his arms around his upper torso, and together they began to carry him over to the entry dome.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Leia asked as they began to descend the stairs, looking over her shoulder to keep from tripping on the steps.

Uncle Owen frowned. “I only wish you’d come and got me before going out to investigate all by yourself,” he said. “What if there had been someone dangerous, and conscious, inside?”

“I had my blaster. I know how to defend myself, Uncle Owen, I’m not a child anymore.”

“I know you aren’t, but that doesn’t make what you did any less reckless,” he argued. “But we’ll talk about this more later; let’s deal with the boy first.”

They carried him into her room, settling him on her bed, and Aunt Beru went about cleaning the blood from his face and hair. The gash on his forehead was deep, and still oozing blood; once it was clean, she grabbed a bacta patch off the nightstand and carefully placed it over the wound, sticking it in place.

“There,” she said, straightening and wiping the sticky bacta residue from her hands. “That should help.” She glanced over her shoulder to Uncle Owen, who was still lingering in the doorway. “Owen, would you mind going to Anchorhead? See if you can’t find a medical droid, or a medic, or something. Just someone who can come and check up on him. It seems like he hit his head pretty hard.”

Uncle Owen nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll try not to be long.”

He disappeared again without another word, and Aunt Beru stayed where she was, looking nervously at the boy.

“Do you know anything about him?” she asked, glancing at Leia.

She shook her head. “Only that he was travelling with an astromech and a protocol droid,” she said. “The astromech’s mostly alright, but the protocol droid took some damage. I’ll see if I can’t fix him; find out what he knows.”

“Alright. He doesn’t look like a dangerous criminal, at least. What do you think?”

“I don’t think he’s a criminal, Aunt Beru.” The boy’s clothes looked expensive, despite the fact that his shirt was splattered with blood, and his pale skin pointed to a life that was often spent indoors. “Though he’s definitely not from around here.” She sighed, and headed back towards the door. “I’ll get to work on the protocol droid. Let me know if you need anything, or if something happens.”

Aunt Beru nodded and Leia left the room, going back up to the surface and unloading the droids from the speeder. She would have to go back to the northern field at some point and retrieve the WED-15 she had abandoned at the busted vaporator, but first she would bring her two droid guests down to the garage.

The astromech was, for the most part, able to get himself to the garage. He needed a bit of help getting down the stairs, but other than that he was content to roll along behind Leia as she lead the way. She left him to settle in the garage and went back up to retrieve his counterpart, who was somewhat more difficult to get downstairs. She used a cart to get him from the speeder to the entry dome, but it wouldn’t fit down the stairs, and so she then had to carry him, his metallic limbs thumping against the walls as she struggled with his weight.

She dumped him rather unceremoniously on the worktable when she finally made it to the garage, letting out a deep sigh. The astromech rolled up to her, beeping inquisitively, and Leia gave him a gentle pat. “Let’s see what we can do about your friend, huh?” she said, gathering her tools and setting them out on the table beside the protocol droid.

She started with the off-kilter head, which she suspected was the cause of most of the droid’s problems. There were likely some disconnected wires, a few bits and pieces out of place; hopefully nothing that would take long to fix. The astromech sat beside her, watching her intently as she worked to disconnect the head from the rest of the body. Just as she suspected, several of the wires leading from the droid’s head into his neck were broken, and more than a few of them looked to be rather important. She set about fixing them, reattaching them as best she could and replacing the ones that were damaged beyond repair.

Once that was done, she poked around in his head for a bit, looking for anything else that was damaged, but it all seemed to check out. Carefully she pushed his head back into place, and just as she was about to finish securing it the droid’s eyes lit up. He was perfectly still for a moment before shuffling his feet and bringing his good arm up to his face, as if he were a human suffering from a headache.

“Oh my…” he mumbled, and Leia leaned over him, smiling.

“Hello,” she greeted, and the droid stiffly twisted his neck, readjusting himself to the movement. “How are you feeling?”

“Rather poorly,” he admitted. “But, if I might ask, who are you?”

“The name’s Leia,” she said, helping him to sit up. “I’m the one who rescued you from the crash.”

The astromech beeped loudly, and the protocol droid looked over at him. “Artoo!” he cried. “You’re okay!” The little blue droid gave a short whistle, and the protocol droid gave a little huff. “Well, not everyone is as hardy as you, I’m afraid!” he said, obviously insulted.

Leia couldn’t help but smirk; she hadn’t known droids could be so indignant. “And what’s your name, goldie?” she asked.

“Oh, forgive me my poor manners, Mistress Leia,” the droid said, giving an awkward half-bow. “I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations, and this is my counterpart, Artoo-Detoo.” The astromech gave a cheerful little chirrup, and Leia waved at him. C-3PO continued, “You have my eternal gratitude for rescuing us. I must ask, however, if you have any idea what happened to the human we were travelling with?”

“He’s here as well,” Leia said, picking her tools back up and beginning the process of reattaching C-3PO’s arm. “He’s injured, but my uncle’s gone to find a med droid. Hopefully he’ll be alright.” She paused in her work, glancing up at the droid. “Who is he, exactly? You guys aren’t… pirates or anything, right?” Though she didn’t suspect that to be the case, she felt the need to confirm it anyways.

“Pirates! Oh, Maker, no!” C-3PO cried. “I must admit I’m not entirely sure who he is, but I do believe he was someone of great importance — a prince, though I don’t know of which planet.”

Leia’s eyes widened. “A prince? What was a prince doing all the way out here? And in an escape pod!”

“Well, that would be on account of the Empire,” 3PO said. “They were pursuing us, you see. As for our being here, I must admit, miss, that I do not know where exactly here is.”

“Tatooine,” Leia replied, “a barren rock of a planet in the middle of nowhere.” She frowned, attempting to jiggle 3PO’s arm back into its socket. “Why was the Empire after you?”

“I do not know exactly,” 3PO admitted, “but I assume it must have been on account of the Rebellion.”

“The Rebellion!” Leia looked up at the droid, her mouth open in shock. “You know about the Rebellion against the Empire?”

C-3PO nodded. “Why, yes. We are part of it. Or, rather, our master is.”

“Have you seen many battles?” Leia asked. She had heard about the Rebellion, of course, but only through rumours and Imperial propaganda. She’d never met anyone who had actually seen it all firsthand.

“Several, I think,” 3PO said. “Actually, there’s not much to tell. I’m not much more than an interpreter, and not very good at telling stories. Not at making them interesting, anyway.”

R2-D2 suddenly let out a loud series of beeps, and C-3PO looked down at him. “Now, Artoo, calm down! You needn’t be so rude!” But R2 continued his tirade, rolling back and forth like an impatient child.

“What’s he saying?” Leia asked.

“He’s telling me to ask if you know of anybody by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi,” 3PO replied. “Apparently, he’s a resident of these parts.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Leia frowned, her brows drawing together. “Why? Is he a friend of yours?”

“He’s nobody I know, miss,” 3PO said, “but I do believe the prince was looking for him. I do not know why — I am only a protocol droid, after all. I assume he is the reason we are here.”

Leia hummed, rubbing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Well, I don’t know anyone named Obi-Wan, but I know of a Ben Kenobi who lives out beyond the Dune Sea. He’s a bit of a strange old hermit, though.” She finished tightening the last bolt on 3PO’s arm, and gave his shoulder a quick pat. “There, that should do it. How does it feel?”

C-3PO began moving his arm, gingerly at first but then with more confidence. “Quite well, thank you, Mistress Leia.”

“Oh, there’s no need to call me mistress,” Leia said with a wave of her hand, putting her tools down on the table. “I’ll see what I can find out about this Obi-Wan Kenobi for you. Just stay here for now, alright?”

3PO nodded. “Of course, miss.”

◊◊◊

Uncle Owen was descending from the stairs just as Leia walked into the hallway. A human medic hobbled along behind him; he was a shrunken old man, with a face wrinkled and leathery from a lifetime spent toiling under the twin suns of Tatooine. Most settlements with a sizable enough population had at least one medic, and if they were lucky perhaps a Clone Wars-era med droid. Leia doubted any of the medics had actual medical training; there was nowhere on Tatooine for them to learn, and she couldn’t think of why anyone would want to come to a backwater desert planet to heal the ailments and injuries of farmers and slaves.

This man was likely no exception, but he no doubt still had more medical experience than any of them, and they only needed to make sure the boy had no other injuries besides the gash on his head.

The boy — the prince.

Leia breathed in deeply through her nose. They were housing a prince, and not just any prince, either: This one was involved with the Rebellion. Or, at least Leia assumed he was; why else would he have been travelling with two rebel droids?

She trailed after her uncle as he lead the medic towards her bedroom. Aunt Beru was still inside, staring sullenly at the boy’s flushed face, but she took a step back when the medic entered. Leia lingered in the doorway, watching the man’s bony fingers as they carefully peeled back the bacta patch to inspect the wound; she suspected Uncle Owen had already told him most of the story. He muttered to himself as he worked, and Aunt Beru walked around the bed to stand beside Leia.

“Were you able to fix the protocol droid?” she asked, talking quietly so as not to disturb the medic.

Leia nodded. “The droids don’t actually belong to him,” she said, “though apparently, he’s a prince of some sort.”

“What? Really?” Aunt Beru looked at her in disbelief, then glanced at the boy; the medic had started rummaging through his bag, looking for something. Uncle Owen looked over his shoulder at them, his eyebrows raised. “Where’s he from?” Aunt Beru asked. “What was he doing all the way out here?”

Leia shrugged; she didn’t suppose her aunt and uncle would be too pleased to know that their guest was likely a member of the Rebellion, and that the Empire was after him. She knew it was dangerous to keep him around, but there was nowhere else for him to go. She wanted to help him, and so she kept that bit of information to herself. “The droid didn’t know much about him,” she said. “Not even his name. But I think he was looking for someone — a man by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi. I thought he might have meant old Ben Kenobi.”

Uncle Owen turned to fully face them, a deep frown now pulling at his lips. He looked disquieted, and cast the boy a quick, uncertain look.

“Do you know who he’s talking about?” Leia asked, seeing the look on her uncle’s face.

“That old man’s just a crazy old wizard,” Uncle Owen said with a shake of his head. “Whoever that boy’s looking for, he won’t find him. I don’t think he exists anymore. He died about the same time as your father.”

Leia’s eyebrows shot up. “My father?”

“Just forget about it, Leia,” he said. He gave the boy one last suspicious look before heading for the door. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. All you need to worry about is finishing your work. Understand?”

Leia scowled but nodded, glancing one last time at the unconscious prince lying in her bed. Keeping him here put them all at risk — the Empire was probably already looking for him, and once they found the crashed pod they would search all the surrounding homesteads for him. The Empire had never bothered much with Tatooine, but Leia had still heard the stories about its brutality. They would not be merciful towards anyone found harbouring the rebel prince.

Yet there was something about the boy that kept Leia from telling her aunt and uncle the truth — something that made her want to ensure he was safe. She simply hoped it wasn’t something she would come to regret.

◊◊◊

It was late in the afternoon by the time Leia returned from the northern fields, having retrieved the WED-15 repair droid and finished servicing the remaining vaporators. The medic was long gone by then, and Aunt Beru was just finishing with dinner. The boy was still unconscious; apparently, he suffered from a minor concussion, but was otherwise alright and would likely be awake by the morning. Leia had spent the entire afternoon debating over her decision not to tell Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru about the boy’s connection to the Rebellion. She knew her uncle would react negatively, and would want the boy out of his house as soon as he woke up. That was the reasonable thing to do, and she knew it, but the same part of her that wanted the boy safe also wanted him to stay — she wanted to talk with him, to ask him about the Rebellion, and to possibly help him find the mysterious Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She decided, then, that she would wait until he was awake. She’d find out who he really was, and what his connection to the Rebellion was, and then she would tell her aunt and uncle the truth.

The garage was growing dark when she arrived, carrying the tools she had used to repair the vaporators. Setting them down on the worktable, she looked around with a frown; neither of the rebel droids were anywhere to be found.

“See-Threepio?” she called. “Artoo-Detoo?” She walked over to the wall, pressing a button on the control pad that turned on the overhead lights. They flickered a bit before finally coming to life, illuminating the garage in a warm orange glow. C-3PO’s golden head suddenly appeared from behind a rusted moisture vaporator base, his arms held up in surprise. Leia frowned at him. “Why are you hiding over there?” she asked.

C-3PO stumbled forward, nearly tripping over an old piece of tarp. “It wasn’t my fault, miss!” he cried, obviously panicked. “Please don’t deactivate me! I told him not to go, but he wouldn’t listen; kept babbling on about finding Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Leia let out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “Oh, no,” she breathed, then turned and raced for the door.

3PO hobbled after her, following behind as she hurried outside onto the salt flat. Pulling the macrobinoculars from her utility belt, she scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of the little astromech droid — he was nowhere in sight.

“That R2 unit has always been a problem,” 3PO said, shuffling forward to stand beside Leia. “These astro-droids are getting quite out of hand. I told him to wait until the prince woke up, but he insisted on going. He said he needed to ensure the mission was completed. Honestly, miss, I have no idea where he got such grandiose ideas!”

Leia sighed, lowering the macrobinoculars. “I can’t see him,” she said. “Blast it! I don’t suppose our royal friend will be too pleased when he wakes up and finds one of his droids missing.”

“I don’t think he would, miss,” 3PO agreed. He seemed to hesitate a bit before continuing, “Pardon me, miss, but couldn’t we go after him?”

Leia shook her head. “It’s too dangerous; too many Sand People. We’ll have to wait until morning to look for him, if he hasn’t already been snatched up by Jawas by then.” She hooked her macrobinoculars back onto her belt, just as Aunt Beru’s voice came floating up to her from the courtyard.

“Leia!” she called. “Dinner’s ready!”

“Alright, I’ll be right there!” Leia cried back. She took one last look at the darkening horizon. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t get too far,” she muttered, before turning and heading back inside.

◊◊◊

She set out in the early morning, when the second sun was just beginning to peak beyond the horizon and no one else was awake. She brought C-3PO along, and he piloted the speeder as she scanned the landscape for any signs of the little blue astromech.

“Old Ben lives out this way,” she said, pointing straight ahead to where the Jundland Wastes loomed in the distance, “but I don’t think that little R2 unit could have gotten that far. The Wastes are crawling with Sand People, and the Jawas circle around here all the time. Who knows what could’ve happened to him.” She sighed; she really hoped R2-D2 hadn’t been very important to the prince.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about all this, miss,” 3PO said. “You have already saved us once, and now you must do it a second time simply because Artoo could not listen to reason.”

“It’s alright, Threepio,” Leia said, patting the droid on the shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Your friend seems to be rather headstrong, for a droid.”

“Oh, he is, miss, believe me.”

Leia grinned, and glanced down at the scanner she held in her hands. There was something dead ahead, and from what she could tell, it was a droid. “There’s something straight ahead of us on the scanner,” she said. “I think it might be our wayward astromech. Come on, speed up.”

3PO did as he was told, and they raced into the Jundland Wastes. Sure enough, they were soon coming up on R2-D2, rolling along the rocky canyon floor as if he was out for an evening stroll. C-3PO stopped the speeder and Leia hopped out, slinging her blaster rifle over her back as she ran to meet R2.

“Where are you off to, little guy?” she asked, stepping in front of him and blocking his way. R2 let out a rather indignant whistle, and Leia frowned at him.

“Now, Artoo, that’s enough of that!” 3PO said, sounding quite cross. “Mistress Leia here rescued us from the crash and gave us shelter, and was kind enough to come find you before you got yourself lost or destroyed, which is more than I would do were I in her situation! I will not tolerate another unkind word towards her.”

R2 gave what sounded like a mocking retort, but Leia just shook her head. “Come on, we should get going,” she said, heading back towards the speeder, “before my uncle starts wondering where we went.”

She was just about to unsling her blaster from around her shoulder when R2 let out a flurry of frantic beeps and whistles, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. “What is it?” Leia asked, looking from the astromech to C-3PO.

The protocol droid took a startled half-step back. “Oh my… he says there are several creatures approaching from the southeast.”

Leia frowned, grabbing her blaster off her back and holding it at the ready in her hands. “Blast,” she muttered. “It’s probably Sand People. Stay here; I’ll go take a look.”

She carefully made her way to the top of a ridge that overlooked the canyon. Pulling out her macrobinoculars, she lied down on her stomach, propping herself up with her elbows as she peered through the binoculars into the canyon below. It did not take her long to find two Banthas, riderless and shuffling about in the sand. She zoomed in closer, just as a Tusken Raider stepped out from behind one of the large, lumbering creatures.

Suddenly something stepped in front of her binoculars, blocking her view. She looked up to see a second Tusken Raider standing over her, his gaderffii held high above his head. Leia gasped and made to sit up; the Tusken Raider let out a loud animalistic cry, bringing his gaderffii down towards her in a swinging arc. She managed to dodge the first blow, but he caught her on the second swing, his club-like weapon striking her in the back of the head, and she fell forward into the dust, instantly unconscious.

#star wars #my writing #leia organa

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