#but i also do want to process ch8 before jumping back in again

[kosmicdream]

i do feel bad this FFAK chapter got put on hold again even if its temporary because i am REALLY looking forward to making it.. But it is like at least twice as long as the current NRD chapter so when it does come back, most of 2025 is probably going to be for FFAK to make up for it.. the rest of this NRD chapter is just going to be too difficult so i need to have as little distraction as possible to get it right. I still am not sure how much longer it will take but at least two more months i think. Then the real challenge will be resisting starting chapter 9 of NRD.. I think people are already aware of this but i felt like saying it again because i know ppl always end up assuming ive abandoned one of my comics if its not updating every day or something (??? i dont know why this always happens but it DOES..)

[littlemisssquiggles]

Hey so this is my opinion but love to hear your take but I feel Watts might be Salem's more dangerous follower (for where the heroes are now) given he is been able to fly under the rader of the heroes unditected, able to make artifical tail of Tyrieon giving his deadly venom back and is able to hack into all of ATLAS Tech. He might not have any proper fighting skill but when he can have access to anything in a city in love with it's tech, he's the ideal sabatour.

Hello again Crystal. Complements of the season to you, fam! To answer your question, you are indeed correct in that regard. While Tyrian and Hazel are both worthy threats based on their strength, Watts being the mastermind in Salem’s army is why I find him the most interestingof her accomplices.

You’re right. While Watts doesn’t have the muscle power to hold his own in a fight, he does have the wits and the charisma to worm himself out of any tricky scenario. I have a great deal of admiration for that type of villain. I mean having power is great and all but a villain who is still able to succeed through clever tactics and the strength of their own mind by manipulating others into doing their bidding makes for a more compelling adversary in my book.

A part of me is looking forward to learning more about Watts’ backstory. Particularly his background with Ironwood and Pietro. After CH7 dropped and we got the reveal that Watts used to be one of Pietro’s colleagues, I made a tweet over on Twitter asking the following questions:

Since Pietro’s introduction, we’ve seen him walking around in his mobile wheelchair. A part of me has been curious about Pietro’s inability to walk. 

Has he always been physically disabled and worked past his impairment with his mind or…was it a result of a horrible accident meant to destroy him?

The impression I got from Pietro’s story was since his Penny project was chosen by Ironwood above the others, a jealous-minded Arthur Watts became infuriated by this and sought out to sabotage Pietro’s project while taking his revenge out on Ironwood and all of Atlas in the process.

A part of me wondered if Watts’ alleged “death” was caused by him attempting to ruin Pietro in a move that claimed the lives of Pietro’s other colleagues as well as costed him his legs or…were Pietro’s former colleagues actually accomplices of Watts who he manipulated into helping him thwart Pietro’s project which resulted in everyone else dying except Watts?

I’m very curious about that. Watts has been shown to have a way with words. So I’m wondering if part of the reason why Salem sought after him was, not just for his mind, but also his ability to charm others into doing whatever he wants like her.

I really, really hope we get  like some kind of flashback episode or explanation revealing Penny’s ‘birth’, Watts’ descent and supposed death and more importantly, how Watts met Salem. I’m wondering if it was actually Tyrian who scouted Watts on Salem’s behalf. I remember reading through the enhanced report on Tyrian with details on his backstory and how he met Salem. I find it incredibly fascinating how Salem and chooses her allies.

It shows just how much Salem has eyes everywhere. Like how did she know about Tyrian? How did she know about Watts to pick him of all people? Seriously I hope we get some background information on Watts’ story. I think I need that to be its own little episode by itself that jumps between the present and the past (in a similar fashion to the Kunoyuri episode from V4). But that’s just what I’m hoping for.

For now, yeah, Watts is Salem’s most intimidating accomplice and pairing him together with Tyrian to work together in Atlas was an even deadlier combination.

Colour me intrigued for what’s next to come in V7CH9. Are we going to receive a continuation of the events of CH8? Or will be similar to the start of CH7 where all we see is the aftermath?

Weiss once commented back in V7CH3 that without aura or proper heating, the cold of Solitas can kill the average individual in a matter of minutes. So is that what’s going to happen for the remaining five episodes?

Is it going to be a race against the clock to restore heat to Mantle before it’s too late while evacuating as much citizens up to Atlas as possible or…is Ironwood just going to return from his meeting with the Council at the Schnee Dinner to reports of multiple Mantlese citizens found frozen to death in the streets of Mantle—children as well as adults—as a result of the heatinggrid (or whatever it’s called) shutting down on Ironwood’s watch.

What’s stopping Jacques from pinning the blame for that incident on Ironwood yet again?

 I bet Jacques is just waiting right now to blame James allocating resources to the Amity Tower project that could’ve been used to better Mantle and prevent this unexpected issue.

Overall, CH9 will be a very interesting episode to watch. Moreover, I’m curious to know what else does Watts have planned to further ruin Ironwood’s integrity with the People of Mantle and Atlas in preparation for Salem’s inevitable arrival.

I still feel as if Watts’ plan is strip Ironwood of all his power so that Jacques can take his place; controlling both the kingdom and its military since I think Jacques will personally see to it that James loses all of his power including his authority within the military with Winter possibility being appointed as his temporary replacement or perhaps it’ll be Clover.

This also makes me wonder if this will be the part where Clover ends up ‘betraying’ Ironwood. 

While I like Clover as a character, the impression that I’ve mostly heard with him from the FNDM is that he could potentially be a traitor working with Watts.

While I’m not sure about the traitor part, I do stand by the concept of Clover switching sides and not really catering for loyalty anymore once James is taken out of power. After all, Clover (and by extension all of the Ace Ops) is nothing more than an attack dog trained to serve whoever is in charge without any real personal attachments, correct?

Despite voicing that he trusts Ironwood with his life, I can’t help but shake the icky feeling in my gut that Clover only trusts Ironwood due to his authority and status within the Atlas community. So the instant that’s stripped away from James, so goes Clover’s respect for him.

Like I’m just picturing Jacques usurping James, relinquishing him of his status as Headmaster of Atlas Academy and General of the Atlas Military and demanding his immediate arrest and Clover just goes along with it. 

And not as a ruse either. He just arrests James without hesitation, even going so far as to say that his duty is to serve his kingdom and since James was a current threat to his kingdom, he had no choice but to follow orders. Even if they were coming from someone like Jacques. Or who knows? Perhaps this could be a moment of character development for Clover? Something he and Qrow can have conflict with.

What matters more in the end? Loyalty out of duty or loyalty out of friendship?

Perhaps this could be something for Qrow to teach/advise Clover about for a change and it could FINALLY be what reminds him of his relationship with Oz. 

Because what I just realized is Qrow and Clover’s similarities in terms of their relationships with the men they respect and serve. 

While Clover seems to follow Ironwood and trust him out of a sense of duty and respect, Qrow followed Oz out of...possibly admiration and friendship?

Because at the end of the day, I think that’s what hurt Qrow the most. He didn’t just lose his faith in someone he just blindly served. He lost the trust of someone he obviously cared alot about. A man he was proud to call his friend once upon a time.

I actually would really like for this subplot to happen now just for the sake of having it lead into Qrow being reminded of his relationship with Oz and what it meant to him more than just having someone who gave him a good purpose in the world despite being dealt such a heavy hand.

So there’s that concept. Anyways, that’s enough theorizing and jibberjabbering from me for now. I guess we’ll see how things will go when V7 resumes for the new year. Unless Forest of #FRWBY got anything cool to drop for us before that.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Happenstance 10/10 -                The Epilogue

Rated M                    5.6K                    ao3                    ffnet          

ch1     ch2     ch3     ch4     ch5     ch6     ch7     ch8     ch9      

A/N: **Please note, the epilogue is rated M, but you are able to skip over the M part if you wish, it is marked between these symbols: ~♥~ AND prefaced with the words: Earlier that morning.** 

Thank you @hookedonapirate for catching my mistakes and helping me fill in any details. Thank you @kmomof4 for always leaving me the best live reviews! Finally, a huge thanks to @csmarchmadness for lighting the fire under my ass to finish this story! I worked on this story every January for the last three years and when I saw CS March Madness posts this year, I joined, and I was able to finish the last 6 chapters in two weeks!

Here it is... the epilogue. I hope you enjoy the end. Thank you to everyone who has come along for this ride, the likes, kudos, reblogs, and reviews have been so appreciated. 

“Detective Jones and Nolan, this is dispatch, do you copy?”

Killian growled at the radio in his unit. What could they possibly want now? He and Dave had just finished with a nasty domestic abuse arrest that had gotten them in a bit of a scuffle. Long story short, Dave had hit and missed with his taser when he’d fired it at the offender who had Killian in a choke hold; he’d caught them both with the dart like electrodes.

He was sitting in the passenger seat of his car waiting for David to grab their gas station coffees. It was one in the morning, and he could swear he was still vibrating with the electric current Dave had zapped him with.

“Detective Jones and Nolan, this is dispatch, do you copy?”

“Bugger off,” he muttered as he picked up the handheld radio. “Aye, this is Jones, whatever you want, Booth, do it yourself.”

“Wish it were that easy, Jones. Your wife is in the hospital. Humbert and I will take over on patrol, you and David get over to St. Joseph Hospital. Now.”

Killian’s head spun as he processed Booth’s words. A host of feelings fleeted through him. “She can’t be, she’s at home in Storybrooke, why would she be in a hospital in Bangor?”

“What’s going on?” David asked as he entered the car and set two coffees into the cup holders.

“Nothing, mate, Booth is pranking me, or mistaken. He said Emma’s in the hospital.”

“Jones! Put Nolan on.”

David snatched the radio from Killian’s grip, which was tighter than he’d realized as a pit started to form in his stomach. Why was Booth being so persistent? Emma said she’d be at home tonight.

“Go for Nolan.”

“Nolan, your sister is at St. Joseph’s Hospital, get over there. I don’t know how serious it is, they called here looking for her spouse. And before you argue too, do you really think they have a different Emma Swan Jones? They won’t give any information to non-family members.”

“Copy,” David muttered, throwing the already running car into drive, and peeling out of the gas station parking lot.

Killian felt numb as a hundred questions and scenarios attacked him. Why was she in Bangor? What had happened? Was it a car accident? Was it a skip? Were Emma and their baby… No, he couldn’t let this mind go there as tears welled up in his eyes.

David reached his hand across the car and squeezed Killian’s shoulder. “They’re okay,” he told his friend, trying to sound confident. “They have to be.”

“I can’t lose her,” Killian mumbled as he fell into thought. She’d once told him that she was the luckiest person alive because the universe had sent him to her to heal her heart, after years without love. She was wrong though; Emma Swan was the love of his life, she’d made him whole again, healed his heart. Despite losing everyone he’d ever loved, he still knew he was the luckiest bastard alive, to have Emma Swan by his side and holding his hand through this thing called life.

It was the longest car ride of either of their lives, sirens blaring the whole way. David had no sooner pulled into the roundabout at the emergency room than Killian was jumping out of the car and sprinting into the dimly lit waiting room and up to the front desk.

“I’m Killian Jones, I was notified that my wife is here in the E.R., can you please take me to her?”

“What’s her name?”

“Emma Jones.”

“I have two Emma Jones’ listed in-”

“Middle name Swan, Emma Swan Jones.”

One moment, sir, let me find out where she is.”

After a few strokes of the keyboard, she told him Emma was in bay three and to proceed through the double doors to his left. David came rushing in asking if she was okay.

“I don’t know yet, I’m going in now.”

“I’m going to call Mary Margaret, I’ll wait out here. If you need me, send someone.” David wanted to see his sister, but he also knew that as a husband, Killian needed to go in first.

Killian nodded as he proceeded through the doors and looked for bay three. Momentarily disoriented by the fluorescently lit triage unit, Killian frantically twisted and turned looking for his wife.

“Can I help you? Sir?”

A quiet voice pulled Killian out of his panic long enough to ask for bay three. The woman in front of him signaled for him to follow her. When they arrived, she told Killian she would send a doctor over to brief him on Emma’s condition. Pulling back the curtain so he could enter, a sob caught in his throat as he gazed upon his wife’s unconscious form. Her face was bruised and puffy on the left side, and she had a cut along her right cheek bone. Bruises littered her arms and it was clear someone had put hands on her neck. His knees buckled and he staggered to one knee where he struggled to catch his breath.

“Mr. Jones? Nurse Rose, get a wheelchair please.”

“No… no, I’m all right,” Killian said. His head spun mercilessly, even as he mentally castigated his weakness. Inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth several times, he stood up on his own and asked the doctor to tell him what had happened.

“First, have a seat. There’s a chair here by your wife’s bed side. We can’t have both of you knocked out, now can we?”

“Aye, I suppose not.” Killian frowned at the doctor’s less than austere attitude as he sat down in the chair next to Emma’s bed and took her hand in his. She did not seem overly concerned for Emma’s current state. “Can you tell me what happened to my wife?”

“Let’s start with the good news. Your wife will be okay.”

“And the baby?”

“We are still running a few more tests to make sure everything is okay with the baby.”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face, barely choking back a sob, and willed himself to stay positive.

“Mr. Jones, all the preliminary tests show your little bean is a-ok. Keep hope alive, it is a powerful entity.”

The tears overflowed his eyes when he registered the doctor’s choice of words. Keep hope alive. “The bad news?”

“The bad news is, we aren’t sure what happened. A 9-1-1 call was received about a woman being beaten in an alleyway. When the responding units arrived, she was already unconscious, along with a male who was also unconscious.”

“Where is he?” Killian growled. He didn’t care who it was or who saw. He’d murder the bastard.

“Not at this hospital,” she said quietly. “She did regain consciousness, but she was so overwrought, we had to sedate her to keep her and the baby safe. It will be at least another hour before the sedation wears off. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Is the sedative okay for the baby?”

“Yes, perfectly safe.”

“Thank you, doctor…”

“Dr. French,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you, Dr. French.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Jones. Now, I’m going to close the curtain over and pretend I didn’t tell you to be careful not to pull on any of her IVs when you climb into the bed.” She winked conspiratorially before closing the curtain.

Killian took off his jacket and laid it over the chair before pulling his phone out of his pocket to shoot David a quick text. He didn’t trust his voice enough to make a phone call. Even though he knew Emma would be okay, and most likely their baby too, the state she was in and not knowing what had happened to her overwhelmed him.

K: She’s going to be okay, she’s sedated right now, so we don’t know what happened yet. Why don’t you head home and come back in the morning with MM, I’m going to spend the night here.

As David sat in the waiting room reading Killian’s text, he debated whether or not to ask about the baby.   

K: The preliminary tests show that the baby is okay as well.

David blew out a breath of relief and the tightness in his chest abated a little.

D: I’ll be back first thing tomorrow with MM. Call me if anything changes or if you need anything.

K: Thanks mate.

Climbing into the bed, careful to avoid the IVs Dr. French hadn’t told him about, Killian securely pulled Emma into his arms. Silent tears streaked down his face as he prayed to the Gods that whatever had happened to her, it was something she could spring back from. As he remembered the doctors choice of words though, his silent tears became hushed, but anguished sobs, muffled in his wife’s hair. “Keep Hope alive, Emma,” he murmured.

~♥~

Earlier that morning…

The morning sun shone through the sliver where the curtains didn’t quite meet. It was just enough to annoyingly glare upon Killian’s face, bringing him into a wakefulness he couldn’t complain about, given the beautiful blonde in his bed and their life together. Stretching lazily, he rolled toward her and snuggled into her backside.

“Happy Second Trimester day, darling,” Killian hummed into his wife’s ear as he wrapped his arm around her still-flat stomach.

“That’s not even a thing,” she giggled sleepily. She’d never be over how much of a sap her husband truly was, especially now that they had a wee one - his words, not hers - on the way.

They’d known each other for ten years, and they’d been together for most of it. They’d been each other’s rock, they’d formed their own safety net together. He’d been her first lover and real, true friend, and she’d been his first everything. Despite the odds once again being against them, this time as high school sweethearts, they’d made it.

Sure, they would fight like every couple. She was too reckless with her job - a job borne of her need to bring justice to those scumbags who attempted to skip out on the punishment they deserved. Adversely, he was too overprotective; she was a grown woman for crying out loud - her words, not his. He overspent from time to time, because his Swan was never going to want for anything, and she was a little more frugal, because she didn’t want to work till she was a hundred years old. (I’d gladly work for 300 years if you were by my side, he’d told her, despite the stern look she was giving him over the new car he’d bought her for her 25th birthday. It wasn’t as though she didn’t love the red, Volkswagen Beetle, it just wasn’t a necessity.)  

“It is now, I’m making it a thing. How shall we celebrate? Breakfast in bed, a stroll along the beach, maternity clothes shopping spree?”

Emma huffed loudly and slapped his hand which was caressing her stomach. “I do not need new clothes. My jeans still fit perfectly... pretty much.”

Killian laughed at her pouty protest. “I meant for the future, Swan. At some point you will start to show. I for one cannot wait to see how the product of our love rounds out your belly.”

“God, you are such a sap. And you are also the only man in the history of men who wants his wife to gain weight.”

“Love, I just mean I think motherhood is going to look hot on you, just like everything else does.”

“I’m not going to look so hot when I’m thirty pounds heavier, my hands, feet, and ankles are swollen, and I can’t get out of bed or a chair without looking like a beached whale.”

He chuckled, gently thrusting his hips against her naked butt. “I don’t think there’s much you could do to make me not want you.”

Emma shivered in his warm embrace, pressing back into him. They were going to have to start wearing clothes to bed once this baby came along. “I am such a lucky girl.” She wasn’t even being sarcastic, either. Despite the lack of affection in her young life, she felt as if she was cared for more now than anyone she knew. It was like Killian Jones had been set in her path as the universe’s way of saying, “Sorry your childhood wasn’t the greatest, we fucked up, but guess what? We have the best human on earth and we are sending him your way.” She once told him this, and his only response was to say it was he who had been blessed to have found her.

Even after ten years, she still marveled at the little things, like how Killian’s accent still hung on, especially when he was angry or turned on, much to her delight. Like how he would immediately have ice ready for her after a particularly rough takedown of a skip. Or how even though he didn’t love what she did for a living, because it was dangerous, he had never asked her to quit.

And contrary to the belief that passion faded over time, she marveled at how he could never get enough of her, nor could she get enough of him. She had contemplated if it was because they’d learned together, they’d discovered each nuance of the other over the span of their relationship and the result was nothing short of perfection. Who would ever be able to get enough of that?

A thrill shot through her and all the way down to her core as Killian latched his lips onto the sensitive flesh of her neck. Sucking gently so her skin stood at attention, he glided his hand up her sternum to cup her breast. “Are you tender today?” he whispered in her ear, once again sending a shiver coursing through her body.

“No, baby, that feels good.” Her nipples were pebbling before he’d even paid them any attention and she shifted her hips back against his growing erection, eager to have him hard and filling her up.

Killian scooped his arm under her back, quickly turning Emma onto her back so he could properly worship her body. Pressing his lips to hers he sucked along her bottom lip until her tongue touched along his lips letting him know she wanted to taste him. “Morning breath,” he warned.

“It’s fine,” she murmured, fervently attacking his mouth. Emma carded both hands into his thick hair, massaging his scalp lovingly.

He just laughed into their kiss and tightened his hold around her back. He loved her like this - wanting and a little impatient.

“I mean it is fine, right? Or am I grossing you out?” she asked as they broke for air.

Killian just smiled and resumed making out with his wife like they were teenagers in love, showing her instead of telling her. Caressing one breast and then the other, he rolled each nipple gently between his fingertips, causing breathy moans to spill into their kiss, and her grip to tighten in his hair as her arousal intensified.

“Touch me.”

“Mmmm, I am touching you.”

“Killian,” she whined, “touch me here.” She removed his hand from her breasts and placed it at the juncture of her thighs. Spreading her legs for him she bit down on her bottom lip with a playful smirk. “Make me come with your fingers.”

“Anything for you, love.” His fingers ghosted over her slit, and his cock jumped as he felt her wetness already flowing from her folds. “Gods above, were you dreaming before I woke you?”

“No babe, that’s all you.”

Killian cocked an eyebrow and smirked devilishly, all while positively preening under her praise. Wetting his fingertips with her arousal he easily slipped two fingers inside her warm walls. “I can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock, all wet and warm. Fuck, your cunt is so perfect, Emma.” Setting a punishing pace from the start, he endeavored to make her come quickly so he could bury himself in her repeatedly. “Play with your breasts, love, show me.”

Emma’s body shook with desire as he spoke into her ear between nips at her lobe. He was thrusting his thick fingers into her just the way he knew she liked, rubbing along her walls in the place he’d found and always worshipped. His thumb pulsed against her clit and she did as he bid, tweaking her nipples to the rhythm of his movements as he expertly pleasured her. “I want your cock, Killian, I’m so close, almost…” And then she was there, arching her back off the bed and crying out his name.

Gods, she was beautiful when she peaked, her body flushed and heaving, hair askew, and eyes wild with love and desire. Climbing between her legs, he settled against her body so they were connected, skin to skin at every possible point. He kissed her thoroughly even as her breathing was still ragged. Their tongues came together in a pulsating rhythm, sliding and coiling together as a fierce need consumed Killian. “I need you, Emma.”

She reached between them and wrapped her hand around him, guiding the head of his cock through her wetness. Biting down on her lip in anticipation, Emma slowly pumped her fist up and down his length, coating him with her juices. His broken groans of pleasure made their way from deep in his throat as he rested his forehead against hers with his eyes screwed shut in tortured gratification. She couldn’t think of a more gorgeous view than when he was being pleasured. Fresh arousal tickled the edges of her opening and she finally lined him up at her entrance. “Take me.”

Killian plunged deep inside her as soon as the words left her mouth, and both of them inhaled sharply at the desired sensation. As Emma adjusted to the welcomed penetration and angle, she locked her legs around his back and brought him down for a sweet kiss. Killian reigned in his ardor as he settled into this most cherished place to be, in her arms and buried inside her. Even as they continued to kiss, Killian slowly withdrew and sank back into her, leisurely making love to his wife. Her walls were still thrumming with her earlier climax, adding to the massage against his length each time he sheathed himself.

Emma eventually snaked her hand down to his ass and squeezed before pushing him into her, silently asking him for harder. She loved the feel of his cock, but the building pressure was killing her, she wanted to come again. Perhaps she was being selfish, depriving Killian of a slow-

Nope, he needed it too, she realized as he immediately complied with her silent gesture.

The moment he felt Emma’s request for harder, faster, more, he snapped his hips into hers. He loved slow and gentle, but right now he needed release. Something about the way she’d kissed him all morning, pulled at his hair, and demanded he make her come with his fingers had him needing to come deep inside her. He paused for a moment to get up on his knees and pull her thighs around him once more. Gripping her hips possessively, he quickly withdrew and then slammed back home.

“Yes, Killian,” she moaned.

He fucked into her aggressively, reading exactly what she wanted from the open book she always was. She was close, but he might be closer, and that would be bad form. Releasing her left hip, he teased her clit in circles with his thumb and was rewarded swiftly with the measured squeeze of her walls sucking his cock deeper into her depths. Killian barely registered her cries of ecstasy as his own rapture took hold of him. The sudden release of pressure in his balls as he came with a grunt sent a shock of bliss throughout his body; he felt weightless and grounded all at once. In that single moment he felt virile and vulnerable, domineering and submissive, it was a chaotic rush of emotions many times over when he came with Emma.

Turning them to their sides before they snuggled in a heap of well-used, limp muscles, Killian pulled her into his side. It was a rare morning when they were both home and could bask in the aftermath without one or both of them having to rush off to work.

“So what shall we do next for T2 day?”

Emma laughed out loud, because of course he would already have a name for this… made-up holiday of his. “How about we sleep a little more? Then you take us out to lunch?” Her belly decided to chime in on the discussion by growling rather obnoxiously.

“It sounds as if she wants to eat now, rather than sleep more.”

“She?”

“Aye.”

“How do you know we’re not having a boy.”

Killian thought for a moment before just going with the honest truth, even if it was a bit embarrassing. “Because ever since I started imagining having babies with you, I’ve always thought we would have a little girl first. And exactly one week before you told me you were pregnant, I dreamed we had a little girl. She had very curly, dark brown hair, and her mother’s compelling green eyes. We named her after something neither of us grew up with much of, and we gave her your middle name, Hope Swan Jones.”

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes as she listened to her husband. He really was the biggest sap, and the sweetest, and the best. “I love you, Killian Jones. And even if this one isn’t a girl, we are going to keep having babies until we have a girl so we can name her Hope Swan Jones.” She giggled as Killian’s smile lit up his whole face right before he pulled her close and sprinkled kisses to her cheeks, lips, and neck.

“And I love you, Emma Jones.”

~♥~

He slept restlessly over the next couple of hours. The constant hum of the hustle and bustle made any sort of real rest impossible, and each time a monitor sounded an alarm, he jumped, afraid it could be the one monitoring their baby’s heartbeat.

The next noise that brought him into wakefulness, though heartbreaking, was a welcome sound, for it meant Emma was awake. His wife’s soft cries and words broke him, and his tears started anew. “What happened, Emma?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Killian. It’s all my fault.”

“Shhh, love,” he soothed her, firming his arms around her and rubbing her back. “That sound is your monitor, and if you get all worked up, they’ll have to sedate you again.”

Nodding in understanding, she sniffled and tried to inhale deeply through the ragged sobs. “Is the baby...” Emma couldn’t even finish her sentence before she started bawling again.

“The doctors believe she is okay, Swan. Please, tell me what happened. What’s your fault?”

“I went after a skip, a dangerous one.”

“Bloody Hell, Emma.” Killian gritted his teeth. He’d promised himself years ago he’d never ask her to give up her job, it was part of who she was, and it had started as part of a healing process when Neal had jumped bail. But now, seeing her battered and bruised, their baby’s life endangered, he was having a hard time upholding his promise.

“You won’t have to ask me to quit. I’m going to turn in my resignation to the agency as soon as I am out of here. Killian, I am so sorry I put her life in danger, can you forgive me?” Emma ran her hand over her belly, sending up a silent prayer that their baby was all right.

Placing his hand over hers, Killian looked into her eyes, “Course I do, love. I just want you to be safe. You gave me the scare of my life. I need you, Emma.” Though the words were the same as the ones he’d whispered to her in bed the previous morning, they carried such a heavier connotation.

“I promise I will never do anything so stupid ever again.”

“What happened?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise to stay calm.”

“Just tell me.”

“Promise me first.”

“I can’t make any promises. To break them would be bad form…” A sinking feeling came over Killian along with a sense of déjà vu. They’d had this same conversation before, but so help him if it was the same bloody prick who’d fucked with Emma again. His eyes narrowed and clouded with barely concealed rage. “Tell me it wasn’t him, Swan.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized meekly. “I got a tip that he was stateside again, in Maine to boot. I couldn’t pass up the chance to put him away for good.”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his jaw as he tried to reign in his emotions. Fear and anger were a combination that had Killian desperately seeking control from anywhere as his imagination ran rampant. “Do you realize what could have happened?” he fumed, attempting to keep his voice level. “Emma, he’s not just some skip. He’s someone you set up, someone who has a vendetta against you. Do you really think he’s above murder to avoid going to prison?”

“No, I don’t,” she whispered. “He tried.”

“What do you mean he tried?”

“He tried to kill me. I thought I was being so careful, but somehow he must have spotted me. He dragged me out of my car and into an alley before I even had a chance to spot him.” She raced through the rest of the story, including how he’d tried to stab her, but she was able to get the upper hand, turning his own weapon on him, as if saying it quickly would hurt less.

Killian held his wife tighter, wishing he could take away what had happened to her. He felt murderous, he would kill Neal with his bare hands if ever given the opportunity. Since he wasn’t leaving this hospital right now though, it’d have to wait. “You’re safe now, Swan,” he soothed. “I promise, he will never lay his hands on you again.”

“Good morning, Jones family,” Dr. French greeted them, throwing back the curtains. “Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Jones? Your monitor is showing some elevated stress levels.”

“I was just telling Killian what happened to me last night.”

“Ah, still a little frightened after your run in?” she questioned.

Emma nodded, averting her eyes, still ashamed she’d made such an error in judgement.

“Well, if it offers you any piece of mind, I called my friend over at Northern Light Hospital, where your attacker was taken, and she told me he was placed under arrest, and after being treated for blood loss, he was taken away. It turns out there were several warrants out for his arrest, some as old as ten years ago.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief and laid her head against Killian’s chest. “It does, thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. But, that’s not where the good news ends. All the tests are back and Baby Jones is healthy.”

“Thank the gods,” Killian murmured as he and Emma both shed a few happy tears. He stroked the back of Emma’s head as she apologized again, trying to convey to her that it was okay.

“Now, I trust you’ll not be finding yourself in any more dangerous situations, at least for the duration of your pregnancy?” the doctor asked.

“No ma’am, early retirement. I’m never going to put our precious baby girl in danger again,” Emma answered as she smoothed her hand over her stomach.

“Then I just have a few forms to fill out and you’ll be free to go. The nurse will bring in your discharge papers shortly.”

Killian climbed off the bed and extended his hand toward the doctor, shaking her hand. “Thank you for everything Dr. French. Any chance your colleague told you where Emma’s attacker was escorted?”

“Killian!” Emma scolded.

“What, love? I only wish to call the unit he was taken to, you know, to make sure he won’t be released on bail again, and maybe find out how long he’s looking at. And if they choose to rough him up for attacking the wife of a fellow officer, so be it.”

“Yeah right, you’re not fooling anyone, buddy.” Emma playfully rolled her eyes.

“I’m afraid she didn’t disclose those details. But my boyfriend, Detective Will Scarlet, might have received a knife wound victim at county intake earlier this morning.”

“Thanks, lass. I appreciate the tip.”

“Any man who does what he did to a pregnant woman deserves every karmic disaster in his path. Take care Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open at the devilish twinkle in Dr. French’s eyes, while Killian just smirked.

“Thank you, doctor,” they said in unison.

After the doctor left, Killian sat back down at Emma’s side and she took his hands in hers. “I don’t want you to risk your career to… avenge me. You’re not really going to go after him, are you?” Emma understood the desire to do so, but Killian had never been a perpetrator of gratuitous violence, and she didn’t want him to become one on her account.

“Although every part of me wants to pummel him, and he’d bloody well deserve it, I made myself a promise years ago that I would never lose control of myself the way I did when I beat Gold to a pulp. I almost broke that promise once, and you were there to bring me back from the edge, I’m not going to let it happen again. I have no intention of seeking revenge, at least not in a physical fashion, although I do fully intend to mention his latest crime against a fellow officer’s wife, they can do what they like with that information.”

Emma cracked a smile; she couldn’t deny him his freedom of speech. And she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty about it either. Killian and Dr. French were both right - Neal deserved any misfortune coming his way. “I can handle that.”

“I really do just want to make sure the arresting unit knows about his past bail jump and subsequent trip out of the country. Perhaps if he’s denied bail, he will actually get served the justice he deserves.” He kissed her cheek, the one that wasn’t bruised, before asking her a question of his own. “Do you really mean to put in your resignation?”

“Yes, I do. I took this job because of a need to make a difference, to make sure that justice was served, even to those cowards that would run away. I’ve been at it for ten years, putting my safety on the line, and now it’s time for me to move on; I’m ready to move on. We’re going to start a family, you, me, and our baby girl.”

A brilliant smile spread across Killian’s lips, making his dimples show and his eyes crinkle. Leaning forward he rested his forehead on hers and palmed her cheek. “I know what your job means to you, I know why you had to do it, and though I’d never have asked you to quit, I’m so happy you’ve decided to resign. I’ll feel so much better knowing you’re not out chasing down the scum of the earth.”

“What about you, Detective? It’s not like you’re in the safest line of work either.”

“Love, we patrol the streets of Storybrooke. You travel to some of the biggest cities on the east coast, where criminals actually go to hideout.” Although Storybrooke had grown over the past ten years, it was still nothing like Portland or Bangor. Most of their crimes were misdemeanors, with the occasional felony. Murder wasn’t exactly running rampant in their small town. “The most dangerous person in Storybrooke is Dave. Did I tell you that bloody wanker tasered me yesterday?”

“What?” Emma threw her head back, bursting into laughter. “How? Why?”

Killian put on his pout as his wife laughed at him. “Are you really just going to laugh at my pain?”

“Oh babe, I’m sorry. Tell me all about it,” she coddled.

Killian just huffed at her obviously sarcastic mollycoddling. “Speaking of Dave, let me text him and let him know he can bring Mary Margaret to the house instead of here. They want to see you’re okay.”

Before he could tell his tale, the nurse walked in to go over the care instructions for the laceration on Emma’s cheek, and what to watch for over the next forty-eight hours. Once they’d finished signing all the paperwork the nurse officially released Emma. Her body was a little tender as Killian helped her dress, so when the mandatory wheelchair arrived to wheel her out of the hospital, she didn’t complain… too much.

Six months later, Emma and Killian found themselves back in a hospital room. This one was much closer to home and for a much happier reason. The room was full of flowers, balloons, and stuffed animals - all gifts to welcome their new baby girl into the world. Just as Killian had predicted, they had a baby girl. And just like in his dream, they named her Hope Swan Jones; she had a head full of dark brown hair, like her daddy, and clear green eyes just like her mommy. In two lives where love had once been all too rare, Emma and Killian now found themselves with hearts full of love as they marveled at the newborn snuggled between them.

Thanks ladies for letting me tag you, I hope you enjoyed it!

@laschatzi @spartanguard @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @artistic-writer @jennjenn615 @snowbellewells @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @galadriel26 @roseyflush @a-faekindagirl @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @effulgentcolors @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @captainswan-shipper88 @andiirivera @kday426 @tiganasummertree @deathbycaptainswan @sherlockianwhovian @mayquita @captswanis4vr @welllpthisishappening @princesseslikepirates @thisisforcs @officerrogers @therooksshiningknight @freechoicedreamer 

[swanslieutenant]

a place in time - chapter xi

Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen. For now.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10

Read on AO3

Sorry it’s taken me so long, life, ya know. Enjoy this chapter!

The next morning, Emma wakes up before her alarm clock to the quiet and darkness of her bedroom. She lays there in the still dark for several minutes, listening to the faint sounds of police sirens and the gunning engines of cars on the freeway nearby, dreading the moment she has to get out of bed. Her eyes feel dry and raw from the tears of the previous night, and the rest of her feels empty, as if all her emotions drained out of her and haven’t yet returned.

She leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes. The last few days have been extremely challenging and hard, probably the hardest days she’s ever had in her life, but as much as she wants to stay in the comfort of her warm bed, Emma knows she can’t wallow in it. Like she thought last night, today’s the first day of the reality that her parents are really and truly here.

And she needs to get up and face it.

Emma sighs, and forces herself to swing her legs out of bed, her bare feet pressing hard against the cold floor. Henry is still asleep beside her, snuggled into the pillows, and she runs a hand over his head, ruffling his hair.

“Come on, kid,” she says, tugging the covers away from him. He groans in protest, rolling over and pressing his face into a pillow, and Emma sighs fondly at him. “It’s time for school, Henry.”

He grumbles, as per usual, but gets up when Emma promises him scrambled eggs before they have to leave. Throughout breakfast and the car ride to school, Henry is his normal, chattery self, but he doesn’t say anything about the night before. He’s apparently too preoccupied with telling her about another story in his book to continue the conversation from last night, but Emma knows her kid too well; he’s sad that she won’t let him meet Mary Margaret and David.

And that makes her feel like the worst parent in the world, even if she knows she’s doing what’s best for him in the long run. They are strangers, after all.  

But if he is cross with her, he doesn’t let it stop him from turning to hug her before he hops out of the car, squeezing her tightly. “Bye, Mom. Have a good day at work.”

“Bye, kid. Have fun at school.”

He’s already out of the car when he turns back, hand holding the door open, a shy, nervous smile on his face.

“Will you say hi to your parents for me?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, hands tightening around the steering wheel, and she hopes he can’t hear the tremble in her voice.

“Of course, kid.”

The rest of the drive to Storybrooke, Emma’s thoughts twist and turn, stuck on a loop of Henry’s disappointed face from the night before and the shy smile this morning. Her sweet boy, who has only ever had Emma for family just as she’s only ever had him, has now got two new family members - his grandparents .

Is she wrong to keep him from them?

No, she thinks just as quickly. This isn’t a forever decision, this is a right now decision. Right now, these people are strangers. Emma doesn’t know them at all, and she will not let Henry get attached to them when they decide that they’ve missed too much, that they don’t want her anymore and, by extension, don’t want anything to do with Henry either.

When she arrives at Storybrooke, driving through the usual crowd of reporters to enter the facility, she forces those worries and thoughts away. She’s nearly late for their usual Thursday morning meeting, and when she reaches the meeting room, it’s already chock full. It’s one of their larger boardrooms, with seats for about a dozen people, and the one end of the room clustered with more people. She slips into the crowded room, shutting the door quietly behind her, as the meeting is already in full swing. A few people glance over at her entrance and Emma catches the eye of a few of her fellow agents: Anna, who she exchanges a smile with, and Graham, from whom Emma looks quickly away, her pulse jumping immediately in anger and betrayal.

She knows he was doing his job and that he truly wanted to help her, but Emma’s not ready to forgive him yet for springing this life-altering news on her with no warning.  

At the front of the room, Regina is leading the meeting, standing in front of a large projection screen with the words RETURNEE EXIT PLAN emblazoned across the top.

“As some of you may be aware,” she’s saying as she flips the slide to a more detailed list of bullet points, “after much consternation and discussion, the committee down in D.C. has finally agreed to the re-location of the returnees off of Storybrooke grounds.”

A murmur of excitement filters across the room and Emma raises her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn’t heard that the exit plan for the returnees was at a stage where they could be released anytime soon, but it appears she may be one of the few who didn’t know, given the looks and smiles of triumph being exchanged across the room.

That’s what finding out the parents you thought abandoned you have time-travelled to the present will do to a person, she thinks bitterly. 

After all, Emma reasons, it’s about time for the returnees to get out of here. It’s been more than five weeks since that fateful night down at the lake, and Emma can think of a handful of returnees offhand who should be released immediately, like Ariel Andersen and Marian Locksley. They’ve only been gone for a few months or at most a few years, and they deserve to get back to their lives, the lives that are still waiting for them.

For others, however, Emma knows five weeks is not enough time. For one example, Killian Jones - the centuries-old pirate, out in the modern world, away from Storybrooke and his support team? Emma’s stomach clenches uncomfortably at the thought.

As the room quiets, the dim hum of excitement still lingering in the room, Regina gestures to the screen again, and continues, “As you can see, my team and I have triaged the returnees into four groups, with the first group to leave the ones thought to be most re-adapted to our time. Even still, all returnees will need a signature of approval from their assigned agent, social worker, psychologist, and physician before they can submit the report for our final judgment on their release plan. Housing accommodations and work prospects must also be in place outside of Storybrooke, as well as a summary of available social supports like family and friends and community supports. The returnees will be followed still by our team and our colleagues in other cities upon their resettlement, but new physicians and community support teams must be in place as well. We want to give our returnees their best shot at re-adapting to life outside Storybrooke.”

There’s several calls of agreement, and the room briefly breaks into a chorus of applause until Regina gathers everyone’s attention again, returning to her presentation. The next few slides explain the application process in finer detail, and then Regina passes around copies of the report that has sorted the returnees into their different triage levels.

Emma flips through the package as Regina finishes up the presentation, looking for names she recognizes. She starts with the fourth group - the last group to leave - and Killian Jones, predictably, is named amongst them. That settles her lurching stomach, relief settling over her; at least he’ll be here for a bit longer before he’s gone.

As quickly as the relief had settled upon her, Emma frowns at herself. What does she care whether or not Killian Jones is around Storybrooke for longer? She wants him to leave, because that’s her job - get him re-adjusted to this world and then send him on his way. Clearly, that’s what he wants too; he even tried to escape , for God’s sake.

So why does the news of this exit plan make her stomach fill with dread and wish for the exact opposite?

In the back of her mind, there’s an answer lurking, a low whisper of you know why, Emma ,

She shuts that down just as quickly as she thinks it, flipping to the next page of the package so aggressively she nearly rips off the top page, making the agent beside her give her a quizzical look. She ignores her too, looking firmly down to the rest of the list, scanning for another name to take her mind off Killian Jones.

She finds that distraction easily - a few names is away is Elsa Arendelle, Anna’s sister who vanished only two years ago. She frowns at the sight of it amongst the other returnees in this fourth group, wondering what has made the triage team think she needs to stay here longer. She checks the list for the first group and finds names like Ariel Andersen and Marian Locksley, just like Emma thought they would be.

Maybe Emma should check in with Anna and make sure everything is okay with her sister. She glances over to Anna, across the room from her, but Anna is looking down at her own list, frowning, and Emma can’t catch her eye.

“Any questions?” Regina calls from the front of the room, and Emma looks back to her. Regina fields a few questions around the logistics of this exit plan, taking up about twenty more minutes of time. Finally, when the room is exhausted of questions, Regina nods in satisfaction and says, “Then get to it everyone.”

The room interrupts into chatter as everyone begins to exit the room. Emma looks back to where Anna had been sitting, wanting to ask her more about Elsa, but Anna is already halfway out the door.

“Agent Swan, a word, please.”

Emma turns around. Regina has made her way through the crowd, and she beckons Emma to follow her back to the front of the room. Regina’s expression is serious and cold, and dread settles over Emma.

She knows Regina has to know about Mary Margaret and David; Graham would never have been allowed to talk to Emma about it without Regina’s permission in the first place. Emma just hopes she’s not going to make it into a bigger deal than it is.

Speaking of Graham - as he’s on his way out of the room he catches her eye and gives her an apologetic look as she passes him. She ignores him, resisting the urge to glare, and dodges through the rest of the leaving crowd to join Regina at the front of the room.

“What’s up?”

Regina doesn’t answer right away, instead looking over Emma’s shoulder to the back of the room, and it’s only when the door shuts behind the last agent, that she speaks.

“I heard your happy news. You must be thrilled.” Her voice is flat, almost cool, and Emma stiffens.

“I … uh, well, it’s been an adjustment.”  

“I imagine,” Regina replies, leaning back against the front table, crossing her arms and surveying Emma with cold eyes. “So much of an adjustment that you’ve taken to leaving work early.”

Emma’s mouth drys and she stares back at Regina, blinking hard for several long moments. Seriously ? she thinks in growing anger. Somehow, somehow this turn of events that she didn’t ask for, that she didn’t want , is being turned back on her as if it’s her fault?

“I - okay, that’s unfair, Regina. That was the first day I heard about … this , so - so I left early, yeah. After all,” she adds, bitterly, “Graham sprang it on me with no warning.”

Regina raises an elegant eyebrow, and scowls at Emma. “Agent Humbert was performing his duties as an agent of BDMFP, as I asked him to. I need my agents to be at their best, and that includes following my directions. And, that also includes you performing at your best as well . ”

“I am at my best,” Emma fires back, her voice raising loudly, far louder than she really should taking with Regina, her boss after all, but this is so unfair. She is being blamed for having a poor reaction to the news of a lifetime, and all her defensive haunches raise, her old fighting instincts resurfacing as she braces herself for a fight. “I’m not - I’m not slacking off , Regina, if that’s what you think. I was taken aback that first day, alright? I wasn’t expecting this, I needed some time to compose myself!”

“I know that,” Regina says immediately. Finally, her voice softens as if she’s finally realized the combative, harsh beginning of this conversation, and she continues, “And that’s why I wanted to talk to you, Emma. I would imagine this news is … challenging to adapt to. It would be appropriate for anyone, even someone like you, to take a few days off and adjust to this properly.”

Emma shakes her head and takes a deep breath, swallowing down her bubbling rage. Logically, Emma understands what Regina is saying, but there’s no way in hell she is taking any more time off. She’s only just gotten back after her days off because of the media disaster with Killian and Will Scarlet. She can’t afford (as in literally cannot afford) anymore time off, especially if this ends up being an extended leave as she’s sure Regina is hinting it to be.

Besides all of that too, being at home, with nothing but time and silence to occupy her thoughts … that is the opposite of what she wants.

“I don’t want any more time off, I’m fine . This isn’t going to impact my work, Regina. That first day - that won’t happen again. I promise.”

Regina regards her with unreadable eyes, before she shrugs finally, as if unbothered by this whole thing after all.

“Alright, Emma. I’ll take your word on it. But remember, when you’re at work, I expect you to be at work . Leave your personal life to after hours. Is that understood?”

Emma nods stiffly. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good.” Regina pushes off the front table and picks up two thick stacks of yellow paper off the table behind her,  each stack held together with a black alligator clip. She holds them out to Emma, the papers so heavy in their stack they flop down around on each side. “This is the paperwork for each returnee’s exit. These ones are prepared for your parents already; you can give it to them.”

Your parents .

It’s the first time someone has said the words your parents so casually, so normally, as if it’s something one would say to Emma all the time. The sound of the words make her freeze up, and she doesn’t immediately take the papers from Regina, her fingers turning numb and cold.

At her hesitation, Regina’s eyes gleam in a strange mix of triumph and frustration, and Emma snaps quickly out of her shock. This was a test set by Regina, and Emma fears she’s already failed it. Even though it’s Graham’s job to distribute this to Mary Margaret and David, Regina is testing her, wanting to see how she’ll react when faced with working as an agent of Storybrooke with her parents.

Emma nearly snatches the paperwork from Regina, her fingers curling tightly around the edges and says, as coolly as she can manage, “Of course. No problem.”

Regina nods, smirking in satisfaction, and Emma swallows heavily as she turns back to the front table, shuffling more papers. She feels defeated and tricked, and even though her goal for the day, the promise she made to herself last night, was to accept that her parents were truly and really back, being forced into this by Regina makes her grit her teeth in anger. She glares at the offending paperwork in her hands, her fingertips white around the edges as she’s gripping it so tightly. The top page is a demographic sheet labelled for David and Emma nearly rips the papers apart when she notices that under ‘NUMBER OF CHILDREN’ there is a gleaming, bold font number one.

“Everything okay?”

Regina has turned back around now, watching her closely with her dark, cool gaze. Emma nods, shifting her weight to tuck the papers under her arm, the top page with its gleaming number one out of sight, and she shrugs casually.  

“Yeah, of course. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about or can I get to work?”

Regina is silent for a long second, her gaze piercing enough that Emma feels like every movement, every breath is being scrutinized. Finally she shrugs, making the casual gesture somehow seem condescending and dismissive, and says, “Yes, get back to work.”

Emma doesn’t wait around any longer. She turns promptly, leaving Regina and her biting gaze behind her, and hurries to her office. The place is busy now at this time of the morning, and Emma ignores the chipper chatter in the breakroom as she passes it, the other agents excitedly talking about the new exit plan over their morning coffees. Grumpy and ticked-off by her conversation with Regina, Emma is in no mood to talk with the other agents. Most of them in there are the ones who can leave at the end of the day and not take Storybrooke home with them, unlike her where it’s become a twisting, tangled mess that is now her job and her life.

In her office, she drops the paperwork for Mary Margaret and David on her desk, scowling at it and chewing on her lip in thought. Emma hates being backed into a corner like this and she doesn’t want to do this, to take this paperwork to them, to be forced into talking with them. The universe is sneering at her again, dropping her into the depths of what she doesn’t want to do, and she mutters a swear, still glaring at the paperwork on her desk.

Damn it all, now or never it is.  

For the first time in a long time, Killian feels like himself again.

Granted, he still regards himself as a prisoner within these stone walls, and never more so than in the mornings, as it is currently. Waking up to the low hums and rumbles of the modern technology that surrounds him is when he misses the familiarity of his ship the most. The rocking of the ship in the waves as he would awaken, the thudding of the boots of his crew above him, the crisp sea breeze that would greet him when he came up on deck.

But now, at least, he has some memories of his time on the Jolly Roger , solid items he can link back to that time, a reminder of what he once had. His rings are returned to their place on his fingers, his flask tucked into the pocket of his new jacket, Liam’s old insignia resting beside it. The weight of these items, something he took for granted until he no longer had them, is an anchor, tethering him back to the past he’s lost. He may still be a stranger in a new world, but at least he has parts of his old life with him.

With a lighter spring to his step, his growling stomach sends him from his room, down to the breakfast hall. The large area is filled with other returnees, most halfway through their breakfasts, and once Killian has collected his own serving of toasted bread and bowl of fresh fruit, he surveys the room for a free table. To his delight, he spots Alice and Cyrus at a table near him, and he moves to join them as Alice catches his eye and waves him over.

They both a bit strange, particularly Alice, but Killian likes to keep up with them nevertheless. They’re two of the few people here who tolerate his presence, who actually speak to him instead of scowl and turn away.

They are finished their breakfasts already, the plates empty and pushed to the side. Spread haphazardly about on the table in front of them are an assortment of pictures. Killian recognizes them as photographs, this time’s version of portraits. Most of them are of a dusty landscape, the ground brown and sandy for apparently as far as the eye can see, while others are of muddy objects, wide-smiling people crowded around them.

“Killian, come take a look at these,” Cyrus says excitedly in greeting, passing some of the photos to him as he sits down across from the pair. “My agent printed them out for me, I used to work in this area. It’s changed a bit since I was there, but see here? This is from 1990s, do you see that man with the long white beard? He was in my class at school.”  

Killian peers closer at the photograph. There is a group of six men and women, clustered around a muddy hole in the ground, small shovels and boxes of rope and hammers.

“What are they doing?”

“It’s an archaeological site,” Cyrus says, casting a longing look towards the photo. “They’re showing what they found from under layers and layer of sand and soil.”

“Like buried treasure,” Killian says, with a grin, and Cyrus and Alice both laugh.

“Exactly like that, you’ve got it.”

Cyrus passes him another photo, this one of three large triangle-shaped structures, stretching high into the wide blue sky above. Killian has never seen anything like it before, and he asks, interestedly, “What are these?”

“Those are the pyramids in Egypt,” Cyrus explains, and then grins, adding slyly, “They’re older than even you.”

Killian rolls his eyes, but it’s all in good fun. Cyrus’s delight at these photographs of his time is infectious; just like Killian’s returned belongings, these images are Cyrus’s own link to his past. After he’s gone through several more, explaining to Killian his job as an archaeologist, Cyrus picks up another photograph, one full of an array of dusty objects that look similar to the oil canisters that he would see on shore in taverns and shops.

“See these? This is the area I was in a few years before I left for Egypt. My agent couldn’t find an exact picture, but these are similar to the artifacts I was working on before I left. Old Arabian oil lamps, discovered in the ruins of an old temple. I used to have something similar myself,” he adds, with a fond, wistful smile. “My very own Arabian oil lamp. One of my professors at Oxford gave it to me, it was what got me started in archaeology. I remember I misplaced it just days before I – before I arrived here.” His smile fades abruptly. “It’s probably lost forever now, that was so many years ago.”

Alice, who has been mostly silent throughout this conversation, pats his arm warmly. “Perhaps not, Cyrus. I know you’ll find it again when you’re back.”

He nods, and sends her a warm smile.  “Yes, you’re right Alice. I hope so.”

Killian narrows his eyes, an eyebrow raising as the pair of them give each other a knowing look. Alice says a lot of strange things, and he’s used to her thinking that she’ll be back in 1885 in no time, but Cyrus has never agreed with her before.

“What do you mean by that? When he’s back where?”

He was thinking that perhaps the pair had talked about visiting this area of the world, but at once, Killian knows it’s no mere trip - there’s something more to this. Cyrus’s eyes widen, and he glances over sharply to Alice. She, as per usual, doesn’t look perturbed and he leans forward over the table, closer to Killian.

“We’ve been doing some research,” she says in a low voice, before glancing around quickly to the rest of the tables. No one is paying them any attention, and Alice continues, her voice hardly audible now, “on time travel.”  

Killian raises his eyebrows and leans closer to them across the table. It doesn’t surprise him that the pair have been researching it - after all, it’s what the returnees and the agents talk about the most around here. But this seems to be something more than that; there’s a gleam to Cyrus’s eyes that Killian hasn’t seen before, a seriousness to Alice, and a bubble of anticipation forms in his stomach, the precursor to a sense of adventure he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.  

“Oh?”

Cyrus nods excitedly, and Alice continues, her eyes now dancing with delight, “We’re going to find a way for us to go back.”

Cyrus shoots her a harried look and quickly amends, “Well, hold on, Alice. It’s only been preliminary searches so far. There wasn’t much research into the idea of it before we got here, but since we’ve been back, as you can imagine, the knowledge out there is growing every day. The Internet - you know, those black boxes we can use in the lounge? - they have hundreds of ideas of how to do it.”

Hundreds of ideas.

The sense of anticipation grows, flooding through Killian like a wave. If there are hundreds of ideas about time travel, then somewhere, somewhere , there is a chance - a chance to go back to his world, to the Jolly Roger , to his crew, to his life.

“Here’s one theory for example,” Cyrus continues, smiling at the look on Killian’s face,  “I found this group of scientists - NASA, I think they’re called. Their theory is apparently the leading one on what happened to us, it took me two whole days to figure what they were talking about - they kept mentioning something called string theory - but I think I have figured it out. They think that instead of time being linear, where once one day is gone, it can never be gone back to, time runs concurrently. So where for me, it’s a Wednesday in 2011, at the exact same moment, for someone else in a different timeline, it’s a Sunday in the 1880s. We’re all living our lives, unaware that we’re only separated from a different time by something as thin as veil. And they think that someone found a way to open, let’s call it a door, between the two times.”

“And pulled all of us out of our own time,” Killian muses and the pair nod in unison.

“That’s the theory anyways. And if this is what happened to us, then it has to be possible to do the reverse. There must be a way to actively create those doors, because there’s no way that, by chance alone, more than a thousand people from all throughout time would appear in the same spot, in the same time at once. So someone, somewhere out there, knows how to do it. If we can figure out how to open these doors again … well, it’s exactly like a normal door. You go in one way, and then come out the other.”

Killian nods, thinking back to the moment everything changed for him in that flash of white - he looks back sharply to Alice and Cyrus at the thought, and says, “The white light - do you have any theories on that?”

Cyrus frowns, unsure, and Alice offers, “Perhaps it was the door opening? I did see another white light when I went to Wonderland, you know.”

“You did?”

She nods, and Killian is momentarily taken aback; perhaps she isn’t so strange after all.

“I used to think it was magic,” she says, tilting her head thoughtfully. “But perhaps it is science, just like the rest of this time.”

“Could be magic,” Cyrus offers. “After all, nothing like this has ever happened before, so who knows what it is?”

Science, magic - to Killian, there’s hardly a difference, and truly, it doesn’t matter either way to him. He sits back from the table, leaning back in his chair. His mind is spinning with the possibility of returning back to 1748, whether it be science or magic, back to his time, to where he belongs.

It must show on his face because Cyrus quickly leans forward, hand raised in caution. “Don’t get your hopes up yet, Killian. It’s all just talk for now. We don’t even know if this is the right theory . Besides that, who knows what the consequences would be of sending us back to the past, it could change the future! For example, there’s another theory that if we do get sent back, that it would mess up the fact that we were sent forward in the first place, meaning we’d never have been able to go back in the first place, so -”

Cyrus gets into the complicated consequences of time travel, the details so confusing that it makes his head start to ache, and Killian stops listening after a while. Like he said, magic or science, he doesn’t much care how it works, he never has. All he knows is that this is a chance .

But he’s a cautious man. He’s been burned too many times through his life to have get his hopes up by the mere possibility of returning to his time. And yet, the chance, even this small chance, makes him feel like a drowning man catching his first breath of air.

He glances around the room, taking in the sight of this modern time, all the other returnees here who he knows would give anything to return to their time too. All those who were ripped from their lives, their families, their homes. It would only be too easy for them to all, Killian included, to jump at the chance to return to all they’ve lost.

The main doors to the cafeteria opens as he’s looking around and Emma Swan, looking frustrated and on edge, enters the room. She doesn’t notice him, instead looking around the cafeteria, her brow furrowing as she focuses in on the east side of the room. He follows her line of vision, and spots Mary Margaret and David Nolan across the hall near the window.

As he watches her march over to them, her back rimrod straight, her jaw set in determination, his mood drops drastically and he frowns. Leaving this time, returning to his time would mean leaving everything and everyone behind ... perhaps it wouldn’t be so easy to leave after all.

After departing her office, Emma searches for Mary Margaret and David in the breakfast hall, not having to look too far. They’re sitting at a table near the window, Mary Margaret’s head resting on David’s shoulder. Even from across the room, Emma can see two full plates of breakfast in front of them, left untouched.

She takes a deep breath, clutching the paperwork tighter, and braces herself as she walks purposefully over to them. They don’t notice her approach, talking to each other in low voices, and she stands awkwardly a few feet from their table before forcing a grin onto her face.

“Good morning.”

They startle, turning around with wide eyes, and instantly their expressions change from gloomy to gleeful.

“Emma!”

She bites back a grimace at their exuberance. “Uh, hi.”

Both of them are grinning back at her, and it’s clear they are unable to believe that she’s willingly standing in front of them. Emma feels a sharp pang of guilt at that, it swirling down heavily to rest in her stomach. She’s only known them for a few days, only spoken to them for probably an hour total, and already they’re surprised when she gives them the time of day.

David shakes himself free first. “Are you hungry? I can get you a plate of food, give me one second.”

He’s standing in front of her before Emma even blinks, already turned to walk back towards the long breakfasts tables, and she instinctively reaches out a hand to grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks.  

“No, I’ve already eaten breakfast.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

There’s an awkward moment then, the two of them standing there, Mary Margaret looking between them with wide eyes. Emma steps back from David, tucking her hand into the pocket of her jeans.

“I have some stuff for you.”

She sets the paperwork down between them as David returns to his own seat. She stands there for a moment, lingering, and then grits her teeth, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from them.

“They’re applications to leave Storybrooke.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says, and she frowns, glancing over to David. “We’re leaving Storybrooke now?”

“It wouldn’t be right away,” Emma says, and with the way her throat nearly closes on her as she says it, she’s not sure if she says it for their benefit or her own. “You’re in the second triage group, and if the first group’s exit doesn’t go well, you might still be here for a while.”

They exchange a glance, and David nods once. “The second group. Alright, that’s something I guess.”

They look back to her, expectant, but suddenly even more uncomfortable than before, Emma glances down to the top sheet of paperwork, trying to think of something else to say, internally cursing Regina for sending her here. She doesn’t know how to interact with these people, who clearly want so much from her that she doesn’t have to give.

Instead, she focuses on the form, already populated with David’s information. In addition to his demographics, it lists their last known address, a small town over two hours away from Boston, and she grasps onto that fact.

“You’re from a small town, right? I’m sure it would be fine to move back there, Graham would have to check that there’s an appropriate team for you but I think - what?” She stops talking when she glances up, seeing that Mary Margaret and David are looking at each, both frowning.

“When we leave Storybrooke,” David starts slowly, watching Emma closely, like she’s a caged lion, ready to pounce at any moment. “We’re going to stay in Boston. We - we want to be near you.”

Emma blinks, taken aback. “Oh. Really?”

“We could pretend to be your long lost cousins,” Mary Margaret starts immediately, looking over to David who nods in agreement. “That way, no one will ask you too much about us and we can still spend time with you, and you won’t have to worry about any awkward questions or anything like that. What do you think?”

The feeling of guilt returns, slamming into her as hard and cold as a rock. Is this what it’s already come to? She has finally found her parents, but they’re already so aware of her skittish behaviour, they’d be happy to pretend to be her cousins instead of her parents? Sure, it might make it easier to explain to people their age difference, but … it’s wrong .

She imagines if she was in their shoes - if she’d lost Henry at birth and was reunited him later. Would she be okay with pretending to be his cousin, instead of his mother? Would Henry even want that?

Does Emma want that?  

“I don’t want you to have to pretend,” she says after a long pause, clearing her throat which has become croaky and choked. She pauses again, and then continues,“I don’t - listen, I’m not very good at this. I’ve been alone my entire life. I don’t - I don’t know how to do … this. Right now, it’s just - I’m taking it day by day.”

“Day by day is perfect,” David says, with a smile so reminiscent of Henry that it’s enough to make Emma smile too. “If that’s what you want, Emma, that’s what we want too.”

She nods. “Okay, great.” She pauses, unsure what else to say. They’re both staring at her, expectantly, but she’s at a loss for words. “Um, well, I guess I better get back to work. If you have any questions about the applications, let Graham know, okay? He’s still your agent.”

They both deflate as Emma rises to her feet, Mary Margaret’s smile dropping and David’s back slouching. It makes Emma curse internally - damn it, Emma, we were doing so well -  so she adds, in a softer tone, “But I’ll - I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

Thankfully, this appeases them, and David and Mary Margaret’s faces alight in smiles again, and Emma manages a smile back before turning and leaving them. She tries hard not to speed walk out of the room, trying to slow her usual quick pace, the desire to run out of the room exacerbated by her lateness to the meeting. But she doesn’t want to give David and Mary Margaret the wrong impression; she’s already run away from them twice, and she promised herself she wouldn’t do that anymore.

Out in the hall and out of sight of the occupants of that hall, Emma pauses, taking a deep breath. Her hands are sweaty and clammy, her heart fluttering anxiously, the bundle of nervous energy she’d been holding in throughout the time with Mary Margaret and David bubbling over.  

“Swan!”

Emma startles at the voice, turning around sharply. Also emerging from the breakfast hall is Killian Jones, and she lets out a breath of relief that it’s him and not someone else like say, Regina.

“Oh, hi, Killian.”

He smiles at her, but it quickly turns to a frown as he takes in her appearance, her flushed cheeks, the tense set to her shoulders.

“Are you well, Swan?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, straightening her back and crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you?”

He doesn’t answer her immediately, glancing back over his shoulder into the breakfast hall. Emma tenses, wondering if he saw her with Mary Margaret and David, and if he did, if he’ll say anything about it. She sincerely hopes he doesn’t - she can only deal with so many emotions at once these days - and thankfully, Killian, when he looks back to her, doesn’t press the issue further.

“I’m fine. Though,” he adds, a twinkle of mischief appearing his eyes, “I believe I was promised rum.”

Emma laughs, the bubble of anxiety popping at the abrupt change in conversation. “Bit early for rum, isn’t it?” she replies, smirking at him.

“It’s never too early for rum,” he counters swiftly, and Emma laughs again. It’s surprising how much better she feels already, and she can’t help but wish it would be this easy with her parents as it is with Killian.

But she’s also known Killian longer, even if it is just for a few weeks, as she’s been his agent. And in her role as his agent, she needs to tell him about the fact that returnees will be leaving Storybrooke soon. She remembers their previous conversation, just after he was released from the isolation rooms, that he would one day be allowed to leave Storybrooke, and she knows how thrilled he will be to hear this news.

And though her stomach still flips uncomfortably at the thought of him leaving Storybrooke once and for all - because she’s not sure he’s ready for it, she tells herself sternly - selfishly, she wants to be the one to tell him, to see the delight it will bring him. He’s been so miserable here, and perhaps this will bring a bit of light back into his life.

“Walk with me, Killian,” Emma says, gesturing for him to follow her. “I’ve got something I think you’ll like better than rum.”

[schtroumpf-a-lunettes]

The Smurfs That Canon Forgot, Chapter Thirteen

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Previous Chapters: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12

In the “present”...

"Smurfs!" Gargamel exclaimed.

Papa and Dabbler quickly dived back into the bushes from which they had just emerged. Dreamy remained, standing alone in the open, right in Gargamel's line of sight.

“Dreamy!” Dabbler hissed. Dreamy was motionless.

"I thought I saw..." Gargamel shook his head in confusion, then turned his eyes to Dreamy. "Well, what do you want?? I know there were more of you pests just now!"

As it turned out, Dreamy having been left out in the open was currently the least of their worries. It was only at the last moment that Papa Smurf sensed a presence behind him and dived out of the way as Dabbler, not so fortunate, was swept forward with a swipe of Azrael's paw. He landed outside of the bushes, a little ahead of where Dreamy stood – closer to Gargamel.

Papa hit the ground hard, spraining his ankle in the process.

Azrael triumphantly strolled forward, the smug cat leaving the two stranded smurfs the option of either allowing Asrael to come closer to them or to move towards Gargamel... Dreamy and Dabbler tensed.

"Not today, Azrael" Gargamel grumbled. "Today I don't want to have to deal with those pesky blue beasts. Come along!"

Azrael meowed insistently in complaint as Gargamel began to walk away. Away from them. Azrael was then casting a confused glance at the smurfs and making one last swipe at them before hurrying after Gargamel. Dreamy and Dabbler barely managed to dodge the half-hearted strike, Dabbler still clutching the deep scratches already embedded in his side thanks to his previous encounter with Azrael's claws.

Gargamel didn't seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, and that's when they saw it – they noticed how the ground stopped abruptly up ahead. He was heading right towards where the ground dropped off sharply. "Gargamel!" Dabbler called, following after him. "Watch out!" Gargamel looked back coldly, quickening his pace to hasten away from Dabbler. "And just what do you think I'm doing, you little blue vermin? I'm getting myself away from you." "Wait, stop, there's...!"

"Can't you just leave me in peace?" The old wizard didn't know it, but he was playing with danger, walking by the edge of a swift fall as he currently was, and he was about to lose. He took another step forward, but found nothing beneath his feet.

He went forward at an angle. Managed to somehow grasp onto the edge with his one good hand after a desperate scramble, but now that was the only thing keeping him from falling.

Dreamy and Dabbler ran over, Papa Smurf also making his way over from behind them with some effort.

“Gargamel!” Papa Smurf arrived at the edge where Gargamel could see him.

“Papa… Smurf? Oh, noo, I’m delusional!” Gargamel cried.

"No, you’re not delusional. Now... Give me your arm, Gargamel. We'll help you up." Papa Smurf’s voice was calm. He gestured to the arm that was dangling by Gargamel’s side. "You can't lift me up - you're too small” Gargamel shot back. "Dabbler and I will use a spell. But we need you to reach out your arm." "…You're not Papa Smurf. This is all just cruel trickery! I won’t let you-“

“Gargamel-“

“You’re not the real Papa Smurf!”

“Gargamel, we’re not trying to trick you, you need to listen-“

“Just for one single day, I wanted to be left alone!” he said miserably. “I… I wasn’t even trying to catch any of you!”

“You need to give us your arm or you’re going to fall!”

Gargamel fell silent, hesitating. But mistrust was still written all over his face. And in the meantime, he was starting to slip. His arm shook from the exhaustion of holding on.

He was slipping… and then he slipped.

They watched him fall.

Several metres he fell, into a stream so shallow it did nothing to lessen the impact.

…Maybe there was a chance he’d be alright? Pained noises rose up from where he lay.

"Come quickly. We must go and help." Papa urged.

"But how? We can't exactly jump after him, Papa Smurf." Papa tried to set off at a run, but couldn’t get far on his still sprained ankle. Dabbler ran up, with some herbs they’d collected in their basket earlier. “These should be good for a sprained ankle, right?”

Papa nodded, and soon Dabbler and Dreamy were following after him as he led the way, leaving the stunned and anxious Azrael.

“We can reach him.” There was a long, but safe way around to get to where Gargamel had fallen.

At length, they arrived. Azrael’s cries could still be heard from up above – the cat had elected not to move, not knowing the long way around to reach Gargamel.

Dabbler walked about briskly, examining the suffering wizard.

“His legs seem to be broken… He’s still conscious…”

"What do we do...?" Dreamy muttered. "We need to get him out of the stream. We need to get him help” said Papa Smurf. "None of us can hope to lift him" Dabbler pointed out. Dreamy looked at Dabbler. "A spell?" Dabbler shook his head. "No, that spell's only good for a second or two at best to lift him up."

"Scruple... Where's Scruple?" Papa Smurf looked about. He turned to Gargamel. "We'll go get Scruple. Where is he?" "What do you... Care?" Gargamel breathed out. "Gargamel, we're trying to help!" Dabbler exclaimed. "Gargamel..." There was a rare sharpness to Papas voice and his expression was very serious. "Where's Scruple." No reply. "Dreamy, go to Gargamel's hovel. It's the most likely place he'll be." "You won't... Find him there." "Then tell us where he is!"

“Why…”

"...You might not trust us, but you're going to have to let us help you, unless you want to continue to stay here stranded with little chance of anyone else finding you." Gargamel strained against the pain to speak again. "He moved out... He's staying in the village..." "The human village" Papa Smurf frowned.

"Papa Smurf, the closest human village is much too far, I can't smurf there quickly on my own." Dreamy pointed out, and Papa Smurf nodded. "Of course not. Dreamy, I need you to go back to our village and then take Feathers there. Dabbler and I will stay here and see how we can help Gargamel in the meantime. And take some smurfs with you - I don't want you going into a human village alone." "Yes, Papa Smurf." Once they confirmed again with Gargamel where Scruple could likely be found, Dreamy set off running steadily back the way they’d came, and back to the village. He'd been jogging for some time when he saw Brainy come flying through the air and promptly land some metres in front of him. "Smurfed out of the village again, huh?" Dreamy quipped as he ran by. "H-hey! Wait for meee...!" Brainy called after him and raced to catch up. "Don't you know that Papa Smurf says not to run, that it can be dangerous?" He asked as he ran alongside Dreamy. Wow, my lucky day, Dreamy thought to himself dryly before replying. "Really? I think you're confused, Brainy. Landed on your head again, I see. Hefty goes for jogs all the time and it's not an issue." I think he means, and got mixed up with Papa Smurf saying we shouldn't run indoors... But he wasn't about to smurf Brainy that rope in the conversation. "That's, er... Well I-I say that running is-" "Besides, Papa told me to be as quick as I could." "And I remember Papa Smurf saying... What I mean is..." finally, Brainy abandoned the thread. "Why are you... Why are we running?" Dreamy's voice took on a more weighted tone. "Gargamel broke his legs. He's back there in a stream…” Brainy looked concerned. "Did we-" "No! We didn't do anything!” Dreamy snapped. “Gargamel didn’t smurf where he was going!” "Oh. So then... Well, it doesn't really smurf as part of our business…?” Brainy trailed off. "Ah, yes, so we should just leave him out there to suffer. What a smurfy idea! You should have been the one left behind at the village while I had the chance to go on time travelling adventures. You would have fit right in." "I don't find your tone very smurfy" Brainy replied crisply. Dreamy was saved from having to reply as they had arrived back at the village.

***

“Scruple, huh? That scrawny little kid?” Grandpa mused.

“Oh, he’s not a little kid anymore” Dreamy pointed out between pants. And he never was ‘little’ by our standards anyway!

“So Vanity, you coming along to go seek out Scruple?” Brainy asked. “After all, he can hardly go alone!”

Vanity shrugged. “Well… I did have plans. I’d set aside this afternoon for reflection gazing in the River Smurf, but… I guess I’ll come along.” As long as he had his mirror, after all.

“Great! So that’s the three of us, then.” Brainy nodded.

Dreamy frowned. “Now wait just a- Brainy! I didn’t say you could-“

Brainy held up a hand. “Dreamy, Dreamy, Dreamy. Papa Smurf would obviously want me to go with you! You need a brave and ingenious smurf to smurf by your side! Now don’t you worry. I won’t let you smurf there without me.”

Dreamy groaned. So two smurfs were now coming with him, neither of which he’d actually asked. “This isn’t some fun adventure, Brainy! Gargamel’s seriously injured…” And the more time he stood around wasting words on the brick wall that was Brainy Smurf, the more time he was wasting.

“Grandpa?” Dreamy asked hopefully. “I think you’d be a big help-“

Grandpa Smurf held up his hands. “Ohh, no. You don’t need me; I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Grandpa had already had enough travelling around and listening to Brainy’s bluster for a lifetime. Otherwise, he probably would accompany Dreamy.

Dreamy sighed. “Well, there is room for one more smurf… I’ve already wasted enough time as it is…” he turned to Hefty, who sighed.

“Sure, I’ll come with ya, Dreamy.”

Safe in the knowledge that at least one smurf going would not liable to be distracted by his own thoughts or reflection, he got Feathers ready and they all seated themselves atop promptly.

Before Feathers took off, Brainy made sure to give Dreamy a grin. “As you can see, you were wrong about me earlier. I, Brainy Smurf, am more than willing to help Gargamel our enemy if he is in need, therefore-“

Dreamy held up a hand. “Okay, okay! If you say so, Brainy…” He made sure to have Feathers take off before Brainy could start up again, or even change his mind.

***

The trees cleared, and the human village began to come into view. Feathers began to descend so that they could get a better look, circled around a little bit until they managed to identify the building that matched Gargamel’s description.

“This is where he must be staying” Dreamy told the others. Feathers flew up, perched on a windowsill. The window was already open, but the shades were drawn.

“Okay… here we are, then” said Hefty as they hopped down from Feathers.

“I’ll wait outside” Vanity suggested, “And keep watch?”

Hefty frowned. “Keep watch for what?”

Brainy cast a glance at Vanity. “His own reflection, no doubt.”

“Okay, that’s enough chit-chat” said Dreamy, wearing a determined expression. “Are we going to get Scruple or not? I’m going in.” He swiftly slipped past the blinds and stepped into the room beyond, before Hefty knew it. Not wanting Dreamy to be in there alone, Hefty quickly followed after. Brainy and Vanity reluctantly stepped into the room too.

“It’s so dark in here, I can hardly see myself” whispered Vanity, gazing earnestly at his mirror.

“…Scruple?” Dreamy called out.

“What if he’s not here?” Hefty wondered.

“Well, that would just be annoying. He better be here. What are we to smurf if he’s not-“

A loud curse and sudden movement came from off to the side of the room as Scruple began to sit up. He swore again as he began to make out the smurfs in the darkness.

“Scruple! Gargamel, he-“ Hefty quickly dodged out of the way as something suddenly went flying right at him. It missed him, went past the blinds, past the window and out into the street beyond. Scruple had already grabbed another nearby object to throw.

“Stop, Scruple! Stop!” Dreamy insisted. “Just let us speak!”

“Urgh… What the hell do you guys want?! Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep here!” Scruple’s voice was much lower than the returned smurfs remembered.

“…It’s the afternoon” Hefty said simply.

“Yeah, it’s also Saturday” Scruple shot back.

“Gargamel’s badly hurt. He can’t walk, he needs assistance, that’s why we’re here” Dreamy said quickly, before Scruple could throw anything else at them.

“Gargy? What the-“

“He had a nasty fall.”

Scruple paused. “Okay, yeah. Ever since his mother died…” He suddenly seemed to realise something, and started swearing heavily. “Today…! Today must be the… it’s the anniversary.”

He got up, stepped across the messy floor, let some light into the room with a wince.

“Okay, whatever, I’m up. I’ll grab a doctor and then let’s go to wherever Gargy is.”

“You’re going to go outside, looking like that?” Vanity coughed, looked away from Scruple’s immediate glare. “I mean, if you insist…”

Scruple was looking rather dishevelled.

“I’m sorry, but not all of us just have flower hats lying around” came his reply. “And I don’t think we can afford to waste any time- wait, wait.” He caught sight of Brainy. “You’re wearing glasses.”

Brainy didn’t know how to reply to that.

“You’re… hold up, hold up. You’re that, oh my god… You’re the one who doesn’t know how to shut the hell up.”

“I haven’t said anything to you this entire time!” Brainy protested.

Scruple ignored his words, nodding. “I remember you. Wow, haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you must have been one of the ones that died with Papa Smurf or whatever.”

“Um, hello? You haven’t seen me in a while either” Vanity pointed out, then gestured to Hefty as an afterthought. “…Or him.”

“Huh? Okay… If you say so. I thought that flower was a new thing you must have been trying though. Whatever.”

“We have to get going” said Dreamy, trying to bring everyone back into focus for once. He could see by the expressions of Vanity and Hefty that they were rather displeased that Scruple could remember Brainy but neither of them, but he could not allow them to start on it – they’d already wasted enough time. Scruple had swiftly managed to upset all three of the other smurfs, and there was no use waiting until it was Dreamy’s turn.

Scruple hurried to fetch a doctor, and then the smurfs rode on Feathers, leading Scruple and the doctor on their way to Gargamel.

[vir-tanadahl]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 9

Summary: Isera Lavellan was sent to her brother, the Inquisitor, at the urging of their mother. The world is changing and Isera needs to be there to help.

Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4] [Ch5] [Ch6] [Ch7] [Ch8] [Ch9]

The golden rays of the early morning sunlight radiate of off Isera as she blinks open her eyes. She is an early riser. On a typical day, she would begin brewing potions that are most needed. As the herbs steeped, she would head to the kitchen for a cup of tea and some breakfast. However, this morning is different—no potions are needing to be brewed and nothing in desperate need of her attention.

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she turns to look at Solas. There is a soft glow from the sun bouncing off of his skin as his chest gently rises and falls as he sleeps. His face is peaceful and undisturbed.

Isera slides out of bed. Isera wraps a silken robe around her body. There is a small balcony attached to her quarters. Isera makes her way over to watch the sunrise. The smell of the freshly baked bread is coming from the nearby bakery. Her eyes flutter close as she enjoys the sound of the breeze rustles the nearby tree.

The sound of laughter fills her ears. Isera turns around in confusion. The laughter continues. Isera walks back into the room. A small, wispy sphere is dancing around Solas as another laugh echoes the room. Solas is still asleep as a small smile crosses his face. The wisp giggles something in elven? The language is similar to what the Dalish speak, but it’s different. Some of the words sound foreign to her ears, yet familiar.

“Hello?” Isera’s voice is soft as she speaks in elven. The wisp gasps and begins spinning dramatically in circles in fear. “Shh…” Isera continues as she opens her hands towards it. “It’s okay; you’re okay.”

The wisp continues to spin rushing around but with less vigor than before. Isera kneels leaving her palms up and open for the wisp to come to her. “Come here, please. You’re safe.” Her voice is faint.

The wisp hovers for a moment before continuously moving towards her. It speaks in a childlike voice as it nestles itself into Isera’s hands. Isera can only understand certain words. The wisps say something about loneliness, missing, and…Arlathan?

“What are you doing?” Solas asks, his voice rough from his deep sleep. He sits up and looks at her from the bed. The wisp jumps up, loudly squealing as it buzzes around between the two of them. It babbles odder elvish in excitement before disappearing into the Veil, back into the Fade.

Solas studies her as she stands up and walks to the bed. “Huh,” she hums. “That was interesting.”

Solas shifts in the bed. “Did you understand the language?” He asks. Isera shrugs. “Not really. I think it was speaking old elven.”

His shoulders drop as he relaxes as against the wall. “Yes.” He confirms.

Isera is fixated where the wisp disappeared. “How does it know? The Dalish barely have the knowledge of what the old words are.”

Solas nods in agreement. “Time is a concept created by men. The spirits of the Fade have no concept of such things.”

Isera takes a moment to process what he said.

“Bring it back.” She demands.

Solas chuckles at her request. “I cannot will it to come back.”

“If it knows the history of Arlathan or even the Dales, I want to know it. You can bring it back.” She tells him as she climbs into the bed.

He frowns at her statement. “I will not force it to come back, Isera. It is a living creature.”

Isera stares at him, ignoring his statement. “You can ask it to come back.” She emphasizes.

He sighs, “What would you ask of it?”

Isera was quick to answer. “Everything. We have lost so much. We struggle to remember and retain. If spirits hold the key to discovering our history, then I would seek to ask them questions.”

“What if it shares with you something you do not like…something you wouldn’t have expected? Would you believe it?”

“You said spirits only violate in their purpose based on our intentions. If my intentions are pure, I would not think it would lie.” She answers still deep in thought.

Solas hums, but whether it is approval or disapproval, Isera is unable to tell. “Nonetheless, it shall not rejoin us.” He looks towards the window. The sun is higher in the sky. “I should be going before our companions awaken.” He leans over the edge of the bed, grabbing his pants and sliding them on.

Isera crawls over to him. His back is facing her as she dangles her arms around his neck. “If you insist” she murmurs into his neck. Solas is far more muscular and leaner than most elven men and slightly taller. Isera begins gently biting his neck. He tilts his head to the side, allowing her greater access. “You are delaying the inevitable.”

“Would you expect anything less?” She purrs before giving a gentle tug at the lobe of his ear with her lips. He chuckles, gently shrugging her off as he collects his clothing.

Suddenly her door swings open. “Isera, I’m—“ Banreas halts. He stares wide-eyed at them. “—oh!”

Isera freezes, holding her breath for what to happen next. There is an uncomfortable silence.

“Inquisitor,” Solas announces before nodding. He makes his way out of the room. He appears unbothered at the intrusion.

The door shuts and Banreas coughs in discomfort. “I…do I need to?” He mutters. “Should I talk to him about…? Isn’t that the brotherly thing to do? He…took your…virtue?” He rambles. His hands move back and forth before throwing his arms in the air.

Isera snickers shaking her head at the awkwardness of it all. “He didn’t take anything. There was nothing to take. And at least he had pants on.”

“Really? When?” he continues to look at her with wide eyes.

Isera chuckles. “Twelve years ago? I was sixteen, I think? It was a hunter from Clan Sabre. Tamlen was his name?” Isera answers as she walks to the closet and begins pulling out clothing.

“Tamlen? Why does that sound familiar?” Banreas asks as he sits down.

Isera steps behand an Orlesian room divider to change. “He was an accomplished young hunter. Do you remember before the blight began and two hunters went missing and only one returned?”

“Vaguely?” He states.

Isera sighs. “Do you remember when the Keepers ordered everyone to not touch any eluvians if we were to come across them in ruins?”

Banreas perks up. “Yes! I remember that. Keeper Istimaethoriel banned us from searching any ruins without a First for months.”

“Well, that is because Tamlen and Lyna found an active eluvian and he went through. I don’t know what happened exactly. But Lyna returned gravely ill and was taken by the Grey Wardens. Talmen was never found.”

Banreas is humming in thought. “That’s how she became a Warden? I thought they just took her against the Keepers request.”

“I overheard the story from a craftsman from that clan. But you know, they do love their stories.” Isera shrugs. “But what did you want? Or do you want to know about all the people I have had sex with?”

“Oh, no.” Banreas shakes his head. “I came by to say sorry. I should trust you more. I just want to protect you.”

Isera nods. “I understand, but you should trust me more. And I can protect myself.”

“I know, I know. I just…never got the change to be the brother and keep you safe.” Banreas rubs the back of his neck.

Isera stares at him with a small smile. He is scared of losing her again, be it death, injury, or returning back to mother. “I’m the oldest, I protect you, silly.” She jokes as she steps out from the divider.

Banreas snorts. “You are older by a minute!”

“Still older!” Isera giggles as she hugs him. “It’s okay.”

“Now,” he jokes, “let’s talk about your choice in men.” Isera shakes her head in disbelief. “Let’s talk about your choice in women! Specifically, the one that is not Dalish!”

“Anywaaaay” Banreas changes the subject, as he steps back from here, “We are leaving in an hour back to Skyhold.”

“Mhm!” Isera hums as she shoos him out. --- Banreas had brought a mage from the court by the name of Morrigan back to Skyhold. He had shared that Leliana had dealings with her in the past, but it is clear that the two hold no love for each other. Banreas made a comment on how he met her son and only described him as polite, but odd. Morrigan also brought an eluvian.

Isera had argued with him that it was dangerous to have. She reminded him, again, of what happened to Tamlen when he found one. Banreas assured her that Morrigan assured him that the eluvian was safe. She was still skeptical.

Secretly, Isera had snuck into space where the eluvian is being kept. It is the same space that had the mural that Solas had created for her. Thus if she was caught, she had crafted an excuse for being there.

The mirror was inactive and appeared clean of any taint or dark magic, but Isera still did not trust the intent of the witch.

Rumors have been swirling about Corypheus’s next move. There had been Red Templars seen scouting in the Arbor Wilds. There are whispers that there is an elven temple he is trying to gain access to.

---

Isera is sitting at her desk studying the circlet she stole from the Winter Palace. It has been extremely well created. It is golden with two small arches that settle inches behind the ears, Isera believes the gems are that decorate the circlet are white moonstones. Her mother, at one point, tried to teach Isera about healing gems, but Isera hadn’t been a good student.

The gems are glowing a dull, off-white color. It clearly has magical properties, but they are dormant. To her knowledge, Southern Thedas does not keep track of the moon cycle to the complexity that she is needing.

The Seers in Rivain did. They claimed that the cycles of the moon brought different magical properties out and overall strength of a spell.

Isera taps her fingers against her desk as she becomes impatient. She has a vague recollection of a spell that she had participated in years ago that involved moonstones. It could be worth the effort of recalling spell if it could unlock the hidden magic. She will need alcohol, extract of Royal Elf Root, the salve of Andraste’s Grace, a wind chime, and a bowl.

---

The moon is beginning to rise as Isera hangs the wind chime off a nail. It sings as the wind starts to blow gently. It is brighter than normal. The light of the rising moon bounces off the misty clouds that are hanging low tonight. If she remembers correctly, the moon will be at its highest point very soon.

The wind chime is meant to attract the spirits. She can see them peeking through the Veil. Isera welcomes the spirits into her. The Seers use spirits to assist with more powerful spells. Isera sits down and opens of salve of Andrate’s Grace scooping some of it onto her fingers. She begins tracing a rune onto her forehead, cheeks, and the top of her hands while whispering a spell.

The spirit is calm, gently speaking to her and guiding her through the ritual.  

Isera feels the spirit guiding her movements as she places alcohol and royal elf root into the bowl. She begins humming as the moon aligns. The moonstones start glowing and vibrating with awakening magic. Isera and the spirit begin chanting as she adds the circlet into the bowl. There is a magical charge that bursts inside her. It is done.

Her fingers are tingling, and arms feel heavy as the magic dissipates. She welcomes the spirit to leave her as she falls backward.

Isera wakes up as the sun begins to rise and a raven nipping at her face. She groggily sits up as she looks around. There are scorch marks stretching out from where she is at. The magic was stronger than she prepared for. Isera grabs the circlet from the empty bowl and fiddles with it. It looks the same.

Isera sighs as she climbs down the stairs into her quarters and tosses the circlet onto her bed. There will be time to try again later.

[lesbianbeiovaz]

Parallel: From Another World 3/34

Rita Stone lives in our world. The world where a big blue box bigger on the inside is simply impossible. However, this all changes after what is most definitely an impossible event. Then again nothing is impossible with the Doctor. Follow Rita through time and space, learning about herself while struggling to comprehend her new life travelling with the Doctor and his companions. 

AO3 | CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10

The Doctor slowly walked around the TARDIS and fiddled with the console before leaning against it and frowning at Rita. Who are you? He thought to himself as he watched her stare at the TARDIS in wonder like an innocent child the Doctor trusted her for some reason as if he actually knew her and he didn't know why. "Rita?" He spoke for the first time breaking the silence since Rose had left him to wonder about who she actually was.

"Yes, Doctor." She turned to him still standing near the doors of the TARDIS

"Who are you?" He frowned. "Not like who are you because I know your name is Rita Stone and that your human, but who are you?" He questioned emphasising his words to make it clearer for her.

"What do you mean?" She frowned his words confusing her even more than before while walking up to the console.

"So Rose and I get dragged halfway across time and space into a Dalek ship, the TARDIS is almost stolen by the Daleks and then we find you, an innocent girl lying peacefully on the floor in the Dalek ship." The Doctor frowned not even believing the words himself. "You knew about the programme, how?"

"The TV show" Rita answered. "I don't know how I got here Doctor, I don't know how or why I am here but I am." Rita shrugged. Half satisfied with her answer, at least for now, the Doctor nodded. "Rose?" He called as he turned some knobs on the console and pressed some buttons before he saw the blonde poke her head in the console room. "Looks like Rita is going to be with us for a while." He said before glancing over at the brunette quickly adding. "If you want."

Rita then broke out into a broad grin. The Doctor did the same then looked at Rose who smiled herself nodding. "Fine by me."

"After all that running and Daleks and stuff I'm so tired at the moment so if I am staying I guess I need somewhere to sleep." Rita yawned "No way am I sleeping on the floor" she joked.

"No you're not" the Doctor agreed. "The TARDIS made a room for you. Down that hall, first on the left" He pointed in a direction. "Should have everything you need.

"I did always wonder how you lived in the TARDIS  she chuckled before nodding a thank you and walked away from the two feeling way too tired to continue on with the day.

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Rita had stayed with the Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS for about a week now, she had a few tests done on her due to the Doctor not understanding who she was or how she managed to get on the Dalek ship. It was mainly the Doctor wanting to make sure she was safe on board and that Rose was too. Rita explained as much as she could to the Doctor as well as told him what she deemed 'interesting' about her life as well as learned a little more about Rose in the process not even asking the Doctor about himself since she already knew far too much, more than what he would no doubt deem 'appropriate' so she kept quiet and actually enjoyed the company of the Time Lord and the other human far more than she expected. More than what she thought she would in dreams she had while she was younger. The Doctor didn't let her leave the TARDIS and wouldn't leave the TARDIS alone with her. After feeling satisfied with Rita Stone's health and safety as well as Rose's, his own and the TARDISes safety he decided that the test results were normal and that Rita wasn't anything but human.

Finally, the adventures could begin.

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"So where are we going?" said Rose leaning against the TARDIS

"Further than we've ever gone before" the Doctor grinned at both Rita and Rose before flipping a switch hearing the TARDIS dematerialise in the sky. "And finally welcome aboard Miss Stone" the Doctor smirked as they all gripped onto the console travelling through the vortex.

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"Where are we," Rita asked stepping out of the TARDIS grinning madly as she then realised where she was watching the high tech cars fly in the sky.

"It's the year five billion and twenty-three." The Doctor spoke while stepping out of the TARDIS himself "We're in the galaxy M87, and this? This is New Earth."

Rose laughed "That's just. That's just" Rita then started to laugh along with Rose who was also speechless herself. "This is beautiful" Rita spoke between laughter.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." The Doctor smiled at them both and chuckled a little while they watched the cars fly over their heads towards New New York.

"That's amazing." Rose chuckled "I'll never get used to this. Never. The different ground beneath my feet," Rose then began to jump up and down "different sky. What's that smell?" She then stopped.

The Doctor and Rita sniffed the air "smells like" Rita frowned and sniff again "apples?"

"Apple grass" the Doctor states.

"Apple grass" Rose chuckled.

"Feels like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" Rita joked causing the Doctor and Rose to give out a small laugh.

"It's beautiful." Rose said in awe while Rita nodded in agreement "Oh, I love this. Can I just say, travelling with you, I love it." Rose smiled at the Doctor "all the planets I have seen, it's amazing, Rita you should have seen them" Rose turned to the brunette and smiled her eyes sparkling

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The Doctor and Rose were sat relaxing on his coat while Rita stayed with the TARDIS leaning against it, smiling and thinking to herself.

"So, the year five billion, the sun expands, the Earth gets roasted" The Doctor spoke watching the city in the distance.

"What a lovely thought" Rita joked as she joined the two, sitting on the grass and just enjoying the company of her two newest friends.

"That was our first date." Rose smiled turning to the Doctor.

"We had chips." The Doctor grinned "So anyway, the planet is gone, all rocks and dust," he explained "but the human race lives on, spread out across the stars." He turned between Rita and Rose "Soon as the Earth burns up, oh yeah, they get all nostalgic, big revival movement, but then find this place. Same size as the Earth, same air, same orbit. Lovely. Call goes out, the humans move in."

"So we just take the planet?" Rita asked.

"Pretty much"

"Sounds like us humans" Rose turned to Rita as they both laughed. "What's the city called?" She then asked.

"New New York."

"Would have thought they would have come up with a better name instead of just placing the same word twice" Rita laughed.

"Oh, come on." Rose rolled her eyes at the Doctor not believing him.

"It is." He turned to Rita to help who just shook her head at him. "It's the city of New New York. Strictly speaking, it's the fifteenth New York since the original, so that makes it New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York." Rita and Rose then both rolled their eyes and stood up. "What?"

"You're so different," They both said at the same time and then blinked at each other.

"New new Doctor" the Doctor piped up.

Technically it's new new new new new new new new new new Doctor Rita thought to herself and smile at her joke.

"What's so funny then?" The Doctor looked up and frowned at Rita.

"Thought of something funny"

"And what was that?" He raised a brow at Rita. Rose then did the same

"Never mind" Rita mumbled shaking her head.

"Can we go and visit New New York, so good they named it twice?" "Technically it's fifteen" Rita smiled smugly.

"Well, I thought we might go there first." The Doctor stood up as well and pointed to the skyscrapers in the distance.

"Why, what is it?" Rose turned to the Doctor.

"It's a hospital" Rita answered for the Doctor.

"Umm yeah," he nodded taken back by how Rita actually knew.

"You look confused Doctor" Rita teased knowing fully well that he had forgotten about her 'talent' which he claimed it to now be in his mind.

"Oh ha ha" he rolled his eyes remembering. "Anyways, Green moon on the side. That's the universal symbol for hospitals. I got this." He picked up his long coat and took the psychic paper out of a pocket "A message on the psychic paper." He showed Rita and Rose the psychic paper which wrote the words 'Ward 26 Please Come' "Someone wants to see me."

"And I thought we were just sight-seeing." Rose shook her head.

"Sight-seeing with the Doctor? Impossible it's like he has a device strapped to him alerting anyone nearly with the message: I like trouble!" Rita joked causing Rose to laugh and the Doctor to chuckle and shake his head.

"Come on, then. Let's go and buy some grapes. Rose also shook her head as the three headed off.

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"Bit rich coming from you." The trio walked into the Hospital.

"I have to side with Rose this time sorry Doctor" Rita patted his shoulder.

"I can't help it." He looked at both girls "I don't like hospitals. They give me the creeps."

"Says the guy who calls himself 'the Doctor' " Rita raised her eyebrows at him and slyly grinned.

"Rita has a point" Rose agreed.

A speaker then diverted the attention of the trio away from the subject of the Doctors name 'The Pleasure Gardens will now take visitors carrying green or blue identification cards for the next fifteen minutes. Visitors are reminded that cuttings from the gardens are not permitted.'

"Very smart." Rose nodded "Not exactly NHS."

"What's the NHS like for you then?" Rita asked.

"Different to this"

"Way different to mine" Rita chuckled.

"No shop. I like the little shop." The Doctor thought out loud.

"And there he goes about the shops" Rita rolled her eyes

"Hey" he pouted "Always good to have a little shop"

"If you say so" Rita rolled her eyes again.

"I thought this far in the future, they'd have cured everything." Rose frowned at the Doctor a little confused.

"Oh Rose" Rita patted the blonde's shoulder and smiled.

"The human race moves on, but so do the viruses. It's an ongoing war."

"Exactly" Rita grinned.

"You're enjoying this way too much Rita" the Doctor shook his head.

"I'm sorry Doctor," Rita said sarcastically. "When you suddenly are on your favourite TV show you get a little excited" Rita grinned.

"Oh, so I'm your favourite TV show?" He raised a brow placing his hands into his long coat pockets.

"Don't push it mister" Rita chuckled.

"They're cats." Rose watched in disbelief as one of the nurses walked passed.

"Now, don't stare. Think about what you look like to them, all pink and yellow." The Doctor watched as the nurse walked away.

"Nurse nun cats" Rita shook her head. "Never thought I would see or say that without making a reference"

"That's where I'd put the shop. Right there." He pointed to the corner of the Hospital entrance.

"You and your shops" Rita muttered as she followed the Doctor.

Rita then suddenly remembered and pretended to trip while pushing Rose and grabbing her phone out of her pocket as well as knocking her into the Doctor, who was currently standing in the lift.

Rita then pretended to run in after the Doctor and Rose, knowing fully well that she wouldn't be able to catch up in time.

"Oh, too late. We're going up." The Doctor shrugged.

"Rita!" The Doctor shouted, "watch out for the disinfectant."

"For the disinfectant" Rita mumbled along at the same time as he said it. "Yeah, yeah I know. That isn't the first priority Doctor" Rita rolled her eyes mumbling to herself

"I think she pushed me" Rose mumbled, frowning at the Doctor.

"Now why would she do that?" The Doctor frowned back. Rose shrugged unable to answer that question.

Rita then stepped into the 2nd lift and sighed knowing what was about to come. "Ward 26, though," Rita said not that it would actually take her there.

Rita then took off her black jacket which she was wearing and hung it up out of the way she also ripped her shoes off of her feet and placed them out the way as well a moment before the warning for the disinfectant through the lift speaker: "Commence stage one disinfection" That was lucky Rita thought. No way they were getting drenched dryer or not.

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The disinfectant had finally finished, Rita was just putting her shoes back on when the doors to the lift opened. "Here goes nothing" Rita sighed walking out the lift to see Chip standing waiting for Rose.

"The human child is clean." Chip smiled while Rita rolled her eyes. Well done, you know how the disinfectant works she thought and then rolled her eyes knowing it really wasn't Chips fault.

"Ward 26?" Rita questions and raised a brow while acting like she was confused.

"This way, Rose Tyler" Chip spoke and then turned around. Rita sighed. She knew she could possibly help the poor Cassandra and Chip but the plot had to continue, Rita could only alter so much. Nevertheless, she carefully followed Chip. Rita noticed the film from years and years ago back when Cassandra actually was a 'normal' person and not a piece of skin with a mouth and eyes on some metal poles.

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"Nice place." The Doctor looked around Ward 26 and then turned back to the nurse "No shop, downstairs. I'd have a shop. Not a big one. Just a shop, so people can shop." Rose rolled her eyes 'Rita was right about the Doctor and his bloody shops.' She thought. The nurse then slowly removed her veil.

The nurse then spoke, "The hospital is a place of healing." She then added in an offended tone "Not for... shopping"

The Doctor pursed his lips "A shop does some people the world of good. Not me. Other people."

"The Sisters of Plentitude take a lifelong vow to help and to mend" The nurse spoke while the trio slowly began to walk through the ward. The ward was mainly all white, there were a few more nurses standing around next to patients.

"Excuse me!" A woman spoke while the Doctor was looking at a patient who was a slightly overweight man with grey skin. "Members of the public may only gaze upon the Duke of Manhattan with written permission from the Senate of New New York." The woman huffed at the Doctor and Rose.

"That's Petrifold Regression, right?" The Doctor looked at the nurse and the woman while Rose frowned at the Doctor confused with what that actually meant.

"I'm dying, sir. A lifetime of charity and abstinence and it ends like this."

"I'm sorry" the Doctors face fell.

The woman then spoke once again and narrowed her eyes slightly at the Doctor and Rose. "Any statements made by the Duke of Manhattan may not be made public without official clearance."

The Doctor nodded in understanding. "Frau Clovis! I'm so weak." The Duke sighed and then coughed a little.

"Sister Jatt. A little privacy, please." The woman named Frau Clovis turned and rushed back, standing beside the Duke.

"He'll be up and about in no time." The nurse smiled at Rose and the Doctor.

"But he said he was dying?" Rose frowned.

"I doubt it. Sister Jatt," The Doctor looked at the nurse and continued to explain "Petrifold Regression?" The Doctor frowned "He's turning to stone. There won't be a cure for oh, a thousand years? He might be up and about, but only as a statue" The Doctor added.

"Have faith in the Sisterhood." Sister Jatt smiled and then frowned "But is there no one here you recognise? It's rather unusual to visit without knowing the patient."

"Yeah" Rose agreed with the cat. "How will we know who it is Doctor?" The blonde looked up and asked.

"I think we've found him." The Doctor turned to see a rather large face in a sort of tank in the corner of the machine. The face looked in pain yet peaceful and certainly old.

"Novice Hame, if I can leave this gentleman and his friend in your care?" Sister Jatt turned to another one of the cats.

"Certainly" Hame nodded. The cat walked over to where the Doctor and Rose were both standing just outside the Dukes closed curtain.

"Oh, I think our friend got lost. Rita Stone. Brunette and just a little shorter than Rose. Could you ask at, reception?" He described Rita, then smiled at Jatt and Rose.

"Certainly, sir." The cat nodded and then walked away while the Doctor and Rose followed Hame.

"I'm afraid the Face of Boe's asleep." Hame smiled sadly. "That's all he tends to do these days. Are you friends, or?"

"We met just the once on Platform One." The Doctor then added: "What's wrong with him?"

"I'm so sorry" Hame slowly shook her head. Rose turned to the Doctor with an unreadable expression.

"I thought you knew." She sighed. Rose slowly walked over and placed a hand on Hames' shoulder while sadly smiling at the nurse. "The Face of Boe is dying. " Hame looked at the Doctor and Rose.

"Why?" Rose asked before adding: "whats wrong with him?"

"He's dying of old age." Hame looked at The Face of Boe. "The one thing we can't cure." She sighed "He's thousands of years old. Some people say millions, although that's impossible." Hame chuckled slightly. Rose then smiled at the Doctor.

"Oh, I don't know." The Doctor also chuckled "I like impossible." He grinned at Rose, turned back towards The Face of Boe and then gently placed a hand on the tank "I'm here. So is Rose. I look a bit different, but it's me, It's the Doctor." He spoke gently as if he was a young child.

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"Peekaboo!" Rita turned and saw the flap of skin attached to the metal wire. "Wait a minute" her lips pursed. "You're not Rose Tyler?" Cassandra spat the blondes name.

"Oh my god" Rita faked a gasp and covered her mouth. "You have eyes!"

"Who are you child and how did you get here?"

"That's not important Cassandra, but if you must know. I used the lift" Rita made a smug grin.

"Hmm, I didn't see you with Rose" she sighed. "Guess you will have to do, though"

"Don't you even think about it Cassandra I know what you're planning" Rita raised her brows at the piece of stretched flesh.

"What do you think I'm going to do Flap you to death?" She joked.

"Didn't take you as the comedic type Cassandra, and no I know you have a psychograft which I know is illegal, you want me to back away to run to the cats and then you will get my body"

"How do you know that?" Cassandra blinked in disbelief.

"Secrets" Rita grinned. "Anyway it's not going to happen"

"Don't be so sure of that brunette," Cassandra said. "Chip now!" She shouted. at her forced grown clone.

Before Rita had time to react she was suddenly forced back by a strong push from the clone. She stumbled back and the psychograft was activated keeping her from moving. "Cassandra!" Rita shouted. "The Doctor can help you!"

"I don't need help honey" Cassandra laughed. "The lady's moving on. It's goodbye trampoline, and hello brunette."

Rita could then feel herself becoming trapped and squeezed inside her own head. Everything hurt and felt like she was being burnt alive for a few moments. She then became extremely claustrophobic.

"Mistress?" Chip slowly walked over to Rita's body which was now taken over by Cassandra.

"Moisturise me." 'Rita' said "How bizarre." She mumbled "Arms, fingers, hair! Let me see! Let me see!" She jumped up and down like an excited child while Chip brought over a mirror "Oh my God. I'm literally a child! A tiny small child. That's disgusting "

'Says the one who was a piece of skin from her butt and jumping up and down like it's bloody Christmas. Also, I'm 19!' Rita thought and mentally smacked the woman.

"How the hell are you doing that?" Cassandra asked eyes wide in shock.

'I don't know, I just am' Rita snapped not liking the current arrangments.

"Hmm, Cassandra hummed looking at Rita's body in a mirror. "That's disgusting" she wrinkled Rita's nose and then took off the leather jacket and threw it on the floor.

'Hey, I actually liked that jacket!' Rita snapped at the woman who rolled her eyes.

"My body now, my rules" Cassandra snapped back while continuing to examine Rita's body. "Not the best but it will do" She sighed.

"The mistress is beautiful." Chip smiled at Cassandra.

"Absolutement! Oh, but look." Cassandra looked over to what was now just a metal frame and a dead brain.

"Oh, the brain lead expired. My old mistress is gone" He sighed again.

"But safe and sound in here" Cassandra grinned at Chip and tapped Rita's head.

"But what of the child's mind?" Chip tilted his head and frowned.

"Oh, tucked away." Cassandra slyly grinned." I can just about access the surface memory." She said making Rita groan and sigh while mentally rolling her eyes "She's. Gosh, she's with the Doctor. A man. He's the Doctor. The same Doctor with a new face. That hypocrite!" Cassandra gasped "Although I do have to say, nice rear bumper. Hmm." Cassandra grinned again and turned her head towards the brunettes rear end.

"Did I ever mention that you are disgusting" Rita thought and mentally groaned at the woman.

'Rita' then jumped almost out of her skin. well, Rita's skin as the phone Rita had stolen from Rose when pushing her into the lift started to ring. "Oh, it seems to be ringing. Is it meant to ring?" 'Rita' frowned looking at Chip for some help.

"No you idiot its meant to sing. Of course, its meant to ring!" Rita practically shouted at Cassandra and mentally facepalmed. She wasn't normally this angry and wouldn't usually result to calling people idiots unless for a joke but she was steaming right now Cassandra had just invaded her body and was attempting to show as much skin as she could which made Rita even angrier resulting in her becoming steaming.

"A primitive communications device." Chip informed 'Rita'

"Rita, where are you?" The Doctor spoke into a phone most likely at ward 26 with Rose now just after seeing The Face of Boe.

'Rita' Held the phone away and whispered to Chip: "How does she speak?"

"Try Old Earth Cockney" Chip smiled and nodded to 'Rita'

"Er, wotcha." Rita mentally groaned again. 'That is nothing like how I speak, and I technically do not live in London!' Cassandra just ignored comment as if it was never given.

"Where've you been?" He asked and then added, "How long does it take to get to Ward 26?" He turned to Rose who then shrugged at him not knowing what to say.

"I'm on my way, governor." 'Rita' smirked enjoying this way too much. Rita just mentally rolled her eyes knowing that if she kept up the comments like she was then she would no longer have any energy left and no doubt get squashed to death by Cassandra invading her body and mind.

"You'll never guess. Rose and I are with the Face of Boe." The Doctor exclaimed practically beaming into the phone. "Anyway, I'd better go. We'll See you in a minute, Rita." The Doctor then hung up the phone.