#archie hopper would agree with me.

[mossmx]

I think bugs would mock us like "ahah lame you only have three holes to breathe! losers" and our air passes where the food goes? whack!

I mean, bugs are kind, but also they would be right

[shelbgrey]

Hi, I saw you were taking requests for once upon a time, can a I request this prompt “You saw the good in me when no one else did...so thank you” with August and maybe some smut? Thank you!

Hidden secrets(August Booth)

Paring: August Booth x Hopper!Reader, Archie Hopper x Daughter!Reader

Summary: august has been writing all day and his girlfriend wants his attention prompt: 1.9) “You saw the good in me when no one else did...so thank you”

AU! Where Gepetto finds out Archie was involved with his parents death and hasn't forgiven Archie since. August and y/n have to keep their relationship a secret because of their feuding fathers.

Warrings: SMUT! Teasing, Dry humping, slight hand job, female reader, unprotected sex, slight dirty talk?

MasterList

“dad, I'm going out” I said, peaking my head into his office. Pongo sat up from his bed next to mu dad's desk and greeted me with a nudge of his black nose and his waging tail. My dad looked up from the file he was reading and smiled.

“where are you going if you don't mind me asking?” my father asked kindly. That was the problem, he was too kind and it killed me to lie to him. The secret keeping wasn't exactly his fault, he hated the on going feud just as much as August and I did.

It was bad enough my dad still felt guilty about Gepetto's parents and when the secret was revealed he tunred on my father then making me and August Storybrooke's very own Romeo and Juliette, which sucks beacuse I hate Shakespeare. I'm sure my father would be supportive, because he's nothing less than loyal and kind, but me and August both agreed to keep our love a secret.

“going out with Ruby” I quickly lied which ment I'd have to shoot her a text, asking her to cover my ass. My dad nodded and waved good bye. “okay, love you Bug”

“love you too” I said and quickly left to meet up with August.

We met up at the toll bridge like we always did. “hey, beautiful” August smirked and handed me the spare helmet beofer claiming on the back of his motorcycle. The helmet I wore covered my face completely, it was a safety thing and he never let me get on the back of his bike without it. But if I was on the back of it no one in Storybrooke knew who I was and trust me the people of Storybrooke wanted to know who August was riding around town with.

No one knew about us except Ruby and Emma. Ruby knew because she was my best friend and I'd never lie to her and emma just found out by mistake, she had walked in on us one time because August forgot to lock the door to his place.

It didn't matter that there was nothing to do in town, it was nice just to hold on to him as we road around Storybrooke on his bike. With the helmets on we were just a couple without any worries, and we didn't have to deal with our his father.

We made a few laps around town then went threw the woods once before getting some food at Granny's. We could go in there and no one would question it, we got our usual spot which was in the very back and ate before heading back to his place to relax.

--------(3rd pov)--------

Later that afternoon August and y/n retired to his apartment to relax and so August could do some writing. The clacking of a typewriter filled August's ears as he concentrated on the story he was working on. His girlfriend of two years sighed as she layed on the bed they shared. It felt cold without him and the lazy day turned into something that dragged. Y/n tossed around in bed a bit before rolling on her stomach and watched August typing away on the typewriter he refused to replace with a computer. “Auggie?”

without looking up he spoke in a tone that said u. Wasn't fully listening. “Yes, Sweetheart?”

Y/n silently rolled out of bed and walked to where his desk stood on the other side of their bedroom. She stood behind the chair he was setting in and ran her hand through his wavy hair then kissed the side of his forehead. “Are you almost done?”

He looks up and sees her behind him. He smiles. "Not even halfway, darling.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind as she placed gentle kisses on his scruffy jaw. “But I'm so bored without you”

a grin spreads across his face. “Oh, you're bored?”

Without thinking, he scooted his chair away from the desk to wrap his arms around her and pulled her down to his lap with a smirk. She got comfortable in his lap, facing him with her legs dangling off the sides of the chair as I straddled his lap. August scooted his chair back to its original place and got back to work, resting his chin on her shoulder so he could continue writing. 

his fingers move over the keys as he continues writing, now feeling the warmth of her body against his “I'll let you sit on my lap if you behave”

Y/n shifted in his lap, making sure to brush up against the sensitive area between his legs. She rested her head against his chest, pretending she didn't know what she just did. “I'll behave…”

August bites his lip as he hears her innocent sounding voice as his cheeks slowly turn red. "You better behave…” he leaned forward and continued to type. 

She shifted slightly again, purposely grinding against him. August couldn't concentrate on his typing, the warmth between his legs growing increasingly uncomfortable and yet, he couldn't help but enjoy the feeling. His chest rose and fell in tandem with her breaths as he tried to ignore the distraction. 

Her soft moans filled his ears, feeling him starting to grow harder. The roughness of his jeans provided a small amount of friction against her short-shorts covered core. Placing his hands on her hips to keep her still, he leaned in close, letting out a low growl "You're going to be in trouble if you keep that up…”

“Sorry... Just trying to get 'comfortable'” she teased, hiding her face in his neck.

August's heart races as her soft breath fanned across his neck. He tries to ignore the growing bulge in his pants, focusing on the story he's telling. His fingers started to fly over the keys, the snapping of the keys getting louder and more aggressive as he got lost in the rhythm of their dance.

August grew harder against her, his erection twitched against where she needed him most, the only thing keeping them apart was her shorts and his jeans. The arousal between them grew as she gripped his t-shirt in her fists, her arousal soaking through her shorts onto his jeans. 

August let out a groan as he felt the wetness seeping through his jeans. His fingers falter slightly on the keyboard, but he grits his teeth stubbornly and keeps typing. I smirked, knowing he wasn't gonna give up easily. She kissed his jaw instead of grinded against him. 

August shivers at the touch of her lips on his skin. His fingers continue to fly over the keyboard, but his mind is no longer focused on the story he's telling. All he can think about is her body and how much he wants her “you're making this extremely difficult for me…”

“Just trying to give you... Emotional support” she teased as she nipped down his jaw and continued to grinded against him again. The wet patch on his jeans grew bigger. Her breathing quickens as her core ached for him. August groans again as he feels her plush lips on his skin, her body pressing against his. He tries to maintain control, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. He can feel the bulge in his pants growing harder by the second. “you'll be giving me something else if you aren't careful…”

Y/n nipped at the skin under his ear then whispered, “like what?” she grinded against the sensitive area between his legs. 

August growls low in his throat, feeling the wetness against the fly of his jeans. He can't help but arch his back into the sensation, stopping his writing momentarily to hold her hips in place as he arched up into hers. She moaned as he arched his back, the zipper of his jeans pressed against her clothed clit. 

August bites his lip, feeling the need to give in to the desire building within him. He turned to face her, a hungry look in his eyes. She moaned, got desperate as she moved her hips faster. 

August's hands find her waist, pulling her closer to him as he crushes his lips against hers for a brushing, hungry kiss. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting her fully as he pushes his rigid length against the fabric of her shorts.

She moaned against his lips, their tongues fought for the dominance he easily won. She tugged at his hair as their hips grinded against each other, making her grow wetter. As their mouths collided, a wave of heat rushed through him. He deepened the kiss, teasing her tongue with his own. She moaned against his lips, tugging at his hair. August groaned at the sensation as his hand snaked under her shirt, tracing a light pattern over your stomach. "You're making this awfully hard,”

“I could tell” she joked, pulling away from the kiss to look down at his erection pressing against his jeans. 

August chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached down to unbuckle his belt and unzipped his jeans. "I'm going to need some help with that," he murmured, taking hold of her hand and guiding it towards his hard length. "Touch me.”

Y/n's heart pounded as she stared into his blue eyes and slowly started to stroke him. His eyes fluttered shut as he tilted back. He let out a low groan as she stroked him, a look of pure lust and desire etched on his features. His breathing grew shallow and his body tensed, his hips jerking slightly in response to her touch.

She pressed her lips against his, her tongue danced with his. The feeling of her lips on his, the taste of her mouth mixed with his own was intoxicating. He groaned against her lips as she continued to stroke him, his hips bucking against her hand in an unconscious response to the pleasure she waw giving him "Fuck,”

Y/n teasingly rubbed her thumb over his leaking tip. His eyes grew wide as and his breath hitched as she teasingly rubbed his leaking tip. He couldn't contain a deep moan, his body shuddering with the effort to keep still "Jesus, baby," he gasped, his voice rough and husky. 

She slammed her lips against his for a rough kiss then pulled away. “W-we should go to the bed" y/n whispered against his ear as she continued to jerk him off. He was still in his chair and she was in his lap still. 

He nodded, gripping her tighter as he stood up. He kicked the chair aside and carried her to the bed, his heart pounding with excitement and anticipation "God, you're so fucking beautiful,”

He dropped her onto the bed, making her slightly bounce as he climbed on top of her. His pupils were blown with lust, leaving very little blue showing in his eyes. Their eyes locked as she teasingly reached for his cock and stroked him again as he placed his hands on the bed, holding himself over her. 

August groaned deeply, his hips jerking involuntarily in response to her touch. His eyes never left hers, the intensity of their gaze mirroring the fire burning within him. "Fuck, baby... I need you so bad,"

Her thighs clinched together at the noises he was making, rubbing her thighs together for some sorta friction and started stroking him faster. 

August gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the sheets as she stroked him faster. He lowered his head, kissing her hungrily, his tongue sweeping into her mouth once more. The sight of her thighs rubbing together was driving him wild. She matched his hungry pace, kissing him and tangling her tongue with his. The grip she held on his cock tightened only slightly as she continued to stroke his leaking tip with her thumb making, His hips bucked violently. His muscles tense as he fought to maintain control. He groaned, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. "Fuck, baby... I can't wait much longer.”

She stroked him faster as she buried her face into his neck, nipping and kissing his neck. 

He groaned deeply, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control. "Take off your shorts," he commanded, his hands tightening on her hips. "I need to be inside you now.”

As she let go of his cock, he sat back on his knees at the end of the bed as she frantically tried to pull her shorts down. His cock twitched in anticipation. As soon as they were down around her ankles, he grabbed her hips, pushing her back onto the bed, positioning himself at her entrance. 

Y/n moaned as her back hit the bed with some force. Her hands racked into his hair, tugging desperately as his tip rub up against her aching core “A-August” 

"Relax, baby," he murmured, his voice rough and low. He dragged his tip down her folds, teasing her. 

He chuckled darkly against her neck as he continued to tease y/n like she did to him. “P-please stop teasing” she panted. 

August smirked and finally pushed inside her, filling her up in one swift motion. He groaned deeply, his hips meeting y/n's as he began to thrust slowly. “So tight…” he growled against her earlobe. 

Y/n let out a loud moan, throwing her head back against the pillow as he stretched her out. August picked up the pace, his hips slapping against hers as he took her hard and fast. His free hand gripped her hip tightly, holding her down while he claimed every inch of her body. “You feel so good…”he panted, his cock throbbing inside her.

Y/n dug her nails into his back and wrapped her legs around his waist as a desperate attempt to hold on as he moved harder and faster. I moaned and whimpered his name as the bed creaked and moved under their movements. 

"Fuck..." August groaned, his hips slamming against hers as he lost control. His cock pounded deep inside her, claiming her body as his own. The room was filled with the sounds of their passionate lovemaking and creaking of the bed moving under them.

“A-August!” y/n moaned out as he thrusted into her, hitting her g-spot with force over and over. 

"That's it, baby," he growled against her neck as he pounded into her, his hips meeting hers with each thrust as his grip tightened. He pulling her closer, claiming her completely. “You're mine…”

“I'm yours!” y/n moaned. 

"fuck yes," he growled, his lips brushing against her neck. His thrusts became harder and faster, his body trembling with the effort to hold back his impending orgasm. Y/n’s moans fueled his passion, driving him to greater heights of desire.

She felt a tight knot forming her stomach, making her heart pounded as she tightened around him every time his tip hit her g-spot. Y/n gripped his shoulders, moaning louder “I'm c-close”

"Cum for me, baby," he groaned, his hips slamming against hers as he thrust deeper and harder. His cock throbbed inside her, seeking release from the intense pleasure coursing through his body.

with one last thrust the knot snapped, triggering her climax. Her head fell back in pleasure as she came hard on his cock “August!” 

August let out a hoarse cry, his body trembling as he felt her tighten around him. He thrust one last time, feeling her clench around him as he released himself inside her. 

“Mmm…” y/n hummed softly and lovingly as she gently ran her fingers through his messy hair. 

"You're so beautiful," he whispered before pressing his lips against her in a slow, passionate kiss. Y/n blushed and kissed him back softly. She moaned against his lips as he slowly pulled out. August let out a soft moan, his cock throbbing from the pleasure. He leaned down to kiss her softly, his eyes locked with her e/c ones. “I love you” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

--------(August's pov)--------

“there you are, where were you, My boy?” my father asked as I walked I to his shop early the next morning. My heart pounded against my chest when he asked my that, I knew I was supposed to remain truthful and selfless if I wanted to remain human. Hell, if I was still a hunck off wood my nose would be a mile long by now. Is it really selfish if I'm protecting y/n? And I'm not lying when I tell my father I was home all night.

“just at my apartment... Doing some writing” still technically not a lie... I was writing untill y/n districted me. I looked into my father's eyes and I knew he could tell I was hiding something. “I know when your lying, your nose may not grow anymore but I see the other signs”

I sighed, taking off my leather jacket and throwing it on the chair that sat in the corner of my father's work shop. “I'm telling you the truth Papa, I was at home”

“with whom, Son?” he pushed. Just out of instincted I reached up and scratched my twitching nose. It's stupid I have to remind myself I'm human and not some wooden lie detector. “you were with her again... Weren't you?”

I sighed and faced my father with pleading eyes. “yes! Yes I was with y/n... Papa whatever beef you have with Jiminy doesn't involve her or me” I stared at him from acrossed his work table, the frustration and emotions I felt since day one of my relationship boiled over. “you want me to be truthfull? Selfless? Well here's to truth, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me and I love everything about her. Her eyes, her smiles, the ways she laughs, everything! Damnit, papa she's the kindest most selfless person in this whole damn town! It would be selfish of me just to keep our relationship a secret”

My father crossed his arms over his chest sighing. He looked down for just a moment before looking back up at me. “I've been the selfish one, I didn't relize the grudge I held effected not only your life but y/n. I'm truly greatful your heart is full of love and not hate like mine is. If you truly love y/n, then I won't get in your way. If anyone deserves a happy ending it's you, my son”

I was shocked, but relieved at the same time. A big smile few acrossed my face and I hugged my father, greatful he was so excepting.

Later that night I stayed up in the shop, working on a wooden jewelry box for y/n. The quiet was getting to me so I called y/n, putting my phone on speaker phone so I could sand the wood and talk to my Love.

“Hey!” her beautiful voice said.

I smiled, wishing I could see her instead of just hearing her. “hey, beautiful”

“what's up? It's late” she asked concerned. Yeah it was late, but it was nothing new for y/n to stay up so late. She was probably reading.

She was the one person I can't nor won't lie too, so I quickly cut to the chase, not wanting to worry her by beating around the bush. “my papa found out about us...or I told him” I spoke softly.

“I know you don't like lying to him... How did he take it?”

I smiled even though she couldn't see it. “well, I guess we're pretty damn lucky because he said as long as we love each he won't get in the way”

“that's great!”

I smiled softly, then there was a beat of silence between both ends of the phone. It felt like a breath of fresh air not having to hide anymore. There's no amout of words that could express my love for this woman. I don't know how I got so lucky. ���hey, sweetheart?”

“yeah?” she asked softly.

“You saw the good in me when no one else did...so thank you” I smiled softly.

“I love you... You'll always be a hero in my eyes. I'm glad we don't have to hide anymore”

“me too... And I love you too” I smiled, I loved her more than ever and how didn't have be a hidden secret.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Reunited at Last

Summary: Regina Mills lives a very mediocre life in the small town of Storybrooke, Maine. An orphan, she has no family to speak of, hasn’t had a love life since her high school sweetheart dumped her and her landlord Mr. Gold won’t even let her have a pet. She works a menial job in the cannery though she dreams of owning a bakery. Her existence is a lonely and boring one…until a young girl knocks on her door and says she is Regina’s daughter.

Diana has a book of fairy tales that she claims are real and that everyone in the Storybrooke is cursed. Though she doesn’t believe her at first, Regina starts to read the book herself and finds herself slowly starting to believe. She enters a fight to get back her happiness, her friends and her family–even if it means taking on the powerful Mayor of Storybrooke.

Chapter 1: FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Chapter 14: Decisions and Gossip

FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Excerpt:

"Hello, Regina," Dr. Hopper said, ushering her into his office. "How are you?"

She scratched Pongo behind his ear, just where she learned he liked, before sitting down. "I'm good," she replied. "I've definitely been infected by the holiday spirit."

He chuckled. "You and most of the town."

"Christmas certainly has come to Storybrooke," she agreed, thinking of all the decorations that had gone up since her last session. Granny's Diner had covered its windows in fake snow as well as Christmas lights and decorations. And the town had hung its lights over Main Street already, though they weren't lit yet. That would happen during the upcoming weekend when Mayor Nolan would also light the town tree.

And even though Regina was still nervous around the town's mayor, she couldn't wait for the event. Especially since she was going with Rob and their friends.

"I believe you were decorating your house this weekend," Dr. Hopper said. "How did that go?"

"It went very well," she replied, brightening as she thought of the fun night she spent with her friends. "My house looks lovely and I have a bunch of great memories now. And I feel very relaxed."

He chuckled. "I'm glad to hear that. But did you try any other methods of self-care?"

She nodded. "I took a nice long bath with a bath bomb and some scented candles. I then put on some soft music and used a face mask. It felt heavenly."

"Good," he replied. "I hope you make it a regular practice."

"I will," she said, already vowing to do it again later that month.

He nodded, writing something down. "Now, in our last session, we were discussing your romantic history. And I get the feeling you wanted to discuss it for a reason."

"Yes," she replied, feeling nervous again. "There's someone I'm interested in."

"I had a feeling that was the case," Archie said. "Is it Rob?"

Surprise filled her as she nodded. "How did you figure it out?"

He chuckled. "Well, you tend to smile when you say his name and your expression softens. And I notice that you tend to separate him from the rest of your friends when talking about them."

"Oh," she said, unaware she had done that. "But yes, I do have feelings that are stronger than friendship for Rob."

"And I'm guessing you want to pursue these feelings?" he asked.

She sighed as Pongo jumped onto the couch and curled up next to her. "Yes, but I'm afraid I can't."

"And why not?"

"It's…complicated," she said, deciding that was the best word. "And you have to promise not to think I'm crazy."

He tilted his head. "That word doesn't exist in this room."

"I know," she replied. "But I still worry that you're going to think it. So can you promise and put me at ease? Please?"

"Okay," he said. "I promise."

Relieved, she said: "It has to do with the storybook. I think Rob is really Robin Hood and Miriam is really Maid Marian. And if that's the case, then they are meant to be together - not him and me."

He paused, looking up at her. "So do you believe the storybook is real?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Some days I do, some days I don't. But lately, the days I do are starting to outnumber the days I don't."

"Do you think Miriam has feelings for Rob?" Archie asked.

She shrugged. "Miriam says they are only friends and they don't seem to act like they have any feelings for each other."

He nodded. "And do you think Rob might return your feelings?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly again. "I don't know if what he's doing means he has feelings for me or if he's just being a good friend, you know? I just don't have enough experience with friendships or romances to know the difference."

"I think that's a very good observation," he replied. "Do you want to discuss it now?"

She took a deep breath. "I think so."

"Okay," he said. "Tell me more about your friendship with Robin."

"Well, he's always willing to help me out but he's like that with everyone else," she started.

Dr. Hopper held up his hand. "Let's not compare your relationship with him to his with anyone else. Let's just focus on yours."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Good," he replied, leaning back in his chair again. "I apologize for interrupting you. Please proceed."

"Thank you," she said, playing with Pongo's ear as he rested his head on her lap. "Well, as I said, he is always willing to help me. And he is a really good listener. He's the only other person I've told about my search for my possibly missing child."

Dr. Hopper paused his writing as he tilted his head. "That's a big deal."

"I know," Regina said. "But I just felt so comfortable talking with him about it and he's been so supportive. It felt really good."

"That's good," Dr. Hopper assured her. "Trust is important in any relationship, either platonic or romantic."

That gave Regina pause as she continued to pet Pongo, thinking through her interactions with Rob to see if he had confided anything to her in return. Unable to think of anything, she admitted: "I just don't know if Rob trusts me the same way I trust him."

"He may not," Dr. Hopper said. "We all build trust at different paces. It doesn't mean your friendship isn't strong."

"I guess," she replied, her heart sinking. "I just hope I'm not reading too much into Rob's actions."

Dr. Hopper nodded. "That's an understandable concern."

"Do you have any recommendations?" she asked him, hoping he would be able to help her with her conundrum.

"I do," he replied. "It's going to be simple but sound hard - you should talk to him."

Regina frowned, nodding. "You're right. That does sound hard. What if he doesn't like me that way? What if I scare him off and he decides he doesn't want to be my friend anymore?"

"That is a risk you're going to have to take," he replied. "And it's not one you have to take right away. You can continue to build a friendship with him so that when you do have the discussion about your feelings, you can be more confident that he isn't going to stop being your friend."

"I guess that makes sense," she said slowly. "And I can better sort out my feelings to make sure it isn't just infatuation because of the attention he's showing me."

He nodded. "I think that's a very wise thing to do to make sure you're not mistaking friendship for something more."

She chewed her lip before asking: "Do you think that's what I'm doing now?"

"No, I don't," he replied. "You're not claiming that Rob is in love with you. Rather, you are approaching this maturely with your head and heart in the right place."

"Thank you," she said, glancing at the clock. "How much time do we have left?"

Archie glanced at his watch. "We're about halfway through. Why?"

"Because you skipped over the other part I'm worried about," she said. "The part about the storybook depicting Rob and Miriam as Robin Hood and Maid Marian."

"I did," he agreed. "I didn't think it was as important."

She pressed her lips together, her stomach turning. "Because you thought it was crazy?"

He shook his head. "I told you that word doesn't exist here."

"Then let's talk about it," she pressed. "Let's talk about the fact that Robin Hood and Maid Marian look like Rob and Miriam."

"Okay," he said, nodding. "You're right. This clearly bothers you and I apologize for dismissing it. Let's talk about why it bothers you."

She bit her lip, glad he was finally discussing it with her. Regina considered her answer before responding. "Because the more I read the book, the more I find myself believing Diana's theory about the curse. So if I am the Queen in the book, then Robin Hood plays an important role in that story but I don't think he is the man I end up falling in love with."

Dr. Hopper took off his glasses, studying her without them. "Are you certain the book is real?"

"Not completely, if I'm honest," she replied. "It still seems too fantastical to be completely true. But there are just so many coincidences that I can't just disregard them anymore. I mean, Rob Locke? Sounds pretty similar to Robin of Locksley. And Miriam Woods? Miriam is similar to Marian and she did live in the forest. If you had to modernize those names and try to hide their true identity while still winking at them, those are good choices."

"That is one way to look at it," he agreed. "Or perhaps their names inspired the illustrator to choose them when designing Robin Hood and Maid Marian."

She sighed, nodding. "I thought of that too. That's why I feel so torn."

"I understand," he said, glancing at the clock with a sigh. "Unfortunately, our time is over. We can continue discussing this at your next session."

"Okay," she replied, starting to stand. "Thank you."

He stood as well. "If I can say one more thing before our time is truly up. Don't stress about whether or not you're meant to be with Rob. Just continue building the relationship and enjoy the holidays. Okay?"

"I think I can do that," she said, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Thank you."

"Good," Archie said. "Now, I hope you don't mind that our next appointment won't be until the New Year, do you?"

She shook her head. "I'm honestly busy until New Year with orders so that works."

They reached his desk and he opened his calendar. "I like it when everything sorts itself out. How does January fifth sound?"

"It sounds good," she replied, pulling out her little calendar to add it. "Same time?"

He nodded, writing her into his calendar. Archie then looked up and held out his hand. "If I don't see you, have a happy holiday."

She shook his hand. "You too."

Pongo then pushed against her free hand and she chuckled, scratching behind his ear. "Happy holidays to you too, Pongo," she cooed.

"He's definitely going to have a happy holiday," Archie said. "I tend to spoil him."

"Good," she replied, straightening up again. "He deserves it."

Dr. Hopper laughed as he nodded. "Yes, he does."

She wished him a happy holiday again before leaving the office, heading down the stairs to the front door. Regina stepped out into the cold air, shivering as a few flakes of snow hit her coat. Wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck, she started to walk back home as she hoped it only flurried until she was safe inside. She was likely going to have to start driving even though the office was close to her house as the winter was only going to get worse. And she definitely didn't want to get caught in a storm.

As she turned the corner onto her block, she thought of Archie's words to her. She decided not to worry about what the story in the book meant for her own life. For far too long, she had let outside forces control her life. But not this time. She was going to continue to be Rob's friend and see where their relationship went from there, no matter what the book said.

Nothing was going to control her and keep her from living her life ever again.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Mind Mirror (Part 19)

Maybe this is karma. 

Maybe the universe has to check off every single box. Pay her back for ever little moral infraction including those tactless remarks about how Little John should show some restraint at the buffet and how Emma eats like a child.

Maybe she needs to suffer for even the slightest misdeeds and harsh remarks. Maybe she deserves all of this. 

It runs through her head as she steps over fallen branches and bumps in the sidewalk. It is terribly cold out and Emma had wanted to take the car. But she has eaten very well this morning and she would be significantly more comfortable if she could do a bit of walking. Even if her cheeks sting and her fingers go numb. 

She should have let Emma use the car and meet her at Dr. Hopper’s office. Emma’s face is a vivid red and she keeps dabbing at her nose with the back of her hand before sniffling. 

She insists that she doesn’t mind. 

Regina knows better. 

It is just one of the many many ways that her lifestyle is inconveniencing Emma and it is entirely unfair. Emma shouldn't have to deal with the discomforts that Regina is content subjecting herself to.

"I can teleport you there. I don't mind walking alone." She can have her way without making Emma miserable too. And maybe if she gives her enough alone time with Dr. Hopper the truth will come out. She can take the chance to tell the man exactly how she feels without having g to be so delicate and careful. 

She could swear that she senses Emma coming to the same conclusion. And she is pondering it very seriously. "But I do, Regina. I mind you having to walk alone. I told you that you wouldn't have to."

Regina nods. She musters up a half smile. Even after all of this time it still feels so very surreal to have someone refuse to leave her side. 

They cross a lonely street, late morning snow swirls around their ankles. It sails into Dr. Hoppers office before he can close the door.

Today sitting in that room feels suffocating.  Regina clasps her hands tightly in her lap.

"How have you been, Regina?" Archie asks. "Did you have good holidays." 

"They didn't go terribly..." 

"But they didn't go well either?"

Regina shrugs. "Well they can't go perfectly, can they? Thats not a very realistic expectation." Especially considering her pattern of lonely, longing, and hollow holidays. Of Christmas miracles that refused to happen and New Year's resolutions that she never bothered to make because it was all hopeless anyways.

This isn't hopeless. She can achieve this one…

"No, I suppose not." He agrees. "The holidays can be an extraordinarily stressful time."

"I don't need statistics to know that I should dread the holiday season." She replies stiffly. And she doesn't need them to know what kind of futures lay before her. 

"Have you been taking your medications regularly?"

Regina nods.

"She has." Emma confirms. 

"Great!" Dr. Hopper grins. "Would you say that they are helping?"

Regina furrows her brows and purses her lips. "I haven't been anxious." Without them she would probably be queasy and on edge right now. She probably would have snapped at him thrice over. 

"But your depression is…?"

"Getting worse." She fills in quietly. And really she can only blame herself. She can't imagine that there is a drug in the pharmacy that can make hunger less taxing.

"Alright, so why don't you tell me what has been bothering you since we last spoke? And lets talk about how you handled those things."

"Nothing in particular. I just feel…how I always do."

Next to her Emma bristles. There is something on the tip of her tongue. Something that she has to physically hold back with her teeth. Something that causes her to shift. 

"Regina, I can't help you if you aren't open with me. And I can't help you if you aren't honest with me."

Regina inhales deeply.

"What is something that upset you during the holidays? Christmas, new year's?"

"Christmas was fine everyone had a nice time."

Apparently Emma’s tongue outmatches her teeth. "Until Zelena decided to call her fat."

"She didn't."

"Okay yeah she wasn't that on the nose about it but she was pretty damn blunt." Emma grumbles.

"Ah…" Dr. Hopper nods. "I am aware that that's a raw spot for you."

"I'm dealing with it?"

"How so?"

"The same way I deal with everything else."

"Bottling it up." Emma quirks a brow.

"Getting over it."

"So bottling it up." Emma confirms. "You know that that's not good for you."

Oh, but what she is actually doing is much worse. "I made my new year's resolution so I won't have to worry about that soon." She straightens her posture.

"Presuming that weight loss is your resolution, how are you approaching it?"

"I…I decided to walk here today."

Dr. Hopper nods. It is one of his meek, almost wincing nods. "Regina, its only nine degrees out."

"We made it here just fine…" he opens his moth but she continues. "And if we got too cold I have my magic. Perfectly safe."

Archie hums in thought. "Yes that is true. But…given what I know about you and the lengths you go to achieve your goals…" he pauses. "I want you to be careful. Don't push yourself, that's very easy to do especially if you're new to working out and…"

"I have Emma."

"Who you haven't once even mentioned the gym or exercise to." Emma folds her arms across her chest.

"It has only been a week." Regina excuses. "Why are you…" she gestures to the woman's slouched posture. 

"I'm tired of you lying!"

Regina flinches. "Im not–"

"Right. You're doing what you do best; withholding crucial information." She pauses. "Honestly, at this point, I think that that's worse."

"Alright." Dr. Hopper speaks up. "Perhaps it would be best to have separate sessions. I understand that Emma helps you feel less anxious but it might be good to have a few more one on one sessions."

"We can't end it like this!" Regina protests.

Emma sighs more deeply than she has ever heard a person sigh. "Look, I'm not mad. I'm frustrated and I'm worried about you, ok. And I don't know what to do and I wish that you would let me in."

Regina rubs her hands over her face. "Emma, you have your own problems and your own life. I don't want you to worry about mine all of the time."

"But I do."

"I can take care of myself." She squeezes Emma’s shoulders. "Can you trust me to do that? Please."

It breaks her heart when Emma says, "alright, I trust you."

She shouldn't.

She really really shouldn't.

And when she finally realizes that, there will probably be fragments of regret and confusion scattered within the unsalvageable wreckage that she will have to come to terms with. 

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 49

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 49 - Storm Warning

Gold couldn’t remember the last time he’d hosted a dinner party, let alone had an evening as pleasant as the one he was enjoying with Belle, Miss Lucas and her boyfriend. He had been surprised, and a little cautious and reserved, when Ruby had turned up with the town psychologist, Doctor Hopper as her ‘plus one,’ - a factor that he hadn’t even realized was a part of the invitation. The ice had soon broken though, as much due to his fondness for the friendship Belle obviously had with Miss Lucas, as the undeniably stimulating conversation and good company that Doctor Hopper - Archie, he reminded himself  - had proven to be. He smiled as he returned to the lounge to see that the girls had pulled the cushions from the couch and had made a nest of sorts, as was Belle’s wont to do, and couldn’t help but chuckle as Archie looked up at him with a visual, helpless shrug of acquiescence written in his expression.

“It’s cozy if nothing else,” Gold agreed with the doctor’s unspoken amusement.

“Stop being such a tease,” Belle demanded softy, and patted the cushion at her side. “I was trying to make things less stuffy.”

“Stuffy?” Gold almost yelped in mock offense.

“Yes, stuffy,” Belle said, practically sticking out her tongue. “Sitting on the chairs and the couch, facing each other like something out of Pride and Prejudice.”

Gold did laugh then, and nodded to the nearby ottoman, which Archie dragged into their cushioned circle to serve as a makeshift table for the tray of hot chocolate and cookies Gold had brought from the kitchen.

“A little something to warm us even more?” Gold asked as his laughter faded, then looked pointedly toward the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room.

“I think the fire, and the cocoa will quite suffice,” Belle said, raising an eyebrow Gold’s way.

Chuckling again, he teased, “Now who’s being stuffy?”

Belle protested, but all in a playfully exaggerated way, and Archie piped up, “I wouldn’t mind, actually, Gold. It sounds like a terrific idea.”

“Yes please,” Ruby echoed cheerfully, rolling her eyes as Belle gave her a side eyed look of disapproval.

Shaking his head, but feeling more warmed by the companionable banter than he was the fire, the cocoa and the promise of a splash of alcohol in his hot beverage, Gold crossed the room to the cabinet, to pull out a small bottle of fine brandy. For reasons he wasn’t really prepared to fully admit, the evening called for a little celebration.

“What do you think, Gold?” Hopper’s voice pushed aside his contemplation, and he turned with a quizzical look on his face.

“Hmm?”

“Snow or no snow?”

“I’m sure it’s cold enough,” Ruby added, drawing a nod from Belle as Gold returned to the small party and handed the bottle to Hopper with the invitation to help himself.  He pulled up one of the discarded chairs for him to lean against, and joined them in the space before the fire.  It was a frigid night, and it only promised to get colder.

“Cold enough, perhaps,” he agreed, “but I think too dry. Actually though, Miss Lucas--”

“Oh for the love of— would you call me Ruby already!” she snapped in exasperation, “It’s too late for that kind of Bul--”

“Manners cost nothing, Miss Lucas,” Gold said, with a grin, and leaned over to reach for a cup of cocoa to hand to Belle, and then one for himself, accepting the small bottle of brandy from Archie soon after.

“But—” Ruby’s exasperation, it seemed, would not let her go, however, she was interrupted by Archie’s soft voice.

“Don’t deny the man his perfectly natural affectations,” he said.

“Didn’t we agree you’d leave the psychoanalysis at the office door?” Ruby shot him a look, and Archie held up his hand in defeat, a look of apologetic solidarity on his face as he glanced at Gold.

Gold nodded at the man, then turned his attention to Belle, holding up the brandy bottle. “Are you certain?”

Belle nodded, and with quiet acquiescence, Gold tipped a small amount into his own cocoa, then placed the bottle in the chair behind him.

“As I was about to say,” Gold cleared his throat before he went on, “You are at least partly right, Miss Lucas. Given the lateness of the hour, and the temperature out of doors, I wonder if you and Doctor Hopper would care to—”

This time he was interrupted by his phone, and he frowned, pulling it from his pocket to look on the display for the name or number of the caller.

“Gold?”

He froze, Archie’s soft inquiry lost in a buzz of concern that was starting somewhere in the base of his skull. The number on the display wasn’t Jefferson’s number, and on the phone that he was carrying, it should have been.  It should only be.  Suddenly breathing faster, his heart began speeding to a painful beat in his chest. He got to his feet faster than he probably should have, almost unbalanced, and steadied himself for a moment on the back of the nearby chair, until Hopper, too, stood and came to his side. Gold murmured a soft apology as he did.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to take this call.”

Hopped nodded as he moved away, and vaguely heard Archie suggest to the ladies that they might clean up the cushions and straighten up the room.

His mind was spinning.  What if it were Jefferson, calling from another phone out of some urgent need.  It would behoove him to answer just as quickly if it were. He crossed the room toward the hallway, and was turning toward the kitchen as he thumbed the button to connect the call.

“What?” he snapped, blood singing in his ears even as he tried to slow his racing heart. As soon as the caller drew breath, he knew it wasn’t Jefferson.

”That’s hardly a polite greeting, now is it?”

His racing blood slowed to an icy crawl that served to finish slowing the frantic beat of his heart. The world suddenly came into a strange kind focus. Bile born of hatred rose in his throat. The mere sound of her voice, laced as it were, with sarcasm, and layered over years of bitterness pulled a flash of memory from his mind; unwanted. Unwelcome.

“Oh, please…” Her voice was mocking, the tone cruel, and she drew out the words. “Let’s finish this!”

She raised her weapon, clubbing Bae hard enough to drive him to his knees.  The light left his eyes as he caught himself on his hand, and he turned his own, cold stare toward Gold. 

“West,” he snarled into the phone.

"Oh, so you do remember me then,” she said, mocking him with cheerfulness. “You don’t call. You don’t write… So how are things with you - Duneach? Or wait… it’s not that any more, is it? Your nam—”

“What. Do you. want?” he snapped, then matching her in sarcasm, if not in cheer, he added, “And why would you ever think I’d want to fucking hear from you? Unless you’re going to tell me that you’re suffering some kind of incurable disease that’s going to eat at you slowly, because I’d gladly pay to see that.”

“Aww, Gold, I didn’t know you cared,” she sang. “How is that working out for you, by the way?  Small town bigwig… So many friends, I’m sure. ”

“You stay the fuck away from me,” he warned harshly, but she laugh, except no, it was a brittle cackle that traveled down the phone.

“Make me,” she spat.

“Oh, gladly, I can assure you.” He bared his teeth to the phone like a wild dog after prey. His voice was a hiss that seeped into the microphone. “If I so much as catch a hint of you coming anywhere close I will end. You.”

“You don’t have it in you,” she jeered. Not trying to hide her mocking behind sarcasm any more. Verbally spitting in his face. “Not any more. You’re soft… soft and slow.  How is your son, by the way and where on Earth did you hide him away…?

“You—” he began, but what breath he had that wasn’t stolen by her question was taken again by her words.

“Oh yes, I know he survived.  I know he’s still alive... ”

“You dare--!”

“ ...no thanks to you. ”

A part of him wanted to ask her what she meant. No thanks to him how? But his hatred refused to let him give her that power over him.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to blame me for this!” he growled, spittle flying with his temper. He knew it was what she wanted, and he had given her that power he had tried to deny her mere moments ago, but he could no more stop himself than he could have stopped the waves from answering the call of the moon.

“Temper temper,” she laughed. “Whatever happened to the disciplined gentleman I used to know and love?”

“You know nothing about me,” he answered with a laugh half way between derision and hysteria. “You never knew anything about me, and loved…?” He left the rest of that hanging.

“So what’s this,” she demanding, feigning jealousy, “about the sweet young thing I hear you’re dating?” She was taunting him, and he knew it. “Does she know you? I mean, really? Does she know what you were? What you are?”

“I swear on my life, West, you come anywhere near me, or my son, or anyone else I might care about, and whatever rock you crawl under won’t keep me from taking you apart piece by rotten piece and feeding you to the rest of the rabid, neighborhood strays!”

“Promises, promises,” she mocked. “Oh, and by the way, your dear mother sends her love.”

“No,” the word was an inhuman crackled on his lips. “You don’t get to taunt me with that banshee!”

“What makes you think I’m taunting you?” West asked, almost reasonable, but for her smugness. “I’m only stalling, keeping you talking. Milah offered, but we both know you’d hang up on her in a heartbeat.”

Stupid!

The blood that had been pounding in his ears drained from him and he cursed himself for a gullible fool. She was playing him. Had been playing him all along, and he was stupid enough, and blinded by his hate for her, that he’d played right into her hands.

He raced from the kitchen to the basement door, and hardly felt the scrape of skin against the wall, nor cared that he almost fell as he misstepped with his cane. He had to know whether he had been compromised, though he was sure he already knew the answer. It was little enough security as it was.

“Well, I can tell that you’re busy, Gold,” West’s voice held the same, exaggeratedly smug tone, though now he paid it no heed, even when she said, “It’s been good speaking with you though. I’ll see you soon.”

It wasn’t her words that brought the curse to his mouth, that was poised on his lips as she cut the call, but the fact that he found she had indeed kept him talking for long enough for the signal, which had been bouncing around from place to place in an attempt to mask his location was now hovering, steady and exposed… in Storybrooke.

Crushed by self loathing, that he had been so stupid, so careless, he swung at the wall with his fist, ignoring the pain as he connected hard, punching the brick again and again as he punished himself for putting everyone - for placing Belle - in such insurmountable danger.  He continued to swing again and again, relishing the pain, even crying out with it, a stifled cry that left him leaning on the work bench that supported all of the electronic devices which had been neutralized by his hatred, and the weakness it had caused.

Breathing hard, he tried to think. Berating himself again. He didn’t have time for this self-indulgence, not if he were going to keep Belle safe, to keep Grace safe, and he had to… wanted to… needed to prove to himself, as much to Jefferson as to Belle, that he was worthy of… of what?  Their trust?

He needed to make a plan, but to do that he needed to know just how badly he had fucked up, and just how much of a dumpster fire the whole thing was. Tears of anger made his eyes ache and as the immediate rush of adrenaline faded his hand began to throb with the pain of his self harm.

He didn’t have time for that either.  Now, he had to act.

He snatched up his phone again, typing out a hurried text message to MacCalmain, warning him to stay away from Storybrooke… to keep Grace, instead, safe in New York City, where he’d instructed the man to take her, and afterwards, he hit his speed dial and listened, with increasing dread, to the sound of Jefferson’s phone ringing… and ringing… and—

Silence. 

Jefferson, or someone in his place, had declined the call. He tried again to the same effect, and then a third time, this time rewarded with a click, and a cough, and then a voice he barely recognized as belonging to Jefferson rasped out two words that left him colder than even the call he’d shared with West.

Just two words.

“We’re... coming. ”

[emospritelet]

Manifesto - chapter 10

It's been 84 years...

Last time, Sutherland convinced Belle to join in with a Government consultation. Cue snark and UST

[AO3]

-

Belle stared at Sutherland, her pulse thumping at the base of her throat as she met his eyes. He had that tiny smile on his face, his eyes glinting, and she licked her lips nervously.

“I - I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said lamely, and he pushed upright.

“Well, it is my house,” he said. “After a fashion.”

“No, I didn’t mean…” She closed her eyes, swallowed, and opened them again. “I just meant I didn’t think you’d concern yourself with a consultation, that’s all. I - I thought it might be one of your Ministers.”

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t,” he agreed, reaching for the coffee. “But we’ve decided to give this policy more priority, and given that it’s a cross-government initiative, I thought I’d show face.”

“Right,” she said weakly. “Great.”

“Oh, I won’t be here for the whole thing,” he added. “I suspect I’ll leave after lunch. Coffee?”

“Thank you.”

Belle looked around the table, spying pieces of folded card printed with names marking each place. She read over the names, trying to find her own.

“You’re here,” said Sutherland, placing both hands on the back of one of the chairs and pulling it out. “Please. Take a seat.”

For a moment she was frozen in place, but then she lifted her chin, stalking around the table and sitting down. He pushed her chair in, and she murmured her thanks, squeezing her thighs together as he reached over her shoulder and grasped a cup and saucer between thumb and forefinger, slowly pulling it over until it was in front of her. Belle watched the movement of his hand: long, tanned fingers above a perfectly white shirt cuff, and wanted to sigh. Nope. Still fancy him. Dammit!

“I trust your journey here wasn’t too tiring,” he said, crossing to the chair opposite the door and taking a seat.

“It was fine,” she said automatically.

“And the accommodation?” he went on. “I’m sure Anna arranged something suitable.”

“Yes, it’s - uh - lovely.”

He nodded, reaching for his own coffee, and Belle glanced down at the table. There was a folder of documents in front of her, a close-up picture of a smiling multiracial group of people with their arms around each other in front of a gleaming modern building of steel and glass. Shaping a Stronger Society was written in yellow font on a dark blue background. Belle opened the folder to reveal a sheaf of documents, the day’s agenda lying uppermost.

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a long day,” said Sutherland, making her jump. “We’ll do our best to keep you lubricated. There’s plenty more coffee, if you need it.”

Belle automatically took a sip of her own coffee, and was spared the ordeal of making conversation by the door opening to reveal Anna. She was followed by several men and women in suits, and there was a buzz of conversation as introductions were made and seating places indicated. Belle smiled at the man who was directed to sit next to her. He looked a little out of place in his tweed jacket with elbow patches, glasses perched on his nose and red hair curling back from a high forehead. Belle read his nameplate.

“Dr Archibald Hopper,” she said. “Are you an academic?”

“Oh, Archie, please,” he said, with a warm smile. “And yes, I was a practising psychiatrist for many years. More recently I’ve been teaching at Cambridge, so that and research take up most of my time.”

Belle sat up excitedly.

“Oh! I studied at Cambridge,” she said happily. “So of course I have to say there’s no finer university for you to be teaching at.”

“Well, I certainly won’t argue with that,” he said with a smile. “And everyone knows who you are. A modern day freedom fighter for literacy, which is an excellent cause. Miss French, I believe.”

“Belle’s fine,” said Belle, with a grin. “What’s your interest in this?”

“I’ve been studying the psychological impact of poverty and deprivation and its links to poor health and other life chances,” he said earnestly. “I think your interests and mine probably overlap.”

“I should think they probably do,” said Belle. “Although I imagine your credentials are somewhat more impressive than mine.”

“On the contrary,” said Archie. “You have experience in the field, as it were. I’d certainly be interested in hearing your perspective on the literacy programmes you’ve introduced.”

“You heard about that?” she asked, surprised, and he smiled.

“There were a number of pieces in the press after your - ah - meeting with the Prime Minister,” he said. “I understand you’ve created a useful community resource built around literacy for all ages.”

Belle opened her mouth to explain what she was doing, but was cut off by Sutherland clearing his throat.

“Right, well, good morning everyone,” he said, leaning on the table and glancing around at the occupants. “We have a full schedule, and I’m sure you all want to make the most of it, so I won’t be doing the creeping death of introductions around the table, as you’re no doubt relieved to hear. We can save the obligatory networking for the tea breaks.”

There was an appreciative chuckle from the attendees.

“You all have a pack of documents in front of you,” he went on. “This contains information on everyone here, including interests and expertise. I’m pleased to see such a range of talent around this table, and I’m excited to see what we can achieve together. I know you all take the development of this policy as seriously as I do.”

Belle found herself nodding along with the others. Sutherland certainly knew how to command attention.

“The documents also set out some of the initial research provided by the government departments leading on this policy,” he said. “Of course you all have your own experience, and no doubt your own sources to bring to the table. I fully expect this to be a challenging session with a lot of strong opinions being aired, but I’m confident that we can avoid too much bloodshed.”

There was a ripple of laughter, but Sutherland’s eyes lingered on Belle a little longer than the others. She met his gaze steadily, hoping she wouldn’t blush.

“You might well be wondering why I’m here,” he added, looking around. “The Shaping a Stronger Society policy will fulfil several key campaign pledges and lay the groundwork for lasting change. I thought it right that I give it the high profile it deserves, particularly when it cuts across so many Government departments. We need to be presenting a united front on this.”

“I’m sure the fact that it’s election year is a happy coincidence,” remarked a woman with a white-blonde bob over dark roots. Belle read her nameplate: Ella Deville-Waters. Sutherland grinned.

“Well, you know what they say, Ella,” he said. “Politics is eighty percent timing, ten percent luck—”

“And ten percent knowing how to lie with a straight face,” drawled Ella, making everyone chuckle.

“Thought that was at least sixty percent,” muttered Belle, and Archie laughed and managed to turn it into a cough.

“Let’s get started,” said Sutherland, glancing at Belle again. “I know there are a few of you with presentations to give on your own areas of interest, and I’m assured the technology is working, so I’ll hand things over to each of you. Anna, could you help Miss French set up the first presentation?”

Belle blinked rapidly.

“Me?” she said weakly, and Sutherland smiled.

“Gets it out of the way, hmm?”

She supposed it would.

-

Standing up in front of a sea of expectant faces turned towards her, Belle momentarily wanted to run from the room. Once she started speaking and concentrated on her passion for the subject, however, she forgot that she was presenting to a bunch of politicians and academics in Downing Street. The fifteen minutes she had been allotted went by more quickly than she thought possible, and prompted a number of questions that she was able to answer easily. She sat down with a thump next to Archie afterwards, feeling an odd mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, and he sent her a reassuring smile before turning his attention to the next speaker, Ella Deville-Waters. It turned out that she was Undersecretary for Education, and she spoke eloquently about the importance of early years learning.

There were other presentations, each followed by an opportunity for questions, the final talk being given by Archie. Belle scribbled notes as he spoke, and made a note of the papers he referenced; they sounded like something she would be interested in reading at a later date. When the questions were finished, Sutherland announced that they would break for coffee, and Belle felt herself sigh in relief. She was surprised to see that it was eleven-thirty already; the morning was almost over.

The rest of the day went reasonably well and the group generated some robust discussion; despite Sutherland having said he would be leaving after lunch, he showed no sign of doing so, and took the lead in steering the conversation. There was general agreement on the merits of expanding opportunities for all, and the desired outcome of the policy. Disagreements arose when it came to discussing how to get there. There was a frank exchange of views between Belle, Ella, and the brusque Sir George King, who worked for the Treasury. He seemed to take any suggestion that money would have to be spent as a personal affront. Anna had to step in and smooth things over more than once, and Belle could feel her patience draining away as the day drew towards evening. The draft call for evidence that was produced was the last straw.

“This doesn’t go nearly far enough,” she said bluntly, lifting the paper and dropping it on the table. “The questions skirt around the real issues, and there’s no meat on the bones of this thing. Whatever responses you get won’t address what we’ve been talking about all day. It’s papering over the cracks at best.”

“This is merely a scoping document,” said Sutherland mildly. “And a first draft at that. You can’t expect the policy to be fully-formed at this stage.”

“No, but if this is the direction we’re being nudged in, the whole thing is pointless,” she said. “How can you expect us to even start to make a difference if you refuse to fund it properly?”

Sutherland took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We’ve been over this, Miss French,” he said, sounding weary. “Budget constraints—”

“Yes we have been over this, and as I’ve said, budget constraints only ever seem to apply to policies that benefit the many over the few,” she said tartly. “Your Government may have managed to sweep the whole Pennine Consortium debacle under the rug a couple of years ago, but I remember the reports about the amount of public money that was being poured into that project, and it turned out to be going into the back pockets of the Home Secretary’s relatives!”

“Paying out according to contractual agreements is normal practice in business, I believe,” he said, in a bored voice. “The matter was investigated and the Home Secretary was cleared of all wrongdoing, as I’m sure you’re aware. ”

“My point is that billions were paid out for defence contracts with no questions being raised about whether they were affordable.”

“Clearly you didn’t watch the Select Committee hearings,” he remarked. His voice was a flat drawl that was doing nothing to stop her rising irritation.

“They were held after the money had been spent, not before, that’s my point!”

“And of course the purchase of tanks is entirely analogous to the development of literacy programmes.”

“I’d argue that the purchase of tanks is of decidedly lower value, actually,” she said.

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to make these decisions, isn’t it?”

Anna cleared her throat.

“Perhaps we can get back to the matter at hand?” she suggested. “Ella, what were you saying about school opening hours?”

“Oh, we can talk about that later,” said Ella cheerfully, waving a hand. “I’d much rather listen to this argument.”

“No one’s arguing,” said Sutherland coolly. “Miss French has a passionate nature, it seems.”

“Thanks, that’s not at all patronising,” said Belle, in a dry tone.

“Passion for public service is to be commended,” he said, matching her tone. “I thought I was giving you a compliment.”

“No you didn’t.”

Sutherland fixed her with a dark-eyed stare, his mouth flat. It was strangely arousing, and she could feel her breathing quicken. She told herself it was irritation.

“Your input here is valued, Miss French,” he said, his jaw a little clenched. “But I’d be grateful if you would allow us to guide you through this process, given that you know nothing about the way Government works.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed, losing the last of her patience. “I don’t know about policy-making and contract negotiation and tendering and public procurement. And likewise I’d say you and most of the people that work for you don’t know what it’s like to worry about where the next meal is coming from.”

“Which is why we’re seeking the input of a wide range of stakeholders such as yourself.” He was trying for a smooth tone, but his eyes were flashing, and she could sense he was getting as annoyed as she.

“If you’re not prepared to listen to us, then it’s all empty gestures, isn’t it?” she protested.

“Wanting your input and allowing you to set the parameters of this thing are two entirely different things,” he said coldly. “I’m sorry if your expectations are out of step with reality.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Right!” said Anna briskly, slapping the table and making everyone jump. “That seems like a good place to break until tomorrow. It’s been a long day and I’m sure everyone could do with some fresh air.”

“Could do with a stiff drink, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Ella, and there were appreciative murmurs from the others.

Belle sat back in her seat, listening with half an ear as chairs scraped back and papers were gathered up. Sutherland had already gone, stalking out of the room, and the others were throwing curious glances at her as they pulled on coats and drained cups.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Belle,” said Archie, tucking his folder of papers into a battered brown leather bag. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about the scope being too narrow.”

She gave him a grateful look, and a smile, and he ducked his head a little and sauntered out. Belle sighed, toying with the cold cup of tea in front of her as the others began to file out. She felt drained, wrung out. Was this what it was like every day for politicians? She wondered how they coped. Maybe it was why so many seemed to go grey so quickly.

“You settling in for the night?”

Anna’s voice made her look up, and Belle realised they were alone.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” she said. “I feel as though my brain’s been scrambled and stuffed back in my head all wrong.”

“Welcome to Whitehall,” said Anna, in a deadpan tone, and Belle giggled.

“Sorry for letting my temper get the better of me at the end,” she said. “I’m not cut out for politics, it seems.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Anna. “You have the ability to see to the heart of things. He wasn’t joking when he said your input is valued, you know.”

Belle sighed, running her hands over her face.

“It just - it feels like I’m wasting my time here,” she said. “I know I don’t have much longer before the library has to close, and - and yet I’m down here in London, in what seems like a hopeless uphill battle! Maybe I should just go back to Avonleigh and try to do what little good I can.”

“You may have longer than you think,” said Anna, gathering up some papers. “The Prime Minister approved a scheme for local authorities a few days ago. It offers grants to support providers of breakfast clubs and after-school learning.”

Belle sat up.

“Like the library?” she asked, and Anna shrugged.

“Seems likely, doesn’t it?” she said. “Oh, we’ve made sure that local authorities have to use it for the intended purpose, by the way. The scheme is due to launch next week. I’d keep my eyes peeled to the website, if I were you.”

She put the papers in a leather satchel and took out another folder before slinging the satchel over one shoulder. Belle was smiling, her heart swelling with what felt like hope for the first time in months.

“A reprieve for the library?” she said. “And it was his idea?”

“Like I said.” Anna hitched the satchel on her shoulder. “He does listen. You might not think so, but he does.”

“Listening’s all very well,” said Belle. “It’s the choices that are made that are the issue.”

“There isn’t always a choice,” said Anna firmly. “Or at least, not one a Prime Minister can make.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Difficult decisions have to be made,” she added. “Sometimes hundreds each day. Everything’s urgent, everything has an impact, and he tries his best to make the right call based on the information given by people he trusts. He doesn’t always get it right. No one could.”

“Maybe not, but—”

“He has to balance fifty competing interests with almost every decision he makes,” she went on. “The papers turn on a dime and whoever’s lauded one week gets pilloried the next. Everyone around him is looking to him to lead and half of them are willing him to fail so that they can step into the spotlight. I won’t let that happen if I can help it.”

She picked up the folder of papers, turning on her heel.

“I’ll show you out,” she said over her shoulder. “I expect you’ll want an early night after today. Or a large drink. Or both.”

“You care about him,” said Belle, and Anna stopped dead before slowly turning back to face her.

“Yes,” she said simply. “He’s a good friend. And whether or not you believe it, Miss French, he’s a good man.”

Belle was silent for a moment.

“I haven’t made up my mind on that score,” she said eventually.

“Oh, I didn’t say he wasn’t a stubborn bloody pain in the arse at times,” added Anna. “He’s definitely that.”

Belle couldn’t help giggling.

“Well, bearing all that in mind, and in the interests of cooperation,” she said. “I suppose I really ought to apologise for snapping at him.”

Something in Anna seemed to relax at her words, and she smiled again.

“He’s used to being snapped at,” she said dismissively. “He gets far worse in the Commons, let’s face it. But an apology would probably make him more inclined to listen to you, so I certainly won’t stand in your way.”

Belle nodded agreement, and Anna jerked her head towards the door.

“I was going to take these reports to him before I head off,” she said, holding up the folder. “If you felt like going there now, I’d be happy to tell him you want to have a word.”

Belle hesitated, but nodded, and Anna smiled briefly and headed for the door. The interior of Downing Street was busier than Belle had expected at that time in the evening, aides hurrying with laptops and drinks and phones clasped to their ears. Anna led her down a wide, thickly-carpeted corridor and paused outside a heavy office door, where two Special Branch officers nodded to Anna and eyed Belle suspiciously before stepping aside. Anna rapped smartly on the door, and Belle heard a muffled bid to enter from behind it. She could feel her heart thumping in trepidation, and when the door opened she could see a room with a high ceiling, dark green carpet and a dresser in dark, polished wood where several cut crystal decanters sat, their contents gleaming in shades of amber and ruby. There were two leather armchairs and a couch around a coffee table in the same dark wood. Bookshelves stretched around two walls of the room, and Sutherland was sitting behind a heavy desk opposite the door, scribbling something. His eyes narrowed as they met Belle’s, but Anna walked forward, cutting off his view.

“Brought you those updates on the infrastructure options,” she said breezily, holding up the files. “If you want to go through them later let me know. I thought I’d go and get something to eat.”

“So I know why you’re in my office,” he said evenly, sitting back and putting down his pen. “Not too clear on the presence of Miss French. Unless she thought of something else she wanted to call me.”

“Actually I’m here to apologise,” said Belle, making his brows lift in surprise. “So I’m not about to insult you unless you start something.”

Sutherland’s mouth worked, as though he was trying not to laugh.

“Uh - thank you, Anna,” he said, glancing away. “Yes, go and get some dinner. I think Miss French and I can have a conversation without it coming to blows.”

“Good,” said Anna. “Behave.”

Belle was unsure who that last comment was directed at, but Anna left the room before she could ask, shutting the door behind her with a click. She turned slowly on her toes to face Sutherland, who was leaning back in his chair and tapping his papers with a pen, staring at her.

“Anna told me about the local authority grants for educational services,” she said. “That should help a lot more libraries stay open.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, with a shrug.

“Providing librarians know it’s available, of course,” she added.

“There’ll be an announcement when it’s launched,” he said. “Of course there’s nothing to stop you contacting your peers and explaining the process.”

“I guess not.” She fiddled with a button on her jacket before smoothing her hand against her skirt. “What made you change the policy on local grants?”

“I didn’t,” he said abruptly. “Just provided - clarification around eligibility.”

Belle took a step forward, until she was almost touching the desk.

“Well, that clarification should mean I won’t be closing the library doors this year,” she said. “Lucky for me, hmm?”

“Surprising as it may seem,” he remarked. “I do actually take into account the views of interested parties when making decisions. Where I can.”

“Hmm.” Belle leaned on the desk, pursing her lips. “Well, I’m sorry for yelling at you. I don’t like losing my temper and I try not to if I can help it.”

There was a tiny, amused grin on his face.

“A pity,” he said. “It was rather refreshing.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t all that satisfying from my perspective,” she said. “Dealing with politicians is making me more cynical than I’d like to be.”

He gave her a twisted little smile.

“Well, that’s no bad thing,” he said. “The moment you start wanting to be cynical it’s probably time to run screaming for the hills.”

“At nine this morning I almost did run screaming,” she admitted, and he chuckled.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. “I enjoyed your presentation. It was delivered with your usual passion, and I think you may have brought some of the others on board.”

“I think Sir George King would rather I’d stayed at home,” she said, and Sutherland shrugged.

“If it was up to him we wouldn’t spend any money at all,” he said. “On the whole, today went rather well, I thought. No physical blows were exchanged, and there was almost no profanity. One of the more sedate policy meetings I’ve attended, truth be told.”

Belle smiled.

“We’re all here for the common good, I suppose,” she said. “Although in some cases I’m not sure how much common good they’re really interested in doing.”

“First rule of policy-making,” he said. “Try not to kill off half your contributors in a fit of righteous anger. Tempting though it is.”

“Hmm.” She was amused. “I don’t remember reading that one in the welcome pack.”

“Unwritten rule,” he corrected, raising a finger. “I think the pack said some bollocks about understanding motivation and managing expectations.”

Belle bit back a grin.

“I guess I’m not cut out for a career in diplomacy,” she said, and he smiled.

“Gets easier the more you do it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, thank goodness you’ll believe one thing that comes out of my mouth.”

It was said in a dry tone, but he was still grinning, and she returned the smile. There was a moment of silence, and he pushed up from the desk, crossing to the dresser.

“I was going to have a drink,” he said. “May I offer you one? There’s whisky, port, brandy… If that’s not to your taste I could easily have something brought in.”

“Uh - okay.” Belle was beginning to feel as though she had stepped into a strange parallel universe, where small town librarians sat and drank with the leaders of nations as a matter of course. “Thank you. I’ll take a brandy.”

“Excellent choice,” he said vaguely, and opened one of the doors of the dresser, taking out two brandy glasses.

Belle watched as he reached for one of the decanters and poured two small measures. His suit pants fitted him very well, skimming his rear as he moved. She shook her head, telling herself to stop ogling the man. Sutherland turned, glasses in hand, and nodded towards the armchairs.

“Take a seat,” he said.

Still feeling as though she was dreaming, Belle took the glass he held out and sat down, crossing her legs and watching as he put down his glass and lowered himself into the seat opposite. She took a sip of her brandy to take her mind off how good he looked, and how much better he might look if he lost the tie and unfastened the first few buttons of that crisp white shirt. The brandy was very good, far better than she was used to, and she licked her lips, enjoying the taste of caramel and spice and the pleasant heat on her tongue. Sutherland took a drink, sucking in his cheeks and setting down his glass on the coffee table. He looked tired.

“Are your work days usually this long?” she asked, and his eyebrows flicked upwards.

“It’s barely six-thirty,” he said. “I still have a few hours left in me.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a work-life balance,” she observed. Sutherland pulled a face.

“Gets a little quieter at recess, but no, I don’t suppose it is,” he said.

“Are you married?” she asked, and Sutherland shook his head.

“Divorced.”

“Oh,” said Belle. “I’m sorry.”

“No no, it’s fine,” he said, sitting back. “It was amicable. We’re still friends.”

“Oh.”

“She’s engaged to a High Court judge now,” he added. “I wish her every happiness.”

“Oh.” For God’s sake, Belle, say something intelligent. “You have kids?”

“A daughter,” he said. “Grown up now. Early twenties.”

“Oh.”

Sutherland took a drink, seeming to savour the taste of brandy on his tongue before swallowing. His gaze was steady, his eyes dark, and she could feel faint stirrings of desire in her lower abdomen. She looked down into her brandy glass, watching the ripples in the amber liquid and telling herself to snap out of her crush.

“What about you?” he asked then, making her look up. “You married? Children?”

“You mean you didn’t have me checked out?” she asked dryly, and he shrugged.

“Maybe you’re good at hiding things,” he said. “Or, as is more likely, Anna told me and I forgot about it.”

Belle bit back a smile.

“Well, hiding a husband and children would be beyond me,” she said. “Luckily I have no need. No family. Well, there’s my dad back in Melbourne, but apart from that I’m on my own.”

“No large, intimidating boyfriend?” he asked. “Or maybe a girlfriend, what do I know?”

“Neither,” she said. “Last relationship was pretty crappy, to be honest. Made me want to take a break for a while.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I understand.”

“I thought you said you were on good terms with your ex.”

“Well…” He waved a hand. “I vaguely remember what it was like to be young. Aeons ago.”

She scoffed.

“Come on, you’re not that old.”

“Bloody feels like it, sometimes,” he grumbled.

“Well, that’s what comes from running the country,” she said pertly. “It’s why I stick to running a library.”

“No doubt that comes with its own stresses.”

“Only when I’m threatened with closure by arrogant, shortsighted politicians,” she quipped, and he snorted in amusement.

“Well, thank fuck there aren’t many of those around.”

Belle giggled before catching herself, and he was grinning as he leaned further back in his chair. His eyes gleamed when he smiled, and she couldn’t decide whether it was more or less arousing than when he was angry. A dangerous path for your thoughts to take, Belle.

“Did you say your daughter was in her twenties?” she said, trying to steer the conversation onto a safe topic. “Is she at university?”

“No no, she’s finished studying,” he said. “She’s started work in the City. Not in politics, thank God.”

“You wouldn’t want her to go into politics?” she asked, and he wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t think she’d be happy,” he said. “It can be a lonely, painful existence, and you make as many enemies as friends. Probably more, if I’m honest. She has a gentle heart, and I wouldn’t want to see her harden it to survive.”

“It seems a shame that people have to,” said Belle. “I think politicians could stand to be more compassionate, not less.”

Sutherland took another sip of his drink, eyeing her as he licked an amber bead of brandy from his lower lip.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “Alas, we have to deal with the world as it is, not as we might want it to be.”

“So why did you decide it was what you wanted to do?” she asked. “Did you always want to end up running the country?”

“No, I can’t say it was a childhood dream,” he admitted. “I started out as a barrister. The politician wasn’t born until I was in my late thirties.”

“So why politics?” she asked. “I’m guessing it wasn’t for the money.”

Sutherland pulled a wry face, taking another drink.

“I was earning more at the bar, certainly,” he said. “Far better work-life balance, as well.”

“Ego, then?” she suggested, and he grinned.

“That was certainly part of it.”

Belle waited, and he sighed, turning the brandy glass between his hands.

“Would you believe me if I said I thought I could make things better?” he asked.

“My new-found cynicism wouldn’t,” she remarked, and he chuckled.

“To the tragic death of innocence.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast, and Belle grinned, raising her own before sipping her brandy. The drink was almost gone, and she found herself regretting having drunk it so quickly. She would have to leave as soon as it was done, and to her great surprise she was enjoying their conversation.

“Do you think you have?” she asked. “Made things better?”

Sutherland hesitated, turning the glass between his fingers.

“I suppose it’s a work in progress,” he said. “But I’m trying. Perhaps not in the ways you would want me to.”

“I don’t suppose what I think matters,” she said, and he shook his head.

“You might be surprised at what matters to me, Miss French.”

He took another sip of his brandy, his eyes fixed on hers, and she could feel herself shiver. She drained her glass, setting it down on the table with a loud clink.

“Well,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I should go. I feel as though I’ve been wrung dry and turned inside out, and I could really use some sleep before I have to do it all again tomorrow.”

He smiled at that, setting his glass beside hers.

“In that case, I’ll show you out. Anna will expect me to have read those papers by the time she gets back.”

“She seems very committed to her job,” observed Belle, and he grinned.

“Couldn’t do my own without her,” he said. “I need someone to keep me in line.”

“I won’t argue with that,” she remarked, and he chuckled, a deep laugh that made her belly clench.

“I can see why she likes you,” he said, and strode to the door, opening it up and nodding to the Special Branch officers outside. “Good evening, Miss French. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

Belle nodded, slipping from the room and heading back along the corridor. A smiling woman with a dark ponytail and a brisk manner showed her out, and she stepped into the street with a sigh of relief. The press pack had gone, and she walked down towards the gates, smiling thanks to the police officer that let her out into the street beyond. It had been a long day, there was another to come, and her crush on the Prime Minister was developing into full-blown lust.

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 13: You & I

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

Complete

As my grandma used to say,"theyah." (she meant "there" and she would brush her hands together, but she had a very heavy a Maine accent) 

Thank you to everyone who read this, and to everyone who commented, left kudos, liked it, reblogged it, sent flails.... you're the best!!

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly​, and to @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx​ for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

His warm fingers tickle her awake, dancing delicately over the skin of her waist and making her giggle before she hisses at the bright sunlight stinging her eyes. “It’s too early for all that.” 

 “No it isn’t,” he argues, kissing a hot trail down her neck until his lips reach her breast. She swears she was wearing a shirt when she went to bed… “We’ve got to get up soon anyway.” 

 “Then why are you initiating what you're initiating?” 

 “I can be quick.” 

 She snorts, reaching her fingers into his thick hair and letting out an appreciative sound as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. “I’m sure you can.” 

 “Let me do my work in peace, please,” he chastises playfully as he drags his mouth down her stomach, tucking his fingers into the hem of her underwear and tugging them down her thighs. 

 “If you insist,” she sighs, letting her head fall back against the pillow and grounding herself as she scratches her fingers against his scalp. 

He certainly does take his work seriously, succeeding in his promise to be quick and getting her ready for him in just a matter of minutes. She pulls on his hair a bit harder and he lifts his head, looking up at her with shiny lips and a glint in his eyes before he wipes his chin and crawls up her body slowly, peppering kisses along the way. “Already?” he asks when he reaches her ear, and she giggles. 

 “You promised to be quick, I thought you’d be pleased to know that you delivered.” 

 “Oh, I’m very pleased. If there’s one thing parenthood has taught me, it's how to get my lady love off in a jiffy.” 

 “Shut up,” she laughs, though the sound is cut off quickly when he plunges himself into her, nearly to the hilt before he pulls back out and slides in again, slowly this time. She groans in appreciation for the way he stretches her, hitting everywhere just right as he sets a steady pace. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, tracing his tongue over the sensitive skin just below. “So much.”

 “I love you, too,” she whispers back breathlessly, then with a moan, “don’t stop.” 

 “You like it like this?” he asks, biting her skin and pushing into her at just the right angle. 

 She whimpers and nods, her nails clawing at his back. She’s so close already, his mouth bringing her halfway there before they’d even started, and when he reaches his fingers between them where she needs him the most, she cries out again. 

 “There,” she begs, her legs shaking as she holds him in place. “Oh, fuck, right there.” 

 When he whispers, “come for me,” with his tone commanding and gentle, there's little she can do but obey him. 

 He’s heavy on top of her, her chest heaving beneath him, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves being here with him more than just about anything. The way he kisses her cheek over and over while they catch their breath makes her heart flutter more. 

 “You don’t actually have to go, right?” she asks jokingly as she runs her fingers up and down his back. “You’re actually just going to work? Won’t Will be mad if you miss a day, Mr. Mechanic?”

 With a laugh and another kiss to her cheek at the charming nickname she gave him when his friend hired him to work in his garage, he answers, “I bloody well better go. I promised Ruby I’d be there and I certainly don't want to be on her bad side.” She giggles, though he continues, “and I want to watch that bastard get exactly what he deserves.” 

 She nods, letting out a long, steady breath. Walsh’s trial is today, and while Killian isn’t allowed to testify because of his relationship with the victim-- her-- Ruby has a lot to say about that evening. At first, there was talk of Killian being unfit to serve and having made irresponsible choices because of his emotional connection with Emma. But after Ruby’s accounts of that night and the body camera footage, it was clear that he acted as appropriately as he ever has. Walsh shot first, and the sheriff responded using non-lethal force. And besides, Killian left the force on his own accord, anyway. 

 At first, she was almost angry that he’d lived. Part of her wanted the surgeons to let him die; another part of her wanted Killian to have taken a better shot. But he was shot himself, so the fact that he got him in the shoulder was pretty damn good. Plus, Walsh will never be able to fully use his arm again. 

 And… he’s probably going to jail for a long time. Which would be cool, considering the amount of times he’s been beaten up already.

 “There’s too much going on in there,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” 

 With a shrug, she says, “just thinking about what happened. It’s been a long eight months.” 

 He hums. “Aye, it has. Hasn’t been so bad, though.” 

 “No,” she agrees softly. “But I’ll be glad when this whole trial thing is over. Maybe we can finally leave this place.” 

 “Are you implying that you aren’t a fan of my apartment?” he asks through feigned offence. “I find it to be quite quaint.” 

 “Oh, it’s quaint,” she giggles. “I just feel bad making Henry sleep in a closet.” 

 “It’s not a closet! I pay extra for two bedrooms!”

 With a soft smile, she cups his cheek in her palm and says, “I’m sorry, my love, but that is a walk-in closet.” 

 He rolls his eyes, then rolls off of her and offers her his hand to hoist her off the bed. “Soon we can get him a nice big bedroom, promise. Once the trial’s over, there’s nothing holding us here.” 

 It’s true. While they haven’t fully talked about where they’ll end up when all is said and done, Walsh signed the divorce papers from his cell a few weeks ago. And with the pre-nup null and void, Emma took her half of his fortune and donated it to an organization that supports victims of domestic violence and their children. 

 “Henry’s appointment is at ten, right?” 

 “Yeah,” she nods. Starting him up with Archie has been a blessing. Emma had a lot of fears that he would handle the transitions with difficulty, but with Dr. Hopper’s help, he’s been well adjusted, and she couldn’t be prouder. 

 They struggled with how to tell him about his father, but she never wants to lie to him. They moved out of their old house with haste, grabbing everything they could as quickly as possible so that Emma wouldn’t have to be there for a second longer than she had to. And while Henry was confused, he didn’t seem overly upset. He enjoyed living with the sheriff for a few days, even creating a comfortable nook for Abby, before they sat him down and told him everything. 

 When Emma told her son that the man who’s been in his life all along isn’t actually his father, she thought he would be upset. In reality, though, he simply shrugged and asked if Killian’s house had macaroni and cheese. 

 When Emma told her son who his real father is, a few days after they moved in with him for both safety and stability, he cheered and gave Killian the biggest hug she’s ever seen him give anyone. 

 She still can’t think about that day without crying. 

 “So Sherrie is actually my dad?” 

 Emma nods. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry that this is so confusing.” 

 He ignores her sentiment and asks, “and I can call him daddy?” 

 “You can call him anything you want.” 

 Turning towards Killian, he asks again, “can I call you daddy?” 

 The look on his face is so heartbreaking that Emma’s tears flow freely. Killian looks up at his son, meeting his eyes with glassy ones, and nods. “I’d love that.” 

 “Have you got one as well?” he asks, shaking her from her memories as she wipes away a rogue tear.

 “Wednesday. You’re okay to watch Henry in the morning, right?” 

 “It’s not exactly babysitting, Swan,” he reminds her gently, and she grins at the name he uses and the fact that it’s finally her name again. 

 “I know, but…” 

 “Go and see Ingrid on Wednesday, love. I’m glad you’re still finding it beneficial to talk with her.” 

 Honestly, finding a therapist who happens to have experience working with victims of domestic violence in this small town was a surprise to Emma, but she’s found her work with Ingrid to be invaluable. While she’s known all along that what happened wasn’t her fault, and that she shouldn’t feel guilty about what she and her son went through for all those years, it’s been helpful to hear that from a professional as well. Ingrid reminded her that, while the physical abuse happened only near the end of their relationship, Emma was being emotionally abused the entire time she knew Walsh. She was trapped from the moment she met him, little by little being gaslighted until she believed that she would have nothing if she left him. As hard as it was for her to see how toxic he was at first, it was even harder to imagine leaving when she thought he had so much power over her.

 The guilt that came with finding out she put herself and her child through that for nothing was unmatched. Her feelings and thoughts about herself as a mother, about how she failed to protect her son, are something she’s been battling for months and will likely never be able to fully let go of. Finding out that Killian is Henry’s father gave her the freedom to leave, but it also gave her the most traumatic experience of her life and brought endless feelings of self-hatred, and that’s something she’s been working on coming to terms with, slowly but surely. 

 “Alright,” she agrees, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as she walks past him towards the bathroom. 

 “I’ll go give him his nebulizer while you get ready.” 

 Stopping short in her path to the shower, she turns to him and smiles. “I love you.” 

 Returning her smile with his own, he says, “I love you, too, Swan.” 

 In eight months, he’s become more of a father than Walsh was Henry’s entire life. 

 ~~~~

 As he watches Walsh being escorted into the courtroom, donning his orange jumpsuit and shackles, Killian is reminded of the last time he saw the man who almost took everything from him. It was months ago, once he was finally transferred to the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department’s jail cell. He was still clearly favoring his left arm, his right shoulder completely out of commission as a result of Killian’s rather good shot, and he felt a sick sense of accomplishment seeing the monster struggling to get comfortable on the firm cot with the sling wrapped around him. 

 “Need something?” he’d asked, although he wasn’t too chuffed to give the bastard anything that would take away his obvious malaise. 

 He scoffed and responded, “yeah, my pain meds would be nice. Are you always in the business of torture?”

 “Aye,” Killian responded without thinking, then he stood up and walked to Walsh’s cell, keys in hand. “I suppose I am. But I really only focus on torturing the absolute most wretched inmates. Like you.” 

 Walsh shook his head and laughed, but Killian didn’t miss the look of fear in his eyes as he inserted the key and swung the cell door open, shutting it behind him. “Talk about protect and serve.” 

 Killian hummed in response and nodded as well as he moved to stand over Walsh’s cot, staring down into his eyes with anger, the strength of which he won’t ever feel again. “The fact is, mate, I couldn’t care less about my duties as the sheriff. Not when the safety and happiness of my son and the woman I love are on the line.” Walsh laughed once more and rolled his eyes, so Killian moved quickly to thrust his open hand down upon his neck, pressing just hard enough to make the animal’s eye pop from his head. “You threatened them. You tried to kill her. You neglected the child you thought was yours for his entire life. You are garbage; a waste of oxygen. Trust me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never live to see the light of day. You will never take a breath outside of a barbed wire fence. You will never eat anything but the slop they feed you. You will never experience pleasure for as long as you live. And I promise you, you will live for decades in an iron cage, right where you belong.” 

 He was quiet for a moment as his cheeks started to turn red and his eyes grew wider, before he finally gruffed, “I can’t breathe.” 

 “Perfect,” Killian responded. “Then you know exactly how she felt. Count yourself lucky that I’m not going to try and shoot you again.” 

 He released his forceful grip, shoving Walsh down onto the cot as he took in a forceful breath, before he turned and locked the cell, walking back to his desk and collecting his things. When his shift ended, Killian Jones walked out of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department precinct for the final time. 

 ~~~~

 Henry’s birthday is definitely cause for celebration. He’s turning six. It’s the first time Killian will be able to celebrate his son’s birthday. He’s finally with his Emma, with nothing stopping them from being happy together. There’s a lot for his family to be happy about. 

 “Daddy!” Henry calls as he sprints at full speed towards his father. “Daddy, can I have cake yet?” 

 “No, not yet. You haven’t even touched your lunch. And don’t let your mother see you running wild like that.”

 His more intensive therapies have been working as well as they can, but they know they have to be careful to avoid another serious attack-- one that might not end as well as the last had. Killian only just became a part of his son’s life. He doesn’t intend to lose him. 

 “But it’s my birthday,” he complains, rolling his eyes and giving him a look that could rival his mother’s. 

 “Your birthday isn’t until Monday.”

 “Well, it’s my tarty.” 

 “Your party.” 

 “I think I wanna ask mommy.” 

 Killian chuckles. “If mommy doesn’t tell you to wait until after lunch, I’ll give you five dollars.” 

 His eyes light up and widen immediately, cloudy gray perfectly complimenting the black pupils as he turns from him and runs straight for the door. He watches from the deck as Henry begs and pleads with his mother, giving her his best bambi eyes, before he sees her nod, the lad jumping for joy and shrinking excitedly. He runs towards the sliding door and pounds his fists against it, shouting through the glass, “you owe me five dollars!”

 With a sigh, Killian brushes past his son, ruffling his hair just a bit, before he wraps both arms around Emma’s waist, pulling her in for a hug from behind. “You really got me there, Swan.” 

 “Did I?” she asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 She leans back into his chest, turning her head so that she can press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No? Are you telling me our son didn’t inform you of my poorly-made offer?” 

 With a giggle, she answers, “of course he did. That’s what you get for trying to negotiate with our six year old.” 

 He squeezes her a bit tighter, reveling in their loneliness in the kitchen. “He’s still five,” he reminds her, content to never let him grow up.

 “Yes,” she hums. “And what a big difference the two days will make.” 

 He pushes his lips against her cheek and says, “I’m afraid he’s getting too old. We’ll have to return him soon.” 

 “And what,” she laughs, “trade him in for a newer model?” 

 “Aye, that’s the price of fatherhood most men aren’t willing to pay. But I’m not like those other men.” 

 She doesn’t need to be facing him for him to know that she rolls her eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous.” 

 “--ly in love with you,” he corrects. She does spin around now, turning to face him and burying her face in his neck as her arms hold him in her iron grip. “What is it?” he whispers into her hair more seriously. 

 “Nothing,” she responds softly. “I’m just… happy. It still surprises me sometimes. That we’re here and celebrating our son’s birthday together; that nothing’s stopping us.” 

 “Aye, love, me too,” he agrees, running his hands up and down along the contours of her spine. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

 “You won’t ever have to,” she reminds him with a smile as she pulls away just enough to look at him. “We won.” 

 He grins down at her, running his thumb along her cheek as he holds her jaw with his palm. With her ex-husband being found guilty on all charges, his life sentence without the possibility for parole means they’ll never be apart again. “Yes, my love,” he says, leaning down to kiss her chastely. “Let’s simply avoid the scorned husbands and attempts on both of our lives in the future, aye?”

 She agrees with a nod. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Fucking idiot got exactly what he deserved, though.” 

 He laughs and says, “as eloquently put as always. I couldn’t agree more.” 

 As it turns out, the prosecution lawyer was very experienced and was able to use Walsh’s statements of intent to kill his wife, as well as the loaded gun pointed directly at her and at the sheriff, to prove two counts of attempted second degree murder, plus assault with a deadly weapon, plus domestic violence, plus election fraud, plus embezzelment. Suffice it to say, Walsh won’t be seeing much daylight for quite some time. 

 Of course, the honorable man in Killian almost thought that sending his mistress’s husband to jail for life as a means to be with her was taking the cheap way out, but he got over those feelings very quickly. It’s not about Killian being with Emma, after all. Not really. 

 As their son laughs raucously on the swing set with his cousin, he sees exactly what it’s about. 

 “I suppose we should do the cake,” Emma finally sighs, lifting her head 

 “I suppose,” he concedes, squeezing her tighter in his hold and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

 ~~~~

 The afternoon rolls into evening, everyone finding a lawn chair or chaise lounge to relax in as David starts a fire and Mary Margaret prepares for an outdoor movie. Honestly, Killian’s son is spoiled with the grandeur of his sixth birthday party, with the giant white screen and the projector displaying The Good Dinosaur for all the children to enjoy. 

 Emma sighs happily as she leans back against Killian’s chest, taking his wrists in her hands and pulling his arms around her middle. She feels warm against him as the fire heats her skin and her sweatshirt, and he can’t get enough of the feeling of the weight of her body pressed to his own. 

 “I love you,” she finally whispers into the dark as the movie starts, the sounds enough to drown out her voice so that only Killian can hear.

 “I love you, too,” he agrees softly, sentimentally, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “More than just about anything.” 

 “Just about?” 

 He hums out a laugh and nods. “I’m afraid I love our son just a tiny bit more than you. That’s normal, right?” 

 “Yes,” she agrees softly, turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m afraid I love our kids more than you, too.” 

 He smiles and laughs lightly against her, returning her soft kiss with one of his own as he sighs and looks on at their son happily enjoying his special day. “Wait,” he says as it finally dawns on him; the specific wording she chose and the coy smile she dons through a giggle. “Kids?” 

 She hums in agreement, nodding against his chest and pulling his arms tighter around herself until his palm is pressed to her stomach. “I found out this morning.” 

 “Emma,” he breathes, unable to comprehend her meaning. 

 “I was thinking if it’s a boy, we could name him after your brother. At least his middle name. Thoughts?” 

 “Emma,” he tries again, separating his arms and pulling away only far enough to help her turn towards him. “Are you…” 

 “Shh,” she insists, pressing her finger to his lips and grinning at him and she turns to face him head on. Then she whispers, “it’s a secret. I’m pregnant.” 

 He can’t breathe, a shocked sound coming out of his mouth as he leans towards her and captures her lips in his. She grins against him, holding onto the neck of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer to herself. “You’re sure?” 

 “I’ll call the doctor on Monday to make an appointment, but I took three tests. All positive.” 

 “Fuck,” he breathes almost silently, trying hard not to alert those around them of their shift in mood but finding it near impossible. “Fuck, I love you. I thought…” 

 She shakes her head, cradling the back of his neck in her hands as she answers his silent question. “I probably never would’ve been ready,” she explains. They’ve talked about it in passing, and she’s insisted that her last pregnancy was difficult and that she’s still recovering from the trauma she’s endured and is therefore unable to consider the possibility of having another child. “If I had a say, I probably would’ve kept putting it off,” she whispers. “But… surprise.” She shrugs and grins at him.

 He kisses her, because he can think of no other way to express his feelings towards her than to show her what she means to him. There are no words to tell her exactly what she’s given him, not just now, but every second he’s known her. No words, except, “marry me.” 

 She giggles breathlessly, the air escaping her lips hitting the tip of his nose as she gasps, “what?” 

 With a grin, he responds more seriously, “marry me. Please.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Emma Swan-- love of my life, mother of my children-- will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

 “You’re serious?” she breathes softly, careful not to alert the other parents present of the sudden shift between them. “You know I just got divorced, like, two months ago.” 

 “Aye, but I should've asked you to marry me seven years ago. The divorce is merely semantics.” 

 She laughs breathlessly again, disbelievingly, and nods her head before pulling him close to her. “Yes,” she whispers against him before pressing a passionate, if not also chaste, kiss to his lips. He can tell that she wants to deepen it, perhaps she wants to take him inside and show him how excited she is, but they're at their son’s birthday party and they have to keep things G-Rated. PG; nothing higher. “Yes,” she says again. Then once more, “yes, I’ll marry you.” 

 Andrew Liam Jones was born seven months later. He was monitored closely throughout Emma’s pregnancy to ensure proper development of his lungs, and when he was born, he screamed like a banshee to alert his parents of his healthy arrival. He weighed seven pounds, three ounces, and was twenty-one inches long. His big brother, newly renamed Henry David Jones following an amendment to his birth certificate, refused to leave the baby’s side until he fell asleep, needing to be carried out of the maternity suite by his uncle while his parents took in the bliss and terror of having a new life to care for. 

 Emma and Killian were married two months after the arrival of their second child, the small ceremony taking place on the secluded, rocky beach in Storybrooke, Maine. At first, Killian wanted to remove his family from the hellish town that nearly stole his life away from him, but she disagreed. This was where they were reunited. This was where they found each other again. This was where she found herself again. It’s where her children were born and raised. So, when she finds a beautiful, blue victorian style home on the outskirts of town and cries at how perfect it is for their family, at how close she would be to her sister, they place an offer. And they win. 

 They won when they found each other again and they know that they will never lose at anything ever again so long as they have each other. 

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor

[wellhellotragic]

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 2/3

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: No, you’re not crazy. The chapter count grew a little. My sincerest apologies guys (especially to @searchingwardrobes​.) I have a lot of stuff going on in my personal life that’s taken most of my attention. I really didn’t mean for this next part to be so delayed, and honestly, time has become an illusion at this point and I didn’t even realize that 6 weeks had passed. I was thinking closer to 3, so thank you for staying with me on this little journey, and hope you enjoy.

If AO3 is more your jam...

His jaw is killing him and he’s realized all too late that it was a mistake not taking the ice from Emma. But he couldn’t. He can’t have anything to do with her. He can’t even look at her. It’s just too damn painful in every way fathomable.

Sometimes, his heart aches to be near her, to see her smile and pretend for just a moment that it’s before. That everything is still fine and that they’re going to meet up for drinks later. To imagine that they’ll go back to one of their apartments and put on a movie. That she’ll fall asleep on his shoulder and he’ll move so that they’re spooning each other on the couch. It’s on those days he turns to the bottle.

Other days, the very thought of her sends him into a rage and it’s all he can do not to throw her desk out of the bullpen. He never should have agreed to take the Captain’s position. He should have gone back to the narcotics division, far away from her and the ghost of Liam imprinted into the very fabric of his chair.

He shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

He shouldn’t have gone to the Salty Winch tonight. He knew that it was her birthday, try as hard as he might to forget. And he wasn’t planning on going. But something in his subconscious had him driving there against his own better judgement. He was just going to peer in through the window, just go get a look. To see if she was happy.

And now he’s got a bruise on his face, he’s down a detective, and he’s going to have to call a cab in the morning to take him back to the pub to pick up his car.

He’s also got a text message from Archie telling him he wants to see him tomorrow before lunch.

He goes to bed, but sleep doesn’t come until hours later.

The next morning is a disaster. There’s two empty desks instead of one, paper work is piling up. Everyone is tiptoeing around him and he can see them watching him out of the corner of his eye. He can hear their hushed whispers, and as much as he doesn’t want to have to schlep all the way down to headquarters, he needs the retreat from being the star of his own tragedy.

Archie’s office is on the third floor, and it isn’t lost on him how many offices he has to pass on the way to what should be a private visit. But then again, nothing about his life has been private lately. He knows that everyone still talks about it. For weeks his portrait graced the cover of every newspaper in town, sometimes next to Liam’s departmental photo. The news was there that night to film him being carried to the ambulance on a stretcher. His name was on the tip of everyone’s tongue as the investigation and trial drug on.

His detectives don’t trust him, and he knows it’s a problem, as well that he should care, but most days he just can’t find it within himself to give a damn. He buries it all as deeply within himself as possible, just going through the motions. He’s gotten pretty good at ignoring the ways he feels, most times, but Archie is going to want to drag it all up again, especially after last night.

The office has been redecorated since the last time he was there for his psych evaluation and mandated therapy to determine if he was capable of returning to work. There are more plants in every corner of the room. No doubt the cricket’s way of cheering everyone up while he chirps in their ears. Not that he has anything against Dr. Hopper. The man may very well be the only reason Killian is even still human at this point.

“Killian, thank you for coming. Why don’t you have a seat?” He doesn’t want to, the black leather is worn and cracked in places, pinching the back of his legs even through his thick cotton pants.

The man just watches him, waiting to see if he’ll open up, to make the first move, but Killian’s never been much for spilling his guts. He’s not sure talking would even help at this point. Everything has become so twisted that no emotional epiphanies can untangle his problems anymore.

“So, I think you know why I wanted to see you.”

“Aye.”

“My next appointment called in sick so I have all day to wait for you to say something.

Killian sighs, ready to give in to the inevitable, although he’s not completely sure which part of it Archie wants to get into, and he’s treading water trying to keep as much of his life off limits as possible.

“There’s nothing to say really. One of my detectives was drunk, mouthed off, and hit me. His suspension was well earned. I’m not sure there’s anything more to it.”

Archie watches him for a second, tilting his head as he listens to Killian, and before he even opens his mouth, he knows that the cricket chirping in his ear is about to dissect the evening.

“Killian, I think there’s a lot more to it. Clearly there’s been some resentment and animosity building between the two of you for some time more, or August wouldn’t have brought it up.”

He hates this, the way Dr. Hopper is always trying to poke his way through Killian’s brain, trying to unlock doors with a metaphorical paperclip. A one size fits all therapy tool that with enough finesse can open everything he’s trying to hold back.

“I’ll admit, there’s no love lost between the two of us. We’ve never gotten along, even before. But August has never been one to make smart well thought out choices and last night was just another in a long line of mistakes he’s made.”

“Long line, or tipping point?” This isn’t going to work. He isn’t going to let Archie trip him up. He’s not leaving anymore crumbs to follow. “I know you don’t want to discuss this again, but I can’t help but think all of this stems from your relationship with Emma.”

“I don’t have a relationship with Emma.” He doesn’t mean to spit out the words as harshly as he does, it’s just a gut reaction and it’s too late to play it off. “She’s my subordinate, that’s it.”

“You mean she was your subordinate.”

It pisses him off more than he expects, partly because somehow this man miles away already knows that Emma has transferred when he only found out himself a few hours before, but also because it brings up emotions he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Aye.” All he can do is nod and clinch his jaw, which in turn reminds him of the punch he took last night. He’d give almost anything for some Motrin right now. Better yet, some morphine so he can fall into a sleep where none of this is real.

He’s not really sure what’s happening. He knows he’s in the hospital. He can surmise as much by the beeping machines and the blood pressure cuff that’s about to sever his arm clean off. But his eyes are too heavy to open just now, and he doesn’t remember coming to the hospital. He can’t remember why he’s here.

Until he tries to move, twisting his torso just enough that pain shoots clear up to his eyeballs and he screams out in pain without even realizing it.

There’s a nurse in the room, telling him to relax, and he thinks he hears another voice from the other side of the room, but now his arm is cold and he doesn’t even have time to think before the world goes dark again.

His mouth is dry. He tries to open his lips, but they’ve melding together and his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. His body feels so weak and heavy, and it’s a struggle to speak, but even with just a slight moan, he feels his hand squeezed and he knows it’s her just by the way she fits with him. The bed shifts and he hears something new in her voice. She’s timid, like maybe if she speaks too loudly he’ll blow away in the wind. And to be honest, at this point, he very well may.

He forces his eyes open, blinking as much as he can to clear his vision. She’s standing at his side in a Boston PD sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big - pilfered from his closet after a night off of bar hopping turned into a movie at his place - and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun. It might very well be any other Saturday morning, except for her face. It’s puffy and red and she’s clearly been crying.

Emma Swan doesn’t cry. Ever.

He should be worried about himself, but in that moment, he can only think of her and how miserable she looks.

But then the blood pressure cuff goes off again, reminding him of where he is, and everything comes rushing back. The fight with Liam, the sound of shots ringing out, Emma begging him not to die. He told her he loved her, and he’s angry with himself for waiting so long. It shouldn’t have been a death bed confession. He shouldn’t have put so much stock in Liam’s approval.

Liam.

Liam.

Liam.

He barely gets his brother’s name out before he sees more tears running down her face, and she’s apologizing over and over again. There’s something about the way she says it, like it’s somehow her fault, like she was the one that fired the fatal shot. The pain returns and so does the morphine.

He wakes again, groggy and weak. His eyes are too heavy to open, but perhaps that’s better. Maybe if he can’t see the world around him, he won’t have to face everything to come. Liam’s always been there, even when everyone left, Liam stayed. He doesn’t know how to continue on in a world without him. He doesn’t know how to do anything now and all he can think about is how it should have been him. How he started the argument, he distracted Liam. How he was the one that raised his voice and alerted the killer to their presence.

He’s in the middle of his downward spiral of self loathing when he hears muffled voices come closer, likely entering his room from the hallway. They speak in hushed whispers as they move around the room, flittering about all around him, lifting his blanket and touching his feet, fumbling with his hand. He still can’t muster the strength to open his eyes, much less his mouth to tell them to leave, so they continue, completely unaware of the way he hears them. Unaware of how they are turning his life upside down.

“Why does this guy look so familiar?”

“Oh, you mean other than the fact that his face is all over the television?”

It’s silent for a bit, and he thinks that maybe they’ve gone finally, but then he hears a tapping noise, like fingers angrily hitting letters on a keyboard.

“It’s really sad actually. Remember Astrid down in the ER?” She waits for the other voice to agree before continuing. “I had lunch with her today and she was telling me how our guy here is cop. Came in with gunshot wounds, along with his brother. They were both in really bad shape. Whale was able to save this one but the brother was too far gone.”

It’s the first time he’s heard the words spoken allowed, and although intrinsically, he knew that Liam was gone, the words are a nail to a coffin.

The voice continues, telling the other one how they were both in shock, having lost so much blood, giving vivid details that tear at him to his very core, but it’s the end of the story that he latches to.

“So there’s nothing they could have done then?”

“I guess we’ll never know. I mean, by the time the ambulance brought him in, he was already gone, but from what Astrid overheard, I guess their back up got there late. One of them ran after the shooter and the other stayed to help and couldn’t save them both.”

“Damn, I can't even imagine. This guy is gonna have some hell of survivor's guilt.”

But it wasn’t guilt that overcame him that night. Instead, it was rage that crept in, filling the hole in his heart.

“So you still blame Emma then?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even look up from the mark of the coffee table in front of him that he’s been starting at for the last few minutes.

“Killian, the mind is a tricky thing. You were still in shock, heavily medicated, and mourning. Is it possible that maybe you somehow misunderstood what the nurses said that night?”

That has his attention, and not in a good way.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a liar?” He leans forward, voice steady, focused on Dr. Hopper and the way he’s now squirming in his chair. “Or do you simply believe that I’m just crazy?”

He’s off the couch, steady quick strides for the door. He’s had enough judgment for the day, and needs to leave before he crams Archie’s notebook down his throat.

“That’s - Killian! That’s not what I meant.”

He’s halfway out the door, but something in the man’s tremble gives him pause.

“I- I just. I spoke to Emma, to August too, after it happened. I just mean that maybe you all have different accounts of what happened that night, and until you sit down and finally clear the air, none of you will be able to heal.”

That has him barking out a laugh. The very idea of either of them being able to make anything right at this point? It’s absurd.

Two weeks pass without much fanfare. August’s desk still sits empty, a magnet for other detective’s paperwork piles, but the seat stays cold. Emma’s desk on the other hand is now occupied by a short stodgy old bald man who seems to be compensating for his hair loss with a long salt and pepper beard that covers half of his face. The man has been nothing but surely since his arrival the week before. He’s managed to piss off most of Killian’s bullpen, and it’s almost laughable how quickly his life has gone totally shits-up on him, but then he remembers that Leroy is going to be August’s partner when he comes back and that’s almost enough to satiate Killian’s frustration.

Almost.

Because August isn’t coming back, at least not to his division. There’s an opening in Narcotics, Killian’s old team, and while is not a transfer Killian would ever normally agree to, it's not a typical assignment. Despite his reservations, he knows August is good as his job and the best fit.

That’s the only reason he finds himself walking back into the Salty Winch at 10:29 on a Tuesday morning. August isn’t there yet, which doesn’t surprise him in the least. The truth is, he doesn’t honestly even know if the man will show at all, never having responded to his message.

It’s odd being back in that building, the incident from a few weeks ago notwithstanding. The derelict bar has always been special to him in a way he can’t explain, like an extension of himself. Liam brought him there after his first collar, saying a celebration was in order, and that one night somehow became a long standing tradition. Looking at the scuff marks near the well, he remembers Ruby’s attempts at clogging in 6 inch stilettos and the pub owner nearly crying at the sight of his ruined wood floors. He remembers Lance throwing up in the peanut bucket at the end of the bartop at his bachelors party.

But taking a seat in the booth in the back right corner, all he can see is her face the night they met.

It’s been a damn good day, and each sip of the rum in his glass dances it’s way down his throat, warming him on the way down. He’s buzzed to be certain, but hasn’t had nearly enough to be drunk, and Will intends to remedy that as soon as possible if the third round he just ordered is any indication.

They’d been after a small time dealer for months, and on the day they finally go to bust the guy, they somehow luck into nabbing one of the largest suppliers in the city by sheer dumb luck. But no one needs to know that. Not when he and Scarlett have just received public commendations from the commissioner himself. Not when he’s wearing his medal on his shirt like a goddamn first place science fair ribbon. Not when his name is being floated around as someone to keep an eye on.

And sure as hell not when the most gorgeous creature he’s ever laid eyes on has just walked into his pub and sat herself four bar stools over. To say that he’s gobsmacked is an understatement. It’s dark, but even in the dim pendant lit room he catches a glimpse of her eyes. They’re emeralds, sparkling as the light from a glass bottle being poured reflects in them.

He’s so infatuated with this woman in her tight red leather dress that he’s apparently missed an entire conversation, only his name on repeat is enough to pull his attention back to his mates.

“Oh bloody hell, I think we lost ‘em boys.”

There’s a heat overcoming his face and he’s not quite sure why. He’s left with many a fine lass from this very bar on other, much less eventful nights. His boys are no strangers to the effect he has on women, but perhaps this time it has something to do with the effect she’s having on him. This enchantress that’s beguiling him.

Perhaps the last shot was a mistake.

After some merciless teasing he’s out of his seat, making his way to the empty spot on the other side of her. He waits for a second, casually watching her send an email from the corner of his eye before making his move yelling out to the bartender.

“Robin, can I get my tab? I need to head across the street and file a complaint.”

She’s startled, her eyes flitting between him, the bartender, and her phone.

“Oh, what for?” Robin walks over with a towel and glass in hand, and a coy grin on his face. This may or may not be the first time he’s used this ruse before.

“Well, this woman here has just stole me beating heart right from my chest.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, and while it may not be the first time he’s used the line, it’s certainly the first time it’s ever not been reciprocated.

“Please tell me that line doesn’t actually work on girls.”

He can’t help but smile despite how epically he’s failed. And while she’s clearly not amiable to going back to his place with him tonight, she doesn’t outright reject his offer to buy her drink, or even a second one after that.

Somehow the two of them move to the booth in the back. He learns that she’s from the 42nd, a vice cop just coming from her last shift. The red leather dress is a departing gift of sorts from her supervisor, by way of a prostitution sting. She’s transferring to his precinct tomorrow and just wanted to come get a feel for the area before her first day.

They talk until the bar closes somehow, and when her cab pulls up, he takes his shot one more time. This time she laughs him off and tells him she’ll see him tomorrow. He gets his own cab, and even though he’s going home alone tonight, he’s still got a shit eating grin on his face when he walks through his apartment door, her laugh echoing through his head like music.

August arrives in true fashion, twenty minutes late, and Killian isn’t sure if the man is just being disrespectful or trying to somehow create an illusion of control over the situation. Either way, he’s not happy, although he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to himself that he’s happy that the man won’t be around for a while.

Boothe has always rubbed him the wrong way. Even before Emma, August had a way of pissing him off, always shooting off his mouth and trying to one up him. In truth, his annoyance turned to hatred when he learned of how close the man was with Emma. They had inside jokes and secret looks, and Killian always felt like an outsider. Eventually he learned that August was practically Emma’s brother, having been raised together in the foster system, but hearing of how Boothe was the one that introduced Emma to her first love, and man that led her down a path of petty crime, it only solidified in Killian’s mind that August Boothe is an arse of a man with no redeeming qualities.

Which is also the exact thing that he needs right now. The two of them sit in that back booth, discussing the matter at hand. The narcotics division has been trying to catch the supplier of pixie dust, a drug that’s recently made its way to Boston from New York. They have a fairly good idea who the importer is, but they haven’t been able to catch him thanks to a mole in their ranks. One of their own has been tipping off Walsh Nikko and their captain is fairly certain it’s Jefferson.

A man by all rights is mad as a hatter. Killian had only dealt with the man a few times, but undercover work had taken its toll on Jefferson and he returned from a botched assignment with demons in his soul.

Killian explains everything to August. How Captain Humbert needs him to come in as a disgruntled cop, how he needs to break rules and make his distaste of the Boston PD known. That it shouldn’t be difficult given their recent encounter and his suspension.

He knows it’s working when snippets of August’s ranting about his character get back to him.

______________________________

His adrenaline is waning and his stomach turns. He barely makes it away from everyone on scene into a back alley before the remainder of his lunch is spilling out of him. He’s never been so terrified in his life, and nothing is right. Nothing makes sense, and he’s still hurling his guts out. There’s blue and red flashes of light coloring the clouds above them as nearly all of Boston has turned out to the scene.

There’s going to be mountains of paperwork, but that’s tomorrow's problem. Right now, he just needs to get out of there, far away from the flashing photography bulb and the interviews. Away from the smell of blood, the screams he swears are still echoing in the building. He just needs to get away.

He’s not sure how he ends up here. He’s not even sure how he knows that address, but his feet have somehow brought him here and he knows that he can’t keep holding everything in. He can only pack it all down so much before the latches break and everything explodes around him.

Dr. Hopper doesn’t even seem surprised to find him standing outside of his brownstone, just motions for him to come inside. Archie goes to get him a towel, which he tries to refuse. It’s only at the man’s instistance that he realizes that he has blood on his jacket, and that’s his breaking point.

There’s blood on his jacket, and despite scrubbing it for the length of the car ride back to the precinct, he’s standing on the steps to the 56th and it’s still there. He’ll likely have to burn the damn thing. As remissed as he is though to discard his favorite article of clothing, it’s not the jacket that causes him pause.

He’s thought about this moment a lot of the last year. Wondering if she will be happy to see him, if she’ll care at all. There was a distance between them before he left, a chasm of his own doing, and when he told her he was leaving, he couldn’t miss the look in her eyes. A flash of betrayal and distrust, and while she’s the only thing that’s carried him through the last eleven months, he knows the chances of her thinking of him in the same way are lower than he cares to admit.

He’s thought of it so many times, playing it out over and over in his mind. How he’s going to find her and finally confess his feelings. Of how he can’t keep pretending that friendship with her is enough from him, that he wants more. How the random kisses they share are like knives to his heart showing him of what could be but isn’t. He’s played it out so many times, but never was he standing before her in a blood stained jacket.

But now that she’s there and in his arms clinging to him just as strongly as he is her, he couldn’t care less. She’s soft and warm and still smells of cinnamon just as he remembered, and her touch soothes the monsters whispering inside him. He felt broken the whole time he was gone, but she’s mending him.

He finally breaks away, he needs to tell her, he needs to just get the words out, but before he can, Liam is behind him ordering him to the bullpen, and now isn’t the time. It’s not a rushed conversation to have with people yelling his name from another room.

“I, we’ll talk later, ya?”

She nods, and it’s only then that he notices the faint tears that have been freshly wiped away.

They never talk about it though.

Liam takes him out to dinner, just the two of them, and by the time he gets home, the monsters are back, reminding him of all the things he’s done. Of what a villain he is now, and he knows that he’s not good enough for her.

His monsters are back, screaming, drowning out anything good and all he sees is the dark. Archie brings him a glass of rum, telling him after the night he’s had, he deserves it. And they talk. For the first time, Killian lets the walls down and tells Archie about all of it. All of the dastardly deeds he did while undercover. About how everything that has happened since is his fault, it’s because people like him don’t deserve happy endings.

Archie rebukes everything he says, but it does little to ease his conscience. He leaves Hopper’s house feeling slightly lighter though having unburdened himself, and possibly hopeful for the first time in years. But he’s still got a lot of work to do, and he knows it’s going to take time.

His suitcase is packed before it ever even occurs to him to call his commander and tell him that he needs a sabbatical. He expects pushback. Hell, he expects the man to tell him he’s fired, but his commander understands and tells him to take whatever time he needs. That they’ll find a place for him whenever he’s ready.

Liam’s boat is still in the harbor just as he remembers it. She’s been neglected the past two years, his own fault to be certain, and she’ll need some work as well, but she’s sea worthy enough, and he can’t be in Boston anymore. The sails are unfurled and he’s just pushing off when he pulls his phone out of his pocket, making one last call.

She doesn’t answer, he knows she won’t, and perhaps that’s why he’s calling her now, when he knows she’s busy. Instead he leaves a message, telling her that he loves her, that he always has and always will, but that he’s broken. That he needs some time to clear his head if he wants to be a man deserving of her heart.

He’s a bastard and a coward.

And then he’s gone.

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

Valentine’s Day Blues

Pairing: pre!Archie Hopper x Nicole Blake

Summary: Archie keeps Nic company on Valentine’s Day

A/N: An Archie fic??? I know it’s not his birthday or Valentine’s Day, but I got this idea and I had to write it, and honestly I miss writing for him. I wanna write more pre-relationship fics for us. Also this takes place during season 1’

She sat at one of the booths in the bar, ignoring everyone and everything. Looking down, she checked her phone again. Nothing. Nothing except an hour wasted. Nic sighed heavily, tucking her phone back into the pocket of her jacket. She felt silly— she should’ve known better than to say yes. Happiness didn’t come so easily to her, especially not when that happiness involved love.

The booth shifted a little as someone scooted in beside her, and Nic jumped slightly as she was pulled from her thoughts. But the moment her eyes met the soft, familiar blue ones of Dr. Hopper, she relaxed. He gave her a smile, and then a frown as she slumped back against the booth.

“Is everything okay?” He asked gently.

She contemplated answering. On one hand, she wanted to vent, and Archie was her best friend, he always let her vent when she felt the need to. On the other hand, she didn’t want to burden him with her problems. He already dealt enough with people’s issues being the only therapist in town.

Nic sighed heavily. “I had a date but he stood me up. On Valentine’s Day of all days.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” he told her, reaching over to take her hand. She allowed him to, just like she allowed him to give the hand a comforting squeeze. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Be my valentine, she said to herself. It was what she wanted to say. But it was so corny. Nic nearly snorted at her inner monologue. She wanted to tell him, she really did. That the only reason she agreed to the date was it was a poor attempt to get over her crush on him. That she hoped a small part of Archie would get jealous of her on a date and confess his feelings. That she didn’t want to be alone again on another Valentine’s Day.

She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think so.” There was a small part of her that wanted to remain at the bar, order a drink and get a little tipsy, maybe even get the courage to kiss Archie. But she knew that if she did, in the morning she would blame it on the alcohol and hope to smooth everything over to salvage the friendship. Pulling out her phone once more, she really noticed the time. “It’s getting late, I should be getting home anyway. Work tomorrow and all that.”

As she started to stand and shrug on her coat, Archie mimicked her movements. She did have to admit, in the lighting and the turtleneck he wore, Archie was very handsome tonight. More so than usual. She felt her heart flutter as they both left booth and he offered her an arm.

“I’ll walk you to your car, if you don’t mind, of course,” he offered.

“I never mind if it’s you,” she told him softly, taking his arm.

Archie led her outside the bar, and she tugged him in the direction of her car. It was a leisurely stroll, and she wanted it to last as long as possible. Taking their time to reach the car, she was happy to have the comfortable silence with Archie. She was happy to have his company, even if for a little.

Approaching her car, she softly sighed. Their time together has come to an end, all too soon in her opinion. Stopping by it, Nic let go of his arm and dug into her pocket for her car keys.

“Thank you, Archie. It was very sweet of you,” she told him.

“You’re welcome. I don’t want to leave you alone on Valentine’s Day,” he said softly.

She hummed as she started to unlock the back door of the car. “I just remembered I have this. I haven’t seen you in a few days and your birthday was the other day so…” she reached in to grab something from a cooler in the backseat.

He smiled and shook his head. “Oh, Nic, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Good, cause I didn’t.” She stood and held out the small container to him. Inside was a vanilla cupcake with orange icing. “I made you something.” She grinned. “Have a birthday cupcake, Cupcake.”

He felt lucky they were outside, away from a street light or she might have noticed the blush on his face when she called him the nickname. Archie took the cupcake from her. “Thank you, Nic. I appreciate this.”

“Happy, uh, belated birthday, Archie.”

He nodded. “It’s a shame that you were stood up. You look really beautiful.” Her cheeks felt like they were on fire as he continued. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Nic.” Archie kissed her head softly before taking a step back.

She cleared her throat. “Thank– thanks. Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Archie nodded happily. “See you tomorrow.”

Nic got into her car, and she waved at Archie before he started to walk away. Once he did, his back to her, she slumped her head against the car seat, a smile on her face.

“He called me beautiful.”

[ouat-rare-pair]

One-Shot Request: Regina/Archie

A fluffy Regal Cricket/ Cricket Queen (?) request from the exquisite @missielynne, who is a beautiful sunflower. Sorry it’s late: I wanted to do a good job for you, because I really appreciate all your lovely support.

Link if you prefer to read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839497 

Ever since the curse broke, life had turned upside down and everything was out of place. It was like walking on visibly shifting plates, waiting for the earthquake that rumbled threateningly beneath his feet. Psychologically, Archie knew that the uncertainty was escalating his anxiety and the best means of recapturing his peace of mind was to adapt to the new reality; but—true to the stereotype—therapists made the worst patients, and he simply clung to his routines to salvage some control.

The mornings were particularly pleasant: a quick walk with Pongo down Main Street, before going to Granny’s for an Earl Grey, two slices of toast, and a side of bacon for Pongo. He would sit at the counter and peruse the newspaper, contentedly stirring his tea while the Dalmatian dozed at his feet. 

But routines are meant to be broken, as was his on that particularly rainy Tuesday.

“Are you using that syrup?”

At first, he didn’t realize she was speaking to him: as a general rule, Regina avoided speaking to anyone, outside of necessity. From his peripheral vision, he could see the outline of her hair neatly coifed around her shoulders; while her dark eyes tried to catch his. It was impossible to escape Regina’s eyes, so he looked up in surprise.

“I-I’m sorry?” he asked politely.

“That syrup.” She pointed at the silver pitcher near his plate. “Are you using it?”

“Oh.” Archie laid his newspaper flat and retrieved the syrup, handing it to her carefully to avoid spilling. Regina smiled in gratitude and poured a modest amount over her pancakes. 

“Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him.

“You’re welcome.”

He returned to his newspaper, trying to refocus on the story about winter squash and its culinary potential. Soup is a particularly versatile way to utilize the squash, the article claimed. Savory and sweet notes both compliment its mild flavor—

“Anything interesting in there?”

Archie glanced sideways, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. Regina was looking back, somewhat awkwardly; half a smile on her face. She was clearly making an effort to carry a conversation, but he hadn’t the slightest idea why. Their last session had ended…well, poorly, to say the least: she’d stormed out with a barrage of insults, spitting the words “cricket” and “bug” in between rude suggestions. 

She must have read it in his face, because her smile faded into something that was almost apologetic. “I…let my temper get the best of me last time,” she exhaled “You were only trying to help. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”

“That’s all right.” Archie pushed his newspaper away and turned in his seat to face her, a gentle smile on his face. “I appreciate the apology.”

Regina pursed her lips. “I didn’t say I apologize,” she said in a clipped voice. “I was only acknowledging that you didn’t deserve it.” She smoothed her hair back, suddenly the supercilious queen again. “I don’t need to apologize for anything.”

Archie nodded slowly, not quite buying it. “Pride is a difficult thing to give up,” he observed. “Especially for a woman like you, I think.”

“A woman like me?” Regina raised an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me, Dr. Hopper?”

“I’m not your doctor anymore,” Archie chuckled. “You made that abundantly clear. You can call me ‘Archie’.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Are you profiling me, Archie?”

He tilted his head, considering her. “I’d say, you’re more of a case study,” he said finally. “You’re too, erm…unique to fit a specific profile.”

Regina eyed him shrewdly. “Uniquely psychotic?”

“Uniquely complicated,” he corrected. 

“Complicated,” she echoed, propping her chin in the palm of her hand. “Interesting…Most people just write me off as the ‘Evil Queen’.”

“I think I know you a little better than that.”

“Hmph,” she muttered in amusement. “Perhaps you do.”

The conversation seemed to end itself there: Regina turned back to her breakfast and Archie to his newspaper. He was fully prepared to consider this an isolated incident: pleasant, if a bit bizarre. That theory was dashed when Wednesday morning, she seated herself beside him at the counter and once again asked for the syrup.

His routine slowly shifted from Earl Grey and newspapers to waiting for Regina’s arrival: every morning she would come in, order the same pancakes she had the day before, and ask him for the syrup. They would exchange pleasantries, spilling bits and pieces of personal trivia in between thank-you’s and your-welcome’s. There were some days when he purposefully moved the silver pitcher next him, until Ruby took the hint and started delivering his order with a side of syrup. 

“You know,” Regina said thoughtfully, several weeks later, “I’m really starting to lose my taste for pancakes.”

Archie raised his eyebrows.”Are you?” he asked, privately wondering if there was some hint in there he was supposed to catch. 

“I am.” Regina pushed her half-eaten plate away with a sigh, and turned sideways in her seat, facing him. “I don’t think I’ll be asking you for the syrup.”

“Oh.” Archie tried to keep his voice light, even as the heavy disappointment weighed on his shoulders. He’d rather been enjoying their mornings.

“I’ll have to just invite you over for dinner.”

He blinked; then leaned forward, certain he’d misheard her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Any allergies I should know about?” Regina asked with raised eyebrows. “Or specific food aversions?”

Archie gave a shake of his head. “N-no, I don’t think—”

“Perfect.” Regina smiled. “I hope you like lasagna. It’s sort of my specialty.”

“Um—” He struggled to pull his words together, too stunned to fully grasp what was happening. 

“My house. Eight o’clock,” she decided, standing up from her seat. 

Archie stared at her as she tossed down a few bills and pulled on her coat. She fluffed her hair out, slung her purse over her shoulder, and turned to him with a curious warmth in her eyes, a softness he had never seen.

“You will come, won’t you?” Her voice was less authoritative; more uncertain, almost hopeful. 

He nodded: slowly at first, then more vigorously, breaking into a smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “Eight o’clock.”

She swept away, but not before he caught her smile: the first genuine smile he had ever seen from Regina Mills. He dared not take credit for it, but there was something remarkable about the possibility.

It seemed that things were definitely changing. His routines were in shambles and if Regina Mills was going to go around smiling, the world was once again turning upside down. 

But he didn’t mind as much. Things were out of place, yes; but they were also in a better place. 

[rumpledgoldenweaver]

A Weekend Away

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling February prompt “I think we’re lost”. Also @fluffapalooza if it’s still open :) Read it on my blog: https://earlyrisingwriting.home.blog/2021/02/14/a-weekend-away/

An opportunity arises for the Gold Boys to spend time together away from Storybrooke’s prying eyes.

Malcolm Gold – he’d adopted his son’s cursed surname, Stiltskin didn’t seem right, it only served to remind him of the anger he’d felt when naming his baby boy. He didn’t want anything to do with the name Peter Pan any more, Gold was a fresh start – was beginning to rue the day he’d agreed to joining his rapidly expanding family for a weekend at Rumple’s forest cabin. It’s like the tree houses in Neverland Neal had explained but on the ground. It’ll be fun Papa, his son had told him through obviously gritted teeth, Malcolm hadn’t missed the discreet elbow to the ribs Rumple had taken from Belle as she’d added that it would be an opportunity to talk away from the scrutiny of the towns folk. Henry had kept a commendable straight face at that remark considering she was referring to at least half of his family. Malcolm liked Belle. She was honest, trusting but not to be crossed. Just what his son needed to keep him in line. It was mainly because of her he’d agreed to come along.  

Malcolm had also been grateful to Belle for her advice regarding clothing in this new land. Although Rumple’s suits looked sharp, he didn’t want that many layers. Neal’s clothes were a bit too casual so he settled on trousers Henry had called Chinos, shirts with buttons, thin jumpers and boots called Timberland. Today he was particularly glad of the boots. Rumple had used magic to transport all the necessary clothes, food etc to the cabin, leaving Malcolm, Neal and Henry free to arrive on foot. Henry had been so excited at the thought of a hike through the forest with his Dad, no one had the heart to object.

“I think we’re lost” Malcolm tried to get his bearings however the trees all looked the same, he had no idea how far into the the forest they were.

“Lost Boys” sniggered Neal. Henry snorted which made his father laugh even more.

“Following the leader, the leader, the leader” sang Henry “We’re following the leader…”

“Wherever he may go” Neal joined in, the two of them dancing round in a circle.

“Very funny”

“You have no idea” laughed Neal “Have you seen the Disney film about Peter Pan yet?”

“The what?” Malcolm was still bemused by the popular cultures of the world he now lived in even though he’d got a better grasp of how it actually worked.

Henry grinned the kind of wicked grin Rumple would have been proud of “You’ll love it Gramps, especially Hook”

Neal’s eyebrows rose at the use of Gramps in relation to Malcolm

“What? I call Rumple Grandpa and Malcolm didn’t like Great Grandpa so Mum suggested Gramps”

“Which Mum?” though Neal had his suspicions

Henry didn’t answer but the glint in his eye was enough. Emma had an evil sense of humour.

“One of you must have been to this cabin before?”

“Neal shook his head “I arrived in town not long before the trip to Neverland but Papa and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms back then”

“I haven’t been either, I didn’t know Grandpa was my Grandpa and my mums weren’t about to let me hang out with The Dark One”

“Wonderful”

Neal looked around for minute or two, then as if some secret signal had been given he made an abrupt turn and set off down a path “Come on. It’s this way”

~

“Rumple will you please stop fussing. We have enough food to survive a small siege. There is no need to summon more”

“Have you ever fed a twelve year old boy? If his appetite is anything like Bae’s at that age then…” he felt a lump rise in his throat.

“Rumple?”

“Then I want to make sure there’s plenty”

“Oh Rumple” she hugged him hoping to both reassure and pull him out of this melancholy. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair, whispering a thank you sweetheart. Belle moved to kiss him and for the next couple of minutes there was a feeling of peace between them.

“Hi Grandpa Hi Belle sorry we’re.. oh…” Henry looked embarrassed at interrupting.  Belle giggled, Rumple never even turned round as he replied “Hi Henry”

“Are they here?” Neal’s voice carried through the door.

“Er...yes…they are.. here…”

“Is something up?” Neal strode into the living room and stopped dead “Oh for pities sake you two get a room!”

Rumple did turn this time “This is my cabin Bae and my room”

“Not in front of the wee ones eh Laddie?” Malcolm chuckled.

“Indeed”

“Rumple..” there was a warning tone to Belle’s voice “remember what we talked about”

“Hmm”

Ever the diplomat Henry piped up “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving”

“Yes of course Henry” smiled Belle “in the kitchen”

The young boy disappeared, returning within five minutes carrying a plate loaded with burger, fries, onion rings, various dips and salad. Rumple gave Belle a told you so look.

“He obviously appreciates his food” Malcolm watched in amusement at Henry giving the burger his full attention.

“Takes after his father” Rumple nodded towards Neal as he too went to the kitchen and brought back a plate piled high.

Conversation remained light hearted as they ate, comments about both Neal and Henry having hollow legs because of their hearty appetites. Rumple found he was nearly enjoying himself. Nearly being better than not at all as Belle reminded him earlier.

“Where on earth did all the food come from anyway?” Malcolm asked as he debated which of the many desserts to try.

“I summoned it” Rumple replied reaching for a cupcake.

“Magic” Neal raised a suspicions eyebrow.

“Only to bring it here. It’s not magic food. I’ve paid Granny’s chef triple his wages to cook a steady supply especially for us”

“Fair enough” Neal took a satisfied mouthful of cake.

“More tea anyone?” Belle stood up and began collecting the various cups and mugs strewn around the room

“Coffee if you have it please”

“Of course Bae, I’ll put the pot on. Coffee has it’s own magic Dearie” he twirled his arms, turned on his heel and practically skipped out after Belle.

The expression on Henry’s face was priceless.

~

When everyone had eaten their fill, plates, cups and cutlery washed, dried and put away by hand not magic Rumple keenly pointed out, Henry suggested they watch a film. Malcolm being particularly interested in the idea of a a “moving book” being shown on something called a TV screen. Then began the debate over which one to put on. Whilst there wasn’t a great deal of choice amongst the DVD’s at the cabin, Rumple would be happy to summon whichever was decided on. Mostly it was left to Neal and Henry as they had the widest knowledge of such things. It seemed to Malcolm to be a very complicated process.

“Nothing over a PG”

“Awww Dad! I’m twelve! I can watch..”

“No. Your Mothers would find a hundred ways to kill me, bring me back to life and kill me all over again if they found out you’d watched anything remotely inappropriate”

“Grandpa would protect you”

“Oh no no no” laughed Rumple “Do not bring me into this. I argued with both of them over many things but even I have limits”

“What about that.. Disney thing you mentioned on the way here? Would that be allowable?”

All eyes turned to Malcolm.

“You mean Peter Pan?” Henry looked sceptical.

“Yeah.. that. I’d like to see it”

Rumple and Belle exchanged a look before he got up and went into the main bedroom. There followed the sound of keys turning in locks and a safe being opened.

“You keep Disney DVD’s in a vault Papa?”

“Along with a few other items I was unsure about at first yes”

“Such as?”

“Such as none of your business son” he walked back into the living room brandishing the disc “You can do the honours Bae”

It could, Belle mused to herself long after everyone else had retired for the night, have gone a lot worse.  For instance everyone agreed that the physical resemblance between the cartoon and the person was actually rather accurate. They had all laughed like drains at Captain Hook. Belle honestly thought she’d have to give medical attention to Rumple and Malcolm as their hysterics gave way to mighty coughing fits. Neal and Henry sang along with the songs, Never Smile At A Crocodile didn’t go down very well with Rumple at first but he saw the funny side in the end. When it came to Following The Leader, the youngest father and son immediately leapt to their feet and began dancing round the room in a repeat of their antics in the forest earlier.

“So that’s where that song came from” groused Malcolm.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to not discuss certain details regarding film versus real life, for that Belle was grateful. She knew the relationships in that room were complicated, messy, quite possibly very unhealthy and could keep Archie Hopper on Rumple’s pay roll for decades. Whilst she believed talking about these issues was healthy, this weekend was not the time or the place. For once no one was arguing, for once certain townsfolk weren’t around to stick their well intentioned (or otherwise) noses in. She wondered if inviting her own father for a weekend here might help ease tensions between him and her boyfriend. Maybe leave it a month or so before she suggested that.

“What are you smirking at?” Rumple came from the en suite,  pulled the bed covers back and climbed in bed beside her. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Don’t you dare Belle” he warned, which was the wrong thing to say because of course she dared.

“Never smile at a crocodile..”

“I’m warning you young lady”

“No you can’t get friendly with a crocodile…” she sang between giggles.

“Right then”

And he proceeded to show her how friendly crocodiles could be when they wanted to.

[morosoro]

Reuben

Chapter 20

Summary: Reubens happy little Valentine’s Day bubble pops the moment he gets home.

Ao3 link here

He came home after school to find two visibly upset Scottish women taking tea on the sofa as his boy crawled about on the floor playing with a stuffed rabbit toy. Playing was a generous term, actually, Neal was more so just dragging it around and giggling as it moved each time his hand did. Quality entertainment for a baby, Reuben was sure.

He avoided the scowls from the older women as he crouched down to play with his son, gently taking the rabbit and making it wave to him. The babe giggled at that too. Oh what simpler times, when your happiness would depend on whether something moved or not. Reuben longed to be in the child’s place as Glynis cleared her throat.

“The Hatters called us yesterday.” She supplied.

Reuben huffed a sigh. He was getting tired of people asking about Jefferson. He’d had to answer several people today when asked, and not once had it been met with the aloofness he thought it deserved, Yes, they had a fight! It didn’t seem like a very big deal to him! “Yeah? What about it?” He asked.

“Mrs. Hatter informed me that Jefferson are no longer friends? That you told him to stop acting like himself? Now she didn’t explain precisely what happened, I get the impression she doesn’t know her son as well as she should, but Edith and I got the gist of it. And we are immensely disappointed. We thought we raised you differently.” The women told him, jaw set firm and spine rigid in her discontent.

“What? In the two months I’ve been here? Yes, a lot of raising done on your part.” He replied sardonically.

“You say that as if we weren’t pivotal caretakers of you since birth. You know full well we brought you up just as much if not more than your parents did. Now I suggest you start explaining yourself.”

“We had a disagreement. So what? It’s hardly the end of the world!” He was instantly in a sour mood as soon as this conversation had begun. He was so done having to explain himself to people who refused to understand. Even Belle had been upset with him when he told her what had happened in full. She’d told him he was in the wrong and that should apologize. He had thought out of all people she would’ve understood where he’d been coming from. Now his Aunts seemed to be antagonizing him too?! How come nobody could just give him the benefit of the doubt or see his side?!

“It was more than a disagreement and you damn well know it.”

It’s not like he’d really meant anything he said anyways. He just didn’t like the implications Jefferson’s words had set on the table. Jefferson needed to be taught a lesson, that’s all.

“Okay so I got tired of the jokes. I’m sorry that I don’t want people thinking I’m a bloody buftie who's shagging a dude behind his girlfriend's back.” He sneered, fed up of the conversation already. “I’m sorry for setting some god damn boundaries. In all honesty I think that if he were really my friend and not just hopeful he could ‘turn me queer’ or whatever then he would respect said boundaries.”

Edith gasped at his language, still remaining silent. Glynis’s glare only hardened. “You sound an awful lot like yer father saying words like that.” She said coldly.

His head whipped over to look her in the eye, bewildered rage taking root. How could she say that?! “You take that back!”

Glynis stared right back at him. “Or what? You’ll call us auld hags? Stomp around and break things?” After a beat of silence where he said nothing in preference of continuing to fiddle with his son’s stuffed toy, the woman continued. “Oh? Ignore us then? Your father liked to do that too.”

He stood to his full height quickly, discarding the rabbit as he went. He gestured sharply as he shouted. “Shut the hell up! I’m nothing like him!”

His son started to cry, obviously startled by the loud volume. He froze, staring down at the scared little boy in alarm. Oh no… what had he done? Had he hurt him- he didn’t think he did… but then again he had tossed away the toy pretty carelessly. Had it hit him? No! The idea made him sick.

Could he really be turning into a copy of his father? Was this proof?

Before he could think to reach for his son to try to comfort him, the boy was picked up by Glynis instead. “I wouldn’t be so sure, the lines seemed quite blurred lately.” She hissed in response.

“Glynis- please!” Edith pleaded, her expression softer but still troubled. “Give the lad break? He’s been through a lot lately.”

“That’s no excuse for bigotry and slurs! Did you not hear him, Edith? ‘Buftie’, ‘Queer’? Doesn’t that upset you?” The other woman asked, sounding incredulous.

“Well, yes…” Edith agreed before pausing to sigh lengthily. “But I’m also aware that he’s in a very tough spot. He’s still only a boy, see… He’s bound to have bad days and ugly moments. We all are, Love.” The other said, calm but firm. “ Besides, shouting at him and making him feel like shite won’t get us anywhere productive...”

Still holding the sniffling child, and with her jaw still set Glynis also sighed heavily through her nose. She seemed to calm slightly before deciding “Fine then, you deal with him. I’ll be taking Neal for a stroll down the paths. I suppose I could use some air.”

Edith nodded. “I think that’s best, dear. Thank you.” She then looked at her still visibly angry and hurting great-nephew. “Why don’t you go to yer room? Put on a tape, read a book… calm down some? I’ll come up and speak to you before dinner, Aye?”

Reuben, with clenched fists and hunched shoulders, let out a grumbled “Fine…” before hurrying his way upstairs.

—

He was only a couple chapters further into his copy of ‘Lord of The Rings’ (borrowed off of Moe, actually. The man had recommended it to him a couple of weeks ago) and the chorus to Genesis’ ‘Land of Confusion’ was playing when there was a knock on his bedroom door.

Sighing, he paused his cassette, marked his place in the book and called for the person to come in. To no surprise, Edith entered, and she had brought more tea for the both of them.

She sat herself on the foot of his bed and offered him the mug, he accepted it and took a sip. They sat in silence for a moment before she finally decided to speak. “You know lad, it doesn’t matter how upset you are, it’s never okay to be disrespectful.”

He stayed quiet, only grunting over the rim of his mug in response. She continued. “But we’re not going to talk about earlier today. Glynis and I are older than dirt, we’ve heard it all. We can take it. I want to talk about what happened with Jefferson.”

“We had an argument. What more is there to talk about?” He responded lowly.

“Why?” She asked. “Why were you arguing with him?”

“Because I was sick of the gay jokes.” He answered. “The ones that implied… stuff. I’m no feckin’ fag and he can’t bloody turn me into one!”

The woman let out a hissing sound, as if she had be burned. “See, what we’re not going to do is use terms like that.” She told him, stern voice in place. “Like Glinnie and I have both said, upset is no reason for disrespect.”

The teen was once again quiet as he sipped his tea again. The woman moved ahead in the conversation. “A person cannot ‘turn’ gay or straight. They either like the same sex or they do not. And it is not a bad thing to be that way.” She explained.

“Sure, okay… whatever.” He replied. “It still doesn’t fucking matter. He crossed a line and it made me uncomfortable so I told him to knock it off. That’s it. I don’t see why everyone’s making such a big deal out of it!”

“Because you hurt his feelings. And I think you knew what you said would hurt his feelings. That’s not okay, Reuben. You need to understand that.”

“I get it!” He barked. “I was just upset, okay? I lashed out. It happens…”

“Then it sounds like you need to work on controlling yourself. Maybe start by thinking things over before you say anything, like why Jefferson’s jokes upset you so much in the first place.” And with that she got up to leave again, throwing a casual “Dinner will be ready in an hour.” Over her shoulder as she went.

After the door shut behind her and he was by himself again he let out a frustrated growl. After setting down his tea, he drew his knees to his chest and raked his hands through his hair frustratedly, head hanging low. Why was he like this? Why was his anger like a light-switch? This was definitely something to bring up with his therapist next time.

He sighed then as he made a small connection in his head. Dr. Hopper had told him last time that he ought to take time for himself to think and figure things out and work on ‘self-improvement’. Edith had just told him to do pretty much the same thing. He glanced to his nightstand where the crinkled pamphlet-turned-coaster sat, and after a moment’s consideration, he reached for it, taking it out from under his mug. He turned to the second page.

‘Ask yourself ‘Why?’. Contemplate response. Consider your reasonings. Repeat.’

Why did Jefferson’s Joke upset you?

“Because it made me uncomfortable.” He mumbled.

Why did it make you uncomfortable?

“Because… I could picture it?”

Picture what?

‘I’m straight!’

‘So is spaghetti until you get it hot and steamy.’

‘Hot and steamy’

Hot and steamy...

“Fuck!” He growled out, tossing the pamphlet away. “This is bloody stupid! I’m not getting anywhere!” He told himself as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to will the unwanted images away. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him today?! He hated it. He hated himself.

It was hard to believe today had started out so lovely, with his girlfriend in his arms and a promise ring in question.

“I need a nap.” He decided. “A long one.”

———

Doctor Hopper was a strange individual. The kind of man that made Reuben wonder how his son Archie had become… well… Archie. Guys like Archie tended to have strict, straight-edge, academics-obsessed fathers. The type with the big glasses and button-down shirts that they tucked so neatly into their khakis. They were a vision of who their sons would become, but not Doctor Hopper.

No, Doctor Hopper was more laid back. Yes, he wore khakis and button downs but in a much more sloppy-casual sense. His hair was long and he wore a cowboy hat atop his head. He didn’t tip-toe with his words, he just spoke freely from his thoughts (and his degree, hopefully). He was also just odd enough for Reuben to believe he’d likely had a few run-ins with the law in the past. Yes, Reuben could definitely see this man scamming people of their money, or being picked up off the street where he lay a drunk… or something… fool. And yet this man was somehow his therapist and he was supposed to trust him and his advice. It was certainly a peculiar situation.

They currently sat opposite each other, Reuben on a large leather sofa, and Dr. Hopper laid back in the matching armchair. The latter was having a cigarette as he listened to his patient’s concerns.

He puffed out a measured stream of smoke before speaking. “So, basically, you’ve been acting like a cunt to your friends and family and you don’t know why?”

“Uh…” Reuben shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. “Yeah?”

“You just freak out when you feel targeted? As in you just suddenly feel like you have to defend yourself… but really all you're doing is spewing shit?” At the teens nod the therapist took another puff, answering with his exhale “Sounds like anger issues to me, kid. Probably got it from the alcoholic disgrace you call a dad.”

Reuben huffed a worried sigh. “So what? You think I’m going to wind up like him?”

“Nah, unlikely.” The man responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You both have issues and bad trauma, but yours is just…” he mimicked the sound of an explosion. “Different. That stuff really shapes a person. You’ll be fine… or well… as fine as someone like you could be.”

Someone like him? He wondered what that implied. He didn’t want to ask. Instead he focused on the positive. “You think so?”

“Yeah, kid. As long as you keep trying to get better, hell yeah! Anger issues? No problem kid. We can manage that with just a bit of work.” The adult said before taking another draw.

Curious, Reuben asked him “What kind of work?”

“Thinking. Self-help work, kid. You know about it, it was in the pamphlet. First off, why do you think you were acting like a cunt in the first place?”

Running his hands through his hair, Reuben groaned. He should’ve known. “Because my friend was making jokes that I didn’t like. They made me uncomfortable.”

“Okay, but why?” The man prompted him to expand on it.

“Because they were implying something that I didn’t want to be implied.”

“So it’s something you’re insecure about then?”

That gave Reuben a moment’s pause. Was he insecure about his sexuality? “.... no?” At least he didn’t think so.

“You don’t sound sure about that.”

Fuck.

He huffed, frustration growing. “What do you mean? I’m definitely secure about it!” He snapped.

“Whoa man-“ the therapist warned. “Don’t go acting like a cunt on me now. I’m just trying to help you figure this out.”

The teen pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated with himself more than anything. “I know… I’m sorry. I just don’t know why it upset me.”

“Then you just gotta think a little deeper about it sometime. But don’t try to rush it. Take your time to figure you out, Y’know?”

“I-I guess?” They were quiet for a moment before he asked “What do you think the reason was?”

“Hey, I can’t really say for sure, I’m not in your head. But to me it just sounds like the jokes just hit too close to home. He hit a nerve, something you're insecure about and don’t want to address. Whatever it is, you should probably address it before you try to apologize to this guy. You do want your apology to be as genuine as possible, right?”

Confused and practically in a stunned silence, he realized the implication his therapist had just made. He only swallowed thickly and nodded, squeaking out a broken sounded “Yeah, right.”

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“Building a Family” Chapter 16: One Special Night

"Papa, why do I have to dress up to see Doctor Hopper?" Roland asked, tugging on the polo shirt Robin had put on him that morning. He looked like he wanted to tear it off and while Robin understood his son's discomfort, he still hoped Roland kept it on long enough for them to get through their session.

Robin knelt in front of Roland, gently removing his hand from his shirt. "There's going to be a special guest today and I want you to look your best."

"Who?" Roland asked, frowning. "Is it Regina or Sophie? I don't think I need to dress up for them."

He chuckled, knowing his son had a point and marveling at how quickly the Mills' women became enmeshed in their lives. Robin shook his head. "It's neither of them. We'll explain it to you once we get to Doctor Hopper's office, okay?"

"Okay," Roland replied, trusting him as they headed out to the car. Robin helped him into his booster seat and got him all buckled in before heading to the driver's seat.

As he started up the car, he glanced back at his son. Roland looked nervous and Robin frowned. "Roland? Are you okay?"

"I'm just confused," he said.

"I know," Robin replied, pulling away from the curb. "But I promise everything will make more sense once we get to the office, okay?"

Roland nodded, trusting him completely. As he headed to the main part of Storybrooke, Robin hoped that everything went well and that Marian didn't let them both down that day. She didn't have a particularly good track record, which was why Robin didn't want to tell Roland anything more until they got to Dr. Hopper's office.

It was a short drive and Robin quickly found a parking spot near the office. He helped Roland from the car and ushered him into the office, his heart hammering in his chest the entire time. Robin wished he could just jump an hour into the future to see how it went – if his son was able to meet his mother or if Marian had failed them yet again.

Dr. Hopper greeted them as they climbed the stairs to his office. "How are we doing today?" he asked.

"Good," Roland replied, "though I don't know why I have to dress up today."

"I told him we would explain everything once we got here," Robin told Archie, hoping the therapist would be able to help.

Dr. Hopper nodded. "Why don't you two come in and get comfortable so we can do just that?"

Robin released Roland's hand, letting his son enter the room and pet Pongo. He lingered behind, to ask Dr. Hopper an important question. "Have you heard from her?"

"I have," Dr. Hopper replied. "She called a little while ago to confirm my address and asked about parking. She said she would be here at the agreed upon time."

"Good," Robin said, relieved. "I was afraid she wouldn't come."

Dr. Hopper nodded. "I understand but I think this is important to her and she's committed to going through with this."

"For now," Robin replied, unable to help himself. He then paused before asking: "Do you think I should trust her more?"

"I think she needs to earn your trust and it's understandable that you're suspicious," the therapist replied. "You're just trying to protect yourself and Roland."

Robin nodded, feeling a bit better. "She's hurt us both before and this time it would be worse because Roland will remember it."

Dr. Hopper chuckled. "You don't have to convince me of anything, Robin. I understand why you feel this way."

"Thank you," Robin said. He looked inside the room. "Should we go and talk with Roland now?"

"Yes, let's," Dr. Hopper replied, motioning for Robin to enter the room first.

Robin settled next to his son on the couch while Dr. Hopper took his usual seat. He did drag it a bit closer to the couch and smiled at Roland. "So, are you ready to find out who the special guest is today?"

"Yes," Roland said. "Who is it?"

Dr. Hopper nodded at Robin, who pulled his son onto his lap. "Remember how I told you that your mama had to go away when you were a baby?"

Roland nodded solemnly. "Yes, she loved me but needed to get help to be a better mama."

"Right," he replied. "Well, your mama is back and she wants to see you again."

"And she's the special guest?" Roland asked, looking a bit hesitant.

Robin nodded. "Yes. We thought it would be best if you and she met here in Doctor Hopper's office so he could help you both with this meeting."

"Oh," Roland said, looking pensive. For the first time, Robin couldn't read his son's eyes and that unnerved him.

Dr. Hopper leaned forward. "How do you feel about that, Roland?"

Roland shrugged. "I guess I'm excited."

That didn't sound very promising though and Robin glanced at Dr. Hopper, who was frowning. "You don't sound excited," he said.

"I don't know how to feel," Roland admitted. "I know she's my mom but I don't really know her."

"That's okay. That's why you're meeting her here with me and your papa. We can help you figure it out," Dr. Hopper assured him.

Robin rubbed his back. "If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just let one of us know. We'll step in and make sure you feel comfortable again. Okay?"

"Okay," Roland said, sounding a bit more confident.

Dr. Hopper stood. "I'm going to go see if she's arrived. I'll be right back."

As he walked away, Robin turned to Roland. "I promise you I will be right here. You'll be fine."

"Okay, Papa," Roland said, climbing onto his lap. He leaned against him, looking up with wide eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Robin told him, kissing his forehead. He hoped his son knew that no matter what happened that day, he would always love him.

Dr. Hopper stepped back into the room. "Okay, Roland, your mother is here. Are you ready to meet her?"

Roland nodded and Dr. Hopper motioned for Marian to enter. She walked in, clutching a stuffed Teddy bear with an apprehensive look. Once she entered the room, she stopped and looked over Roland. Her eyes filled with tears and she pressed her hand to her mouth. "You look so beautiful," she told him.

"You look like the pictures Papa has," Roland replied, tilting his head as he studied her.

She laughed, looking relieved. "I have a gift for you. Can I come to you?"

"Okay," Roland said, sliding off Robin's lap so he could sit on the edge of the couch. He watched her as she approached, kneeling to be eye level with him.

Marian held out the Teddy bear she held. "Here you go."

He took the bear and hugged it. "Thank you, Mama."

"You're very welcome," she said, tears filling her eyes.

Roland tilted his head. "Why are you crying? Are you sad?"

She shook her head. "I'm very happy. These are tears of joy."

"Oh," he replied. "I didn't know you could cry because you were so happy."

Everyone laughed and Dr. Hopper said: "You can cry for a lot of reasons. It's just the body releasing emotions."

"Cool," Roland said, making them all laugh again. He then looked at Marian. "Where have you been, Mama?"

Her smile dimmed a bit and she stammered a bit as she answer. "Well, I've been a lot of places, baby."

"Why?" he asked, looking up at her with big, doe-like eyes.

"It took me a long time to find myself," she replied. "And to find what I needed to be a good mom to you."

"Did you find it?" he asked.

She took a deep breath before answering: "I'm not sure, baby, but I think so. And so I'm here to start being a mama to you."

He looked hesitant, glancing up at Robin before looking back at Marian. "Can I stay with Papa though?"

"Of course," she replied, looking a bit disappointed. "I'm not going to take you away from him. We're going to work together and don't necessarily have to live together to do that."

"Like how Sophie lives with Regina but Papa and I visit her?" he asked, twisting Robin's stomach into a knot. He prayed Marian remembered both his and Dr. Hopper's warning about how much Roland loved his sister and how she was going to have to at least play nice for his sake.

Marian hesitated for a moment before nodded. "Right, just like how it works with your sister."

Robin let out the breath he was holding. It wasn't the best response as she didn't mention Regina at all and he couldn't miss the bitterness in her voice. But it was a start, he figured.

"Cool," Roland said, nodding.

"So, Roland, what do you want to tell your mother about your life here in Storybrooke?" Dr. Hopper asked him, gently giving him something to talk to start bonding with Marian.

Roland's eyes lit up and he nodded, looking up at Marian. "There's lots I want to tell you! Like the park! The park is really fun."

"I'm sure it is," she said. "Do you like the swings or the slide?"

"The swings," he replied. "I love to fly though I can't go as high as Sophie yet. She can go really high."

Marian's smile tensed up and Robin saw her eyes dim a bit. "I'm sure she can. But you will be able to go that high one day."

Roland beamed. "That's what Regina said too."

"Well, I guess that means it must be true," Marian said through gritted teeth. She didn't even try to hide her bitterness this time.

Roland recoiled a bit and Robin cleared his throat. He gave Marian a pointed look before sliding off the couch to sit next to their son. "Hey, buddy, why don't you tell Mama about how you are learning to ride a bicycle?"

"Ooh, yes," she said, sounding eager to discuss any topic that didn't involve Regina or Sophie. "Please do."

"Papa got me the bike for my birthday! He and Uncle Will have been teaching me how to ride it and I'm getting really good. Soon I'll be able to ride it without the training wheels, right, Papa?" he asked, looking up at Robin with bright eyes.

Robin chuckled, ruffling his hair. "You're doing great but I think you're going to need the training wheels for a bit longer, okay, bud?"

"Okay," he said, sounding a bit disappointed. He then turned back to his mother. "But I can go really fast even with the training wheels."

She chuckled. "You sound like a little speed demon."

"He is," Robin replied. "I blame Will."

"Why don't you tell me more? Has your father taught you how to shoot an arrow yet?" she asked Roland.

Roland shook his head before going on about everything he had learned so far hanging around Robin's camps. As his son talked, Robin tried to relax but he could not calm his nerves. While it was going well except for that one hiccup, he still was on guard where Marian was concerned. He just couldn't trust her yet but he still did hope she would be able to earn it back.

For Roland's sake.

Continue reading on FFN (non-smut), AO3 or Wattpad (both smut)

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 18: Dramatic Theatrics

Everything had gone exactly as planned and maybe even better if the visit from Emma Swan suggested anything. And then, day by day, it wasn't at all like he'd planned. There was one week between the fire at town hall, the day Emma and Sidney both announced their plans to run, and the day of the debate, the same day that Storybrooke would be asked to cast their ballots. One week was a lot of time to think, a lot of time to panic. It was a lot of time for the signs that Mary Margaret was making, the same signs that depicted Emma to be a hero because she'd pulled the Mayor from the fire, to get on the Savior's nerves. It was a lot of time for her to come clean to the town, to tell them that she wasn't the hero they thought, that the fire was staged by none other than the notoriously hated Mr. Gold. It was time for her to step down because she wanted to fight fair and time for the town to rally around her and tell her that they wanted her. It was time enough for everything to work out just like he'd planned.

And yet, it didn't happen.

Each night this week, he'd gone to Granny's, but it wasn't because he actually liked her burgers, or maybe that he enjoyed being charged extra for the pickles. The truth was that sometimes alone in his shop, he felt isolated and cut off from the rest of the town. But Granny's diner…that was the heart of Storybrooke. It was the place one went to get news before it was fit to print and the place to overhear all the town gossip. Night after night, he walked into Granny's this week to order a burger, not because he wanted one for dinner, but just because he was waiting to receive the stares from angry citizens. He was hoping for confirmation that Emma had finally told the tale of what really happened that night of the fire, or at least her version of it.

Night after night, he was sorely disappointed.

He was getting nervous. He didn't have a backup plan. He didn't have anything to force the girl to tell the world. And without her to stand up to him…there would just be her; Emma Swan. Yes, she was the woman who had saved the mayor from a fire and held the job of deputy for weeks now, but thanks to him, she was now also the teenage, jailbird mother. He had done her character a favor at the same time he had simultaneously done it a disservice. To be fair, he never would have done that if he thought there was a chance that she wouldn't act appropriately and not tell the world what he'd done. He'd have thought of another way to get her to that hall to save Regina if that were the case. But now...

Was the good enough to outweigh the bad? He didn't know. All he knew on the day of the debate was that there was still time. Not a lot of it, admittedly, but he'd learned in his time that the last minute of deals could always garner great results. Timing could be key, but it wasn't always everything. So, as long as the people of Storybrooke hadn't voted yet, as long as there was still a public forum that they could gather together to hear Emma speak, potentially even confess, there was still time.

That was the main reason he'd come. Of course, as a knowledgeable man in Storybrooke, he'd planned to vote, but if things had happened differently, he probably would have skipped the pomp and circumstances. For his own purposes, hopefully, he arrived at the last possible "acceptable" second. He wasn't surprised to see that it was busy. With Emma's reputation, he could have guessed that people would come out to ogle her either for the good reasons or for the bad ones. He did have a flare of hope when he looked around the room, a brief flash of movement by the stage. It was the curtain. Open now, someone in the wings had pulled it back to look out at the crowd; someone with blonde hair. Emma Swan.

He could feel her eyes on him. Though it wasn't the best way to do it, he kept his eyes on her. He made it a warning gaze on purpose, something threatening and terrifying. Though it was his deepest desire for her to come clean and endear herself to the people of Storybrooke, he wasn't going to let her know that yet. In his experience, some people, when stressed, could do the wrong thing. But this child, the Savior, the one who had darkness eliminated from her before birth, she would do the right thing under stress. She hadn't turned him in yet, but as he stared back at her, it occurred to him just how perfect it would be for her to do it here, in front of everyone, with him watching. So he gave her a threatening look, one that he hoped conveyed to her that she was forbidden to tell what she knew, one he hoped that she'd take as a challenge. Archie would probably use the term "reverse psychology," he liked to call it manipulation at its best.

As Emma disappeared behind the curtain again he took a deep breath. He hoped he hadn't judged the Savior wrong. If he had, he was going to have to think up a new plan. He took an empty seat near the back, right along the aisle. It wasn't there for everyone to see, but it was easy for Emma to see, and at the moment, that was all he cared about. Right on time, Archie and the candidates walked onto the stage and took their seats to the applause and whooping of the crowd. He remained calm as he continued to stare at Emma Swan. Whether or not she'd been looking forward to the debate or felt prepared for it, she at least looked professional. She'd dressed up today. It was the only time he'd ever seen her in a skirt. But her posture was wrong; sad and defeated. Not good for someone wanting to show the town they were confident.

All applause died down as the grasshopper moved to the podium. "People of Storybrooke, I am Doctor Archibald Hopper. I've been asked to moderate this debate by Mayor Mills as a neutral party. Of course, I've been asked to remind you that following this debate, there will be an election, a period for you to cast your votes for the candidate that you believe will best serve you, the citizens of Storybrooke. Now…I just want to begin by saying that tragedy has brought us here, but we are faced with this decision. And now, we ask only that you listen with an open mind and to please vote your conscience. So, without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to the candidates: Sidney Glass and Emma Swan. Glass…Swan…sounds like something that a decorator would make you buy…"

The bug chuckled at his sorry excuse for a joke, and for the first time, he stopped looking at Emma and felt his gaze automatically draw to Archie. He'd never known the cricket to be nervous before or make bad jokes, but suddenly he'd never missed the chirping so much.

"Wow, crickets. Okay, uh…uh, Mr. Glass, your opening statement."

There was an appropriate amount of applause as Archie yielded the microphone to the former genie, and he gave a smile worthy of any politician. "I just want to say that if elected, I want to serve as a reflection of the best qualities of Storybrooke-honesty, neighborliness, and strength. Thank you," he muttered before returning to his seat.

Short, sweet, the bit about being a reflection was a bit ironic but otherwise well worded…if he weren't actively rooting for the other side, Mr. Gold would have been appreciative.

"And Emma Swan," Archie introduced.

He shifted in his seat a bit as the Savior took her place, just enough to make sure she hadn't forgotten where he sat. Then he stilled and continued his stare. On the outside, he hoped he was projecting venom. He hoped she'd take it as a warning. But inside, he felt like his heart might burst right out of his chest. Time was running out. This was her last chance. He needed her to do this. He needed her to challenge him. People with a common goal could accomplish a lot. People with a common enemy could accomplish more. It could get an outsider, a criminal, and a teenage mother elected Sheriff. She just had to do what she knew was right!

"You guys all know I have what they call a, uh…troubled past. But, you've been able to overlook it because of the, um…'hero thing.' But here's the thing…the fire was a setup."

Yes.

A buzz of energy went through the crowd as she said her words, something that reminded him of the feeling of magic. His heart drummed against his chest while he continued to watch. Emma's eyes found him for the slightest of moments and then-

"Mr. Gold agreed to support me in this race, but I didn't know that that meant he was going to set a fire. I don't have definitive evidence, but I'm sure. And the worst part of all this was-the worst part of all this is, I let you all think it was real. And I can't win that way. I'm sorry."

He could have laughed. He wanted to laugh with joy! Oh, he'd imagined something like this happening all week, but he could never have dreamed it would be so perfectly timed, so public as it was! This…this was perfection! This was so much better than he'd imagined. It just needed one final touch.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. He cast his eyes down to the ground mocking something like what he imagined embarrassment would look and feel like. And then he left.

Outside he finally let his demeanor drop. The corners of his mouth curled up. He didn't burst out laughing as he had wanted to, but he did walk away smiling with confidence. That had gone beautifully.

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 25: Evening Musings, Pt 1

David sat there on the sofa, with Snow cuddled against him, still in awe of her story. He remembered that day with a vivid clarity now, especially since he was now aware of who he had saved that day. He couldn't believe it. It had been Snow locked in that prison carriage that day. He looked at Wilby, who was cuddled with them with his head resting in Snow's lap, as she pet him. He clearly remembered her too.

"I can't believe it...that was you," he uttered.

"Mmm...and it was you who rescued me. You saved my life before we even knew it," she replied.

"You saved me too...you helped me save the farm for a bit longer that day," he said. She smiled.

"I guess we saved each other...as we always do," she replied, as they shared a kiss.

"I'm going to take Wilby out," he said, as he kissed her again.

"Okay…I'll figure out dinner while you do that," she replied, as he took Wilby out to do his business. While he did so by the tree outside, David saw Archie walk by with Pongo. The two dogs proceeded to sniff each other curiously.

"David...what a surprise," he said.

"Dr. Hopper," David greeted pleasantly.

"You seem to be adjusting well after the divorce," Archie mentioned. David raised an eyebrow. It was a little forward from the normally shy, ginger-haired man, but lacked a judgmental tone, so he took it in stride.

"Very well...I'm where I belong," he replied.

"Yes...you definitely lack the confusion that you were riddled with before," the other man confirmed.

"Many don't approve, but true love is true love," David replied.

"I'm happy for you both," Archie said.

"Have a good evening...come on Pongo," he called, as they moved on. David was a little brisk with him, but he knew the truth that his counterpart had participated in the lie about the wardrobe. He knew Jiminy had likely been uncomfortable with it, but also knew that his well known loyalty to Geppetto had prevented him from telling them the truth. Still...he felt a little bitter about it. He had trusted them on Snow's behalf, but he would never do so quickly again.

The dwarves had eventually warmed up to him and he had gained Leroy's respect, but his fondness for Dopey didn't always extend to the rest. And now that he had a confirmed case of betrayal from at last three people they had considered friends, he was even more protective than usual. Snow had always told him he was too protective, even with their friends, but now he knew even she would have to admit that he had reason for mistrust now. Not to say that the dwarves had done anything or known about the wardrobe, because he was fairly certain they didn't. He just didn't have a lot of faith that they would stand with them when things got rough. He only hoped they would surprise him in the end.

He returned to the apartment and Wilby found his bed, but he didn't see Snow so he went behind the curtain to their makeshift bedroom, only to find her undressed to her undergarments.

"I decided that we could get dinner later...because there's other things I'd rather do now," she said, as she bit her bottom lip coyly. He quickly closed the distance between them and kissed her passionately. Their lips parted long enough for her to quickly unbutton his shirt and then discard his undershirt. Their lips crashed together again and he lifted her up, as they tumbled to the bed.

~*~

Neal ate another bite and glanced across the table at his father, annoyed by the smirk on his face.

"Will you stop?" he asked.

"I'm not sure what you wish for me to stop?" Gold asked, as he took another bite.

"Being smug," Neal replied.

"And what reason would I have to be smug?" he asked.

"Because you're always smug when you think you're right," Neal replied.

"Well…I'm right a lot," Gold agreed. Neal scoffed.

"Look…I know you didn't like Tamara, but I was going to marry her. I'm upset," he said.

"Are you?" Gold asked.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Neal asked.

"Because I know when you're upset and I know when you're mildly bothered. This is mildly bothered. If you were upset, you would be picking at your food. Not inhaling it," Gold replied. Neal rolled his eyes and put his fork down, but then sighed.

"Fine…" he grumbled.

"It's okay to admit that you're not as upset as you think you should be and giving you ultimatums did little to help your relationship," Gold said.

"Yeah...maybe I should have told her, you know about the reality of this place," Neal replied.

"Do you really think that would have been wise?" Gold asked.

"I don't know...I mean it would have been hard for her to grasp…" he lamented.

"It would have been a disaster...and you know it," Gold said.

"Yeah...you could be a little less happy about it," Neal grumbled.

"I cannot be sad for this relationship ending. I am sad for you having to go through that, but it was doomed from the moment you met Emma again, perhaps before that even," Gold reasoned. Neal rolled his eyes, but was silent. When his father was right...he was right.

"Besides, young Henry was already calling her the step-monster. I don't believe he will be unhappy either," Gold added.

"Henry called her a step-monster?" Neal asked.

"I overheard him telling David at the Miner's Day festival. I believe he was looking to his other grandfather for a sense of comfort about the situation. Charming has that quality to make you feel like it's going to be okay," Gold admitted. Neal smirked.

"You do too when you let yourself...I mean before all the Dark One crap," he said, mocking his father's signature hand moves. Gold smirked too.

"Perhaps, but I'm content to let David handle that for now," he said.

"Yeah…Henry really loves him and he's not the only one warming up to him I think," Neal replied.

"Yes…I heard that Emma hired him as her Deputy," Gold mentioned.

"Yeah...she says it's because of his dog, which I didn't even know he had, but I know Emma. It's not just the dog. She feels safe around him...I can tell, because there was a time she felt safe with me. It's not something she's used to," Neal mentioned.

"Son…I know you are reluctant to take my advice, but you must tell her that you still have feelings for her," Gold implored.

"Dad...I hurt her way too badly for that," Neal protested.

"Because of the puppet, who is going to taste my cane if I find him," Gold growled.

"I doubt assault and battery on August is going to make things better between Emma and I," Neal said.

"Perhaps not...but it will make me feel better," Gold muttered and Neal rolled his eyes again.

"Though I suppose it would be awkward for you if your future wife has to arrest her future father-in-law," he added.

"Papa…" Neal protested, as Ruby brought them the check.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked. Neal smiled.

"No...I think we're good, thanks," he said, as his father paid the check with a generous tip.

"Thanks," she said, as she took the bill and the cash.

~*~

Many Years Ago

Narcissa smirked and concealed the empty vial in her clutch, as the ceremony was prepared to begin. The wine in the cup beside the Holy Man would be the end of all her problems. One drop in her baby niece's mouth and she would be the fairest in all the realms once again.

"Thank you everyone for coming today," Eva said, as she and Leopold approached the altar where the Holy Man stood and Eva gently lay their infant daughter on the ceremonial podium.

"We have come here today to bless our new, tiny Princess, Snow White with the blessings of the Gods," the Holy Man said, as he presented the cup of wine.

"May she grow to be as kind and beautiful as her mother and as wise a ruler as her father," he said, as he prepared to put a drop of wine in the baby's mouth. Narcissa could hardly contain her glee, as the moment she had dreamed of since her tiny niece had drawn breath was finally at hand. So she should have known it would be interrupted.

Three flashes of color entered the room, revealing three fairies.

"Stop!" the red fairy called, as they approached the altar.

"What is the meaning of this?" Leopold demanded to know.

"We're terribly sorry, Your Majesty, but that wine has been poisoned!" the peridot fairy said. Eva gasped.

"Mmmhmm...and the culprit is in this room," the dark blue fairy said.

"Who on Earth would want to poison our child?" Eva asked. Flora looked at her with a sad expression.

"I'm afraid it is your own sister, Your Majesty," she revealed.

"No…" Eva uttered in disbelief, as she picked Snow up and cuddled her close to her chest.

"Discard this wine, immediately," Leopold ordered.

"Narcissa...please tell me this isn't true," Eva said, but the blonde's face revealed all that anyone needed to know.

"She's quite jealous of the tiny Princess," Fauna said.

"She's right...and this was not her first attempt. We thwarted the first and gave her a chance to do the right thing," Flora said.

"Which I knew was a mistake. We should have taken care of her the first time for trying to hurt this precious little one!" Merryweather said hotly.

"Narcissa...why?" Eva asked in tears.

"I am the fairest…" she replied.

"What?" Eva asked.

"I am the fairest in all the lands...until you became pregnant with that little mongrel!" Narcissa replied.

"My mirror always said I was the fairest...until her! Now she is the fairest!" she cried.

"You tried to kill my daughter...because she may be more beautiful than you!?" Eva exclaimed.

"I always knew you to be selfish and self absorbed, but I dismissed your flaws, because I loved you and thought you were mostly good. But you're not...you're evil!" Eva cried, as her daughter whimpered.

"If I am...then she made me that way!" Narcissa cried back.

"My daughter did not make you evil! You've always been this," Eva said.

"Our people starve and are taxed unfairly, while you live lavishly and spend beyond your means! I knew your vanity was always troublesome...it has been since mother and father presented you with that infernal enchanted mirror when we were children!" she continued.

"If I remember correctly, you were always jealous of my mirror," Narcissa said.

"At the time I was...but now I see it was a blessing not to have it, for it bred this sickness in you," Eva replied, as she turned to the red fairy.

"I must protect Snow from further attempts from her. How can I do that?" she asked.

"To protect Snow from her indefinitely...we must banish her," Flora replied.

"You will never banish me!" Narcissa cried, as she sought an exit.

"Guards!" Leopold bellowed and she was captured by them.

"Let me go! You cannot do this!" Narcissa said, as her enchanted mirror appeared in the Throne room.

"My mirror…" she uttered.

"You love your mirror so much so you will be banished to the mirror realm...for eternity," Flora announced, as the three fairies hit her with the magic of their wands. Narcissa screeched a terrible scream, as her essence was transferred inside the mirror.

"She cannot escape the mirror?" Leopold questioned.

"Only if it is broken. I suggest that you place it in a protected place," Flora said.

"The palace vault...guards, please take it there very carefully," Leopold ordered, as they carried out the task. Eva sniffed.

"We're so sorry we had to do that to your sister," Fauna offered. Eva nodded.

"No...it had to be done if she was a danger to my Snow...thank you," the Queen replied.

"We couldn't let anyone hurt this one...she has a very important and special future," Flora said. Eva smiled.

"She is so very special," Eva agreed.

"Oh yes...this beauty has much happiness in her future," Merryweather gushed. Eva gazed down at her daughter. She was sad about her sister, but knew it had to be done, for she couldn't bear to lose her precious Snow. She only wished her sister hadn't taken such a dark path, for she was missing out on the joys of being an aunt to her daughter, but she realized that Narcissa really wasn't capable of loving anyone else but herself. Fortunately, she vowed to raise her daughter differently and make sure she knew that everyone had value. Snow would be kind, beautiful, and a wise leader one day...

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 22

Sorry I’m taking ages with fic at the moment. Suffering from an extreme lack of spoons :(

Last time, Belle jumped Gold’s bones and they both enjoyed it :)

[AO3]

X

Belle decided she could get used to waking up with Gold. She was warm and comfortable, his body pressed against her back and his lips gently kissing her shoulders. She found herself smiling broadly as she stretched her legs, and he kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver.

“Morning,” she murmured sleepily.

“Morning.” Soft lips traced a line along her shoulder. “Did you sleep well?”

“Eventually,” she said, giggling a little. “That was quite a night.”

“Mmm.” Gold paused, pushing up on one elbow. “Are you alright? Was it a little too much?”

“No no,” she assured him, shifting to look over her shoulder. “It was good. It was perfect.”

He smiled broadly, and kissed her full on the lips. Belle pulled away with a sigh of frustration.

“But unfortunately I have to pee,” she grumbled, and he chuckled, patting her hip.

“I’ll make some tea.”

The sun had risen, the day bright and clear after the previous night’s storm, and Gold cooked omelettes with cheese and mushrooms, washed down with tea. Belle was hungry, and followed the omelette with a slice of toast with butter and honey. He watched in amusement as she used a finger to dab at the crumbs on her plate, catching every one.

“I could make you some more, you know,” he said.

“I think it’s enough,” she said, wrinkling her nose as if she was unsure. “Guess we worked up an appetite.”

“That must be the reason I feel as though I was beaten with something heavy last night,” he remarked, sipping his coffee, and she smirked.

“Well, your efforts were very much appreciated.”

He caught her eyes, grinning, and she found herself blushing a little. It felt good to be flirting with him again. It felt good to be a couple at last. She reached for her tea, taking a sip, and set down her cup.

“Are you going back to Storybrooke on Friday?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I have my appointment with Dr Hopper,” he said. “And there are a few enquiries from tenants I may have to deal with in person. Dove keeps me updated, and is very adept at enforcement if necessary, but it’s best to deal with these things before they become an issue.”

“At least tell me you’re not repossessing the flower shop,” she said, in a dry tone, and he pulled a face, his eyes glinting.

“Not this week.”

She gave him a very level look, and Gold sighed.

“Your father has no arrears that I’m aware of,” he said. “He’s managed to pay the rent each month since you left. Albeit at the last minute and with an extremely bad attitude.”

“Hmm.” Belle reached for her cup again. “Wonders will never cease.”

He grinned at that, and took a sip of his coffee.

“Will you be alright here by yourself?” he asked. “Ask Emma and Neal to come over. I’ll make extra food, you can invite them to dinner again.”

Belle hesitated.

“Actually, I thought I might come with you,” she said. “Is that okay?”

He looked surprised, but nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “In that case, why don’t we travel up the day before? It’ll save me an early start. We could take our time, get some dinner on the way, perhaps.”

“With me looking like I did twelve rounds of amateur boxing?” she remarked, gesturing at her bruises. “I was thinking takeout and an early night.”

“Well, I’m all in favour of that,” he said, his grin turning wicked, and she giggled.

There was silence for a moment as she turned back to her tea. Gold poured more coffee, the scent strong in the air, and glanced up at her.

“Any particular reason you wanted to go to Storybrooke?” he asked, and she put down her cup, pushing it across the table for him to refill.

“I thought I’d go and see my father,” she said.

An eyebrow flicked upwards, the only indication of his surprise.

“Alright,” he said, and took a sip of coffee. “How do you think he’ll react?”

“Don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m going to speak to him. If he chooses to cut me off for trying to build a life with the father of my child, he can at least do it to my face.”

Gold frowned at that.

“You want me to come with you?”

She was shaking her head even before he had finished the sentence.

“I think that would only make things worse,” she said. “I’m going to tell him about us, but I think it’s best if I go alone.”

“Right.” He took another drink. “Perhaps when I have my appointment with Dr Hopper, then.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“It’ll give me something to talk about,” he added, and she smiled.

“You mean to say there’s nothing else you want to mention?”

He returned the smile.

“Maybe one or two other things.”

x

It was nice being happy, Belle reflected. She and Gold had spent a couple of days doing little but lounge around, eat and make love. They had also been talking, trying to rebuild everything that was broken between them. It was a slow process, but she felt that it was worthwhile. That they would be stronger for it. He had tentatively broached the subject of them getting therapy as a couple, and she had agreed readily, but suggested that they wait until the baby was born. Not that being pregnant was a barrier to it, far from it, but she wanted him to have a few more sessions on his own with Archie before they started delving into their issues. For one thing, she thought, he needed practice in how to open up.

Admittedly he was doing far better on that front, and had told her a little more about his son, and tiny snippets of his childhood. Her heart ached for him, and the son he loved so desperately. She had wished that there was something she could say to ease the pain, some miracle that she could work to find him. All she could do was reassure Gold that his son was safe and well, and urge him not to give up hope. He seemed to appreciate the words, whether he believed them or not.

By midweek, he had decided that there was business in Boston to attend to that couldn’t wait any longer, and had left her with Emma while he visited his lawyer.

“So.” Emma lounged back against the couch cushions, flicking her hair back over her shoulders. “You look better. Still bruised, still with a broken arm, but I’m sensing a thawing of relations with the father of your child.”

“Oh yeah?” Belle sent her a look. “You using your investigative superpowers again?”

“Maybe - dare I say - a heating up of relations?”

She was grinning, and Belle sighed, slumping in her seat.

“Fine,” she said. “We had sex.”

“I knew it!” Emma punched the air in triumph before falling back, cackling. “How was it?”

“Amazing.” Belle reached for the bag of chips between them, taking a handful. “I mean it always was amazing, but now it’s different, it’s - I don’t know. It feels different. Better. More - secure, I guess.”

“Sounds like you two made some real progress.”

“He told me he loved me,” she said, and Emma whistled.

“Mr I-Don’t-Care-About-Anyone said the ‘L’ word?”

“Said he always had, and he’d pushed me away out of fear,” said Belle, crunching chips.

“What a moron.”

“Yup.”

“So you guys are back together, then?”

“Well, we both want to make it work,” said Belle. “So assuming we can do that, yes.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Belle finished the chips in her hand, brushing off the salt and reaching for her hot chocolate.

“I’m afraid we can’t do dinner on Friday,” she added. “We’re heading to Storybrooke on Thursday.”

“You’re going back to Maine with him?”

“Only for the night,” said Belle. “He has therapy on Friday afternoon. We’ll come back Friday evening.”

“Long way to go to see a shrink,” observed Emma, reaching for the chips and popping some into her mouth.

“If he feels comfortable enough to actually sit down and talk to someone, I’m not raising any objections,” said Belle. “I think he trusts Dr Hopper. As much as he trusts anyone, I guess.”

Emma winced, sucking salt from her fingers.

“Well, that’s a statement and a half.”

Belle shrugged.

“Yeah. We have a lot to talk about on that front,” she admitted.

“I guess at least he wants to make it work,” said Emma. “He’s trying, right?”

“He really is,” said Belle. “He meant what he said, I could tell.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” said Emma, reaching for the chips again. “So, how come you’re going with him? Thinking of moving back there?” 

Belle cradled her mug of hot chocolate in both hands, sinking back into the cushions a little.

“I don’t think so. I want to finish my Master’s first.” She took a sip. “Although I have to admit Storybrooke is a great place to raise kids. Maybe in a year or two.”

There was a silence for a moment. Belle put down her mug.

“I thought I’d go and see my dad,” she said hesitantly, and Emma raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah?” She sat forward a little. “How d’you think he’ll react?”

Belle pulled a face.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she said dryly. “I don’t want to cause a scene, but I’m tired of waiting around for him to call. I know how bloody stubborn he is. If I don’t make the first move, he never will.”

“You think he wants to make up?”

“Guess I’ll never know until I try.”

“Maybe he’ll be excited about being a grandpa,” suggested Emma.

“Yeah, maybe.” 

Belle chewed her lip, and Emma tilted her head.

“You gonna be okay?”

“He either wants a relationship with me or he doesn’t,” she said simply. “Not much I can do about it but reach out. The rest is up to him.”

“He can’t leave it too long,” said Emma. “The baby’ll be here soon. You got everything you need?”

“I think we’re as ready as we can be,” said Belle. “As far as baby accessories go, anyway. Actually being parents and - and a couple is kind of untested.”

“Just make sure you have your hospital bag packed and ready to go,” said Emma. “Nothing to say the baby’ll wait until May. Henry was two weeks early.”

Belle hesitated.

“Did you have anyone with you when you had Henry?” she asked. “I know Neal wasn’t around, but you weren’t alone, right?”

Emma smiled.

“I was living in Tallahassee,” she said. “Crappy one-bed in a crappy apartment block. There was an old lady called Mrs Bernstein who lived down the hall. She’d had something like eight kids, all grown up and moved all over. She kind of took me under her wing, tried to feed me up every time I stopped by. She gave me some of her grandkids’ things, like the crib and a high chair. Went to the hospital with me.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah.” Emma looked sad. “She passed not long after Henry was born. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so frightened as I was right then. But I got through it.”

“Trying to raise a kid alone must be so hard,” said Belle. “You think you and Neal will have any more, now you’re settled?”

Emma pulled a face.

“We’ve talked about it,” she admitted. “Can’t really afford it at the moment. Maybe when Neal qualifies, or when I get a decent job. In a couple of years, maybe.”

“There’s plenty of time,” agreed Belle, and Emma nudged her.

“What about you?” she asked. “Gold seems to like kids.”

Belle huffed out air in a sigh.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s see how we do with this one first.”

“Guess it’s early days for you guys.”

“I haven’t wanted to kick him in the balls recently, though,” said Belle. “So that’s progress.”

“Maybe your dad wants to bury the hatchet,” suggested Emma. “Pretty soon you could have more family than you know what to do with.”

x

Driving into Storybrooke felt like coming home. Belle peered out of the window as they passed by Granny’s Diner, customers drinking and laughing as the waitresses handed around beers and plates of burgers and fries. She wondered how the townsfolk would react when they heard the news that she and Gold were expecting a child. Hopefully better than her father had. The car passed by the florist’s shop, but at this time of the evening it was dark and locked.

They drove straight to Gold’s house and he carried in the small overnight bag they had brought, locking the door behind them to shut out the cool night air. 

“Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll get you some tea.”

Belle walked into the lounge, looking around with interest to see what had changed since she had last been there. A few different antiques on the shelves and mantelpiece. A patterned silk shawl draped over the back of one of the couches. She smiled, inhaling deeply and pulling in the scent of beeswax polish. His house smelt a little like the shop, a comforting smell. Perhaps this will be our house, she thought. Storybrooke would be a nice place to raise our child, if I can get a librarian post. Perhaps the town library could open up again.

She shook her head, sitting down on the couch and folding her hands in her lap as she waited for Gold to return. They were a long way from settling down in Storybrooke as a happy family. But at least she knew he wanted to make it work.

x

They earned the curious stares of the townsfolk the next day in the diner. Belle had decided that it was best to start as they intended to go on, and had suggested lunch at Granny’s. Granny herself served them, doing a double-take when she saw Belle’s rounded belly but recovering quickly.

“You sit down right now, girl!” she ordered, waving them to a table. “Take the weight off your feet. How the hell did you get those bruises? Is the arm broken?”

“Accident at college,” said Belle. “I was pretty lucky, considering. At least the baby’s fine.”

Granny made a noise of agreement.

“Got it tucked up nice and safe,” she said. “I can’t believe Moe didn’t mention you were expecting!”

“Didn’t he?” said Belle dryly. “Hmm. Well, I’ll take a burger and an iced tea, please.” 

“No problem,” said Granny, scribbling rapidly. “When’s the baby due?”

“May fifth,” said Gold evenly. “We’re very excited.”

Granny eyed him over the top of her glasses as though she had just remembered he existed, and he showed his teeth. 

“I’ll have the same,” he added. “Don’t scrimp on the pickles.”

Her gaze hardened, but she merely nodded, sniffed, and bustled off to the kitchen with their order. Gold pulled out Belle’s chair, and she sat down with a sigh.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” she said, as he took the seat opposite.

“How are you enjoying going public?”

Belle pulled a face.

“So far, so awkward,” she said, and he chuckled.

“Not much happens in this town,” he said. “I’m afraid the gossip mill is going to be working overtime.”

“Good thing we’ll be in Boston,” she said. “Let them say whatever they want.”

The burgers were every bit as good as she remembered, the iced tea sweet and refreshing, and as she ate, she caught Gold watching her with a tiny smile on his face, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real. 

“Do you want to see anyone else while we’re here?” he asked, and she pondered for a moment, dipping her last fry in ketchup and chewing it.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It would be nice to see Mary Margaret, but she’ll be in school at this hour, and besides, I’m not sure I have the energy for a lengthy explanation of the changes in my life.”

He nodded his understanding.

“In that case,” he said. “How about I meet you at the shop after I’ve seen Dr Hopper? It should only be an hour.”

“Sounds great.”

She reached out to take his hand, smiling and Gold smiled back, his eyes crinkling as he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. Belle could feel the stares of the townsfolk around them, and it almost made her want to climb over the table and kiss Gold into a frenzy, just to give them a proper show. She settled for kissing his hand in turn, earning a soft-eyed grin. Storybrooke would get used to the idea.

x

Belle could feel her heart thump with anxiety as she stared up at the sign for Game of Thorns. Gold had walked her to the shop before kissing her goodbye and whispering words of encouragement. She took a deep breath, squaring her jaw. Well. Here goes.

She pushed open the door of the flower shop, the bell above tinkling merrily. Sunshine filtering through the leaves of potted houseplants threw dappled light across the floor, and she stood for a moment, breathing in the familiar scents of cut stems and fragrant blooms. She could hear noises from the back room, scrapes and rustles, and then the sound of heavy footsteps. After a moment, her father swung into view, a plastic bucket of flowers in each hand. He stopped dead as he saw her.

“Hi,” said Belle.

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes flicking to her belly and back up.

“So,” he said. “You’re back.”

She wasn’t sure if the brief light in his eyes was anger or hope.

“Just visiting,” she said. “Alex drove us up last night. We’re leaving this afternoon.”

He snorted, and set down the buckets of flowers. Belle raised her chin defiantly.

“Gold,” he said, mouth twisting around the name. “Back in your life, is he? I might have known.”

“We’re working things out, yes,” she said. “It’s early days, but he knows how much he hurt me, and he wants to fix it.”

Moe grunted, as though he doubted it.

“He give you those bruises?” he asked. 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped.

“You look like hell.”

“I fell down a set of bloody stairs at college,” she said coldly. “Broke my arm. Thanks for the sympathy.”

“And I’m only finding out about this now, am I?” he groused.

She threw up her free arm and let it fall, aghast.

“You haven’t spoken to me in five months!” she said. “If you were so desperate for an update on my life you could have picked up the damn phone! But as usual, I have to do all the work, right?”

He curled his lip, his expression somewhere between petulance and guilt.

“How’s the baby?” he asked, not quite looking at her.

“The baby’s fine,” she said. “Disappointed?”

Moe waved a hand, looking irritated.

“Oh, come on, I wouldn’t wish harm to the kid…”

“Really?” she said sarcastically. “When in our last conversation you pretty much cut me off because I wanted to keep it?”

Moe looked uncomfortable, shoulders hunching a little.

“That - that wasn’t my finest hour, okay?” he grumbled. “I was angry.”

“I was terrified!” she said, her voice shaking. “I needed you, and you weren’t there. I was alone and - and scared - and you just cut me out of your life like it was nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

“Thought it might make you choose your own future,” he muttered. “You could have had a life, not been trapped!”

“And you think having a child is like being a prisoner, do you?” she said tartly. “Yeah, that’d be right!”

“I didn’t mean that!” he snapped. “I just meant - I didn’t want you tied to Gold, that’s all.”

“Well, we’re together, you’ll have to get used to it.”

“But he hurt you!”

“So did you.” She met his eyes, glaring until he looked away. “Luckily I’m a very forgiving person. When the apology is sincere. Pretty sure I’ll be getting one of those any moment now, hmm?”

He looked chastened then, shuffling his feet a little.

“Sorry, love,” he muttered. “Just - sorry. Things haven’t been right since you left. Not feeling so good.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone more sharp than she intended. He shrugged awkwardly.

“Dunno. Shop seems harder work than usual. Getting tired all the time.”

“Are you taking your medication?” she asked, and he waved an impatient hand.

“Course I am.”

“So what does the doctor say?”

There was silence, and she wanted to roll her eyes.

“You have been to the doctor, right?”

“Haven’t had time.”

“Dad…”

“Don’t nag me!” He waved a hand again. “I’ve been running this place on my own since you left! Hard to find the time for myself.”

“I left to go to college,” she said, her voice sharp again. “Which was always going to happen. Why don’t you get some help? You could afford a part-timer.”

Moe made a scoffing sound,

“You must be joking! We’re only just breaking even. Not like that - that man of yours would cut me any slack with the rent.”

“There’s no reason he should,” said Belle coolly. “Besides, I remember going through the books before I left. There are plenty of profits. It’s all in how you choose to spend them.”

“If you just came up here to tell me what a bloody failure I am—”

“I didn’t,” Belle sighed. “I came here to see if we could make peace. You’re about to be a grandfather, and I’d rather put my energy into getting ready for the baby than fighting with you.”

Moe was silent, and she glanced around the shop, lifting her free hand.

“D’you think we could sit down?” she asked. “Being on my feet isn’t too comfortable right now.”

Moe grunted, pulling the baseball cap from his head and using it to wipe his brow.

“You’d better come through to the back,” he said. “I’ll make some tea.”

x

Gold’s tread felt a little lighter than usual as he made his way up the steps to Dr Hopper’s office, and he even smiled at the man in greeting.

“So,” said Dr Hopper, when they were seated. “How have you been since we last met?”

“Things have been - good,” said Gold. “It - uh - it feels like progress.”

“That’s excellent news,” said Dr Hopper, and he sounded as though he meant it. “Can you tell me a little more?”

“Belle and I have been talking,” said Gold. “I - I was honest with her about how I felt, and - and why I did what I did. Why I pushed her away.”

“And how did she react to that?”

“She was hurt,” he admitted. “Angry. I don’t blame her, of course, she had every right to be. At first I thought she wouldn’t want to see me. I even offered to move out, get her some help that - that wasn’t me.”

“What was her reaction?”

Gold scratched the back of his head.

“I think she may have called me an idiot or something.”

Dr Hopper pressed his lips together, as though he was trying not to smile.

“So, then what happened?” he asked.

“We talked,” said Gold. “I told her I loved her. That I always had. And I apologised for everything I’ve ever done to hurt her.”

“How did she respond?” asked Dr Hopper, and Gold pulled a face.

“She asked me if I wanted to fix things,” he said. “Said that it was going to take time.”

“I suspect she’s right about that.”

“Yeah.” He dropped his gaze to his interlaced fingers. “It’s - well, things had been kind of up and down since then. Awkward, like we were stepping around each other. But then we had sex.”

“Ah.” Dr Hopper sat back a little. “Well, reestablishing intimacy is important.”

“Yes.”

“We talked about trust at an earlier session,” he added. “That the two of you need to build trust between you. Intimacy is part of that, certainly, but it won’t work on its own.”

“No, I understand that.” Gold rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward hand. “I - uh - I tried to talk to her a little. About my past.”

“I see.” Dr Hopper scribbled something. “And how did you find that?”

“It was - uncomfortable,” he admitted. “But afterwards I felt something like - well, it wasn’t quite relief, but I felt a little easier.”

“When you say your past,” said Dr Hopper. “What period do you mean?”

“A little about my childhood,” said Gold, shifting in his seat. “My parents.”

“Do you feel able to talk about them now?” asked Dr Hopper, and he felt his mouth twist.

“Can we skip past the part where my father never wanted me and blamed me for my mother’s death?”

He could hear the wry tone in his voice, his body tensing as it fought to take him out of his seat and away from the conversation, and Dr Hopper looked up.

“That sounds like something that we should probably talk about,” he said calmly. “But we don’t have to go into it today.”

Gold nodded, dropping his head a little.

“Good.”

“We’re going at your pace, not mine,” added Dr Hopper. 

“Alright.” Gold felt himself ease a little, his shoulders lowering from their slightly hunched position. “Thank you.”

“Getting back to your conversation with Belle,” said Dr Hopper. “You said you apologised, and opened up to her a little.”

“Yes.”

“And how are things between you now?”

“Better,” he admitted. “Less awkward. I know that she’s right, and that we have a lot to discuss. But she told me she wants to make it work. And - and so do I. I really do want to make it work.”

“Did the two of you talk about what that might look like?”

“Not in any great detail,” said Gold, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together again. “We’re going to live together in Boston for the moment. The baby is due in early May.”

“Then I suspect the two of you are going to be pretty busy.”

“Yes.” Gold couldn’t help smiling. “I’m looking forward to it.”