#i seriously wonder what this grouping of fics has to say about my psyche

[rosignoelle]

mckirk rec list

Some of my favourites from this pairing, in order of increasing word count. All of the fics listed here are aos inspired (i’m a total spirk shipper when it comes to tos but mckirk has my heart for the aos).

where i lay my hat

Rating: G

Word Count: 5k

“If Bones wants to spend a ridiculous amount of his own salary keeping an empty apartment, then by all means.”

Jim accidentally moves in with Bones over the course of several shore leaves. The relationship progression is lovely.

and i can lend you all my broken parts that might fit (like this)

Rating: E

Word Count: 17k

“Academy Era. First they fall into bed. Then they fall in love”

A study in intimacy.

blueshift

Rating: E

Word Count: 22k

“When Leonard shows up at Starfleet Academy, he wonders just how drunk he was when he met with the recruiter. He has no friends, misses his kid, and if drowning his sorrows doesn't kill him, PT will. Then he meets Jim Kirk again.”

This is probably one of my favourite depictions of a character with depression. A little rushed towards the end, but very well written overall.

Better Strangers

Rating: E

Word Count: 23k

“When Leonard McCoy moves to San Francisco it's to start a new life. Something different from his old life. That means putting up with Starfleet policies, combat classes, idiot hospital employees and Jim Kirk.”

Major focus on Bones working as a doctor, which I love, and the characterizations feel spot on! The ending is a little abrupt.

Denial

Raring: E (teen until the last chapter)

Word Count: 26k

“Denial or, 5 times Bones touched Jim when he wouldn't know, and one time he did. When Leo bumped into the kid at the bar, he never knew that he'd met the one who would save him from his loneliness.”

This is written in a stream of consciousness style which plays out very well. A very sensual piece.

Old Man and the Enterprise

Rating: M

Word Count: not listed but probably ~30k

“The life and times of James T. Kirk and Leonard H. McCoy; a series of short scenes which start on shore leave and end in the indefinable future.”

This is not a sad fic by any means, but it feels mournful and yearning and lovely. gorgeous allusions to literature throughout.

This Business of Art

Rating: M (maybe T+)

Word Count: 46k

“Art culture modern AU mystery --- “Listen, Jim, I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Whether it’s taking the skeletons out of your closet or resurrecting some lost essence your father possessed…it’s not going to work.” He leveled his gaze upon Jim’s own, “It will only bring about more pain and upset everyone you love while you’re at it.” – the problem was, Jim thought, in this world of art and business who did he love, friend or foe?”

It’s a murder mystery and and art AU all in in one! I adore how this author adapted canon tidbits to their AU. Great use of foreshadowing.

Touch and Go (Right in Front is You)

Rating: M

Word Count: 48k

“Four days. That's now long Leonard had known Jim. Four days and eight train rides, during which they'd shared three thermoses of tea, several pints of beer, a handful of snacks and texts, and a red and white tin of mints that started the whole fucking thing.”

This is a great story— the author lived in the area where the story is set, which contributes to the gorgeous world building. It also has a nice focus on friendship and an ensemble cast!

the violence of comets

Rating: T

Word Count: 57k

“Jim has never once, in his life, believed in love. He wears his bare skin with only his own tattoo circling his ankle as a badge of honor. He meets a man named Leonard McCoy on a shuttle in Riverside, Iowa who believes exactly the opposite.”

A very cute AU with a nice focus on building trust.

Love, Like Ghosts

Rating: E

Word Count: 64k

“This is several stories, not just the story of Jim & Bones' epic romance.

Jim's story. "Most would think defeating the Narada was my greatest triumph, but those closest to me know the truth. The Narada was a distant third. My last Kobayashi Maru comes in second-- and not for the reasons you'd think. The first, well..."

Chris's story. "I reached a certain age and thought I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted out of life. Then I walked into an Iowa bar and realized I wasn't the person I thought I knew. Not even close..."

Leonard's story. "You know that story? the one where Pike meets Kirk and there's mentoring and bonding and they tiptoe through the tulips into happily ever? Well, this ain't it. Dipshit."”

The characters are so wonderfully flawed in this fic, it feels like a psychological piece in the best way.

visions

Rating: M

Word Count: 65k

“Jim and Bones met in high school. music was something they shared from the start. Over the years after they parted ways, they find each other again and again, and wonder if there will ever be some version of the future where the two of them can be together”

This is tagged as a high school au, but is primarily set during adulthood. A great example of non-linear storytelling, and a happy ending guaranteed!

Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe

Rating: E

Word Count: 70k

“From Variety, June 2008:

Pavel Chekov ("Charlie X") and Gaila ("Bread and Circuses") have joined the cast of small budget drama "That Which Survives," funded by Fleet's indie arm Academy and supervised by Nyota Uhura.The debut feature from longtime script doctor Leonard McCoy, former show runner on sitcom "Three to Tango," centers on a college student coping with his father's terminal cancer. Chekov plays the son, Gaila the nurse. The father is yet to be cast. Also attached are director James T. Kirk and producer Spock, the team behind the blockbuster spy-girl franchise starring Carol Marcus, the latest of which, "A Taste of Armageddon," opened last month. (A modern-day Hollywood AU.)”

The romance definitely takes the back burner here, which suits the realistic vibe of the fic. the storytelling is really well done.

En Promenade

Rating: E

Word Count: 73k

“After three months of weekend bar-hopping and a slow process of elimination -- with finding the right bar, that was, and tragically not discovering who Bones was into -- Jim was starting to narrow it down. Bones was actively scowling less, which seemed like a good sign, but Jim still didn’t quite have it right, and lo, he was determined.”

It’s the dancing fic. One of my all-time favourites, this is an excellent academy-era fic with a plot that manages to be both absolutely insane but incredibly compelling.

Friends with all my Demons

Rating: E

Word Count: 93k

“Someone has to teach Jim Kirk how to take care of himself, ‘cause he sure as hell isn’t picking it up on his own.”

A gorgeous academy-era slow burn, strong focus on medicine and how bones balances being jim’s doctor and his friend which was really nice to read.

Catching Fire (The Firehouse AU)

Rating: E

Word Count: 137k

“21st Century fire department AU. Paramedic Leonard McCoy flees a disastrous break-up in Savannah and ends up working at a fire department in Iowa.”

The character development in this fic is exquisite, and Bones makes for a great unreliable narrator which allows for some great set ups.

Two Men and a Motorbike

Rating: E

Word Count: 150k

Alternate Link AO3 Link

“One of the few constants in James Kirk's life the last three years has been his best friend, Leonard McCoy. After saving Earth from a bunch of crazy time-traveling Romulans, Jim & Bones find out what happens when best friends cross the line between friendship and something more after a late night ride on Jim's motorbike. There are good times and bad times, and times that are just plain complicated.”

A post-Narada academy fic that’s simultaneously a total romp and wonderfully endearing. Also has a 60k sequel with an emotionally mature depiction of two (admittedly fucked up) individuals navigating a romantic relationship.

Switch

Rating: E

Word Count: 230k

“The life and times of Leonard H. McCoy MD/PhD … If Leonard McCoy's life could get any fucking weirder, it would be … Jesus, he didn't even want to think what that could possibly mean, because it's already been too fucking weird to make any kind of rational sense. A Starfleet Academy story, set in the ST:XI universe.”

For me this is THE mckirk fic. The storytelling is so seductive. It’s beautifully written and the characters are deeply compelling.

[ox1-lovesick]

if your mutuals were to debut in a kpop group, which one would they debut in and what would their positions be?

omg more games 🤭🤭 l e t apostrophe s g o

✧ @yv17 : ive

nora's the only reason ive are beating the co-worker allegations LMAO she'd probably be main or lead dancer with a sub vocal or rapping position, always being praised for her dancing skills cause she eats every performance wbk 🙏 the most chaotic member she's like a 3 year old on a sugar high. laughs at everything and can never take anything seriously 💀 THE STAR OF VARIETY SHOWS the hosts are begging to have her on the show because 1. she's hysterical 2. their views always go up by millions when she's on air. tells fans EVERYTHING they know what time she shits. complains to them about work and school and comes up with plans to escape the country, move to a rainforest and live as tarzan with them. constantly in dating scandals cause she's ogling a new idol every week 💀 there's compilations and everything "nora and her endless crushes pt528" one of those idols who goes "i wish" when addressing dating rumours she's so unserious 💀💀

✧ @haknom : fromis_9

K JUST FITS FROMIS PERFECTLY?? she'd eat DM era up. all of the fromis girls are such sweethearts and so is kayla, they'd all have the greatest chemistry, the most wholesome group to exist. i think k would have a lead vocal/lead dancer position and maybe a sub rapper 🫶 k gives such saerom and jhoon vibes ngl. the sweetest sweetie on earth has those yt complications of her just being her adorable self 💔

✧ @blurredplatform : mamamoo

lirin would go so well with mamamoo's concept, i can just envision it perfectly 🤭 lead vocal!! has those heavenly adlibs that make you ascend. great stage presence too, is often the thumbnails for performances and events 😩 everyone loves her cause she's the biggest sweetie!! the entire fandom loves lirin and her personality. queen of variety shows the hosts and everyone else are rolling on the floor at the end of it 😭

✧ @lov3niki : enhypen / aespa

kim and niki are in a dating scandal every 2 business days it's actually ludicrous. definitely main rapper or dancer, the only reason people watch aespa stages 💀 also has great flow and enunciation, her raps are always catchy and go viral within minutes. i see kim being similar to idols like shuhua or keeho 😭 all her posts on twt are tagged #wap and fans lose their minds every time. TROLLS SO MUCH will go on vlive in a hazmat suit and hyperventilate everytime you can see a strand of her hair to make people think she dyed it only for it to be the same colour as the last comeback. probably spoils the entire album and mv before the comeback is even announced 💀👎 tells the members "jou ma se poes" means "i love you" and then laughs at them 💀 has a kurt darren playlist prepared for every live the group has and forces everyone to sing along 😍

✧ @itssmila-fics : lesserafim

the yeonjun of lesserafim, hands are groping 24/7. probably a lead rapper and dancer! she has a really good flow and enunciation that everyone loves and always gets praised for her verses. i can also see mila as a producer! writing her own lyrics for some of ssera's tracks and maybe for other groups too. the most unserious person ever sometimes you wonder if she needs a visit to the psych ward. get's along especially well with yunjin and kazuha! the most iconic trio they're so funny and have a sense of humour that everyone loves! says the most out of pocket things and shares everything with fans.

✧ @tzyuki : red velvet

ej belongs in rv, argue with the wall. the way she'd eat bad boy era??? drags in all the stans from across the globe she's so iconic. definitely a vocalist! heavenly vocals that make you levitate, gives nothing but her 100% every single performance, one of rv's best performers along with seulgi and wendy!! the most aesthetic, pleasing to the eyeballs instagram ever. ej's blog is so pretty my eyes start sweating. a very comforting idol, her lives are always so therapeutic. one of those idols who has deep talks with fans and luvies adore her for it. very encouraging as well! kind of like yeonjun in that aspect, she's a sweetheart and must be protected </3

✧ @deeznutsriki : bts

NOW HEAR ME OUT sree gives MAJOR hobi vibes they'd be such a good pair!! sree, jin & hobi are always cracking dad jokes and laughing while the others just watch in disbelief. definitely a main vocal, it's the desi genes 🫶 literally flawless on stage, hits high notes like it's nothing, dances effortlessly, stage presence galore like there's nothing she can't do. army's are inlove with sree and protect her with their life.

[hermannsthumb]

possible prompt for a university au: newt is the biology major who maintains all the fish tanks in the physics building at 11pm and hermann is the physics student who likes to wander the halls to think. newt accidentally flings water all over the ground and hermann trips, hijinks ensue.

earlier today I was thinking about how I wrote a college AU fic almost 3 years ago to the date, and how I wanted to do more bc its fun thinking about newt and hermann as dumb college students

----

Newt's not really sure how he ended up with the weirdest work-study job on the planet, but honestly, things could be much, much worse (he could be stuck down in the dining hall, or dealing with confused freshmen in the school bookstore) so he keeps his thoughts on the whole thing to himself. Every Friday at eleven sharp, Newt pulls on his grodiest t-shirt and a pair of long rubber gloves and treks all the way over to the physics department to set to work scrubbing down the fish tanks that line the classroom walls. Why does the physics department have fish tanks? Newt's not really sure about that, either. It's kind of an insane amount of them, too, more than even the marine bio department has. Maybe it's supposed to boost morale or something. Hey, look at these crazy cool tropical fish who get to do nothing but eat and swim in circles, sorry you're stuck inside calculating velocity and shit.

Whatever, Newt's not complaining about that either. Let the physics nerds have their fun. It'll be good for them to branch out a little, realize there's life beyond robotics club meetings.

Also, Newt likes the fish. They're cute. He likes to think they like him, too, because they're very well behaved when he has to scoop them out of their tanks and plop them into smaller fish bowls (the kind goldfish in movies always use). He's going to teach them tricks eventually—he had a beta fish once who would do a little flip when Newt tapped the glass a certain way because he knew he'd get rewarded with dried worms, so Newt knows it's possible. Just imagine, a hundred fish doing flips on command. Newt Geiszler, fish whisperer.

Yeah, maybe the job could be more glamorous. It's really hard to get algae out of the gloves, and he hasn't been allotted the budget for a new pair yet.

"Hey, guys!" he shouts as he pushes in the door to room 214. The fish don't acknowledge him: they just continue swimming in their giant tank. In and out of plastic plants and rock caves. The rock caves were a gift from Newt three months into the job, and so were some of the moss balls—stimulation is important for fish! He wouldn't want to be trapped in a glass box with nothing to do, either. "I bet you missed me. Ready for a clean tank?"

Newt always talks to the fish, even if they don't talk back, because he thinks it's important to build their trust. He'll usually keep a running commentary of his week as he scrubs the tanks, just get everything off his chest that he needs to get off. Stuff he's worried about. Stuff that went well. Stuff that went badly. Therapy's expensive, and Newt's student health insurance can only cover so much, but talking to fish? That's free.

That's also kinda why he does it so late at night and over the weekend. The last thing he wants is an audience. Because, one, talking to fish is admittedly weird, and two, no one wants a glimpse at Newt's psyche like that, probably not even the fish.

The first step in cleaning the tanks is relocation. Newt digs his stereotypical goldfish bowls and an industrial-size mesh wand out of the supply closet, fills the former with some of the special tank salt water, and begins the slow and arduous task of scooping out the fish and depositing them into the bowls. "I had the lamest week," he announces once he's about three clownfish in. "I was working on a group project Saturday—"

Then Newt stops, because he hears footsteps in the hallway just outside the classroom.

Serial killer, Newt's instincts supply helpfully.

No, Newt corrects himself, that's dumb. Why would a serial killer wander into the physics building at eleven o'clock at night? Why would anyone, period? He's probably imagining stuff. Lack of sleep, stress over his upcoming projects, residual embarrassment from his disaster study session Saturday, all of it culminating in Newt thinking there's someone there. No, definitely imagining it. Newt can only even get in this late to the department because his ID swipe card is set up with the right permissions—not even the physics students have the permissions he does to be in this late at night. Well, not unless they clean the kitchenette in the student lounge or something.

Or if Newt left the door unlocked.

More footsteps. Closer now.

Newt's pretty sure he didn't leave the door unlocked, because he thinks it locks automatically behind him, and he would have to literally prop it open for anyone to get in after him. But anything's possible. The door could've caught on a dropped pencil or a paper scrap or other weird shit that physics students leave around, and a serial killer could've noticed and taken the opportunity to sneak inside on the off chance a hapless young biology major was scrubbing slime off fish tanks in the middle of the night. Any minute now, Newt's about to end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. The Physics Department Murder. The Disappearing Biologist. (Nah, neither of those are very good titles, but that's why Newt isn't on the creative writing track.)

Step-tap-step. Closer now; Newt's heart leaps to his throat. Step-tap-step. Step-tap-step. Pausing just outside the door of room 214. God, why didn't Newt turn the lights off? Why didn't he shut the door?

Newt reaches for the first vaguely weapon-shaped thing he can find—an empty fishbowl, because Newt's not going to sacrifice any of the fish for this—and, as the door swings open, hurls it with a cry.

The bowl clunks on the ground. Except it turns out Newt grabbed the wrong fish bowl, because (even though it doesn't shatter, thank God) water quickly begins to seep across the slate floor tiles towards Newt's serial killer, a pathetic little clownfish (Newt thinks this one is named Albert, because the physics department is made up of nerds who do shit like name their random pet fish after their kind) flopping around in the puddle. Newt's serial killer, meanwhile, cries out similarly, his arms windmilling as he loses his footing and slips backwards, his cane—

Oh, fuck.

The intruder is not a serial killer. It's someone possibly worse, actually: Newt's mortal enemy, Hermann Gottlieb.

Newt's not really sure at what point Hermann became his mortal enemy and not just some guy I have class with that I hate, but he can pretty easily say that they've hated each other since the moment Hermann walked through the doors of Engineering 101 and was deigned Newt's lab partner by the Alphabetized By Last Name Seating Chart god. Something about Hermann just gets under Newt's skin. It's not his prissy English accent, or his oversized sweaters, or his absolutely horrendous haircut, and it's not even that he takes every opportunity to savagely rip apart every single thing Newt says in class. Don't get Newt wrong, that's all super fucking annoying, but it's annoying levels he can deal with.

It's the stuff they have in common that makes Newt hate him. It's like Hermann's a slightly broodier and more angular mirror that reflects all of Newt's most egregious faults—his arrogance, his stubbornness, his social awkwardness, his desperation to be taken seriously—right back at him. It sucks.

Plus, one time Newt caught Hermann ripping down the flyer he put up on the quad for Anime Club to advertise his stupid chess club instead, and he's never managed to forgive him for that.

Newt may hate Hermann, but he's not about to let him land on his ass in a puddle of fishy water (especially not on a freezing November night) just because the subsequent bitching would be unbearable, and, yeah, it would be supremely shitty of Newt, so he leaps forward just in time to catch Hermann and his cane before he hits the ground. He's so impressed with himself with his amazing catch that it takes him a few seconds to realize that Hermann is shouting and probably has been shouting since he slipped.

"—bloody maniac! What on earth are you doing in here? How are you in here? Did you just assault me? I'm going to phone campus police, you wretched—"

"Hold that thought," Newt says.

He rights Hermann and snags the mesh net and rescues poor Al before it's too late, dropping him back into the big tank with the rest of his friends. Newt can't be sure, but he thinks Al blows a bubble in thanks at him. Maybe he needs to make friends outside fish.

Hermann is still yelling at him.

"I am going to tell the head of the department you're—you're skulking about in here after hours!" he declares. "You're a menace. Pay attention to what I'm saying to you, Newton!"

Newt sighs and turns around. Hermann's turned an interesting shade of red—sort of like an over-boiled lobster, or if he fell asleep in the sun for too long. Newt wonders if it's from embarrassment (almost falling on his ass) or anger (almost being knocked on his ass). Probably anger. "Look, dude, I'm sorry," Newt says. His face twists like he ate a lemon, and he hopes Hermann doesn't notice. Newt hates apologizing to Hermann. "It's my job to clean the tanks every weekend. You scared the shit out of me and I freaked out—it's just that, like, no one ever comes by this late. Ever." He decides not to mention the serial killer thing. Hermann might make fun of him for being jumpy or paranoid or something.

Hermann's scowl doesn't lessen, but he does nod. Plus, he stops shouting. That's as much as Newt's gonna get of forgiveness. "Hmph," Hermann says. "You clean the tanks?"

"Every weekend," Newt repeats. He realizes he got some fish tank slime on Hermann's button-up when he caught him. Oops. Hopefully Hermann won't notice until Newt's in the safety of his dorm. "Gotta pay for my textbooks somehow." Then he frowns. "Wait, so what are you doing here? I didn't know you had access to the building this late."

Maybe Hermann is the kitchenette-cleaning guy after all. But, to his surprise, Hermann sniffs and casts his eyes to his dorky Oxford shoes. "Er," he says. "It's just—I was having trouble working out a solution to a problem, and thought a walk might do me good. Chilly nights like this one always do. And I quite like this building at night—it's calm, and much quieter than my dormitory." He fidgets. "And—well—only don't say anything to anyone, but I rewrote the permissions of my ID card so I could come and go wherever I please ages ago."

"You rewrote the permissions?" Newt says. "What the hell, wouldn't you have to hack into the security system or something to do that?"

"Well, obviously," Hermann says.

Despite himself, and despite Hermann being his Mortal Enemy, Newt is genuinely impressed. "Dude," he says. "That is so badass." Since when has Hermann been a badass?

Hermann's eyebrows jump, and he blinks at Newt behind his dorky librarian glasses. What twenty-one-year-old wears librarian glasses? With a chain? "You think so?" he says.

"Uh, totally," Newt says. "What problem were you stuck on? The one from Saturday?"

Being lab partners for engineering means Newt and Hermann have to collaborate on pretty much everything, including their midterms. Their midterm is what they've been working on for the past two weeks. On Saturday, though, they met in neutral ground to work on it (a reserved study room in the library), and, after a stupid and massive argument that had the librarians hoisting them out by their shirt collars and threatening to ban them for life, Hermann called Newt an idiot and stomped off into the night. Newt still hasn't gotten around to giving the problem another shot. Whatever, they have another week before the dumb thing is due. Plenty of time. Hermann nods. "Yes," he says. "Er—that one."

Newt glances at the clock ticking away on the wall. Quarter after eleven. Hermann's delayed him a whole fifteen minutes. Technically, he reminds himself, he doesn't actually have to have the tanks scrubbed by Friday night—he has the whole weekend to get it done. Also, he kind of feels like he owes Hermann for attacking him the way he did. Accidentally attacking. "Listen, Hermann," he says, feeling totally insane for what he's about to suggest. But he kind of wants to know more about Hermann The Badass. "What if we went back to my place and worked on it together? I'll buy us pizza, and I have, like, a bunch of energy drinks." The pizza place nearest campus is open until three in the morning, almost definitely because they get all of their business from sleep-deprived undergrads. Plus, they have midnight specials where you get free breadsticks with every pizza. Newt could go for some breadsticks. "It might be...fun," he adds.

Fun? With Hermann? Hermann will think he hit his head or something.

But to his surprise, Hermann doesn't hesitate even a second before saying "Alright, then."

"Oh," Newt says. He honestly thought Hermann would put up more of a struggle. "Cool!"

"But I might need to borrow a jumper," Hermann says. "If you'd be so...courteous, that is. I'm a bit chilly."

For some reason, the thought of Hermann (Newt's mortal enemy, but also a secret badass) curled up in one of Newt's baggy sweatshirts makes Newt feel all weird and warm all over. He swallows a few times, because his throat feels a little weird, too. Too tight. Like he just ate something he's allergic to. "No sweat," Newt says. "Let me just get these fish back in the, um, the tank. And—" He waves his slimy, gloved hands. "Take these off. And clean up that puddle. Gimme—um, gimme like, ten minutes?"

"Of course," Hermann says, and gives Newt a small, terse nod.

From Hermann, it's a smile. Newt almost slips on the puddle he's so blindsided by it. Stupid Hermann, making him feel all weird and clumsy.

[carinyms]

I've scrolled through a lot of discourse on episode 4 of Loki and I need to talk about it

(good lord its a whole essay im sorry)

I gave myself a headache from crying while watching this. (I joined the Loki fandom post-IW so I��ve never had to see him die before while emotionally invested and boy!!! Is it doing things to my fragile psyche!!). But now I’m rehydrated and more stable and ready to party so let’s go

Right off the bat, I loved this episode — loved it loved it loved it. Silly, manic in-shock Loki is gone and shit is getting real. My thought while watching this was truly “wow this is my favorite episode so far” and damn am I in a minority with this opinion lol.

So here’s my perspective on some of the discourse flying around, and just general thoughts

On the whole ‘Narcissist’ thing:

IMO, Mobius saying this means nothing: he’s mad and he’s spouted lies at Loki to push his buttons before (see: every interaction they’ve had since episode 1).

Loki saying this to Sif-- well, Loki is and always has been an unreliable narrator on himself. The major theme of this show is that he doesn’t really know who he is, deep down, and he’s trying to figure it out. The TVA is taking advantage of this, and even though he’s trying to stay above it all throughout the series, he's still in a really impressionable spot and absorbing what others tell him about himself. (not to mention this scene is literal torture and he’s already proven that he’ll say whatever he needs to to get out of it.)

But he does admit one true thing when he says “It’s because I’m scared of being alone.” (And like wow okay same don’t mind my tears) but here’s a big brain idea!

Sif pulls him up and says ‘You are alone, and you always will be’, which is like, WOW that’s cruel after what he said, but it makes me ask wonder: Sif is sentient in this scene, but obviously it’s not really her. Who’s controlling her? And why is it so important for them to make sure Loki thinks he’s alone? I’d go as far as to wager that Sif never even said this to Loki, the big bad made this up. (he admits he forgot about this ever happening, I doubt he’d remember what she said.)

I think the nexus event on Lamentis that caused the branch was two Loki’s joining sides. Or, Loki no longer being alone. Loki insists while talking to Mobius that “she’s not my partner!” but she was, and they were partners from the moment they grabbed hands on Lamentis — right when the timeline broke off. I think Loki variants teaming up is the biggest threat to whoever is pulling the strings here — that’s why the post-credit scene is so significant. (Is Loki the only person who has multiple variants of himself who've escaped the TVA?)

And here’s where I’m gonna get salty--so I apologize but i need to rant about this-- but it’s seriously pissing me off that so many people are intentionally reading this as Loki/Sylvie and then being mad about it when that’s clearly not what’s happening and why is everyone acting like Mobius with one angry jealous brain cell and no critical thinking about the context of the characters.

If people ship it that’s chill, but for the people who are against it—it’s clearly supposed to be platonic, and it’s so upsetting that in the year of our lord 2021 we still can’t have a man and woman hold hands without people saying it’s proof they want to f*ck each other, like what in the misogyny??? STOP. This show was written by a bi woman and Tom the-most-emotionally-sensitive-man-on-this-planet Hiddleston — let them display an intimate loving friendship goddammit. This isn’t romance, this is Loki learning how to admit he cares for someone who cares for him in return — something he hasn’t experienced a whole lot of and clearly doesn’t know how to navigate.

(You have permission to personally come at me if it actually turns out to be romantic by the end of the show—but as of right now I will die on this hill.)

Him putting his hands on her shoulders to me was a clear indication he wanted to hug her, and I’d like to think he would have told her he cares about her, and that they can figure it out together. Because these are two characters who’ve never had anyone else to rely on and trust, and for the first time they’re not alone.

And I have to think about what prompted this from Loki. He just lost Mobius the moment after he called him friend. The way I see it, he’s just realized the true gravity of what they’re up against, and Loki is suddenly very afraid of losing Sylvie too before he tells her cares about her, of dying truly alone because he never told anyone what they meant to him. (Don’t think about this in the context of him also having watched his entire family die knowing he never told Frigga or Thor how much he loved them either don’t think about it—) He’s realized, finally, that he has doesn’t have to be alone, that he can choose to be close to people and have friends. And god it’s so heartbreaking that he never got to hug her or have that moment with her. I really hope they get that in the end. I hope he gets it with Mobius. I hope they have a group hug. I'm upset again.

Okay, deep breath, ANYWAY.

Hopefully this didn’t come off as attacking anyone else’s opinions.

Personally, I love this character so much, I’m just so happy to be seeing him in his own storyline that they can’t go wrong here. Objectively I think the production is amazing, and personally I love they way Loki’s character has been explored so far. (Yea yea, was I HOPING that the bad-memory loop would morph into Sanctuary and Thanos and like a full exploration of his true worst memories? Yes but let’s be honest my whump needs will never be met in canon and I have to accept that lol.)

Honestly I left all my own meta about this character at the door when the series started, because for me the opinions I’ve formed from the hundreds of (amazing) fics and meta I’ve read on this character and what’s true in canon are basically inseparable at this point, and no portrayal is going to live up to the way Loki exists in my head. Canon Loki and fic Loki are two different characters and I can enjoy both at the same time :) I’ve just loved seeing the character get given the different dimensions he deserves, and written by people who care about his story.

Also, it’s not over! If he was dead and this was it I’d be very upset, but this is the rock bottom of the storyline, and I think the whole next two episodes will be the build back up. I trust it’s gonna be worth it. SO hyped for flaming sword Loki. I would die for Sylvie, but I’m excited to see him on his own again.

My current most pressing questions are:

-what was the fallout of Sylvie’s bombing the timeline? (Have we seen that yet, am I just dumb and missing something?)

-Obviously, who’s behind it all? (Kang? Is there a head honcho Very Evil Loki at the top?)

-How much does Ravonna actually know, and to what extent is she just a pawn too? She asked Sylvie to prune her— she’s probably also been duped here.

-Is everything we learned about the sacred timeline BS? How much of what the TVA workers believe is real?

-my favorite theory so far is that the war of the timelines miss minutes talks about hasn’t actually happened yet, maybe making setting that into motion is the true endgame, leading into Multiverse of Madness?

(Side note: holy HELL im so excited for this soundtrack to drop on Spotify. It’s SO AMAZING I had CHILLS in the end credits.)

Open invitation to discuss anything with me if you feel inclined! :)

[adoredontour]

all the fics i read and loved this month, in order from longest to shortest!

For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings @greenfeelings 128k

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

nothing worsens, nothing grows by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 102k

and he sits there quietly with harry’s headphones in his ears while his eyes begin to close, totally unaware that he’s listening to the soundtrack of harry falling in love with him.

or, another roadtrip au featuring harry as the misunderstood hipster, louis as the bitter psych major, liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

& more under the cut!

Follow Your Arrow by bitter_leaf @bitter-leaf 78k

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

somethin’ bout you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 59k

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

The Recklessness in Water by LarryOn @larryonsimon 50k

Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

Missed Connection by littlelouishiccups @littlelouishiccups 39k

Soulmate AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on your skin.

With a boring and generic soul mark like Hi, Harry is pessimistic he’ll ever find his soulmate or that he’ll realize it when he meets them. But he could always have it worse, like his new friend Louis who had a drunken one night stand with his soulmate a few years ago and woke up the next morning alone.

before we knew by falsegoodnight @risthebrave 39k

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

-

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

what’s mine is yours to make your own by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 39k

sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.

it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.

And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 35k

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Or

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

last blues for bloody knuckles by creamcoffeelou @2ofusmp4

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake.

He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

A mob au.

like it’s a game by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 32k

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon @twopoppies 32k

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He literally couldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.

-----

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist. What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way. Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for. Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

let’s make a thing of cream and stars by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

Strong Enough by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom 21k

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad that it’s Liam that drags the subject out from the shadows and into the world. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

The Orchards of Jessop by jaerie @jaerie 15k

At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone. Now, just to fill the space, he welcomes lodgers into his home that pass through working as temporary labourers at the orchards just up the road. They’ve all been young adults eager to start lives of their own after one last summer of freedom.

All of them have been much the same, coming and going from Louis’ house with just enough social interaction to keep the house from feeling so empty. But when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement. By the time the restrictions have been lifted, their relationship has developed into something Louis isn’t quite ready to give up. With their twenty year age difference, Louis has to be prepared for the inevitable outcome when the reality shatters the private world they’ve been living in. He’s not sure he’ll be able to let it go.

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 14k

Niall sighs. He leans forward, pushing his mug of tea carefully to the side, before bracing his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. It makes him look like some sort of bottle-blonde cherub. "You have quite the fanbase, Harry. I'm not denying that. And you've done a good job of popping out every once in a while in the past two years, just to make sure you're still talked about. But that's all you've done, and I'm not satisfied. I want more." He blinks at Harry. "Don't you want more?"

(Or: AU where Harry and Louis compete in the Lip Sync Battle)

One Way Road To Something Better by femstyles @femstyles 12k

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

baby look what you’ve done to me by ballsdeepinjesus 9k

The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. It’s a unisex lingerie catalogue. Lingerie specifically designed to allow for the existence of penises, apparently, judging from the bulging cocks covered in lace that he sees as he flips through the pages. His breath catches in his throat at the thought of a faceless Harry -- mysterious, odd Harry -- dressed up in his purchases, whatever they may be.

He thinks he needs a lie down, to be honest.

[louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.]

golden hearts (light their way back down) by fairytalelights @lookslikefairytale 4k

“..So, top or bottom?” Louis asks when Harry tunes back in. And... what? Harry knew he should have been paying more attention but he has no idea how in the hell Louis explaining camp rules to him could have led to discussing sexual preferences this quickly. He must have smiled and nodded at the wrong place one too many times.

or, the one where Harry’s first day as a summer camp counsellor doesn’t go quite as planned.

Still, Somehow, You’re Perfect Now  by FallingLikeThis @fallinglikethis 3k

Harry Styles is Captain of the footie team and all-around popular dude-bro-pal to the entire senior class. He’s kind to everyone from what Louis Tomlinson can tell, and kinder still when he thinks no one is looking. Of course, Louis has been looking. Ever since he transferred schools at the beginning of the year and noticed Harry for the first time, it’s been hard to look away.

All My Friends Are Here by abrighteryellow 

He is about to decline, though. If he has to sit through forced merriment, the least he can do is avoid participation at all costs. He is about to, but then the guy with the microphone is looking out into the crowd. He’s saying things, too — about rules and prizes and team names. At least, Louis assumes so. He can’t really hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Alright, mate. I’ll play.”

A pub quiz has invaded Louis’s favorite dive. Fortunately, it comes with a charming host.

Front porch and one more kiss by Femstyles @femstyles <1k

A goodnight kiss on a front porch

BONUS: (rereads)

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl @angelichl 34k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

[angelsfalling16]

“Spa” Day

Inspired by this post and a conversation I had with the always lovely @wo2ash who this fic is dedicated to.

Summary: Baz asks Simon to go on a spa day with him, but Simon seems to misunderstand the meaning of it.

A/N: This was only supposed to be a couple hundred words, but I got a little carried away, so now it’s 4k words...

Read it on ao3

***

Baz

Simon and I are studying at my apartment this weekend. My roommates are either out of town or out partying, so we have the place to ourselves. Which means that my books and notes are spread out across the living room floor, and Simon is spread out across the couch pretending to be reading his science textbook.

It would be much more convincing if he’d turn the page every once in a while, but I can see that he’s tired of studying. We actually did spend a good hour or so earlier today quizzing each other for a couple of tests that we have coming up, so I think he’s just all studied-out.

We should take a break soon, walk down to the café down the street and grab some lunch. He is probably starving by now, and I don’t have anything in my fridge that is all that edible. I intended on going shopping today, but I have been busy with Simon all day. I will make a trip to the store tonight after he’s gone back to his own apartment.

I finish taking notes on the chapter I’ve been reading for my psych class before dropping my pencil on my notebook and stretching. A break really would be nice.

I look over at Simon, and he appears to be watching me, but he quickly returns to staring at the book in front of him. This time, he does turn the page, which makes it a little suspicious.

I take a moment to look him over. He’s stretched out on his stomach with his textbook propped against the arm of the couch in front of him. His long, freckled legs hang off the side of the couch.

It’s not necessarily warm outside, but it’s the warmest day we’ve had in a while. I was only mildly surprised when he showed up wearing shorts today.

After three years of knowing him, I’ve realized that he runs warmer than most people, so on the sunnier days, he can almost always be found wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even if it’s barely above 40 degrees out. Simply looking at him makes me cold and want to grab a blanket to throw over him.

Simon and I met when we were roomed together during our freshman year of college. Together in that small dorm room, tensions were always high. We were constantly at each other’s throats, and more than once, it came to fists.

After that year, I decided to move into an apartment with a couple of roommates, away from Simon, but we kept running into each other on campus and in classes.

At first, our interactions consisted mainly of hostile glances and harsh sneers, but after a while, we started trading pleasantries.

I even began to enjoy seeing him, hoping that he would be there every time that I turned a corner or walked into the student union.

It began as simple hellos, but after a while, we stopped to catch up and see how the other was doing. Mostly, I wanted to see if his roommate was as bad as he was, but it turns out he began sharing an apartment with his best friend.

Talking to him like that was so much easier than it was to talk to him in our dorm. It was like the space allowed me to breathe a different air from him, and that allowed my feelings to both grow and to not feel so urgent.

Falling for my annoying, incessantly messy roommate was one of the worst things that I’ve done.

Even though I couldn’t stand being around him, I also couldn’t’ stand the thought of being away from him.

I was grateful when my cousin suggested that we get an apartment together with another friend of ours because I had no excuse not to get out of that dorm room.

I never thought that Simon and I would have to deal with each other after that or that we would somehow become friends, but we weren’t just seeing each other for those brief moments.

It was like the universe was throwing us together, and it was hard to ignore.

We ended up in the same study group one night during sophomore year, and at first, because of the way that I had seen him study (or rather, not study) in our dorm room that first year, I thought that he would be someone who would bring the group down by either not participating or by asking questions that only someone who had not read the material would ask.

Instead, he turned out to be a great addition to the group. Better even than a few of the others who had definitely not done any of the reading and basically expected us all to summarize it for them.

Simon did participate, though, adding useful input, which would have once pained me to admit. He stumbled over his words at times, and rather than cruelly make fun of it like I once would have, I was patient with him and glad that the others were, too.

After that, we started to meet up to study a lot, bouncing ideas off of each other for essay topics and quizzing each other.

Sometimes, we met up with a larger group, but more and more often, we started meeting up alone, to the point that it seems like we meet up every weekend, just the two of us. And on the weekends that we don’t study together, I feel myself aching with the need to see him.

It’s ridiculous. I should be over this stupid crush by now.

Only, it isn’t just a crush. Because I’m completely, hopelessly in love with him. And that isn’t going to change.

I tried hating him. I tried ignoring him. I even tried just being friends with him. But none of it has worked. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get over him.

I am completely enthralled by him.

Simon clears his throat, and I’m pulled out of my thoughts. I realize that I have been staring at him for far too long, and I wonder how long it has been since he noticed.

Tearing my eyes away from him, my face grows warm as I start to gather my scattered study materials.

“Do you want to go for lunch?” I ask, standing up.

“Yes!” Simon practically shouts, jumping to his feet. “It feels like it’s been years since the last time I ate.”

I shake my head at his over exaggeration and fight a smile, knowing full well that he ate a huge breakfast this morning, just like he does every morning.

I grab my jacket from the hook by the door, and Simon and I walk in silence down to the café. Then, I order the largest coffee they have and half a sandwich while I swear Simon orders half the menu.

I’m even more convinced of this when he has haphazardly stacked all of various food items on our usual table which is far too small to hold all of it. (I’m pretty sure a couple of items end up sitting in his lap, but I don’t comment on it.)

I eat my sandwich in small bites while I pretend not to watch him quickly and methodically eat his own food. He offers me a bag of chips, but I politely decline. He simply shrugs before tearing them open and eating them himself.

I smile fondly at him, hoping that he doesn’t notice how lovesick I am, and I pretend not to notice that he keeps staring at me.

This is what is so confusing about him. I catch him watching me all the time, but he never shows any interest in me. At least, not the way that I want him to. But still, there are times when it feels like there is something brewing between us.

We spend a lot of time together, and it is more than just studying. We talk and laugh and genuinely enjoy spending time with each other, and it feels like we could be something more, but it is impossible to tell whether Simon would want something like that.

He and I have never talked about relationship stuff. Probably because we were never close enough for that when we roomed together and because the only person who I have truly been deeply interested in is him.

It’s most likely just wishful thinking to believe that there is something growing between us, but I can’t seem to let it go.

When we return to my apartment, we study for another hour or so before I get the feeling that Simon is going to leave soon.

Seeing that he still seems really stressed, I get an idea.

“Simon,” I say softly to get his attention, and the smile he turns on me has me going weak-kneed, and I’m glad that I’m leaning against the armchair so that I don’t collapse under the weight of it.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve seemed really stressed lately, so I was thinking that maybe we should go on a spa day to help us relax.”

“A what day?” Simon asks, looking adorably confused. His nose wrinkles and eyebrows pull close together as he squints at me.

“A spa day,” I repeat.

“What is the word ‘spa’? It’s like you’re starting to say a word but you’re not finishing it.”

I can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s trying to deflect as a way to turn me down without being rude. I’m about to tell him that it’s fine, that he can just forget about it, but he continues on.

“Are you trying to say ‘spaghetti’? Are you asking me to go on a spaghetti day?”

I raise a brow at the way that his eyes light up at the idea of that. I shake my head at him, not in answer to his question but more in disbelief. I want to be annoyed at his complete misunderstanding of what I said, but he’s starting to look excited, and I feel myself giving in before the fight even begins.

“So, you want to go for a spaghetti day?” He asks when I don’t respond.

I was sort of joking about the spa day. I didn’t seriously think that he would agree to it, but I won’t say no to going to dinner with him.

This could be what I’ve been looking for. The chance to see if there is even the slightest possibility of something happening between us.

So, I say yes to the spaghetti day, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.

***

Okay, so maybe taking Simon on a “spa” day was a bit of a mistake.

We decided on a really nice Italian restaurant to go to the day after our little study date where it’s basically a requirement to dress up in your nicest clothes, but I still half-expected Simon to show up in jeans and a t-shirt. Instead, he surprised me by showing up on my doorstep wearing dark grey dress pants and a dress shirt to match with a tie over it that’s a lighter shade of grey. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to just below his elbow, showing off his freckled arms, and he decided to forgo a jacket, but that’s all understandable considering the fact that it’s even warmer outside today than it was yesterday.

I never would have thought that Simon would look so good in grey. But boy, does he look good.

I practically began salivating when I opened the door to him, and it took some work to keep my eyes on his shining blue eyes.

I’m wearing my own dress suit in a lovely dark shade of green, and I slide on the jacket before grabbing my keys and meeting him back at the door. His gaze is appraising, and I try not to squirm under it, trying to ignore the way that his eyes linger in some places, trying not to get my hopes up too soon.

“Ready?” I ask, pulling his eyes back up to mine.

He nods, and we’re on our way.

Keeping both hands on the steering wheel as I drive is a struggle as I fight the urge to reach over to touch Simon. To hold his hand, to feel the warmth of his arm under his shirt, to push the hair out of his eyes.

I know he would not be too appreciative of me doing that, so I keep my hands to myself and my eyes on the road.

When we arrive at the restaurant, we are quickly led to a booth in the back. It’s dark back here, the light above our table bare illuminating the table and our menus as we look them over, but it gives us a sense of privacy.

As I look over the options, I can’t keep myself from glancing at Simon. He looks so nice, and I hate that this feels like a date when it obviously isn’t.

I wonder what we look like to the other customers. Do we look like a young couple on a date, or do we look like two friends who just needed to get out and go somewhere nice?

Can they see how much I long to touch him? Can they see the truth of the situation, or do I have them just as fooled as I have Simon?

“You don’t like tomatoes, right?” Simon asks suddenly.

I look up at him in surprised, a little disbelieving that he would know that.

He smiles and says, “I paid attention to you, you know.”

“I’m very aware of that,” I say, remembering all of those times he watched me, waiting for me to slip up and do something that would get me kicked out of the dorm so that he would no longer have to room with me. (Of course, I never did.) “I just thought you might have been paying attention to other things about me.”

He shrugs and is quiet for a moment before saying, “I was thinking that we could get a few different things and share.”

“Okay. It wouldn’t really be a spaghetti day without options.”

“Exactly. But maybe we could both choose one and then pick another one to share. That way you wouldn’t have to eat anything with tomatoes in it.”

“Sounds good,” I say, surprised again by how thoughtful he is being.

Simon ends up getting spaghetti and meatballs while I get chicken alfredo, and then we get a spinach artichoke pasta to share.

Watching him eat the bread while we wait for the various plates of pasta to arrive is what makes me think that this may have been a mistake.

He makes a big display with every bite of the over-buttered bread he takes, moaning as he chews and letting his eyes fall shut like it’s the best thing that he’s ever tasted.

It is affecting me in a way that is inappropriate for such a public space.

I force myself to focus on the condensation running down the side of my glass of water until our food arrives so that I don’t go absolutely mad with want.

The feeling doesn’t go away when our entrees arrive.

Simon is an atrocious eater, and yet, I still find myself wanting to reach across the table, wrap my hand around his tie, and then kiss him senseless.

Instead of doing that, though, I spin my fork in my hand and look down at my barely touched plate.

It would be brainless to do something like that, and it would end our friendship in less than a few seconds. Still, I sometimes think that it might be worth it.

I twirl some noodles around my fork and take a bite, chewing it thoughtfully before looking back up at him.

He has already finished his plate of spaghetti and moved onto the spinach artichoke.

For a brief moment, I imagine reaching over to that same plate and us ending up eating it Lady and the Tramp style. Surely an “accidental” kiss wouldn’t ruin our friendship…

I shake my head at myself and take another bite from my own plate.

It is a really good Alfredo, and if I were eating it by myself, I would probably have eaten at least half of it by now, but I try to be careful not to look like a pig when I’m eating in front of Simon, not wanting to make a fool of myself.

“You okay?” Simon asks after a moment, thankfully waiting until he has swallowed to speak. “You seem really quiet, pensive.

“I was just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks with an innocent curiosity.

I blush as the thought of our lips meeting over a strand of noodle reenters my mind.

In hindsight, that seems like a pretty gross way to kiss, with food trailed from one person’s mouth to another’s. It almost ruins my appetite, and I decide that I definitely don’t want our first kiss to be like that. If we were to even have one.

Simon is looking at me expectantly, so I decide to be partially honest with my answer and say, “Lady and the Tramp.”

“The movie?”

I nod.

“Cool.”

And just like that, he continues eating, none the wiser to my exact thoughts.

I finish my plate off and eat a few bites from the other plate, allowing Simon to eat as much as he wants.

When the bill arrives, I reach for it to pay seeing as I was the one who invited him out on this “spa” day, but Simon won’t let me, insisting that since he turned it into dinner that he should pay, confirming my suspicions.

He played dumb, intentionally turning this into us going out to dinner together. I just need to figure out why.

As we leave the restaurant and head towards my car, I realize that I don’t want this to end. I want to spend the rest of the night with Simon. Actually, I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but that will never happen, so I have to make the most of right now.

I stop walking and turn to him right before we reach my car.

“I have a question,” I tell him.

He tilts his head to the side and peers at me curiously. “Okay. Ask me.”

“Did you just not want to go on an actual spa day or was there another reason you wanted to go to dinner instead?”

“I just really like spaghetti,” he says simply, like it’s a reasonable answer. And I suppose it is. I just hadn’t considered that option.

“Oh,” I say, my heart sinking in my chest.

Of course. I should have thought of that. Food has always been his top priority.

I nod at him and start to turn away, reaching for my pocket to grab my keys.

“Baz,” he whispers a moment before his hand wraps around my wrist. “Wait.”

I slowly turn back to him to see what he wants, attempting to mask the disappointment I feel at his answer.

“Yes, Simon?” I reply, sounding far too formal.

“I’m sure a spa day would have been fun, b-but I thought this would be better,” he admits.

“Better than what?”

“A better first date.”

“You think this was a date?” I ask, my heart starting to race.

“I-I had hoped it was. I d-don’t know.” He drops my arm and looks at the ground nervously. “I guess I wanted it to be, and when you asked me to go on a spa day, it felt like a good opportunity to turn it into something more.”

My heart stutters at the words ‘something more.’ Maybe I wasn’t imagining this thing between us.

“But you never said anything about this being a date. How was I supposed to know if it was one?”

He tears a hand through his hair and looks back up at me with a sigh. “I don’t know. I wanted to ask you if it was, but I was so worried that you would say it wasn’t that I thought it would be better to just not say anything. At least then, you couldn’t reject me.”

He’s putting into words a lot of the things that I’ve been thinking.

When we spend time together, there is always this feeling stirring between us like something is happening, but I’ve been too afraid that I was wrong about it to say anything.

I smile at him and he frowns.

“Look, I’m sorry for just assuming. We can just forget about this whole thing.”

I shake my head at him. “Simon, Simon,” I say slowly, drawing the sound out. I love the way his name feels in my mouth. “I can’t just forget about this. I want to remember it.”

“Why? So, you can go tell all your friends that I made a fool of myself and thought you would actually like me?”

It hurts that he still thinks I would do something like that, even after we’ve become friends, but I probably deserve that. I’m still pretty closed off around him, so as to protect myself from getting hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that. You’re my friend now.”

“Right. We’re just friends.”

I sigh and close my eyes for a brief moment. That isn’t quite how I meant for that to come out.

“No. I mean, we were friends, but—.”

“But not now that you know how I feel about you?” He says, interrupting me.

“No, that’s not—.”

He shakes his head and turns away from me, but not before I can see the hurt in his eyes.

If he would just listen to me, he would know that I was trying to say that I don’t want us to be just friends. I want so much more than that.

I want tonight to have been a date, and I want so many more just like it.

But now, he’s starting to walk away from me, and I think that he intends to walk home rather than sit in a car with me.

I have to remedy this before it’s too late.

“Simon, wait.” It’s my turn to reach out for him.

I pull lightly on his arm, and he turns to me. He’s reluctant about it, but at least he doesn’t pull away.

I try to find the words to tell him how I feel, but my search comes up empty. How do I describe the way that I have felt about him for so long? How do I tell him that he is my whole world? Or that he’s the sun and my world revolves around him?

I don’t think I can. At least, not yet.

But I can do this: I can pull him close to me and press my lips to his.

I start out hesitant, still giving him the chance to pull away, but he presses back hungrily, tilting his head to the side and parting his lips around mine.

I let him take over the kiss, and he does this wonderful thing with his chin that has fireworks going off behind my eyelids.

I have to pull back far too soon to catch my breath, but I don’t go far, leaning my forehead against his.

“I don’t want to be just friends,” I say finally. “I want something more.”

He grins at me, and it’s almost as blinding as the sun. He’s beautiful.

“Okay,” he says with a nod, then he kisses me.

This time, the kiss quickly deepens, and I tangle one hand in his hair and fist the other around his tie as he gently leads me back until my back is up against my car.

Forget the way his name feels; his tongue feels much better in my mouth.

After a few minutes, Simon starts to pull away, probably because we’re still standing in the middle of a parking lot, but I pull him back to me.

I don’t want him to go. I never want to let him go.

[queenofbaws]

UD: Who ya gonna call? - 8

Chapter: 8/? Chapter title: Seeing things Fic rating: T - Language, blood, general spookiness, cigarettes??? Summary: Sam isn’t getting paid nearly enough for this shit. Or at all, for that matter. (Reminder: This can be found on AO3, if you prefer!) Previous | Next ---

“Not to be too forward or anything, but are you…Sammy, you feelin’ this?”

Hoo boy. Smooth as silk. She rolled her eyes at Josh, looking up at him dully. “What is it that I’m supposed to be feeling, exactly?”

There was no embarrassment, no shame, in his expression as he met her flat stare. Honestly, she was coming to wonder whether he was immune to that shit altogether—it always seemed to roll off of him like water from a duck.

Fucking psych majors.

“This,” he reiterated, one hand gesturing back and forth between the two of them. “This scorching sexual tension we’ve been trying to ignore for the past month or so.”

“Oh, is that what that is?” Sam tsk’ed softly and shook her head. “Well that’s a relief. All this time, I’d been thinking maybe it was the beginning of food poisoning.”

And still, no shame! No, at that, Josh actually laughed. Oh, he was really turning out to be trouble. Capital-T Trouble.

“She does jokes, too! Be still my heart.” He clapped a hand over his chest for emphasis. “Has anyone ever suggested to you, Samantha, that you may very well be the whole package?”

“Just in general? Or in terms of a ghost hunting cohost?” She felt her lips quirk upward, and aw shit. Aw damn. Crap. She was falling for it. She felt herself falling for it.

“Let’s say the former.”

“Oh, then all the time.”

“Modest, too! A truly modern woman in all respects. How about the latter?”

“Mhm.”

That seemed to give him pause…but even so, his grin never flickered. “Wha—wait, who?”

Pretending to check her phone, Sam shrugged noncommittally. “You, for one. Just now, actually.”

“Keep pulling shit like that, and I’m gonna fall in love with you,” he warned, assuming a jokingly grave expression. “And consider that for a sec, okay? ‘Ghosts’ isn’t a great answer to give people when they ask you the big ‘So how did you two meet’ question at dinner parties.” He bent down to the cooler, rummaging around before finding what he was looking for; glass bottles clinked and clanked, and when he stood again, it was with enough for all four of them. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s a perfectly acceptable answer in the social circles my family runs in, but I have this nagging suspicion that maybe, just maybe, the Giddings clan might raise their eyebrows. Take one of these, wouldya?”

“I like how seriously you’re taking this hypothetical.” Sam grabbed two of the bottles, shooting a tight smile at one of the other partygoers before skirting out of the way, hustling out of the overcrowded kitchen with Josh hot on her heels.

The party had been his idea in the first place—Lord knew she hadn’t recognized any of the names he’d rattled off, much less any of the faces around them now—but to be fair, most things they ended up doing as a group were Josh’s idea. He was the idea guy in the same way Chris was the joke guy, or Ash was the planner, or she, herself, was the voice of reason. It was just how things had shaken out. Funny how that shit happened, huh?

So that was what had brought them back to the townhouses, surrounded by other students blowing off post-midterm steam and pre-Thanksgiving break (read: family time) panic, the music too loud, nothing but streaks of grease left in the pizza boxes on the stove, the booze plentiful but lukewarm. Every time they popped inside for drinks, Sam nervously took to checking faces from the corner of her eye, wondering what she’d say if they bumped into Emily or Jessica, or worse, both.

“Hypothetical? What’s hypothetical here? We’re young, we’re hot, we’ve got this fantastic banter thing going on…”

“Oh please. What banter?”

“‘What banter?’” He teased, pitching his voice up into a piss-poor imitation of her own. “As if you don’t know…”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Uh huh. Okay, Sammy.” She watched him flick a casual wave to someone she didn’t recognize, then his gaze was back on her. “Gotta hand it to you, though—when you joined up, I knew the whole All-American girl-next-door thing was gonna do wonders for the show, but this will-we-won’t-we shtick?” He raised his free hand to his mouth, loudly kissing the tips of his fingers like a chef might. “Bee-you-tiful. Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

At that, she had to roll her eyes. “There’s no will-we-won’t-we shtick.” She raised her eyebrows in a silent dare…then stopped. Oh shit. Fuck! This was the banter he was talking about, wasn’t it? Goddammit.

Her realization wasn’t lost on him; Josh snickered, leaning his shoulder against the jamb of the sliding glass door, angling himself more fully towards her. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much…”

“Yeah? Well methinks the gentleman doth think too highly of himself.”

“Ow? Ow. This is how you treat your onscreen love interest? Remind me to never let you sign up for any community theater productions—Juliet’s not supposed to call Romeo a fuckboy. Not to his face, anyway.”

“To be fair, I’m pretttty sure I didn’t call you a fuckboy.”

“To be fair, I’m pretttty sure you implied it.”

Sam couldn’t hold back anymore. She snorted a laugh, doing her best to ignore the self-satisfied look it put on Josh’s face.

He was right…that was the worst part. He was right.

True enough, she hadn’t been totally privy to their old numbers—which was really just a nice way of saying she didn’t give a shit—but according to a mystified Chris, their little ghost hunting venture had seen serious improvement since she’d joined. Maybe they had just needed some new blood, an interviewer who didn’t talk with Josh’s low, ominous tones, or a feminine face that didn’t stare into space with dark-rimmed raccoon eyes as often as Ash did…then again, she’d broken the number one rule of the internet and checked the comments once…or twice…

So she knew that Josh had a point. Ghosts were fun and all, but ghosts being tracked down by charming, funny, attractive friends with (an admittedly considerable amount of) chemistry? Apparently that was the secret ingredient. Now, they still hadn’t reached viral status, and honestly Sam doubted they ever would, but…

But, but, but.

If she was silent for too long, he’d start gloating, and she couldn’t have that. “Y’know, if that’s all this is about, you really don’t need me.”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re saying that like, sexual tension is what the CREEPs need to be the next big thing, I’m sort of irrelevant.”

Josh gave her a look that she had long-since become acquainted with: He suspected she had something locked and loaded and ready to go. Something good. “Oh?”

“Mhm, you guys don’t need me for that.”

“Do we not?”

“Nah…you already have Chris and Ash.”

His face fell then, something in his eyes going flat as old soda. “Sam,” he said slowly, almost plaintively. “I need you to just…look at them…” He turned her around, guiding her until she was directly in view of the other two, both of whom were still obliviously going about their conversation at the flimsy table on the deck outside, far from the rest of the party, lit only by the shoddy string of lights hanging between the gutters and a nearby tree. There was a foreign weight on her shoulder, and when she turned, she could see in her periphery that Josh had set his chin on it from behind. “Look at them,” he said again, waving a hand just as Chris leaned a bit too far back in his chair.

Sam could see what was about to happen in her mind’s eye, but there was no stopping it. The event had already been set into motion.

“Now, you explain to me what it is about those dweebs that somehow reads ‘sexual tension’ to you.”

“I—”

Bang!

Even through the sliding door, the sound was…jarring. They watched Ashley try and help Chris up from the ground. It wasn’t exactly an easy rescue, by the looks of it. Whatever answer she’d been planning flew out the window as she watched them scramble. “Well. Uh…hmm.”

“Yeah.”

“When you put it that way…”

“Uh huh.”

“I guess it’s a slightly more persuasive argument than I originally gave it credit for.”

“You don’t say.”

She laughed to herself, trying to crane her neck in such a way that she could meet Josh’s gaze. “So maybe you have a point. Maybe we should keep—” In much the same way he had, she gestured between the two of them, “—this up.”

“Makes for good tv. You just gotta promise you’re not gonna fall in love with me. This is a business arrangement, after all.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. That’s not gonna be a problem.”

He groaned loudly, acting as though she’d asked him to do something unspeakable. “That’s exactly what people say before they fall madly in love, Sammy! You’re tempting the fates! Dangerous. Very dangerous!”

Sam rolled her eyes, maneuvering the sliding door with the hand not holding their drinks. “I’ll take my chances…” she said in a chipper singsong.

Outside, the night sky was dimly lit with the threat of snow, the air not quite cold enough to make that threat believable. Chris had gotten himself back into his chair, it seemed, and Ashley’s expression was still one of tired acceptance as they paused mid-conversation, turning to welcome them back.

“What, you guys get lost or something?” Chris took one of the bottles Sam held out, cracking it open with one practiced twist. “Fall into a wormhole along the way?”

“Actually yeah, it was super weird…” Sam slid into her seat again, setting the other bottle (and her phone) onto the table. “It took us to this dimension where—and follow me on this one, I know it’s gonna sound farfetched—your dumbass forgot how gravity works, and you took a real tumble.”

He blinked, then groaned when realization hit, averting his gaze as he tipped the bottle to his mouth. When Ashley giggled, his eyes slid to hers, betrayal at once obvious and wordless. She just laughed harder.

“Uh oh, someone’s got your number, Cochise.” A screech as Josh pulled his chair back from the table, shoving one of the bottles across the glass to Ashley. “Someone remind me what we were talking about? Something about uh…” he patted one side of his jacket, then the other, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tapping one out, “…the history of…something or another?”

Sam watched with silent, palpable interest as Ashley held her hand out in a clear ‘gimme’ gesture, only for Chris to reach over and lower her hand with his own. She saw Ash scrunch her face in irritation, but looked away just in time to catch Chris’s eyes, fixing him with a knowing sort of half-smirk. There was some kind of joke there, something about how her own personal game of ‘Guess the Major’ was a hundred times easier if you broke out a pack of smokes…eh, she wasn’t the joke guy, though, so she let it pass.

Josh lit his cigarette, face squinched with something like amusement as he looked between the three of them. “Can’t tell you guys how absolutely tickled I am that now there are three of you mooks around to do the…” he gestured broadly, “…secret nonverbal conversation crap. Seriously. Love it. Love it! Can’t get enough.”

“Psychologist’s dream, huh?” Sam joked.

“What is it with you and my people, Sammy? Let’s get to the root of those feelings.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I’ll pass.”

Ashley cleared her throat after having a sip of her drink. “Please, God, no. We were talking about—” Though the yard of the townhouse was almost perfectly silent, there was a moment where the gauzy, distant quality of the music and voices intensified from indoors, growing louder and clearer before fading out again. Her eyes shot up over Josh’s shoulder at the sound of a crisp click from the direction of the sliding door, and Sam saw her expression change. “—Conrad.”

“Uh…that’s definitely not what we were talking about. Trust me, I’d remember if we—” Chris’s snickering trailed off a second later. His glasses gleamed for a moment, the string of overhead lights catching on the lenses. “Well, well, well! Look what the cat coughed up.”

Even before he turned around, Josh was rolling his eyes, plastering on a performative scowl. “Bishop,” he drawled, speaking loudly and clearly enough to be heard all the way across the yard. “You better have my fifty bucks, you sunovabitch.”

“You’re not getting jackshit from me, man, I dunno how many times I have to tell you that.” The grass, dead and brown, crunched tellingly, tattling the newcomer’s exact position as he made his way to their table. “I’d rather upend my wallet into my aunt’s koi pond than have to lie awake at night thinking about you spending my money.” He dropped himself into the only open chair left, filling the space between Chris and Josh.

Ah. So this was the illustrious Conrad. He was about what she’d expected, honestly. Sam guessed he could be called handsome…in the way frat boys could be handsome, at least, with bright eyes and a smarmy grin, his well-kept hair hinting that, were he to let it get any longer, it would curl. From her position, she could just barely see that, yup, uh huh, oh yeah…he was wearing shorts even though it was only about forty-some degrees out.

One of those guys.

He stretched out in his seat, positively radiating the impenetrable confidence of someone who believed themselves the most interesting person in the room. It almost gave off heat. “‘Sup, creepazoids? Guess they just invite anyone to these shindigs nowadays.” There was a moment where he stopped, posture shifting minutely, and Sam realized he was only then noticing her. “New girl!” Conrad gave her a friendly nod and a gentlemanly tip of his bottle. “Hey, level with me—“ he set his arms onto the table, slouching over them and narrowing his eyes, “—how much did these dweebs have to pay you to get you to join the Scooby Doo act? I hope to Christ they’re at least offering you dental benefits.”

She clucked her tongue, shoulders popping up into a shrug. “Well, it’s funny you’d ask…I haven’t been paid anything yet…but I was promised, oh what was it…fifty dollars?” Sam looked to Josh as though asking for confirmation. He snickered, ashing his cigarette with a proud little flourish; she turned back to Conrad, smiling sweetly. “They keep telling me it’ll be any day now, though, so fingers crossed.”

“Oh Jesus,” Conrad groaned, sliding a hand down the side of his face. “Glad you’ve found another one of your kind.” Seemingly pleased with his entrance, he finally acknowledged the other two, grinning fetchingly across the table. “Ash.”

“Hi Connie,” she sighed, sounding more exasperated than downright putout. It was the tone of the girl who always found herself stuck sitting next to the class clown, no matter how many times she got up and changed her seat. Considering there were now three clowns crowded around the table, Sam thought it fit a smidge too well.

“Chris.”

In a mocking mimicry of how Ashley had said it, Chris parroted, “Hi Connie.”

“Dude. C’mon.”

“What? Suddenly I’m not on nickname terms? Rude, bro, très rude.”

Conrad shook his head and spread his hands like he was about to give a lecture. “How’d you feel if I started going around calling you Cochise?”

There was a beat…and then Chris grimaced. “Eugh. Okay. Point taken. Comment retracted.”

“Uh huh.”

Scooting closer to Josh, Sam lowered her voice to ask, “Is, uh, this how it always goes?”

“You got no fuckin’ idea.” He let out a loud breath, pivoting towards Conrad again. “Y’know, I don’t remember inviting you to sit with us.”

He feigned a hurt frown even as he glanced down, plucking at his shirt from under the unzipped flaps of his jacket. “Shit, is it Wednesday already? And look at me, not wearing pink. My b, man, super gauche of me, I know.”

“Ohoho! Can’t pay his debts, but he can crack wise! Is that what they teach you at the country club?”

Sam looked away from the guys, letting their bickering turn to gibberish in her ears.

Ashley caught her eyes, the corners of her mouth tucking inwards. “Constant,” she said, doing nothing to lower or mask her voice, instead taking a drink and allowing her attention to drift towards Conrad and Josh. Their obliviousness didn’t seem to surprise her. “It’s like they rehearse it. Sometimes I think they really do.”

With a couple tiny hops, Sam moved her chair closer to Ash’s, dragging her phone with her a moment later. “So are they like, actually friends, or…?”

Chris laughed into his bottle, joining them by moving his chair as well. Unbeknownst to the other two, they’d subtly formed their own group on that side of the table; it couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d drawn a literal line across the table, and still, they were so caught up in their back-and-forth that they went perfectly unaware. “Unfortunately for everyone involved, yeah, they’re definitely buds. Two chaotic neutral dumbasses.”

“Unfortunately,” Ashley repeated with a curt nod.

Sam waved towards them. “Then why…?”

“My theory? It’s some kind of like, elaborate mating ritual. They need to just make out and get it over with, already. Move past the tension.”

“Their kids would be so ugly.” Setting his bottle onto the table, Chris leaned towards her. “Nah, it’s just this stupid game they play when other people are watching. You get used to it.”

Of course.

She could tell he wanted her to ask, wanted her to frown, wanted her to beg for clarification…and since she knew resisting was futile, Sam folded her arms and held back a laugh. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. What game would this be, exactly?”

As she watched, Chris pantomimed reaching up and pulling something down from over his head, cupping his left hand in front of his face as though covering a cough. He clicked his tongue twice, and then, in a ridiculously muffled impression of a sporting event announcer (or a pilot trying to talk to their passengers…Sam really couldn’t tell which), he crooned out, “Laaadies and gentlemen! It’s time for another round of America’s faaavorite pastime…Rich! Kids! Fiiiiighting!”

Laughing, Sam dropped her chin into her hands. “Hey, do me a favor? Say something like ‘Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.’”

He ignored her. “In this corner…he likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain! His daddy’s an investment banker accused of insider trading, his mama’s a real estate phenom with no fewer than four—count ‘em, four—billboards in town…ladies, grab your Plan B, because he’s the one in the Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts...Conraaaaad Bishop!” Chris turned away from his imaginary mic long enough to cheer before going right back.

There was a hand on her knee, and when Sam turned, she saw Ashley shaking her head. “Don’t laugh. It only encourages him.”

It didn’t seem like Chris needed encouragement, in all honesty.

“And in this corner…the man of a thousand impressions that all sort of sound the same! He’s heir apparent to Hollywood’s bloodiest horror empire! The Prince of Panic, the Prodigal Son of Spookiness, the smooth-talking serial bullshit artist…you know him, you love him, you really wish he’d stop talking about NBC’s Hannibal and the shit he learned in Intro Psych…Joshuaaaaa Washington!”

At the sound of his name, Josh finally looked over to them, confusion crossing his features when he realized how far away they’d all crept. “This a mutiny?”

“We were just trying to get a better view of the pissing match.” Sam smirked, pulling her legs up onto the chair to make herself more comfortable.

“Wanted to get out of the Splash Zone, more like…” Chuckling, Chris nudged Ashley with his elbow, waggling his eyebrows in an attempt to get her to laugh with him. She just shot him a long-suffering grimace and sighed through her nose.

“It occurs to me…” There was a soft but familiar sound from under the table, and Sam spotted Conrad bouncing his leg energetically, “This really isn’t the kinda first impression I wanted to make on the new girl, creep squad. I’m getting the vibe that you’re trying to make me look like a tool.”

Ashley muttered something so quietly that Sam only barely heard it: “You think we’re trying?”

She had to chomp down on the inside of her cheek o stop herself from laughing out loud; Ashley’s eyes zipped to hers, and they shared a secretive grin. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve already heard all about you.” Sam let her voice trail off ominously, quirking a brow. Then she smiled, twiddling her fingers. “I’m Sam, just FYI. New Girl’s only my stage name.”

“Oh shit, you’re quick!” Smirking, he leered at Josh, “Watch out, buddy-boy, this one’s gonna sniff through your bullshit in about point-five seconds. Gonna run you out of town. Good luck with that.”

“Eat me, dude.”

“Appreciate the offer, but you’re so not my type.”

“Not to be ‘that guy,’” Ashley began, raising her voice to be heard over them. “But we were kinda talking about important stuff before you came sauntering over—”

One side of his mouth pulled tighter, his lopsided smirk boasting a very endearing, very dangerous, dimple. “Sauntering? Not strutting?”

She flapped her hand like a sock puppet, the gesture getting him to stop talking, though doing nothing to staunch his chuckling. “So if we could get back to that, well that would just be great.”

Conrad nodded sagely, swirling the contents of his bottle. Sam saw his face change, becoming saccharine, innocent. She preemptively prepared herself for—what else—something stupid. “Important stuff, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“Like…super important stuff?”

“Extremely.”

“Business-type stuff, I’d imagine?”

“Yes, Conrad, business-type stuff.”

“Sooo…ghosts.” He glanced up from the table, spurred on by Ashley’s silence. “Ah. Well hey! It’s your lucky day, creepy crawlies! Because that’s exactly why I’m here! See, I spotted you guys out here, just absolutely haunting this yard like a bunch of socially stunted gargoyles, and as soon as I saw you, I thought to myself ‘What luck!’ It’s serendipitous, really, shit like this doesn’t line up every da—”

Josh went limp in his seat, head lolling so far back on his shoulders that he nearly took on the appearance of a contortionist. Or a pretzel. “Oh my God, get on with it!”

“So here’s the thing…” Conrad leaned into the center of their little group, tipping his beer towards Josh in a way that somehow managed to feel both conspiratorial and mocking. “Mom’s got this sick property a couple counties over. Can’t move it.” He let that tidbit dangle, eyebrows slanting upwards. When no one immediately took his bait, he raised the bottle to his mouth, murmuring, “Ask me why,” before taking a drink that looked way too casual to actually be casual.

Still, no one said anything.

Sam glanced to the others and had to laugh when she saw them all wearing the same suspicious expression. She got the feeling that this wasn’t the first (or second…or tenth…) time they’d had this kind of conversation.

She dropped her hands onto her lap, shaking her head as she turned to Conrad. “Fine,” she sighed, “Why can’t she sell it?”

The rest of them groaned in eerie unison. Now, she never would’ve said it to their faces, but in that moment they had managed to sound spookier than anything they’d ever uploaded to YouTube.

“Uh huh. Shut it. You guys are gonna be singing my praises to the very heavens themselves when you hear this shit.” He hunkered down again, dimples deepening with each word. “Get this…the land used to be a fucking gallows in the old days, right? Where people were executed and shit…”

“And now it’s a house,” Ashley said flatly with her hand against her cheek. “Really.”

“Really. You know how it goes, the place got razed, they started putting in all these huge-ass houses for the rich SOBs who didn’t care about the loss of human life, blah blah blah…” Conrad flapped his fingers dismissively. “But no, see, according to Mom’s people, back in like, the 60’s, a new family moved in, went to renovate the basement, and they found this bricked-over room down in the old wine cellar—”

Ashley rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. “Let me guess. And then they found a body. Totally mummified. Probably because there wasn’t any airflow through the bricks.”

He stopped abruptly, mouth open in a comical shape that couldn’t quite decide whether it was a grin or a grimace. “I—shit, what? You’ve already heard about—”

“You’re describing The Cask of Amontillado, oh my God.”

The dimples disappeared. “No I’m not! This is real!”

Across from him, Josh let out of a bark of laughter so intense that Sam was worried he might’ve dislodged one of his lungs. “Christ, man, are you fucking—”

“This place has had like twenty different owners in the past fifty years! No one wants to be there because weird shit keeps happening!” All at once the charming salesman was gone, replaced by a petulant kid; his and Josh’s relationship made sudden, perfect sense. Conrad turned back to Sam, probably because she was the only one of the four who wasn’t actively laughing in his face. Yet. “It’s totally legit! The stories, I mean. Not the like…” he wiggled his fingers and widened his eyes, scoffing as he said, “…ghoulies coming out to play hopscotch with the kids or whatever.”

“There’s no way that’s a real story.” It was the most Sam had heard Ashley say to anyone who wasn’t one of their ragtag team. Again, she had that same feeling—these guys had had this conversation before. A few times. “People don’t just find mummies in their basements.”

“Sure they do!”

“Connie.”

“There’s a reason people hate basements and attics, Ash, and that reason is sometimes you find bodies in them.”

There were not words enough in the English language to describe Ashley’s sigh.

“Here’s what I’m saying.” Conrad certainly wasn’t the storyteller Josh was, but as he mounted his second approach, it was very clear how deadly he would be as a pitchman.

God help them all the day he and Josh decided to put their differences aside and team up to use their powers for evil.

“I can get you the keys to a purportedly crazy-haunted mansion. That no one can sell. That’s been through a stupid number of owners. Where there’s at least a legend of a crawlspace mummy. And, as long as you don’t go listing off the address or straightup name-drop my mom’s agency, I can guaran-goddamn-fucking-tee you get all the time, space, and B-roll you could ever ask for.” Wisely, he’d positioned himself more towards Josh as he began listing shit off on his fingers. “You want full access? All floors? Done. You want to scope the property itself? Poke through the dirt for…I don’t know, bone shards or whatever? Done. You want to do an overnight without worrying about the cops getting called? Done. All of this…” he spread his arms out wide, a magnanimous king to his supplicants, “I will give to you. Free of charge.”

Sam didn’t need to look at the others to know they weren’t terribly impressed—she, herself, could hear something in his voice she didn’t totally like. Something bright but sticky, waving just over their heads like an anglerfish’s lure. His self-assured grin did not help matters.

Josh took a long, thoughtful pull off his cigarette, keeping his eyes on Conrad even as he turned his head to exhale. “But…” he said after a beat, ever the businessman.

“But nothing. I’m simply extending an offer to you, my friends, to help in your burgeoning paranormal busin—”

“But…” Josh said again.

And then they were in an old-timey standoff: Conrad leaning forward expectantly, Josh leaning back patiently, both with their eyebrows raised and mouths set in neutral slashes. One of Josh’s feet tapped in time with the muted beat of the music coming from inside; Conrad’s fingers drummed against the neck of his beer bottle. No one would’ve been shocked if, in that moment, a tumbleweed blew across their table.

The cheap plastic of Chris’s chair squeaked when he bent himself towards Ash, whispering “Rich! Kids! Fighting!” loudly enough for Sam to hear…at least until Ashley pressed a finger to his mouth to shut him up.

It was hard to say what did it, but the staring contest broke. Conrad let out a defeated groan, head rolling down onto his chest for a moment. “But…” he ceded, lifting his head in time to watch Josh take another drag, that time through a pointed smirk, “I have two itty bitty conditions.”

“Shock of shocks.” Josh chuckled. His eyes flicked to Sam’s. “Rule numero uno when it comes to dealing with the Conman, over here? Check that fine print right upfront.” He twiddled his fingers to urge him on. “Out with it, ya goddamn goon…”

He didn’t lodge any protest, instead sticking his index finger up. “One. I need your assistance spooking a certain someone. At a later date, of course. No rush on that one.”

Josh’s shoulders rose and fell once.

Conrad put up a second finger. “Two.” His eyes narrowed. “I want in.”

“No.”

“I—”

“No.”

He sat straighter in his seat, bringing his arms up in something that pretended to be defeat, “Fine! Cool! If you don’t want this sick, creepy-ass mansion full of dusty old paintings and moldy bed sheets…just…chock-full of bad juju and opportunities to get clicks, then by all means…”

Josh watched him silently. Then, heaving a sigh, he stamped his cigarette out on the table’s ashtray. “Team meeting. Plug your ears and hum or something, Connie.”

“Oh, of course, of course! I know how it goes…”

With the exception of Conrad, they all turned around in their seats (after a moment of confusion on Sam’s part—for the first time ever, it occurred to her that she was an actual part of the team, not just the newbie looking in from the outside). Chris took it upon himself to hop out of his chair, half-bending, half-squatting on the lawn to turn their impromptu meeting into a huddle.

“So?” Josh asked.

Ashley was the first to speak up. “We do need more locations…and I mean…” She bit down on her lower lip, shaking her head in resignation; she didn’t look particularly happy to say whatever it was. “If you still wanna do the Canada thing—”

“I do.”

Sam frowned, hissing “What Canada thing?” to Chris, who merely waved her off.

“—then this could be a good lead-up to it. An old mansion with a past?” Ashley shrugged, “It’s gonna be a lot of research, I’m sure, because Conrad never knows what he’s talking about—”

There was a not-so-distant “Hey!” followed by Josh loudly stating, “I don’t hear you humming, Bishop!”

“—and I’m positive I’ll actually have to write some kind of narrative line for us to follow, which also sucks, but…I dunno.” Shrugging, she looked to the rest of them. “I said my piece, what do you guys think?”

She leaned in closer to them, raising her voice just slightly. “What Canada thing?”

“It’s not important,” Josh said, waving her off in much the same way Chris had.

Great. She turned to Ashley, eyes plaintive. “Canada thing?”

Above them, one, two, three of the lights strung up popped and went out, showering the whole table with warm shards of glass.

“Fuck!”

“Holy shit!”

The five of them shielded their eyes, looking up to the string of lights, brushing the pieces of glass out of their hair, and just generally freaking out.

“Jesus please-us,” Ashley muttered, tentatively brushing her fingers through her hair. “What was that?” And then, answering her own question, she mumbled, “Must be too cold out here or something…sheesh!”

As though in response, there was another pop! They all jumped again, but it hadn’t been one of the bulbs right over them, so the only thing that followed was the delicate tinkling of glass hitting the hard ground.

Conrad pointed upwards while he had their attention, assuming a blank expression (though there was an obvious shit-eating grin glimmering in those big, blue eyes of his). “Hey, I dunno about you guys, but that sure feels like paranormal activity to me!”

“Shut up, man.”

“The spirits have spoken! They want you to take me up on this sweet, sweet offer…”

They turned back into their huddle, still occasionally picking tiny pieces of glass from themselves.

“If his idea of ‘getting in on this’ is interviews,” Chris began, clearly still shaken, if the way his eyes kept flicking upwards was anything to go by, “And you know it is, then we’re gonna have to blur his face and mod his voice so no one places the house. You get that, right? If he’s really worried about people putting two and two together and figuring out his mom’s the one selling it, then that’s just how it’s gonna have to be.” He looked to the three of them and rolled his eyes when they seemed unmoved. “That’s so much work! For me! Personally! Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Couldn’t we just give him a fake name or something? The fuck do we care if it fucks with Mommy’s sales commission? If he signs the waivers and shit…”

Oh it was weird realizing her opinion mattered here. Sam crossed her arms and leaned in closer to the others. “I’d like to point out that you guys have no problem waltzing through places where people have been murdered, but when it comes to spending time with other living human beings, you need to weigh the pros and cons.”

“Think you meant the ‘pros and Con…rads.’”

“No I didn’t, Chris, and you know I didn’t.”

Josh let out another grumble before kneading at one of his temples. “Mk. Final verdicts, go.”

“I say yes,” Ashley said. “But he needs to get me all the info he has like…ASAP.”

“I also say yes.” Sam turned her eyes towards the stars, doing very little to hide her laughter. The situation was so dumb. Just like all situations she seemed to find herself getting into when the CREEPs were involved. “I also also want to go on the record as saying you guys are idiots and this so did not require a meeting…”

Chris released an unnecessarily mournful breath. “If I don’t have to blur him, then sure. Fine. Whatever. Why not. But I’m absolutely not rigging him with any blood packs, so—”

“All right, all right…” Swiveling around in his seat again, Josh looked to Conrad, keeping his face as expressionless as he could, as though reminding him who held the cards. “We have stipulations.”

“I’m sure you do. You always do.”

They held each other’s gaze for another second and then Josh reached over the table, holding his fist out. “This better be good as shit, Connie.”

Grinning that exuberantly boyish grin again, Conrad knocked his knuckles against Josh’s. “Have I ever let you down before, J-man? Please. I’ll have my people call your people and we can get this all squared away! Trust me…you’re gonna love this.”

[welllpthisishappening]

The PyeongChang Triple (14/15)

It’s the Olympics. The. Olympics. And Emma’s running out of post-it notes to write schedules and plans on and there are more games and more expectations and not enough time for any of it. She’s fine. Totally. Absolutely. If she could just sleep. Or stop feeling as if her knees are going to give out every time she stands up. Or get Ruby to stop staring at her like that. It’s fine. After all Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, keeps promising it will be.

He’s going to win. Again. At the Olympics. And Killian’s not nervous. Not about that. It’s hockey. He could play hockey in his sleep. Probably. He’s never tried that. But he probably could. And, sure, there are expectations and games and schedules and barely any time for what he wants to actually be doing, but winning a Gold medal isn’t bad. After all, Emma Swan, temporary New York Rangers Olympics team social media manager, keeps promising it will be.

They’re fine. They’re going to win. Together.

Rating: Mature. Swearing, hockey-type violence, lotsa making out. Word Count: 9.4K of family fluff. Family. Fluff. AN: The final couple of moments in this chapter were sitting in the back corner of my brain from the very first moment I started writing this story, so I’m super psyched that they’re finally going to be out there on the internet. I cannot thank you guys enough for every click, comment, message, flail. All of it. It’s the best. You’re the best. I’ve written so much Olympic fic. This story would be nothing without @laurnorder​ & @distant-rose​.  Also on Ao3 and FF.net

“Cap!”

Killian’s head snapped up, eyes going wide at the sound of Ruby’s voice and the clack of her heels and he was half certain a reporter had been elbowed in the eye when she tried to push their way in front of his locker.

“God,” Ruby hissed. “Get out of the fucking way.”

Will chuckled, stuffing his gloves onto the top shelf and tugging a sweatshirt on over his team-branded t-shirt. “Lucas, you’re going to scare off that guy from SI, they’re doing some kind of super important, feature on Cap.”

“Shut up, Scarlet, jeez,” Ruby glared, shoving another reporter out of the way and the Sports Illustrated guy did look a little scandalized, eyes narrowing and pen flying across his notebook like he was taking stock of the chaos in the New York Rangers locker room. “Now, Cap,” she continued, kicking at his foot for good measure.

He hadn’t taken his skates off yet.

He hadn’t showered yet.

He’d scored two goals and answered questions about some kind of threepeat and tried not to think of the possibility of missing anything in the middle of the home opener, the pre-game walk down an obnoxiously blue carpet feeling just a bit longer than normal when he knew Emma wasn’t there.

Or, at least, wasn’t supposed to be there.

Killian had a sinking suspicion she’d been in her office anyway – walkie talkie in hand and several different lists on her desk. He’d caught sight of Merida at one point, in between signing autographs and posing for photos, hair a bit more wild than normal as she jogged back towards the stands and an anxious looking Mary Margaret.

David, curiously enough, was nowhere to be found.

“Uh, Killian.” He glanced at the voice – the Sports Illustrated reporter and his notebook and, really, who used notebooks anymore? Why was he worried about a reporter’s notebook? Ruby groaned loudly. “Do, you, uh,” he continued, glancing back down at the notes. “Do you want to just talk for a couple of minutes and then I can get out of your hair. I bet you want to shower and, uh, we can just follow-up later this week?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine Andrew,” Killian answered cautiously, hoping the guy’s name was actually Andrew. He was only half listening.

There was, after all, a game to play and a wife to worry about and it was October – three months after the elopement that didn’t really count as an elopement since everyone knew and there was a reason Emma wasn’t supposed to be at opening night.

October meant nine months and nine months meant Matthew Jones.

Oh fuck.

Killian’s thumb skid along the back of his palm, hand suddenly shaking too much to put his wedding ring back on and Ruby made some kind of impossible noise in the back of her throat, something that sounded a bit like I was trying to tell you, as he practically jumped off the bench in front of his locker.

“Got there, huh?” Ruby asked knowingly and he couldn’t breathe.

He was a walking cliché. Well, no, not walking. He couldn’t move. He was frozen to the floor in the Rangers locker room, pads clinging to his skin and hair matted to the back of his neck and the world was spinning far too quickly.

“You should probably shower,” Robin said, nodding at Killian and he still hadn’t moved. Will was practically cackling.

“Cap,” Ruby said slowly, taking a step towards him and he jerked back when her hand landed on his chest. “You’ve got to move. You know, at some point.” There were still reporters – a semicircle around his locker with phones out and recorders out and Killian could vaguely make out the sound of a camera clicking somewhere. That was probably Sports Illustrated.

“Shit,” he breathed and Will laughed even louder, doubling over as he clutched his side. Robin glared at him, taking a step around Killian to smack against his shoulder and mutter shut up, God.

Will hummed, smile still plastered on his face when he stood upright. “Right, right,” he said seriously. “Because this isn’t the funniest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.” Ruby still hadn’t moved her hand and Killian knew he was breathing – he had to be – but there didn’t seem to be much proof that he was thinking, mind going blank before it raced forward, shifting ahead at some kind of impossible speed.

And all he saw was ideas – hopes and maybes that he’d come up with in the better part of the last nine months, a tiny boy with Emma’s eyes and a stick in his hand and it was always snowing. Every time he pictured it, there was always snow on the ground and they were always outside, on a patch of ice in the park with smiles on their faces and laughter hanging in the air and all of it had existed in some weird, nebula of maybe for as long as he could remember.

Until now.

“Shit,” Killian repeated, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed like he was trying to wake himself up. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go right now.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Yeah, see, that’s what I’m saying.” “When?” “Excuse me?” “When, Lucas?” Ruby shook her head, mouth hanging open slightly and her hands were still in the air. The camera clicked again. “Oh my God,” Killian sighed, tugging his pads up over his head and throwing them in a pile at his feet.

“Kristoff’s not going to appreciate that,” Will murmured and Killian glared at him.

“Deep breaths, Cap,” Robin said, hand falling on his shoulder. “Lucas,” he continued, glancing at the slightly stricken media relations director. “He’s asking if Emma was here when she went into labor.” Killian sagged forward slightly at the word, eyes going wide and it felt like the entire goddamn building had collapsed if the rushing in his ears was anything to go by. Robin’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Scarlet, go get him a shirt, will you?” Robin asked and Killian wondered when he’d decided to seize control of the entire situation. That was probably for the best. “And, uh, maybe go find, A too. His hands all fucked up.”

Will nodded deftly, a blur of team-branded merchandise and his phone already pressed against his ear. “My hand is fine,” Killian mumbled, tugging it back to his side so the small army of reporters around them wouldn’t start asking questions about the slightly nasty bruise that was blooming just above his wrist.

Robin hummed – a quiet agreement that felt a bit like he was just placating Killian – and Ruby had turned her attention to the scrum, shouting orders and denying requests for comments with practiced ease.

“Out,” she said sharply, pushing on the shoulder of a reporter and waving her other hand in front of a camera when a flash went off. “I’m serious. We’re done. You guys have to go talk to Arthur anyway. Don’t you want to talk to Arthur? Of course you do.” “She looks like the fucking Pied Piper,” Killian mumbled and Robin chuckled lightly. He still hadn’t moved his hand, but he’d pulled his phone out of his pocket at some point, screen flashing with half a dozen messages.

Henry kept popping up.

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s how that story goes,” Robin argued, laughing softly and his phone made another noise. Henry was calling now. “If I walk away from you right now, are you going to actually fall over?” “No, he’s going to make a goddamn fist,” Ariel shouted, appearing in the room as quickly as if she’d teleported there and for a group of people who, just a few minutes ago, wanted him to move, Killian suddenly felt like they were all one, giant obstacle.  

“Red, we don’t have time for this,” Killian sighed.

“Can you not walk and make a fist at the same time? Because if you can’t do that then we’ve got even bigger problems on our hands. Ha, I made a joke.” “Ariel.” She widened her eyes meaningfully, pulling her hand away from his side and Killian hissed when she pressed her thumb against his wrist. “Jeez, relax,” she muttered. “She’s fine. They all went with her anyway.” “What?”

Killian’s head whipped back towards Ruby – an apologetic look on her face and the reporters were all gone, but Robin’s muted voice just a few feet away sounded like he was actually interrogating Henry.

“Middle of the third period,” Ruby said, finally answering Killian’s question.

He sighed, running his free hand through his hair and Ariel kept pressing her thumb against his palm, pushing his ring back down his finger. “She wasn’t supposed to be here,” Killian grumbled and Ruby shrugged.

“Ah, well, opening night. There was blue carpet to worry about. How did you not know she was here? Didn’t you leave at the same time?” “No,” Killian shook his head. They hadn’t. He’d left two hours before he was supposed to be on the ice for morning skate, Emma wrapped up in blankets and a small mountain of pillows behind her back, several stacks of paper taking over his side of the bed.

He hadn’t wanted to go.

It was, per the calendar on the wall, any day now territory and the last few preseeason games had been nothing short of terrifying, the prospect of missing something lingering in the back of Killian’s mind for the past week.

He hadn’t scored until the home opener. There was probably a cliché there. He’d have to ask Mrs. Vankald.

Oh shit – the Vankalds. Someone should call the Vankalds. He should call the Vankalds. And Liam and El and Anna and maybe David and Mary Margaret? No, no, they were at the game.

“Cap, you can’t flex your hand like that,” Ariel mumbled, prying his fingers apart and Killian blinked twice, refocusing on Ruby.

“I knew she’d try to get here,” Killian said, but there was a sense of pride in his voice that was probably obvious, even to the reporters sitting in post-game with Arthur.

“Of course she did,” Ruby grinned. “Waited until after you scored too. Something poetic about that, huh?” Killian sighed, but his pulse had picked up at some point and Robin was still mumbling on the phone.

A kid.

They were going to have a kid.

Killian smiled at Ruby, eyebrows lifted slightly and, well, there was something vaguely poetic about it. Maybe they’d let him keep that puck. He’d have to ask Kristoff.

“Here,” Will said suddenly, tossing a t-shirt in Killian’s direction. “Where’s Locksley? Why aren’t we leaving yet?” “We can leave now,” Robin answered. “Or, we should leave now.” Killian stared at him, a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue and Robin just nodded at him, twisting his lips when he tried to make a sound that was supposed to be encouraging.

“Should?” Killian repeated, a flash of terror shooting down his spine. She wasn’t supposed to be at the Garden. He shouldn’t have played. He should have been home and she should have been home and he should have been there when it happened.

Robin nodded again. “Henry said they got to the hospital like fifteen minutes ago. The doctors are in there now, and, uh, I guess we’ve got some leeway time-wise, but we should go. Put a shirt on, Cap.” “Henry’s there?” Killian asked and Robin chuckled lightly.

“David and Mary Margaret too. David is, and I’m quoting here, completely freaking out.” Ariel laughed softly, knocking her knuckles on Killian’s shoulder and he still hadn’t actually put a shirt on. Or taken his skates off. “You smell terrible,” she muttered. “And your hand is fine. How did that even happen?” “I just played a hockey game, Red,” Killian said, running his hand across his face. “God, where are my jeans?” “Cap, you didn’t wear jeans,” Will answered. He pushed a pair of dress pants into Killian’s hands and kicked his shoes closer to him. “Happy home opener.” It took an almost inexcusable amount of time to get his skates off, fingers trembling just a bit with anxiety and excitement and he had to squeeze his eyes closed at least three different times to try and keep his breathing even.

There was a car waiting for them outside the team entrance – he’d have to thank Regina at some point – and Killian somehow ended up in the middle of the backseat, Ariel and Robin on either side of him.

Will propped his feet on the dashboard, earning a quiet reprimand from Ruby as leaned into the backseat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “Tell Em... “ She sighed loudly, shoulders heaving slightly with the force of it and Killian couldn’t even bring himself to make fun of the slightly glossy eyes in front of him.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or Ruby.

Ruby grinned, tapping her finger against his wedding ring. “Of course it will. You guys are...agh, whatever, sentiment is stupid. Make sure you let her know you won. She wanted to know what the score was when she left, probably texted you in the back of the goddamn car.” Killian nodded, mouth just a bit dry and smile tugging on the ends of his mouth. “Probably,” he agreed and he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d ever loved more than Emma Swan.

“Go be an awesome dad,” Ruby finished and Will’s foot fell off the dash. She slammed the door shut and Killian’s stomach flipped. Or maybe his heart sped up. And his lungs felt like they were shrinking and expanding.

None of it made sense.

They were going to have a kid.

Will was talking a mile a minute in the front seat, planning Matthew Jones’ life and his college options and the merits of being a defender in the National Hockey League and Killian didn’t hear any of it. He twisted slightly, trying to pull his phone out of his pocket without Robin or Ariel noticing.

It didn’t work – he could practically feel their eyes meet over the top of his head, knew they were staging some sort of unspoken conversation and, probably, just a bit concerned about his current mental state.

There were several dozen text messages – Mary Margaret must have updated the entire Vankald family, both Elsa and Anna demanding updates and status and time in between contractions and Mrs. Vankald had left a voicemail.

Killian barely stopped scrolling long enough to notice any of them, thumb tracing down the screen and Ruby had absolutely been right. He knew she was.

Emma had absolutely texted him in the backseat of the car.

Hey, so...I broke the rules. And I know you know because Mer was absolutely terrified you were just going to start yelling on the carpet pre-game. But breaking the rules also means I’ve kind fucked up our schedule here.

You see where I’m going with this? I hope so. Otherwise this is weird. And you’re on the ice still. Nice shot, by the way. Totally froze that goalie.

Henry said it’s because the Islanders are crap again. They are, but it was a nice shot too. Good first goal of the season.

Oh fuck. God, did the websites you read mention how much this fucking hurts? Like a lot. A shit ton.

Killian froze, thumb hovering over the top of the screen and he could feel Robin staring at him, heard the soft crack of his jaw when he opened his mouth to ask if everything was alright and he just brushed him off.

There were two more text messages.

Anyway. David and Reese’s are here and Regina took Rol home, but he thought it was a good goal too. And we’re leaving. Left. Past tense. Have left. Ruby’s supposed to pull you out of post.

I know I was supposed to be home when this happened and you were supposed to be home and the schedule’s all fucked, but...we really want you here.

He dropped his phone and Robin did ask are you ok and everything alright and Killian nodded slowly, heart, apparently, trying to work its way out of his chest.

“Drive faster,” he said, not sure if they could or how they’d get twenty blocks downtown with so much traffic on a Friday night, but he was absolutely positive he didn’t care.

Will chuckled and Robin leaned back against the seat, resting his head on the edge with a smile on his face. Ariel took a picture, muttering something about play-by-play and Colorado and Killian, almost, didn’t care about that either.

“Sure thing, Cap,” the driver agreed, weaving through cars, his hand never leaving the horn until they worked their way out of Chelsea.

“You’ll be fine,” Robin promised, leaning forward to push Killian’s phone back in his hand.

It took half an hour to get downtown and Killian’s ears were ringing from the sound of honking horns and near accidents and none of it mattered when he practically sprinted through the automatic doors of the hospital.

He didn’t know where to go.

They were there and he had no idea where to go – David hadn’t answered his goddamn phone.

“Come on, Cap,” Ariel said, nudging her shoulder into his. “There’s got to be a hotel directory somewhere. Or, you know, something for you to do than just pretend to be some kind of statue in the middle of the doorway.” “Ah, at least he’s promoting the team though,” Will muttered, shooting a smile over his shoulder when he brushed past both of them. “Emma’ll like that. Relating to the community even through impending fatherhood. Insert cliché about taking one for the team here.” Killian couldn’t even muster a shut up, Scarlet, far too focused on finding a human being who knew where Emma would be.

Or, rather, just Emma.

He just wanted to find Emma.

It felt a bit like those car horns – her name playing on a loop through his head until he was almost certain the letters were pounding on the inside of his brain, some kind of ridiculous mantra that he hoped would just set him moving in the right direction.

“There’s got to be a receptionist right?” Killian asked, gaze darting towards Ariel who nodded, supportive smile on her face like she was encouraging her eight-month old to stop throwing toys across the room.

“You want us to split up, Cap?” Will asked, mouth twisting slightly and Ariel hit him. The two of them glared at each other for half a moment and he wasn’t sure if that’s what did it – the fighting and the arguing and this stupid team, but Killian’s feet were moving before he’d even realized he’d decided, walking towards a waiting area and a woman in patterned scrubs.

She gasped softly when she realized who he was.

“Oh,” she mumbled, nearly knocking a chart off the desk in front of her and the sound of Ariel smacking Will again were only dimly noticeable over the rest of the waiting room. “You’re Killian Jones.” “I’m looking for my wife,” Killian said, bypassing greetings and anything even resembling polite. He just wanted to find Emma.

The woman's eyes widened and for one, vaguely terrifying moment Killian’s mind darted to all the things that could have been wrong, everything that could have happened in the half an hour it took to get downtown and David had never answered his phone.

There were shoes behind him suddenly and footsteps and two hands on his either one of his shoulders and they probably looked as ridiculous as Killian felt – Robin and Will flanking him and all three of them in a ridiculous amount of team-branded merchandise.

“He’s freaking out,” Will muttered traitorously, flashing the woman a conspiratorial smile.

Robin groaned loudly. “Emma Swan,” he added. “Probably came in about an hour ago. Two other people with her, teenage kid too.” “Absurdly pregnant,” Will continued. “Also likely shouting.” The woman stared at them, eyes still wide when she started typing and the computer in front of her made a noise that, apparently, it wasn’t supposed to. “Emma Swan?” she repeated and Robin nodded. “There’s no one here under that name.”

“What?” Will snapped, leaning over the counter like he was going to teach the computer some kind of lesson. Emma-protection mode, activated. “How is that possible? We’re in the right spot, aren’t we? God, listen, if you lost Emma, Cap’s probably going to rampage through this whole hospital.”

The woman shrugged slightly, tongue darting over her lips as her eyes bounced between all three New York Rangers in front of her.

Oh.

“Jones,” Killian said quickly and both hands fell off his shoulders. He could feel a pair of incredulous stares boring into the side of his head and he shifted on his feet, trying not to actually stutter over the words. “It’s, uh, she probably used Jones.” There was more clicking and a slightly different computer noise and the woman’s eyes weren’t quite as dangerously wide when she looked at them again. “Third floor. 331. Follow the yellow line on the ground until you hit the corner, take a left, another left and you should be right there.” Killian nodded, half turned towards the stairs with Will and Robin on his heels when he heard good luck, Cap echoing behind him.

He took the stairs two at a time – Ariel shouting to slow down, jeez, you’re going to pull something. He didn’t.

He practically jumped over the fucking last step.

“Yellow line, yellow line,” Killian muttered as soon as his feet hit the third floor and it wasn’t quite as loud there as it had been before, everything feeling a bit slower and more important and this was real. This was happening.

Mary Margaret found them first – she was probably waiting for them – leaping out of the seat she’d been slumped in and tugging on a fist-full of Killian’s t-shirt as soon as she reached him. “Is everything…” he started and Mary Margaret beamed at him.

“Go,” she said, nodding towards the room next to them. “You might have to fight David though. He’s gone full dad-mode.” “Yeah, that’s kind of my gig now,” Killian muttered before he could stop himself and Mary Margaret’s smile got even bigger. She pressed up on her toes, kissing his cheek quickly before pushing him bodily into the room with so much force he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

God, there were a lot of machines – everything beeping and the TV on in the background and David sitting in a chair next to Emma’s bed, reading something off his phone that sounded like in-game stats.

The floor creaked slightly when Robin and Will leaned against the door frame and David stopped talking abruptly, twisting around in the chair.

And it felt like everything stopped – frozen in the middle of a hospital room with an absurd amount of machines and half a hockey team a few feet away. Emma tilted her head when her eyes met his, the smile on her face shooting straight through Killian, like it had landed right in the center of him or something equally absurd.

“Nice shot,” she said, gritting her teeth tightly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Killian moved out of instinct, hand wrapped tightly around hers in an instant and Emma glared at the bruise on his wrist. “It’s fine, Swan,” he said softly, left hand reaching up to brush away the hair that had fallen across her forehead. “I’m fine.” “That makes three of us.” He nearly fell over. And he wasn’t sure who squeezed the other’s hand harder, trying to will every single human emotion into one movement.

“Yeah?” Killian asked and his voice felt like it scratched his throat.

Emma nodded. “I mean, saying better now seems pretty lame, right? So, yeah, we’re fine.” “The doctor?” “Around,” Emma shrugged and he sighed softly. She’d done it for the reaction. He knew it. “Was here a few minutes ago. Apparently we’re almost to the active stage, which sounded kind of menacing, but means there’s epidural options. So, you know, cool.” “Cool,” he repeated. He should probably stop doing that. He should probably remember a few other words. Or maybe sit down. He couldn’t sit down.

David had started reading hockey stats again.

“Uh, David,” Killian interrupted and Emma’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “I, uh, I got it. I was there. I can relay stats pretty easily.” It wasn’t the get out it probably should have been, but David seemed to understand, nodding slowly as he stood up. He kissed the top of Emma’s forehead, mumbling something under his breath that left her laughing slightly, body shaking on top of another pile of pillows.

“How’d you get so many pillows?” Killian asked after David left, nodding towards the collection behind her back.

“David stole them.” “Stole them? Emma nodded. “Went on some kind of room-to-room search, demanding their pillows for a needy expectant mother with back issues. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” Killian barked out a laugh, but he was still standing up, shuffling his weight between his feet and trying to remind himself how fine all of this was going to be.

“Sit,” Emma said. “You’re freaking me out.” “I’m freaking you out?” Killian asked and they were back to repeating. Emma twisted her eyebrows slightly, one side of her mouth pulled up at the challenge and Killian ran his hand through his hair, tugging tightly on the back so he wouldn’t start just yelling words at her.

“What happened to your hand?” “Got hit in the last couple of minutes. They pulled the goalie. Was trying to get the puck out of the corner.” Emma hummed in understanding and she couldn’t really cross her arms, but she had a tight hold on the sheet. “I didn’t see that part.” “So I heard.” She sighed softly, head sagging forward and he’d jumped so quickly from frustrated to worried, he was certain he actually had whiplash. Killian’s hand darted forward again, pulling her fingers away from low-thread count fabric and Emma’s eyes widened slightly at the vaguely ridiculous overreaction.

“Jeez, stand down,” she muttered, but there was a smile on her face again. “Still as fine as promised.” “Swan…” Emma clicked her tongue, squeezing his hand again and tracing her thumb over a raised scar, moving up towards his ring. “I totally fucked up, huh?” “What?” “You’re mad I was there,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mer said you looked somewhere close to terrifying on the carpet. She couldn't find a single picture of you where you weren’t glowering.” “Glowering?” “Her word.” “I wasn’t glowering, love,” Killian argued, tilting his head when Emma tried to shift to the side of the bed so he could sit on the edge. “God, Emma, stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself.” “That doesn’t even make any sense.” “Just...stop.” “Ok, I know you’re mad I was there and I wasn’t supposed to be and I knew, I knew, everything was going to be fine,” she started, rushing over the words like she was nervous he was going to interrupt her if she didn’t. “And I get that. I shouldn’t have been there, but I wanted to make sure everything worked and the pictures went up and…” She trailed off slowly, huffing out her breath and staring at him with a distinct challenge in her gaze. “What?” Killian asked.

“I couldn't miss the home opener,” Emma whispered. “I mean, we’ve won every year and you guys were going to raise another banner and I couldn't...I know I wasn’t supposed to. There were rules about taking it easy or something absurdly old fashioned, but, well, I wanted to be there.”

He gaped at her, twisting slightly so he could try and meet her gaze or maybe kiss her and he didn’t get a chance – Emma wincing and squeezing his hand again and he hadn’t really been timing, but that seemed very close to the last one.

Active stage.

That’s what the website had called it.

“Swan,” he mumbled and she shook her head tightly, eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on his hand was probably doing damage to his blood flow. And that bruise just above his wrist – right where her thumb had landed.

“Don’t be mad,” she said, hissing out the words through her teeth and there was a knock on the door, the hinges creaking slightly when it opened.

Killian brushed his lips over the top of her hair, free hand finding the back of her neck and the curve of her shoulders and she thought she’d fucked up. They were the two dumbest people in the entire goddamn world.

“I’m not,” Killian promised and Emma made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “I promise, love. I was...terrified.” “What?” “You’re right. You totally weren’t supposed to be there, but I knew you were and I knew why you were. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that I wasn’t there.”

The doctor had shown up at some point and was, quite clearly, trying to do her job – muttering instructions and something about shifting Emma’s feet and the time in between contractions – but neither one of them moved, staring at each other with something that felt a bit like wonder.

“I don’t understand,” Emma admitted.

Killian took a deep breath, the knot of something that had been wrapped around several of internal organs since Ruby found him in post loosening just a bit. “I wasn’t there, Swan,” he sighed. “I should have been there when it happened. Not on the ice, God. What would have happened if it had been last week?” He shook his head slowly, laughing in spite of himself and Emma stared at him like she’d never quite seen him before.

“I want…” Killian continued slowly, “I want to be there for everything, Swan. And I already wasn’t. The very first thing and I was playing a game.” She blinked once, tears falling down her cheeks and her mouth opened twice before she spoke again. “I can’t actually kiss you because you’ll probably tell me it isn’t safe or something stupid,” she said with a watery laugh. “And you didn’t miss anything. Nothing’s happened.” “Emma.” “No, no, we’re not doing that,” she said, pushing a finger against his arm. “You are...you’re not missing anything. And I know you won’t. I know you’re here.” “Indefinitely,” he promised and Emma nodded.

“Yeah, that was kind of the plan.”

It took six hours and forty-two minutes.

They were, easily, the longest and shortest six hours and forty-two minutes of his entire life.

Active stage had, apparently, been some kind of lie and Emma had rolled her whole head at that particular bit of news, grumbling under breath when the doctor promised an epidural soon.

Soon, however, was two hours later and then more waiting and then active and he didn’t move away from Emma’s side once, hand practically glued to hers.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

Six hours and forty-two minutes later and there was crying in that hospital room, a noise that seemed to seep into every inch of him and through him and then back in – just to make sure that it hit all those dark, desperate spots that never believed he deserved any of it.

Emma slumped back on the pillows, hair sticking to her forehead and tears in her own eyes and Killian had lost track of all of his emotions, a mess of happy and overwhelmed and fighting the urge to scream about how goddamn lucky he was for the rest of his life.

They’d taken the baby away as soon as he’d started crying – the websites said they would – and Killian couldn’t pull his eyes away from the doctor, back turned and bent over a baby that didn’t have an officially announced gender.

Emma squeezed Killian’s hand, not quite as tight as it had been six hours and forty-two minutes before, and he bent down to kiss across her temple, brushing his lips over her forehead and the bridge of her nose and her mouth, tracing out some kind of nonsensical pattern over her entire face while he mumbled out every compliment he could think of.

Brilliant. Perfect. Incredible. Amazing.

He felt her smile against his cheek, hand coming up to rest on his forearm. “Is he ok?” she asked softly and Killian nodded before he could stop himself.

“Of course he is.” The doctor coughed quietly behind them and the crying hadn’t stopped yet. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones?” They snapped around at the sound and Killian was never going to stop smiling. Ever. Even if they didn’t win another game the rest of the season.

He ran into the waiting room ten minutes later, chest heaving as he rested his hand on the back of one of the plastic chairs. They were all still there – Ruby and Mary Margaret each with a head on one of David’s shoulders and Regina had brought Roland back at some point, both of them curled up against Robin while Henry and Will were sprawled out across two rows of seats, team-branded sweatshirts under their head.

Robin woke up first and Killian refused to even consider all the reasons for that, something about game-day schedules and spending far too much time together. He blinked blearily when he looked up, running a hand across his face, but his eyes widened as soon as he saw Killian standing there.

“Yeah?” Robin asked.

Killian nodded, a shaky laugh working its way out of his chest while he tried to stay upright. “It’s a boy.” “Class of 2036,” Robin said, glancing over his shoulder. “Scarlet,” he hissed. “Scarlet, wake up.” Will groaned, knocking his sweatshirt on the ground when he swung his legs off the seat. “What happened?” His head moved like it was on a swivel, darting between Killian and Robin and back to Killian. “Cap?” “Matthew Jones,” Killian said, a rush of pride shooting through his whole body.

“Holy shit.” Exactly.

Roland shifted against Robin, a soft grumble at the idea of being woken up, and Killian had no idea what time it was. It must have been early. Or late.

Six hours and forty-two minutes.

“Go,” Robin said, nodding back to the yellow line and Emma was a few away holding their son. They had a son. “We’ll wake ‘em all up and bring them in soon’ish.” Killian barely even nodded before moving back towards the half-open door around the corner, pushing open slowly and his breath caught in his throat when he took in the sight in front of him.

She was still holding him – Matthew Jones cradled against Emma and wrapped in a hospital-provided blanket that they’d have to switch out for the one Mary Margaret bought them before she came into the room. Emma didn’t move her head when he walked in, but the quirk of her lips made it obvious she knew he was there, finger tracing over the curve of Matthew’s arm and around his elbow.

“Any of them awake?” she asked, eyes darting towards Killian.

“Locksley and Scarlet.” “Figured as much.” Emma glanced up at him and all those organs that had been tied up and tied down and just a bit too close to self-deprecating a few hours earlier, felt like they were going to burst, emotion flooding every inch of his system.

“He stopped crying,” he muttered, leaning forward to brush his thumb across the top of a foot. God, he was tiny.

“Seems like a win already.” “Parents of the year. We should get a trophy.” “Put it in the kitchen.” Killian laughed softly, kissing the top of Emma’s hair and if this was it, if this was as good as it ever got, then he’d never be able to come up with a single complaint or regret.

“I love you so much,” he said, words mumbled against her forehead. Emma sighed, resting her head on his chest and he could hear footsteps on the other side of the door.

“I love you too.”

Mary Margaret knocked. Of course she did.

Emma laughed against his stomach, closing her eyes lightly, but there was still a smile on her face and no one had woken Matthew up yet.

Parents of the year.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret whispered, twisting around the doorframe with a hopeful expression on her face. “Can we see him?” Emma nodded, eyes just a bit glossy when Mary Margaret and David walked into the room. “Oh,” Mary Margaret breathed, hand finding David’s immediately. “He’s...oh, Emma.” “That’s super articular, Reese’s.” “Matthew,” she whispered, reaching out a cautious hand towards the blanket they hadn’t actually changed.. “Hey, Matthew.”

“Matthew Jones,” David repeated slowly and it sounded like he was testing out the name. “It’ll look good on the Cup.”

Emma glanced at Killian, lip tugged tightly in between her teeth and he nodded in response to her unspoken question.

They hadn’t told anyone that part yet.

David’s head snapped between them, eyes narrowed just a bit as he rested his hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “What?” he asked.

“You didn’t ask his full name,” Emma muttered. David froze – detectives were, after all, good at picking up on clues. And Mary Margaret was somewhere in the realm of weeping, tears streaming down her face, leaving streaks through her slightly smudged eyeliner.

Emma rolled her shoulders, sitting up a bit straighter and it all felt incredibly official. “Matthew David Jones,” she said, emphasizing every letter and every syllable and no one said anything for what felt like several decades. Matthew had probably already been drafted.

David shook his head, exhaling loudly and he didn’t even try to hide the tears on his cheeks. “Em,” he said, a stunned sound that seemed to echo off the walls.

“Thanks, Dad,” Emma mumbled and the whole room was a mess – red eyes and tear-stained faces and Ariel had worked her way in at some point, camera shutter clicking in the somehow still-silent space.

Mary Margaret sniffled, dragging her knuckles underneath her eyes and Emma let out a shaky laugh, shifting the baby in her arms slightly. That woke him up – and the silent space wasn’t quite so silent anymore, filled with cries and half the Rangers roster and demands from all of them to see the baby and hold the baby and provide the baby with tips on how best to hold a hockey stick.

They were all ushered out half an hour later, promises of updates if anything monumental managed to happen in the next day and none of them looked particularly awake, but they’d all stayed. They’d all waited.

And there were murmurs of congratulations and a few more photos and promises that he’d go first overall before they did actually leave, Scarlet actually pushed out the door by a very determined nurse, and Killian sank onto the corner of the bed as soon as the door closed behind them.

“We did it,” Emma mumbled, head falling against his shoulder and there wasn’t nearly enough space in that bed for her, let alone both of them and a baby on her chest, but he’d be damned if any of them moved.

“He’s perfect, Swan.” “You’ll get no arguments from me.” “Good. I’m too tired for that.”

She scoffed, burrowing her head further against his neck and Killian’s hand fell on Matthew’s back. His legs were tangled up with Emma’s and the sheets and it all kind of hit him at once – almost like getting checked into the boards the night before.

He’d told her once – wrapped up in different sheets and a different bed on the other side of the country – that she was it, everything he’d ever thought he’d wanted in some kind of mythical happy ending, he’d found in Emma.

And he hadn’t been lying.

He’d meant it then with every ounce of him, every part of him that was so completely in love with her, he couldn’t ever quite believe it.

It wasn’t even remotely close to enough. Not if this was it. If this was it, if this was happily ever after, then Killian couldn’t even come up with the words to describe it, couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact adjective to describe the feeling and getting everything he wanted might be selfish, but it felt pretty damn good too.

“He’s going to BU,” Emma muttered sleepily. “So you should probably just tell Locksley that now. You guys are both going to lose your bet.

“Go to sleep, love.” “You’re only saying that because you know I’m right.” “You want to bet?” “Sure. Stakes.” “Nothing, Swan,” Killian answered honestly and Emma made a noise in the back of her throat at the abrupt shift from banter. “There’s not anything else left to get. And I’m not betting on any of this.”

“Sap,” she accused.

He hummed in agreement. “We’ve got a kid, Swan.”

“A perfect one.” “Exactly.” “I am kind of exhausted.” “Go to sleep, love,” Killian repeated. “I’ll be here.”

“This is easily the dumbest idea we've ever come up with,” Emma grumbled, hissing the words into the phone and Killian had to agree with her.

“Tradition, Swan. It’s supposed to be tradition.” “It’s stupid.” “You married a superstitious athlete, Swan, I don’t know what you expected.” “Exactly,” she snapped and Killian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “We’re already married. This is some kind of weird, formality so our friends get off our backs.” Killian shifted, stretching his legs across the mattress and the bed was frustratingly large without another person next to him. “What? You don’t want to get married again? That’s romantic, love. Plus half of this idea was Mary Margaret’s, I refuse to take full blame for it.” “Yeah, well, she’s just as stupid.” “Sentiment.” Emma groaned, a bed creaking on her end of the phone. “They have given me the bed,” she admitted. “Something about getting beauty sleep or something absurd. We. Are. Already. Married. For two years! Almost two years. Whatever. Two years, Killian!”

“I’ve been here, Swan.” “You are impossible,” she sighed.

“And rumor has it your dress is somewhere close to incredible.” “Stop gossiping with Ruby.” “You know what my tux looks like,” he accused, grabbing another pillow to prop under his head and it was far too quiet in the apartment as well. That seemed like a problem. Killian sat up, eyebrows pulled low like he was waiting for the inevitable explosion or crash and it came five seconds later a shrill da coming from the room across the hall.

“There it is,” Killian muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and Emma sighed softly on the other end of the phone.

“Dumbest. Idea. Ever.”

“He was asleep,” he reasoned.

“Was being the operative word here. And I know about your tux because Ruby doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.”

There was another cry – this one a bit more desperate than it had been before and Killian gripped the phone a little tighter when Emma made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s fine, love,” he promised, but he was trying to reassure himself as well.

It was the dumbest idea in the history of the world.

“What’s the matter, Matt?” Killian asked, shuffling cautiously through the line of toys and Rangers gear and a, frankly, absurd amount of hockey sticks.

Everyone kept buying him hockey sticks.

It didn’t make sense at all.

They were all four feet taller than him.

“Mama?” Matt asked, eyes wide and hands gripping the blanket in his hands tightly.

Killian swallowed, the note of terror in Matt’s voice catching him off-guard and maybe they shouldn’t have done this.

He hadn’t really wanted to – the prospect of sleeping in that giant bed with too many pillows not entirely appealing at first consideration – but Mary Margaret had been adamant, something about tradition and the rules and Emma’s jaw had tightened when she’d referred to it as the do-over wedding.

It wasn’t a do-over anything.

It was an excuse to get dressed up and give into friends and family who’d been asking for two years. It was a repeat, that was all, a wedding defense that felt a bit like a penalty kill at the same time, fighting against the sheer force of Mary Margaret and Ruby’s combined will when it came to tradition and dresses.

So, they’d agreed to most of it – there would only be four appetizer choices – and nodded their heads at the prospect of sleeping in two different apartments before they got married. Again.

“She's just gone for tonight,” Killian promised, sinking onto the edge of Matt’s bed as he tried to pull his fingers away from the blanket.

Matthew made a noise that seemed to scream unconvinced and Killian’s heart hammered against his chest. “She’s with M’s and Uncle David. So that she can get ready with them before tomorrow.”

The explanation didn't really work, far too many complex words for a sixteen-month-old toddler who seemed determined to try and rip Killian's shirt apart, but there were some garbled words and the tears seemed to be slowing. 

Killian hummed and Emma laughed several dozen blocks away. “We’ve explained this,” she mumbled, clearly trying to keep her voice low.

“It doesn’t appear to have sunk in,” Killian said softly, what felt like a glove sticking into the bottom of his spine.

“Retract that parent of the year, two years running trophy.” Killian scoffed under his breath and it was definitely a glove, one of the fingers bending when he tried to lean against the wall behind him. “Here, come here, kid,” he said, twisting his body in some impossible angle so Matt could crawl against his side, a pretzel of arms and legs that, somehow, both seemed to threaten hitting him in the face.

Matt mumbled another string of sounds, something that sounded suspiciously a lot like M's and Killian was slightly stunned at his son’s apparent ability to repeat words back verbatim.

“You hear that diction, Swan?” he mumbled and he could practically hear Emma rolling her eyes.

“Speaker,” she said sharply and Killian stuttered at the tone of her voice. There wasn’t much room for argument.

“Swan.” “Swan?” Matt asked knowingly. He was far too wide awake for whatever time it was. They seemed to be going backwards.

The phone clicked and Killian pulled back quickly, staring at a blank screen. She’d hung up. He was half a breath away from calling Emma back - ringtone in Mary Margaret and David’s loft be damned – when his phone started to ring, her photo flashing across the screen and he was smiling before he realized.

She was goddamn brilliant.

Matthew yelled, blanket forgotten in his determination to try and climb up Killian’s side and pry the phone out of his hands. Nearly two years and two seasons of hockey later and Matthew Jones might be the most advanced toddler in the entire world – at least when it came to FaceTiming his parents.

Road trips were, now, nothing short of torture.

“Hey, Mattie,” Emma smiled as soon as Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and the boy’s eyes light up in the dim glow of the phone.

“Ma,” he shouted, arms tightening around Killian’s neck.

“How come you’re awake?” Matt made a noise, burrowing his head into Killian’s shoulder and he wrapped his arms tightly around him, trying to hold him against his body while keeping a grip on the phone. Emma sighed softly and this wasn’t just a dumb idea, it was idiotic and stupid and they were already married.

“That’s not a very specific answer,” Emma muttered, a wry smile on her face that looked like she was trying to avoid falling directly into disappointment.

“I think he misses someone,” Killian said. Matt made another noise, a mix of a whine and an agreement and it was after midnight.

Emma scrunched her nose, holding the phone a bit closer to her face like she was trying to will herself several dozen blocks away. “That’s why I left after he fell asleep,” she grumbled. “You’ve got to go to sleep now, Mattie, ok? And try not to choke Dad.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Matt didn’t let go of his neck, a knee finding its way into his side for good measure. Matt mumbled something against the collar of his shirt and Killian tried to will the glove out of his back. There was no getting away from it.

“Matt,” Killian started slowly, sitting up to try and disentangle the limbs from his body. He was met with wide eyes – bright green and so like Emma’s it sometimes left him just a bit breathless. They, those eponymous people who knew what his kid looked like, were always quick to point out how much Matthew looked like Killian – dark hair and a very specific set of his jaw already that Elsa claimed would be perfect for intimidating goalies – but he never really noticed much of that.

Killian always noticed the eyes, staring up at him like he was the greatest thing to ever lace up skates.

“What if Mom came home?” he continued and Matt’s eyes, somehow, got wider, mouth dropping open like he was about to start yelling or possibly jumping on the bed. There wasn’t enough room for that. Killian’s legs took up most of the space.

Or like he understood those very specific string of words in that very specific order.  “What do you say, Swan?” Killian asked, lifting one eyebrow and tugging Matt back against his side. Eventually they’d get him to learn how to smirk and they’d be able to take over the world. “Think you can stage a jailbreak?”

“I’m going to tell Reese’s you said that.”

Killian shrugged. “Come home, love. You’re right, this is stupid.” Emma didn’t say anything for a moment, lips twisted in thought as she glanced towards the living room where Mary Margaret and David were, likely, sleeping. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I want to do that.” She found them back in their bedroom – Matt draped across Killian’s stomach, with his head resting on his chest.

“I left a note,” Emma whispered, toeing out of her shoes and dropping her bag lightly on the floor. “Like I was sixteen and sneaking out of my parents house.” “Just think what a good story this makes, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “Perfect to tell the grandkids.” “Are we onto grandkids now? I hadn’t realized we time-jumped.” “Just planning, love.” “Yeah? And will this plan also require a lot of sentiment and stupid, antiquated traditions that don’t make sense for people who have been married for two years?” Killian stared at her, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and bad luck be damned. It didn’t matter. He wanted to sleep next to his wife before they got married. Again.

“No,” he promised. “None of that.” “Trying to fall asleep without you sucked.” “It always does, Swan.” “So let’s not do that anymore, ok?” “Ok.”

Mary Margaret hadn’t been angry – shrugging and promising she totally knew Emma was going to end up back home by the end of the night. Killian laughed, the sound making his whole body shake as David pulled him towards one side of the loft, Matt trailing along behind them. Or, at least, he tried.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian muttered, pulling out David’s grasp to lean forward and kiss Emma as quickly as he could. “See you later, Swan.” “Jones,” she corrected softly, tugging on the bottom of the t-shirt he still had on. “For the last two years. Get with it, Cap.”

“I’ll see you at the altar, Mrs. Jones.” David sighed loudly, hitching Matt farther up his side and grabbing Killian’s shoulder tightly. “This is gross,” he muttered. “Come on.”

He didn’t complain once – not during the photos or while trying to get a one-and-a-half year old into a tux and a tie and into a seat with Mary Margaret when Killian took up his designated spot at the altar.

That last part didn’t last long, Matt practically crawling over Mary Margaret to get out of the seat and he stumbled up the aisle, nearly tripping over the white runner before Killian ducked down and grabbed him around the waist.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad,” Matt chanted, kicking his feet out like he was trying to settle into a skating rhythm. “Up. Up. Up!”

Mary Margaret sighed loudly, resting her head in her hand and Killian tugged Matt up, draping him across his shoulder in the way he knew would work a laugh out of him. It did.

And Killian’s heart nearly stopped.

Although he wasn’t sure if that was from the sound of his son or his wife at the end of the aisle, a small smile just visible through the veil over her face and Ruby had absolutely been lying. The dress wasn’t incredible.

She was incredible and it was, easily, the most sentimental thing Killian had ever thought, but he couldn’t stop staring at her, smile settling on his face and laughter ringing in his ear and Emma’s shoulders moved slightly when she took a deep breath.

Matt kicked his side, the toe of his shoe probably leaving a scuff mark on Killian’s jacket and Emma tugged her lip in between her teeth, head tilting at the sight in front of her. David kept her hand trained in his, twisting their arms up together and Killian would have to have a talk with Mary Margaret about the length of the aisle.

Matt tried to move – Killian grimacing slightly when his shoe landed in the vicinity of his thigh and a very large bruise that was still purple after blocking a shot two weeks before. “Ma,” Matt screeched, shouting the word more into Killian’s ear than at Emma.

She laughed softly, blinking when David pulled her veil away, brushing his lips across her cheek.

“He got impatient,” Killian explained, rolling his shoulder and inducing a fresh round of laughter.

“Yeah, so I can see,” Emma smiled. She reached up to tug on the back of Matt’s jacket, brushing her hands over the fabric. “He’s not a jungle gym, Mattie.” And they could have been back in their apartment and the only people in the entire goddamn world for as much attention as they were paying to anyone else. The officiant Mary Margaret hired several months before coughed pointedly.

“Oh, right,” Emma muttered, hand still on Matt’s back when she spun on the spot. “You know we’ve been married for two years already?” Killian laughed, Matt’s whole body shaking against him and he ducked his head before he could come up with all the reasons it would probably upset Mary Margaret, lips finding Emma’s easily and quickly and it meant as much as it had years before in a practice facility.

They didn’t buy new rings.

That was one of the things they’d absolutely refused.

Their rings were theirs and they hadn’t even taken them off before the repeat ceremony, something feeling decidedly wrong at even suggesting the idea.

He kept Matt on his shoulder through the entire ceremony.

And they were supposed to write their own vows, were supposed to stand up there in front of everyone they’d ever known and probably a few people they didn’t and dive into the deep end of sentiment, but neither one of them seemed able to come up with anything more than simple.

“I love you,” Emma said, shrugging slightly like she was admitting to it for the first time. “And...I just. I can’t picture anything except this.” “I knew I loved you two months after I met you,” Killian said. Matt’s arms knocked against his back. “It’s...it’s all I ever wanted, Swan.”

There were more words and cheers and no one really had to say you can kiss the bride because they’d been married for two years.

To be fair, they didn’t really wait for the words anyway.

Killian was never certain who moved first – him or Emma or maybe they both closed the space between them at the same time and that had happened more times than he could count, the ease to take that next step forward, always a bit desperate to be just a half a step closer.

“I love you,” he said again, resting his forehead on hers and it felt like he was trying to breathe her in.

“Straight to the point.” “Simple vows, Swan. The pinnacle of romance.” “Yeah?” “You tell me.” She pulled back slightly, nodding as Matt tried to shimmy down in between them. “Yeah,” she promised. “You want to scandalize all of them and make out some more?” “Absolutely,” Killian said, ducking his head and he could feel her laughter when he kissed her.

[bibliosexxual]

Do you take prompt? What about Stiles having a secret crush on Derek but when saw him, taking care Scott's son, he fell in love.

I’m not much of a kid fic person, so this took me a while, but I tried. Hopefully it’s kind of what you were angling for!

*

“Do you think I’m ready for fatherhood?” Stiles asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He’s not freaking out about this. He’s not.

Boyd says flatly, “Stilinski, you’re twenty-one years old. You’re supposed to know how to use a condom by now.“

Stiles’ hand spasms and he accidentally squirts a huge glob of ketchup on his mound of curly fries. Fuck. He has the ideal ketchup-to-curly-fry ratio down to a science, and this is not it. “No, absolutely not what I meant. It’s just. Did you know Derek had a kid?”

Boyd meditatively takes a bite of his burger. “No. But the nice thing about Derek is that he doesn’t go in for personal talk.”

Stiles shoots him a weird look. Of course Boyd would think that was nice. Stiles, though, has been trying to break down Derek’s walls even just a little bit for months now—sitting with him in class, sharing his notes, studying with him in the library and getting late-night waffles together afterwards, little by little pulling Derek out of his shell. He’d thought he was getting somewhere, but obviously not, not if Derek failed to mention this kid even existed.

Which he does. Stiles knows, because he can see him right now, over by Prof. Martin’s pool. Apparently his name is Jamie.

He’s one of only two kids here, which is not really unexpected given that this is the end-of-semester party for Prof. Martin’s honors criminal psych class. Not too many college kids around here with children. Stiles had assumed, like an idiot, that that was true for Derek, too. Or, more like, he hadn’t ever thought to wonder about it. He probably should have. At twenty-six, Derek is older than everyone else in the class except the professor. It’s totally plausible for a twenty-six-year-old to have a kid.

What seems less plausible is that that twenty-six-year-old with a kid would be Derek Hale. He just doesn’t look like Stiles’ idea of a dad. He came into class the first day in a leather jacket and tight jeans with this don’t-talk-to-me smolder, and Stiles spent most of that session pretending to look over the syllabus with the rest of the class while actually wondering what Derek looked like naked. He feels kind of skeevy about it now, if Derek is somebody’s dad.

It seems more and more likely that he is. The kid is a dark-haired little boy, not very talkative, and not five minutes after they arrived, he’d already bitten Prof. Martin’s daughter on the arm and been banished to time-out. That was about when Stiles felt he had to accept that yep, that was probably Derek’s kid.

Now Jamie and Derek are sitting together on the edge of the pool, dipping their feet in the water. Jamie is sniffling, but as Stiles watches, Derek pulls a kleenex out of the pocket of his leather jacket and carefully—tenderly, even—wipes at the kid’s face with it. Derek’s saying something to him, and he’s got this achingly gentle smile on his face that Stiles has never seen before, and then he’s pulling a quarter out of his pocket. At the flash of silver the kid stops crying, looking tentatively interested. Derek winks at him and pretends to put the coin back in his pocket, then reaches up and plucks it from behind his ear. Jamie stares at it, and then at Derek, dumbfounded. Derek does it a second time, faster, tickling the kid’s ear as he “finds” the coin, and Jamie giggles. It’s basically illegal levels of adorable.

Yeah, that confirms it. It’s definitely more than a simple lust-crush thing at this point, and Stiles is fucked.

Stiles looks over at Boyd. He’s busy on his phone, typing out a meticulous, grammatically correct reply to a wall of emojis from Erica. “So…” Stiles prompts. “Fatherhood?”

“I think you’re closer to needing adult supervision yourself than providing it to others,” Boyd decides, hitting send on his text. “You can be the fun uncle, at most.”

“Hmm,” Stiles says, and morosely eats a curly fry.

*

Stiles is over at the cooler on the patio, digging around through the ice to see if there’s any beer left, when someone clears their throat behind him. He waffles and snags a Sprite and turns around to see Derek hovering there, leaning an elbow on the railing.  

Stiles pops the tab open on his can and tries for a casual bro nod. “Hey. ‘Sup.”

“I like your shirt,” Derek says, biting his lip. “I am Groot.”

Stiles smiles and runs a hand down his chest, over the baby Groot on his shirt. “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna buy any more graphic tees, but then I saw it and I was powerless to resist.”

“Have you seen the sequel yet?”

Stiles throws his head back and groans. “No, and it’s killing me. I can’t wait. I’ve watched the trailer like ten times. I’ve been forcing myself to stay in my dorm and study, though. No movies for me. I mean, the way everyone was talking, I thought for sure Professor Martin’s final was going to torpedo my GPA. I’m actually feeling pretty good about it, though. I think I probably got, like, a low A. You?”

“Same. I feel sorry for anybody who didn’t keep up with the readings, though. That would torpedo their grade.”

Stiles snorts. He knows exactly who didn’t do the readings, because most of them are huddled together in a glum little group at the picnic table at the edge of the yard. “Definitely. There was so much on the final that was never even mentioned in class.”

Derek looks at him, lingering in a way that makes Stiles’ skin feel too hot. “I guess now that that’s over with, you can finally see the movie.”

“Yeah.” Stiles laughs, nervous without quite knowing why. Maybe it’s just that when Derek looks at him, it always makes him kind of nervous. “Guess so.”

Derek picks at the peeling label on his lemonade bottle, asks, “Do you maybe want to go see it with me?”

Oh.

On the one hand, YES, hell yes, Stiles wants that, and the fact that Derek wants that makes him feel like breaking out dancing right here, right now, but—maybe Stiles feels slightly less like he should want it now than he did, oh, say, this morning.

In the distance, he can hear Jamie shriek-laughing down on the lawn as Heather tickle-attacks him. Dating Derek—seriously dating, because Stiles wouldn’t be down for casual, not in this case—would mean being in that kid’s life, maybe even eventually being that kid’s step-parent. And yeah, Jamie is cute. So is seeing how good Derek is with kids. But… Stiles’ gut reaction is “Yikes.”

Stiles agrees with Boyd on this one: Stiles should be the fun uncle at most. Stiles as a dad, responsible for the well-being of a small child? Yikes. Double yikes. Infinite yikes.

Derek is still staring at him, his smile fading to something more closed-off, more nervous, the longer Stiles doesn’t say anything. By the time Stiles says, “No, I—I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I can’t,” Derek doesn’t even look that surprised, more… resigned. Sad.

“Okay, well…” he says. “Thanks for considering it.” He nods, once, without quite looking at Stiles. Then he sets his lemonade down on the railing and walks away.

*

Stiles doesn’t really feel much like partying after that. There’s nothing like rejecting your crush—after a whole semester of trying to get them to ask you out, no less!—to ruin the mood. And anyway, he’s already eaten and socialized and done his time sitting around in the sunshine. He’s probably going to have sunburn all over his face and neck tomorrow to go along with his Derek-asked-me-out-and-I-said-no moping. He can be both emotionally and physically miserable at the same time. Great.

When he opens Prof. Martin’s front door, heading out to his Jeep parked up on the road, there’s a man jogging up the porch steps. He slows when he sees Stiles, shooting him a friendly enough smile.

“Everyone’s out back,” Stiles says. The guy looks a little older, like Derek’s age, maybe, and he has a tattoo on his arm, two thick dark lines. He definitely wasn’t in their class this semester. “Are you a friend of Professor Martin’s?”

“No, actually, I don’t know her. I’m Scott. I’m a friend of Derek’s. I’m just here to pick up my son for his dentist appointment.”

Stiles isn’t sure what his heart just did in response to that, but it’s probably nothing good. “Your son as in, the little boy who likes to bite people?”

“Yeah, it���s a bit of a phase he’s been going through,” Scott says apologetically, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “We’re working on it. Hope he wasn’t too much of a problem today. Derek asked Professor Martin if he could come, and she said it would be fine, so…”

“Yeah, it’s been good,” Stiles manages to say through his inner mantra of Stiles, you idiot.  

“Awesome. When Jamie heard Derek was going to a party, he just got so excited, you know? Kira—my wife—she tried to tell him it was a grown-up party, but he was really insistent. He’s kind of obsessed with Derek right now. Everything Derek does, Jamie wants to do.” Scott laughs a little. “You should’ve seen how excited he was when Kira hinted he might get a jacket just like Derek’s for his birthday.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says faintly, because that mental image is almost too cute to handle. Also… apparently he isn’t leaving yet after all.

*

Stiles lingers as unobtrusively as possible on the back patio until Scott has collected Jamie from Derek, and then he heads over. For once, he’s able to sneak up on Derek, even though this time he’s not even trying. Derek’s clearly lost in his own head, standing alone over by the pool and staring down into the still water.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says, drifting to a stop a few feet away.

Derek jumps a little, then sees who it is and looks even more startled.

Stiles snorts. “Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Derek says, unconvincingly.

“Right, well. I just… I was just wondering if you still wanted to see that movie.”

Derek eyes him, wary and kind of puzzled. “Thirty minutes ago you said—”

“I know what I said. What I said was stupid.”

Derek’s expression doesn’t change, except to look incrementally more confused.

Stiles sighs. He’s just going to have to say it. “Thirty minutes ago I thought you were Jamie’s dad, okay? Now I know better.”

Derek uncrosses his arms. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And I figured… The date was probably going to go pretty well, and then there’d be another one and another.”

“That’s confident of you,” Derek says, cautiously pleased.

“Well,” Stiles shrugs, “I think I’ve spent enough time with you by now to know we’d be pretty great together, and honestly? I’m crazy about you. Any relationship with you, I would work like hell to make it work.”

Derek looks a little stunned.

Stiles forges on, hoping he’s not creeping Derek out. “So yeah, I figured if I said yes, it wouldn’t be just one date. And I figured I shouldn’t just jump into that without being prepared for what it might mean. Long-term.”

Derek steps in a little closer, and he’s just staring at Stiles and not saying anything and it’s wreaking havoc on Stiles’ nerves.

So, of course, he keeps talking, and talking. “Before you get creeped out, trust me, I know you’re just asking me out, not proposing marriage or whatever, but listen, I’m not going to jump into something with you if I’m not ready for the possibility of it getting serious one day. When you showed up with Jamie, I thought things getting serious between us might include your kid, and… Honestly, I’m not sure I want kids, and that’s not even getting into whether it’d be a good idea to give me a child. I feel like that could actually be a very terrifying idea, both for me and for him.”

“Stiles—”

“I mean, I’m happy enough seeing other people’s kids once in a while and then sending them home to their parents, you know? So I guess what I’m trying to say is, finding out you don’t have kids was basically the best news of my life because now I can say yes, like, the most enthusiastic of yeses—”

Derek kisses him. Stiles agreeably stops trying to talk, letting his eyes fall shut and his hands drift down to twist in Derek’s shirt. Who needs talking, anyway, when he has Derek gently coaxing his mouth open with his tongue. That’s the kind of communication style Stiles can really get behind.

After the third wolf-whistle from over by the picnic table, they reluctantly break apart. Derek looks satisfyingly dazed. Stiles feels like he probably does, too, because wow.

“I guess that was a yes to my yes?”

“That was a ‘Stiles, shut up before you run out of oxygen.’” Derek smiles. “And it was a yes.”

Awesome.

(end)

[crossinginstyle]

You Really Got a Hold on Me

Here it is! My gift for poca-staks! My prompt was “Pull my hair, Belle.” But admittedly, I couldn’t figure out what to write for that at first. However our chats inspired this, and then it took on a life of it’s own. It’ll take you a couple of chapters to find the actual prompt, but hang in there! Hope you like it!

Title: You Really Got a Hold on Me

Rating: M

Synopsis: Mr. Gold has little in his life to give him meaning since losing everything after the war. Only the occasional visits from the son he so recently found give him any real joy. He’s crippled, angry, and afraid all of the time, but that changes when Belle French walks into his life with a flower painted on her cheek and a shared love of music.  

OR...the one where it’s the 1960s, Gold’s an injured WWII vet, Belle is a peace-loving hippie chick, and they make beautiful music together. :)

Take note that this is NOT a Hook friendly fic. Mentions of drug-use and PTSD.

~~~~~~~

Chapter One

Storybrooke, Maine: 1965.

“Come on man, it’s gotta be worth something!”

Mr. Gold eyed the glass pipe, somewhat phallic in shape, and its merry swirling colors, with a sardonic quirk of one brow.

“I suppose it just might be,” Mr. Gold allowed, his voice still and calm despite his growing annoyance. “But in order for it to be worth something to me, I need to be able to resell it. And despite the eclectic selection here in my shop, I have not yet found the need or desire to sell used drug paraphernalia.”

The dirty looking, sloppy, twenty-something in his flamboyant tie-dye shirt and clashing floral pants, blinked dumbly until Mr. Gold reached the word “drug.”

“Whoa, man, whoa,” he held up his hands in defense. “It’s a pipe for tobacco.”

Gold narrowed his eyes. “And I’m actually a woman underneath this suit.”

The boy’s eyes widened comically. “Whoa, seriously?! Far out!”

“Get out!” Gold snapped, patience officially gone. “And take this damned thing with you!”

“Hey, what’s your bag, man? I don’t judge!”

Gold shoved the water pipe into the protesting youth’s hands and shoved him roughly toward the door. “And don’t come back!” he snarled.

He could still hear the hippie arguing once the door was shut, as if Gold was standing out there listening to him.

Gold sighed and rubbed his face with the hand not holding his cane. Was this really what the world was stuck with as the next generation? A bunch of drugged out, clueless, discontent, yet utterly privileged children?

He’d always sworn he’d never become one of those old men who did nothing but complain about today’s youth and the good ol’ days, but Jesus, the kids were making it hard.

In Gold’s days as a young adult, he’d been in times and places where clean water was a luxury, and a submersed bath was unheard of outside of hasty baptisms in frigid lakes. But these people that walked around today seemed to turn their noses up at such wonders as hot running showers, if the god-awful smell of that delinquent was any indication.

They shouted, and picketed, and cried for change and the end to war, but just what exactly were they actually doing to make a difference?

Now, Gold couldn’t deny that there were brave young men and women currently fighting for their country, and he would defend them till his dying breath. But they were stuck in an even more pointless war than the one that Gold had limped away from, terrified, and angry at the world.

With a sigh, he checked the antique grandfather clock by the counter, realizing that the odorous boy had managed to waste nearly half an hour of his time. But at least it was now past the usual lunch rush, and Gold could head over to Granny’s Diner without having to deal with the dozens of teenagers and young adults that flocked the place in the summer.

He sighed again. Maybe he was becoming one of those old men.

 ***

 “Belle? Beeelle…BELLE!”

Belle gasped, her head snapping up, then winced when the sudden motion caused her neck to pop, and she realized just how long she’d been bent over her book. “Sorry, Ruby,” she said sheepishly, looking around at how empty the diner had become since she’d been lost in her head.

Ruby rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I’m used to it. What is it you’re reading anyway?”

“It’s really interesting! It’s about World War II, about the concentration camps…”

“Eh,” Ruby grimaced. “That’s so depressing!”

Belle shrugged self-consciously. “I know that, I mean it is, what I mean is it’s interesting…”

“I don’t understand why you’d wanna read about war anyway,” Ruby interrupted again. “Isn’t that what we’re against?”

“Well, yes, of course, but don’t you think that to fight something, you should understand the psyche behind it?”

Ruby eyed her friend for a moment, confusion plain on her face, and Belle sighed.

Belle loved Ruby, she did, and she liked her other friends and the members of their peace coalition, Happy Endings Now, but she often felt like some of the others, Ruby included, just enjoyed peace rallies for the party aspect, but didn’t truly understand what their mission was about.

Belle didn’t start HEN, but since their founding member, a passionate younger woman named Emma, had gone to Boston to further the cause in a bigger city, Belle had been the driving force that kept the coalition alive. She organized the funds, printed flyers, planned the rallies…she truly longed to make a difference in the world. It was the other members who tended to turn the rallies into parties.

“Anyway, I was asking about the next rally,” Ruby continued, as if reading Belle’s thoughts. “What do you think about hiring a band to play?”

“A band?” Belle asked, crinkling her nose. “Ruby, this isn’t a concert, it’s a peace rally! We’re trying to spread our message…”

“To who?” Ruby insisted exasperatedly. “Hardly anyone ever shows up to the rallies anymore, and they pretty much just ignore our protests. But if we lure people in with the promise of fun and music, we can still spread the word!”

Belle opened her mouth to argue before closing it again and biting her lower lip. As much as she hated it, Ruby had a point. In their small town of Storybrooke, everyone pretty much knew everyone, and there was only so much a peace group could do before people started to get bored with them. That was precisely why Emma had left. Belle often wondered if it wasn’t time for her to follow, to get out into the world, to see the world…but at the same time this was her home, and things were so uncertain in the world that it made her hesitant to leave and miss any time that could be spent with her father, and friends, and…well…

But before she could answer, a hulking presence was sliding its way into the booth next to her, making her tense in discomfort.

“Hello, love,” Killian crooned, far too close to her face for comfort.

Killian and his friends, Smith and Gaston, didn’t altogether fit in with their group. Far be it for Belle to ever say so, of course, because that was against her belief that one should never judge based on appearances. But where everyone else embraced the “Flower Power” culture, Killian and his bunch were Greaser rockers...or wannabe rockers, in her opinion.

“Did you talk her into it?” Smith asked Ruby hopefully before receiving a punch in the arm from Gaston.

“Ruby…” Belle began, her voice low and warning.

Ruby shrugged. “What? It’s not like there’s a whole lot of options for groups around here to play at the rally. Not for free, anyway.”

Belle gave her friend a look that said, “really?” and Ruby at least had the decency to look abashed.

“Come on, Belly,” Gaston pleaded softly, “I think it’d be great for all of us!”

Belle found herself slowly relenting, regardless of how much she loathed the name “Belly.”

Belle and Gaston had dated in high school, and he was – at heart – not a bad guy, but he simply had nothing to offer her intellectually, and only Emma had ever understood why that was important to her, considering what a “catch” most girls thought him to be. And then there was also the matter of his best friend, Killian, a self-proposed ladies’ man who had absolutely no sense whatsoever of what kind of contact is appropriate and what is not, and Gaston was nothing if not a follower. Belle suspected that the only thing that had prevented Killian from trying to get into her pants after her and Gaston’s breakup had been his friendship with the latter.

But that had been many years ago, and she’d been noticing that ever since Emma’s departure, Killian’s eyes were lingering on her longer and longer, and Gaston was either oblivious, or perhaps he’d given his blessing, who knew.

It was widely known, unfortunately, that Belle and Gaston never got any farther than a heavy make-out session or two in the back of his Ford. This was because Killian had pestered Gaston constantly to “pluck that cherry already” which had led to one unfortunate experience in the backroom of Granny’s that resulted in tears.

They were Gaston’s tears. Because Belle had kneed him where it hurt.

And that had been the end of that relationship, even though Belle had accepted his heartfelt apology later on for pushing too hard.

Coming back to the matter at hand, Belle inched away from where Killian’s arm was resting oh so casually on the back of the booth.

“Come on, Belle,” Ruby said. “It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. And if it doesn’t turn out, then we try something new next time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Belle said with a sigh, feeling outnumbered. She didn’t even need to ask the rest of the coalition to know what their vote on the matter would be. Despite his smarminess, Killian was well-liked in the group.

“Thanks, Belle!” Gaston said, his face lighting up like a little boy’s, making Belle smile despite herself.

“You won’t regret it, love,” Killian murmured in her ear, making Belle cringe away from the smell of marijuana.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Belle muttered.

“Look who it is,” Smith said suddenly, gesturing toward the entrance.

Belle had a feeling she knew who it was before she looked, but look she did. Mr. Gold was sauntering into the establishment like he owned the place – and he did. But he walked that way everywhere, and Belle, as someone who was always a little unsure of herself, had always admired that about him.

He was dressed in a classic three-piece suit, like always. The only hint that he at all embraced the sixties was his shaggy hair that brushed his collar and hung slightly over his eyes. Eyes that she knew were a warm chocolate brown, even though she’d never been closer than three feet from them.

“When are we setting up a protest there?” Killian asked snidely.

“Where?” Ruby asked.

Killian jerked a finger over his shoulder. “At the geezer’s shop.”

“Why on earth would we protest Mr. Gold’s shop?” Belle asked.

“Why? Because he stands for everything we’re against. Haven’t you heard all the rumors about him from the War? How he killed all those people? The fucker’s proud of being a soldier. Of slaughtering children.”

“I heard he forced a Japanese woman to be his wife,” Ruby said, never able to resist some juicy gossip. “But she killed herself before he could bring her here.”

Belle glanced back over her shoulder, and to her horror, made eye-contact with the man in question. “Stop it!” she hissed, whipping back around. “Those are just vicious rumors and he can hear you!”

“Who cares?” Killian said, raising his voice even louder while Smith guffawed. “We have no use for the likes of him!”

“Ok, Killian, mellow out,” Ruby said nervously, retreating to the counter to look busy.

But Killian wouldn’t quit. “Oh, what’re you so afraid of?” he stood up, and even Gaston and Smith’s eyes widened in unease. “The old man’s afraid of his own shadow.”

With that, Killian spun suddenly, slapping his hand down on the counter with a loud bang!

Mr. Gold, seemingly despite obvious anger, visibly jumped, nearly tripping over his cane, and Killian, Gaston, and Smith broke out into riotous laughter.

“Shut your mouths!” Granny snapped, appearing from the kitchen. “Before I shut them for you!” she handed Gold his order, who accepted it with a gruff thanks before leaving as fast as his limp would allow.

Belle watched him go, heart sinking somewhere in the vicinity of her appendix. Right before he turned to go, his eyes had met hers again, and they appeared almost hurt, like he was sad that she was even with these fools.

“You’re all a bunch of idiots,” Belle hissed, jumping up from the booth when Killian made to sit beside her again.

“Oh, come on, love,” Killian said. “We were only having fun.”

“You think mocking and tormenting someone is fun?”

“It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it,” Gaston tried to defend. “After the things he’s done.”

“No, Belle’s right,” Ruby said. “That wasn’t cool, Killian.”

“Fine, fine,” Killian held up his hands in surrender, though he didn’t look the least bit sorry.

At that time, another of their friends, Will, entered, flinging open the door with a bang like he normally did. Will was a nice enough fellow, though his drug use was legendary.

“Was that Mr. Gold that just left?” he asked. “That spazz just yelled and hurled me outta his shop! And all I wanted was to do some business!”

“See, Killian?” Ruby said. “Mr. Gold’s on the edge. You shouldn’t mess with him.”

Killian probably had more to say on the matter, but Belle was sick of listening, so she left.

 ***

 By the time Gold made it to his shop, his appetite was gone and he was ready to break something. Several somethings.

It wasn’t what that idiotic boy and those others had said. He’d stopped caring about ridiculous rumors and the town’s general disdain for him years ago. No, it was the fact that the leather-clad deviant made him flinch.

And it didn’t help that she’d been there, sitting with them, watching him with those too-big eyes and seeing just how weak and pathetic he was. She was probably laughing at him now.

She…was Belle French, the florist’s daughter. Oh, Gold had no designs on the girl, she was, frankly and rather unfortunately, too young for him. Too young, and far too pure. But she was…she was…she was Belle.

From the time she was a child, she was the only person in town who met Gold at the door to her father’s shop with a smile instead of a scowl or grimace, and neither did she just run and hide like the other children in town did. He’d quietly doted on her for years, asking about the books she constantly carried in her arms, and sometimes bringing her small baubles from his shop. Nothing expensive of course, just things like pretty buttons or cheap brooches. Her father never knew about that of course, because he doubtless would have been very suspicious of the town monster showing any sort of interest – as innocent and passing as it was – to his daughter. But Gold, despite the town’s opinion, was no monster, and he had a high sense of propriety, so any kindness he bestowed upon the cherubic girl was done in the presence and approval of her mother.

Belle’s mother, Collette, had been everything Belle would someday become. Kind, beautiful, and smart. And even if she didn’t outwardly care for Gold, she’d always seemed amused when Belle would rush to the door to greet him enthusiastically.

In a sad turn of events, Collette had passed away right around the time Gold had realized the tiny girl he saw once a month had all of a sudden turned into a stunning young woman. When he’d entered the flower shop that afternoon, Collette’s death had been so recent that he hadn’t even yet heard. Belle was in the shop, arranging flowers, trying to pretend everything was alright.

“Belle?” he said softly, uncertainly, seeing the tears in her puffy red eyes.

With no warning, the small teenager had flung herself into his arms, sobbing for what he wondered was the first time during the whole mess.

Collette had been sick for some time, but no one in town beside her family had known. Collette hadn’t wanted it that way. She didn’t want any pity or sudden fake offers of friendship from people who only wanted to make themselves feel good. And for that, Gold could feel nothing for the woman but respect.

He’d held Belle until her tears finally subsided. But that had been the last time. After that, he distanced himself, because he couldn’t deny that he was becoming more and more attracted to the young woman, and without Collette there to chaperone, he no longer felt it was right to have more contact with her than necessary for the rent, and her father normally handled that part.

If Belle noticed his distance, she never let on. She just continued to be her sunny self, carrying on the way her mother had wanted her too, and it wasn’t long before Belle became as covered in flowers as the shop she helped run. They were on her clothes, in her hair, often painted on her face. He’d rolled his eyes when she joined up with that silly hippie peace group, but he knew she’d always been a bit of an outsider, and figured that it was harmless enough way to fit in.

And he’d even been pleased to hear when she started going with that boy Gaston, since even though the boy had been a few matches short of a book, he was a harmless enough sort, or so he thought. Gold had just been glad to see Belle thriving, even from a distance. And when he’d heard of the event that led to their breakup, he’d been in equal terms furious at the cock-headed boy, and proud of little Belle for the way she’d dealt with him.

So yes, even though she was just the Girl from the Flower Shop, Gold hated that she’d been witness to just how cowardly he really was.

He jumped again, slightly, when the bell above his door rang to announce a customer, and he growled at himself.

“I’m closed for lunch,” he began testily, brushing aside the curtain that separated the backroom from the rest of his shop, then froze when he saw who’d entered his shop.

“I…I’m sorry,” Belle said, half-turning toward the door as if she was ready to flee if need be. He’d never given her a reason to fear him, had he? “I won’t bother you…I just…”

“No, it’s alright,” he said, his voice softer. She calmed instantly, recognizing the tone of voice only she and her mother had ever been treated to, to her knowledge. “How can I help you, Miss French?”

“I don’t need anything,” Belle said, shrugging her shoulders, and also sort of pulling them in on herself. He took just a moment to take in her attire; a loose dress in a vivid floral design with flowing long sleeves, and a hemline that…dear God…it barely went down far enough to keep her from being indecent!

She seemed to be aware of this, because she was bent slightly forward, and her hands were tugging at her hem, so Gold snapped his eyes back up to her face, where her hair was held back by a wide headband, and mentally berated himself for ogling the poor girl’s legs. It was just that…she had very nice ones.

“It’s just…” Belle continued, as if he hadn’t been staring. “I’m sorry about the way Killian and the others were behaving.”

All thoughts of her legs fled his mind as he snorted in derision. “And why do you feel it’s your responsibility to apologize for them?”

“I don’t!” she said, bristling slightly. “I was just…I mean, they’re members of my coalition, I associate with them, so I just didn’t want you to think their behavior reflects how I feel.”

Gold chose to ignore the way she said “how I feel,” and instead decided to go with good old reliable sarcasm. “Ah yes, the henpeckers.”

Belle scowled, and damned if she wasn’t beautiful when she did that. “That’s HEN. H.E.N. It stands for…”

“I know what it stands for, Dearie,” he interrupted. “Although it should probably stand for something like, ‘Hippies Educating No-one.’ Tell me, just what do you seriously think you’re going to accomplish by going around and waving signs that say ‘love, not war?’”

Belle’s fists were clenched, and she straightened up to her full-height, which was still impossibly small. “This war we’re fighting is pointless! They all are! We’re sending boys to die for a cause that doesn’t exist! All we’re trying to do is make sure everyone knows that when we do find the power to end all this fruitless fighting, we will end it!”

Gold hated to admit it, but her passionate declaration was convincing, and he could imagine her being very moving during a speech. “But what are you going to do to find this supposed power? You can’t accomplish a damned thing just protesting everything that displeases you.”

Suddenly, and to his dismay, Belle deflated. “I know that,” she admitted. “All we can really do is try to make the next generation a better one. But how can we do that if we don’t try to make sure everyone in our generation is on the same side?”

Gold folded both his hands on his cane, eying the petite ball of fire before him. She didn’t flinch under his scrutiny, and it pleased him to see that she wasn’t truly afraid of him after all. “I see your point,” he allowed.

He may as well have told her that she’d made him see the light and he wanted to join her coalition for all she lit up in victory. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to come to the rally?” she asked slyly. “See what it’s really about?”

“With that pathetic excuse for a rock band playing?” he scoffed. “I think not.”

“Yeah, it’s probably gonna be a drag, isn’t it?”

“I guess?”

Belle giggled, making him have to bite back a smile of his own. “What kind of music do you like, Mr. Gold?”

Gold blinked in momentary confusion. He’d thought that he had been successfully putting her off him by first talking down about her group, and then sneering at the idea of attending one of her infernal rallies. But now she was stepping closer, eyes roving the cluttered walls with interest, taking in the assortment of instruments hanging from the far wall.

“I’m not too fond of what passes for music these days,” he said truthfully.

“Then what do you like?” she asked again.

He hesitated, but before the thought was fully formed in his mind, he was moving toward an old record player set up near the back of the shop. It was technically for sale, but he had it hidden in a way that few people ever noticed it. When his son had expressed interest in playing it while he was there, Gold had set it aside so that it wouldn’t be as likely to sell.

He was silent as he fiddled with the ancient thing, too-aware of her eyes watching his every move, but his nerves settled with the soothing sound of Nat King Cole.

“Jazz,” she said with a half-smile. “For some reason, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a jazz man.”

He smirked. “More like blues, but I’m sure there’re many things you don’t know about me.”

“That so?” she asked, and if he didn’t absolutely know better, he could have almost sworn she was flirting.

“I suppose you’re mad for those Beatles,” he said, cursing the wobble in his voice.

“I wouldn’t say mad, but what’s not to like? They’re not my favorite, though.”

“Oh? And what is?”

She took a cursory glance at his selection of records, but he could have told her that he didn’t have anything from after 1955. “I’ll bring you a couple of mine,” she said decidedly. “You might like them.”

He hummed. “I don’t know about that.”

“Just you wait,” she said, grinning. “I’ll bring you around to the 60s yet!”

He rolled his eyes, but with none of his usual snide.

“I better be going,” she almost sounded regretful. “Promised Dad I’d do some arrangements today.”

“A…alright.”

“But I’ll come back with some records, yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

With one last smile as bright as the colors on her dress, she was gone, leaving Gold to wonder just what the hell had just happened.

 Chapter 2

Between planning the rally and working at the flower shop, Belle wasn’t able to visit Gold again right away. She’d left his shop that afternoon feeling strange…but in a good way.

For as long as she could remember, she’d harbored a crush on the pawnbroker. But it’d been just that, a silly, childish crush. When she’d been thirteen, she’d declared to her mother in no uncertain terms that she was going to marry Mr. Gold someday.

Instead of arguing the logic of such a statement, or blowing it out of proportion like her father would have done, her mother had only chuckled and commented that Mr. Gold seemed wealthy enough to give her a nice wedding.

“But isn’t he a bit old for you?” she had asked her daughter at length.

“He’s younger than Papa,” Belle had said, as if that was all that mattered. “And he’s handsome, and nice, and smart, and he likes books.”

Collette had wrapped her daughter up in a warm hug, squeezing tight. “I know, my darling Belle, that you are going to find someone someday who is all of that and more.”

“I don’t need to,” Belle said firmly. “I already found him!”

Collette had sighed in indulgent submission, and that had been that.

But outside girlish fantasies, Belle had never given serious thought to Mr. Gold until her argument with him in the pawn shop. For the first time, he’d spoken to her like the adult she was. He’d been snarky and derisive, the way he was with everyone, but he hadn’t been dismissive. No, there’d been a spark of something…like a challenge in his eyes. Like he was hoping she would stand up to him, and when she did, he became like a totally different person. Smirking one minute, and stammering over his words the next.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the way his long fingers wrapped around the handle of his cane, about how he tossed the hair out of his eyes while he was talking.

He was a slim man, and on the short side, though still a good few inches above her, not that that was saying much. She liked that about him though. Gaston had been so much taller than her that he’d had to literally stoop to kiss her.

With Gold, she would simply have to wrap her arms around his neck and…

Belle stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, mentally shaking herself. What was she thinking? But then, she supposed it was harmless to imagine, since it would never come to be. Gold had known her since she was a child, for goodness sake. There was no way he could ever see her that way.

But then again, she was pretty sure he’d been staring at her legs at one point.

She glanced at her watch, and decided that since she’d finished up with her dad early, she still had a couple of hours before the rally. If she got ready quickly, she’d have plenty of time to swing by Gold’s with those records.

Showered and dressed in record time, she gave herself a last once-over in the mirror before heading out. She regretted that her outfit didn’t exactly make her look “mature.” She had on her favorite yellow dress, one of her shortest too, but she just adored the color. It was sleeveless, with a high neckline to make up for the short hemline. She usually paired it with tights, but the weather tonight was warm, and she remembered again Gold’s eyes on her legs that day.

It was her face that really betrayed her youth. She was twenty-six, so maybe she was getting a little old to paint flowers on her face, but the rally was a special occasion. That though, with the pale pink lipstick, and the feathers in her flat-ironed hair, she looked all of eighteen, if that.

With a helpless shrug, she donned her fringed suede vest, grabbed her records, and raced down the stairs. She kissed her dad on the cheek in goodbye, and in a spur of the moment decision, snatched a rose from the front display.

She held the rose to her nose as she hurried down the sidewalk, trying to let its scent settle her nerves.

When Belle reached the shop, she was surprised to open the door and find that Gold’s shop wasn’t empty.

She didn’t know why she was surprised, it was during business hours, after all.

She supposed the surprise came from the fact that it was Jefferson Carroll there, and he was talking to Gold like they were old friends.

Jefferson lived on the outskirts of town, and everyone thought he was a little strange. He wasn’t ostracized the way Gold was, but it was well-known that he suffered from some sort of mental disorder, so people gave him wide berth.

Belle had never had much contact with him, but she’d never found any reason to distrust or dislike him in any way. In fact, she’d always thought he was rather funny. He was older than her, but younger than Gold. She wasn’t exactly sure how old, because she suspected that he looked younger than he was, the way she did.

“Belle,” Gold said when he saw her, his voice going soft, which made Jefferson spin around to face her.

“Hi,” she began shyly. “I don’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, no, I was just leaving,” Jefferson said, with a rather disconcerting grin that he aimed first at her, and then at Gold, who scowled in return, then back at her again. “Rally tonight, huh?” he asked her.

“Yeah!” she said, trying to ignore his almost mad expression. “It’s shaping up to be a big one! A lot of people from out of town have been showing up.”

“Good, good,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Might have to come check it out for myself.”

“Far out!” Belle exclaimed. “Hope I’ll see you there!”

Jefferson donned, of all things, a top hat, which he then tipped to her, and proceeded to exit the shop. She smiled at his retreating form in bemusement before turning back to Gold, finding him looking less than pleased.

“Friend of yours?” she asked.

“Hardly,” Gold replied with a roll of his eyes. “He likes to come in and pester me, occasionally.”

“Sounds like a friend,” Belle said, giggling.

Whatever cloud that had dampened his mood seemed to lift, and he gave a half smile. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

She held up the records in her hands. “I promised, remember?”

Gold eyed the squares of cardboard warily. “Oh, very well, how bad can it be?”

“Not bad at all I’ll have you know!” she insisted, heading over toward the record player. She hesitated though once she was already reaching for the arm, wondering at her own audacity for going around like she owned the place. But a quick glance behind her assured that Gold was only watching her with amusement and…yeah, she was definitely not imagining the way his eyes lingered on her thighs.

“And what do we have here?” he asked, coming up closer behind her to peer over her shoulder.

“We have the Temptations, Aretha Franklin, and this…” she popped on the first record and carefully set the needle on. “Is Marvin Gaye.”

Gold looked fully ready to scoff at her choices, but it wasn’t long at all before a somewhat far-away look came over his face, and all of a sudden he looked years younger.

“Soul,” she said quietly, so not to talk over the music. “Kind of the love child of Jazz, I think?”

“It’s no Frank Sinatra,” he grumbled, unconvincingly.

“Well, we can’t all be Frank Sinatra.”

He huffed an almost-chuckle. “What about the others?”

 Belle ended up spending the better part of two hours on the floor of Mr. Gold’s shop, looking through records, listening to music – both hers and his, and Belle listened eagerly as he told her about concerts he was able to attend while stationed.

“They would come perform for us,” he said. “Lift our spirits, I suppose. And it worked. There’s nothing like music to sooth a soul.”

“It’s important to you, isn’t it?” Belle asked. “Music, I mean.”

He shrugged. “Once upon a time, I suppose it was.”

“Do you play? Or sing?”

His eyes went to something over her shoulder, and she twisted around to look at the big wooden box she was leaning against. She sat up on her knees and lifted the corner of the canvas sheet that was draped over it, realizing that it was old upright piano.

“Do you play?” she asked again, her voice rising in excitement.

“Once upon a time,” he repeated.

“I would love to hear you play sometime,” she said shyly, lifting a hand to brush her hair behind her ear.

She jumped slightly when his hand shot out and stopped her before her fingers touched her face. He seemed to realize what he’d done too late and snatched his hand away as if burned, his face turning a charming shade of red. “S…so sorry,” he stammered. “I only…you were about to…to smudge your flower.”

Now it was her turn to blush, and she had to fight herself from trying to brush her hair away again in nervousness. “Oh! Thank you! That would have been a drag!”

He chuckled, at her word usage most likely. “Yes, well, you probably ought to get going, if you want to make your rally.”

She gasped and leapt to her feet, stumbling a little on legs that were asleep. She looked down to find Gold staring hard at the Aretha Franklin record spin around, and his face was absolutely puce. She realized, embarrassingly, that in her rush to get to her feet she must have given him a bit of a show. Shouldn’t have forgone the tights.

She held out a hand to help him up, but he ignored it and managed to get to his feet with little problem if not a little pain. “I almost forgot,” she said quietly, bending (carefully) down to pick up the forgotten rose before handing it out to him with a smile. “If you’ll have it?”

He chuckled. “Such a Flower Child,” he took the rose, his fingers brushing hers, and she nearly gasped at the feeling.

“S…sure you won’t come out to the rally?” she asked, for the first time truly wishing he would, though she could quite put a finger on why. “Even if it’s just to deride the band?”

“Ah, no, though you make it sound tempting. What do they call themselves, anyway?”

Belle rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “The Killings.”

“A play on Killian Jones’s name I’m sure. How lovely.”

“Well…it was nice talking to you, Mr. Gold,” she backed away toward the door, not really wanting to leave at all.

“Don’t forget your records,” he said, bending to pick them up.

“You can borrow them,” she said. “I’ll come back for them later.”

He smiled at that, a real smile, one that made her feel oddly warm, and nodded.

 Gold stood, staring at the door for a full and embarrassing three minutes after Belle had left. What in the world was happening to him? Since when did he spend hours sitting on the dirty floor listening to albums like a teenage girl?

But when Belle had plopped gracelessly down, showing an alarming lack of concern for her short dress, he’d been helpless to follow her lead, trying to lower himself down as smoothly as possible to not draw attention to how old and lame he was.

He’d always known Belle to be a little ray of sunshine, and an intelligent one at that, but he’d never realized just how expansive that mind was. She was incredibly knowledgeable about music, and not just what was popular and when. She admitted to having read several books on music theory and could recognize subtle changes in tempo and rhythm that made a large impact on a song. So she was not only knowledgeable, she had an ear. And when she had softly sung along to Billie Holiday, her voice – while untrained – was low and throaty, and it had enflamed something in Gold that he honestly didn’t know was there.

He’d even offered up a small anecdote about the concerts and USO Girls from his time in the army, something unheard of for him, and she’d been attentive and interested, but didn’t ask questions about the war or his injury. He didn’t, however, lose himself enough to mention another pair of musicians that were popular at base.

He’d been unable to keep his eyes off her for long, and it made him feel like such a lecher. But she’d only smiled and giggled, which pushed that little yellow daisy on her cheek up toward her eye, and he found that entrancing for some reason, along with the feathers and ribbons strung through her hair and dangling from her ears. And then of course there was when she stood up again, and someone should really tell her to take more care, because he was treated to a sight that wasn’t meant for him. But damned if he’d forget about it anytime soon.

He was still facing the door when it suddenly opened again, and his heart leapt into his throat, hoping for an absurd moment that she’d come back, but it was just his idiotic “friend.”

“What do you want now?” he groaned, heading back to the safety of the counter. “I thought you said you were going to the rally.”

“I’m on my way, now,” Jefferson said, sidling up to the counter with a worrisome gleam in his eyes. He’d changed out of his suit and stupid hat and exchanged it for a more fashionable pair of bell-bottom jeans and suede jacket. Certainly more suitable for a hippie peace party. “Just swung by to collect you.”

“Me?” Gold asked incredulously. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told the young woman, I don’t think so.”

“The young woman,” Jefferson echoed with an abysmal attempt to mimic his accent. “You mean Belle French? The young woman who I just saw leave your shop some two hours after I saw her enter?”

“Get that look off your face and that thought out of your mind,” Gold warned.

Jefferson gasped in mock offense. “What thought? I only wonder at just what business she could have been completing with you that would take so long!”

“She brought some albums to show me. And then stayed around to listen to them with me, we got to talking and just lost track of time. That’s all.”

“You like her,” Jefferson said with a wide Cheshire Cat grin.

“Of course I do,” Gold said with a huff. “And you know full-well I do, I’ve always been rather fond of the girl.”

At this, Jefferson threw back his head and laughed theatrically. “Fond of the girl, my ass! For one, in case you haven’t noticed, and like hell you haven’t, Belle is hardly a ‘girl’ anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. For two, being you and spending two hours talking on the floor with someone goes way beyond fondness, and for three, four, AND five, did you even SEE the way she was looking at you?!”

“What way was that?” Gold asked, genuinely wondering, because he certainly hadn’t noticed her looking at him in any way she didn’t look at anyone else. “And…wait a minute…how did you know that we…were you spying?!”

But Jefferson only shrugged, unapologetic. “Old habits. Just looking out for my best friend, that’s all!”

“We are not best friends.”

“Well, maybe I’m not your best friend, I think I’ve been officially usurped by a tiny flower flinger, but you’re mine, and that’s not something you can dictate. So get over it.”

Gold groaned and covered his face with one hand. “If I don’t argue, will you leave?”

“You should come,” Jefferson insisted. “What better way to impress a woman than showing up to support her cause?”

“Because I don’t support her flimsy cause,” Gold said. “Belle may be perfectly well-meaning, but most of those other fools don’t know what the hell they’re talking about, and all they truly care about is getting stoned and having a party. And besides that, I’m a well-known Army veteran with a less-than-stellar reputation. Not exactly a welcome presence on its own. Never mind the fact that everyone in this town despises me.”

“She knows full well that you’re a vet,” Jefferson argued. “And me too, but she invited us both. Who gives a flying fuck what those other dirty hippies think? You can be seen with her, showing support to her if not the cause, and she’ll like that.”

Gold tried to formulate a proper argument, but quite frankly, he didn’t have one. He just kept thinking of her glowing smile, and that damned daisy on her cheek, and how he would perhaps like to see her having fun the way a young person should.

And there it was. Gold would show up, see her dancing and partying and drinking with her friends, maybe even a handsome young man, and then he could stop having delusions of ever having a relationship with her other than that of friends. And Jefferson would see too, and maybe he’d finally leave him alone.

“Fine,” Gold said at last. “I’ll show up, look around, say hello to Belle, and then I’m leaving, with or without you.”

“Works for me!” Jefferson exclaimed, bouncing up and down like a child. “Want a lift to your house?”

“My house? I thought we were going to the rally!”

“Well, yeah, but you need to get dressed.”

Gold looked down at what he was wearing, which was one of his best suits. Perhaps he was a little rumpled from sitting on the floor, but he just couldn’t imagine that any of the people at the rally would notice or care. “I am dressed,” he said.

“Yeah, for church,” Jefferson sighed. “This is an outdoor rally and concert. You don’t wear three-piece suits to an outdoor concert.”

“I am not going to a concert,” Gold said, sneering. “I said I would see Belle and then leave. Hell will freeze over before I watch that Jones boy squawk into a microphone.”

“Well, obviously we’re not going to watch those knuckleheads play, I’ve heard them, and trust me, they’re awful. But you have to at least look the part.”

“I’m not playing any part!”

“I’m not saying you should go out and tie-die all your shirts! But I know damn well that you own jeans.”

“Jefferson Carroll, I am not, under any circumstances, going to let you truss me up like some kind of paper doll just to fulfill whatever sick fantasy you have running through that demented head of yours. So forget it.”

 An hour later found Gold grumbling every curse word he’d ever learned, both in English and Scots, as he followed Jefferson to a large stage area near the beach, wearing fitted jeans, a dark red turtleneck, and a brown blazer. Quite literally the most casual clothes he owned, and the turtleneck had been a gift from Jefferson and never worn.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he hissed under his breath.

“Oh come on, hang loose. You look good. Groovy!”

Gold gave him a look, and Jefferson had the decency to back away.

The concert was already in full swing, the greasers on stage shouting indiscernible lyrics to an equally indiscernible tune, while the audience cheered and waved the typical banners covered in peace signs.

“They can’t possibly think this is good music,” Gold said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the racket.

“No way,” Jefferson agreed. “They were probably already stoned out of their minds before they got here. Look at them, most of these people aren’t even from Storybrooke.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing for Belle. Spread the word, or whatever.”

“Yeah, but they look like they’re just looking for the next party.”

Now that he mentioned it, the crowd looked pretty rowdy, and he was a little worried for Belle.

“What are those people doing?” he asked in disgust and shock, nodding toward a half-naked pair coupling in the relative shadows of the trees.

“They are having public sex, my friend.”

“It was rhetorical, Jefferson.”

“Jeff!...Gold?! Is that you?!”

They turned around to see Dr. Whale of all people, decked out in blinding colors, clashing patterns, and absurd little round red sunglasses that must have him nearly blind in the dark. Trailing behind him was the town’s resident therapist, Dr. Hopper.

“Hey, Victor,” Jefferson called, nodding. “Archie.”

“Did he drag you here, too?” Gold asked Archie, who looked about as comfortable as Gold felt – which was not at all.

“Yes,” Archie said, giving his friend a sideways look. “And I’m fully regretting it. This is…this is an orgy! I can’t be seen here! I’ll lose all credibility!”

“Nah,” Victor waved him off. “If anything people will be more inclined to come to you! You’re relatable!”

“I’m too old for this!”

“You heard him,” Gold said. “And if he’s too old, I’m damn right geriatric, come on, Hopper.”

Archie brightened up at the idea of escape, but Jefferson blocked their way. “Uh, uh, uh, you haven’t even seen Belle yet! Remember? The whole point of coming?”

“Belle?” Victor said; face alight like a teenage girl who’d just received some juicy gossip. “Belle French? Gold, old man, are you scheming on Belle French?”

“I am not scheming on anyone,” Gold snarled. “And please, talk like the grown man you are, and not a homecoming queen.”

“There she is,” Archie said, pointing toward the stage.

“The Killings” were wrapping up their song, and Belle was stepping confidently over to the microphone.

“Let’s hear it for The Killings!” she exclaimed.

The crowd erupted into cheers, while Gold, Jefferson, Victor, and Archie gave slow, sarcastic claps.

Jones winked at the crowd, making a few girls squeal in delight, then he hooked a hand around Belle’s waist, yanked her toward him and kissed her sloppily on the cheek.

Gold saw red, especially when Belle couldn’t keep the grimace off her face and discreetly pushed at him ineffectively. Jefferson laid a hand on his shoulder, as if to stop him from rushing for the stage, but he only clenched his cane in a white-knuckle grip and envisioned all the ways he could make Jones’ life miserable.

Jones let her go, and followed his bandmates off the stage, tossing a sweat-soaked bandana at the screaming girls as if he were Elvis fucking Presley and not just some untalented hack.

Belle recovered quickly, and her smile once again turned blinding. “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight, and I hope everyone has an awesome time!” more cheering. “Happy Endings Now is a group on a mission: to bring hope and love to a world in desperate need of both! To bring an end to ruthless and needless fighting and to bring our soldiers home for good!” At this, Gold found himself clapping more genuinely. “Stop fighting our parents’ wars, and give birth to a better world…one where love reigns!”

The crowd went wild, to Gold’s approval, and Belle’s smile was resplendent.

“Ok, I get it,” Victor said, nodding sagely, as they all watched Belle skip off the stage to launch herself into the excited arms of Ruby Lucas. “I mean, you’re gonna make a fucking weird couple, but I definitely see your end of things.”

“You’re as bad as Jefferson,” Gold groaned. “We’re not now, nor will we ever be a couple. I’ve known her her whole life. We’re friends, just…”

“Mr. Gold?!”

Gold nearly swallowed his tongue, his sentence trailing off in an embarrassing squeak. How did she skirt around the sizable crowd to get to them so fast? He turned around, cursing his face for flushing, and his feet for almost stumbling in the damp grass. He could hear Victor and Jefferson chuckling behind him.

If Belle’s smile on stage was one thing, the one she was directing at him was something else entirely, and he wondered dimly if he was having a heart attack, and was glad a doctor was standing next to him.

“You came!” she cried, her voice rising several octaves. “You acted like you wouldn’t be caught dead here! And…” she suddenly looked down, seeming to take in his attire for the first time, her eyes widening. “You look…great!”

“Uh…” Gold stammered. “Jefferson dragged me…he…”

“Oh don’t listen to him,” Jefferson said, waving him off. “I didn’t have to drag him anywhere. I only mentioned that it would make you happy if he made an appearance, and he decided he would!”

Belle’s eyes flitted back to Gold, and though the glow from the fairy lights strung from the trees was dim, her cheeks under the yellow daisy brightened. “Really?” she asked sweetly.

“Um…yes?”

“Belle, whoa, when you took off there was a cloud of dust like the Roadrunner,” Ruby was saying, catching up to her. “What did you…Mr. Gold?!”

“He came to see the rally!” Belle said excitedly. “He and his friends!”

Gold balked, and Victor smirked while Jefferson gasped audibly in absurd joy and Archie just chuckled. “They’re not my friends.”

Ruby didn’t look impressed, however. “Yeah but…Belle? Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“But, Ruby…”

“You go on,” Gold said. “You probably ought to make rounds, hm?”

Belle regretfully let Ruby start to drag her away. “You’ll stick around a while, though?” she asked.

Gold smiled at her. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

Belle gifted him with another radiant smile and turned to follow her friend. Gold turned back around himself to find Jefferson grinning at him triumphantly, Archie smiling knowingly, and Victor following the girls with his eyes until Archie nudged his arm.

“Huh? What?” Victor caught Gold’s glare. “What? I was looking at Ruby!”

“Can we go now?” Gold pleaded to Jefferson.

“You can’t go!” Archie said urgently. “You just told Belle you’d be around!”

“He’s right,” Victor agreed. “You have to see her at least one more time.”

“Do you realize what you all sound like?” Gold groaned, throwing up his hand in exasperation. “This isn’t some teen romance flick. Belle isn’t going to come looking for me or anything. It’s a large crowd, it’s not like it’ll be obvious when I leave.”

“Not look for you?” Jefferson scoffed. “Didn’t you see her face when she saw you? It was like she was looking at Santa, a unicorn, and, I dunno, a cart full of free books all at once. She was thrilled!”

Gold rolled his eyes. “She was probably just amazed to see me do anything a human might do. I’m sure her friend is talking some sense into her now and they’re sharing a good laugh.”

“Will you just accept the fact that the girl likes you?” Jefferson asked, laughing. “I mean come on, I don’t think you realize the allure you have…”

“Stop it.”

“He’s right,” Victor agreed, his finger touching his chin thoughtfully. “You have a certain je ne sais quoi.”

Archie nodded, as well.

“I will evict all of you.”

“You’re not my landlord,” Jefferson said.

“I will buy your house…and then I will evict you.”

“Love you too, man.”

 “Belle, what the hell?” Ruby said, dragging her friend by the arm over to a tent where they were passing out literature.

“What?” Belle asked. “And could you stop yanking my arm?”

“You were…mooning all over Gold! And what is he even doing here? We don’t want people like him and Jefferson here!”

“A: I wasn’t mooning over Mr. Gold. B: Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper are military veterans too. Your own grandmother was a combat nurse.”

“A nurse is very different from a soldier,” Ruby argued. “And Victor and Archie were drafted. Gold and Jefferson enlisted.”

“How would you even know that?” Belle asked. “And what does it matter? World War II was entirely different from Vietnam, and wanting to serve your country is anything but a crime!”

“All war is wrong!” Ruby insisted, picking up a folded paper from the table. “Says so right here in this pamphlet that you wrote.”

“I didn’t say that that war was somehow right, but it was a different time then. And our fight is against the government for sending our friends to the front lines, not against the soldiers in battle. They all deserve our respect.”

“Sounds like hypocrisy to me.”

“It’s not hypocrisy, Ruby, it’s just knowing what you’re really fighting for. Sometimes I don’t think you even know what you’re fighting for.”

Ruby scowled, putting her hands on her hips. “Who’re you to tell me what I know or don’t know? Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know what she’s fighting for!”

“At least I’m not trying to tell you who to be friends with!”

Ruby flapped her hands in the air with a growl and stalked away without another word. Belle fumed, wanting to follow her to yell at her some more, but knowing that it was best to let her go before they said things they’d regret.

“What’s wrong love?”

Belle groaned inwardly…and a little outwardly…cringing when she felt a heavy arm sling around her shoulder. “Go away, Killian.”

“Maybe you two should just kiss and make up?” Killian suggested slyly.

Belle shoved his arm off of her. “It would happen long before I kissed you.”

Killian held up a plastic cup, filled with some unknown liquid. “Here, the rally is a hit. That’s all that matters, right? You should celebrate!”

Belle eyed the cup wryly, glancing down at the joint in his other hand. “No, thanks.”

“It’s beer,” Killian said with a roll of his eyes. “And I haven’t even taken a sip. Mellow out, will you?”

But Belle still refused to accept the cup, until Gaston snatched it away, took an obvious sip of it himself, before offering it to her again. Belle sighed and took the drink. “Shouldn’t you all be getting back on stage?”

“Kiss for luck?” Killian asked, leaning forward.

“Go,” Belle groaned, turning away.

Gaston shrugged apologetically and followed his friend toward the stage. Belle growled in frustration, taking a large sip of beer. It was good, and the alcohol was quick to soothe her rattled nerves. She was angry at Ruby, and by extension didn’t especially want to go hang out with their mutual friends. From where she stood she could see Ashley, Thomas, Aurora, and Philip dancing dazedly, and she frowned at the realization that they were on something.

She’d experimented lightly with marijuana years prior, but had decided quite firmly that she didn’t like the feeling. She didn’t judge others for it, of course, and she didn’t mind her friends smoking, but she strongly suspected that some of them had begun to move on to much more dangerous drugs, and that she didn’t like at all.

She could see Ariel and her boyfriend, Eric, too, but they were locked in an embrace that was quickly becoming indecent, so Belle certainly didn’t want to interrupt them.

She decided finally to see if she couldn’t hunt down Mr. Gold and his friends again. She hadn’t known that the four of them were friends, but it made sense to her, all four veterans of the same war.

Belle wandered back toward the back of the concert, guessing that they probably hadn’t moved that far, sipping her beer as she went. She thought about what Jefferson had said about the reason Gold had come. Had he really shown up just for her? But then, why else would he have come? He’d made no secret of his disdain for HEN and the rallies. And he was perfectly entitled to his opinion. And he certainly had no love for anyone else here, so why else would he come if not just for her?

It was a heady feeling, and Belle took another sip, fortifying her courage and imagining all the ways she could thank him for coming.

She giggled to herself, then giggled again because the first one sounded funny.

Was it her imagination or did the music start sounding better? She looked up at the stage and immediately regretted it, because the lights started…swirling…on their own.

Her mouth felt dry, so she took another sip, but the cup felt weird in her hand. She looked down, staring hard at her nearly-empty beer, fear sinking into her gut.

She had no doubt that Killian would try something as skeevy as drugging her, but surely Gaston wouldn’t do that to her? He could be a jerk at times, but he wasn’t cruel. He’d taken a sip…hadn’t he?

Belle kept walking, dropping the cup and dimly feeling the rest of its contents splash her legs. She thought maybe she could just walk it off…just keep walking…snap out of it, Belle! Mind over matter!

She had apparently started walking into the crowd instead of around it, and the push of moving bodies swarmed around her like waves over a rock. They all squirmed around her…like worms. She was in a pit of worms…or maybe snakes…

A snake person in front of her was talking to her, and she blinked dumbly until the snake turned into Ashley.

“I think I need help,” Belle said, and her voice sounded wrong, like someone else was talking for her and she was just a puppet.

“What’s wrong?” Ashley asked, but her voice sounded far…far away.

“I have to get out of here!” Belle yelled. “Everything is wrong! God…the colors are too bright!”

Ashley laughed, but it sounded like a hyena. “Belle! Are you tripping?! Righteous! Sean, come check it out!”

Belle shook her head, pushing away from the hyena. The music felt like it was pressing on her…she actually felt it…

She was vaguely aware that she was hyperventilating, but she could barely feel it.

“What’s a matter, love?”

Belle frowned, squinting her eyes to make out the shape of Killian before her. They were on the outskirts of the crowd, and she didn’t remember getting there, but the music was still playing. Who was on stage if Killian wasn’t?

“What did you give me?” she asked, and her voice sounded like a rock. She giggled, how could a voice sound like a rock?

Killian giggled too, which made her laugh some more.

“Come ‘ere, love, I’ll make you feel better.”

She felt something warm and slimy on her neck. A slug! She had a slug on her neck! She wriggled away from it, trying to dislodge its biting teeth. “No!” she moaned.

“You’re going to want to release her…immediately!”

All at once the slug was gone, and Belle blinked dazedly as something she didn’t fully understand happened in front of her. Killian was on his back, yelling at a dark figure standing menacingly above him. But, strangely enough, the menacing dark figure instilled no fear in her. In fact, it made her feel calm, so she stared hard at it, willing it to stay within sight and not leave her in this pit of snakes, hyenas, and slugs.

“Belle? Belle, hon, are you ok?” the voice talking to her wasn’t a bad sound, not a hyena or a snake or a slug, but it wasn’t coming from the dark thing, so she ignored it.

“Adam! Get over here! She’s wigged out on something!”

“Belle?” the voice talking to her now filled her with such a warm feeling, that she wanted to cry, so she leaned toward it hungrily. A face loomed into her field of vision and she finally recognized the dark figure for who he was.

“Mr. Gold!” she cried out, flinging herself at him. He grunted softly, but his arms came around her at once and held her. “Tighter,” she begged into his chest. “I’m gonna fall apart!”

The arms tightened obligingly, and she breathed in relief.

“Jefferson!” he snapped. “Go back and get Whale! Now!”

“Don’t leave me,” Belle mumbled, feeling sleepy.

“Never, my Belle,” he said softly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I promise.”

  Chapter 3

Archie returned with two cups in each hand, looking harried. “I was offered a recreational drug three times on my way to the refreshment stand and back.”

“Careful, Arch,” Victor said, accepting his cup with a nod. “Some loose girl is gonna try to take advantage of you!”

Archie turned red around the ears, but rolled his eyes.

Gold stared dubiously into his own cup. “Do we even trust this beer?”

“It came from a keg,” Archie said. “So unless you suspect me, I think it’s safe.”

Gold sipped the beer, unsurprised to find it rather weak, and casually scanned the crowd for Belle.

“No sign of her from my vantage,” Jefferson said, proving that he wasn’t being that casual. Gold knew that his comment wasn’t a dig at his diminutive height, but it was a simple fact that where Gold was on the short side, Jefferson towered above the heads of most everyone in town. His penchant for wearing old fashioned top hats only served to make him look even taller.

“This music is giving me a headache,” Archie complained.

“I think it’s charitable to call it music,” Victor said.

“It’s too bad Belle didn’t know, she could have had some real musicians here tonight!”

“Shut up, Jefferson.”

“Who?” Archie asked.

Jefferson waggled his thumb between himself and Gold. “You should have seen us back when we were on R&R together. This guy here could have had any skirt he could possibly have wanted if he’d been of a mind. The second he stepped behind a piano and opened his mouth, girls were practically throwing their panties at him.”

“Shut up, Jefferson.”

“Seriously?” Victor said, amazed. “You, Gold? You’re a musician?”

“Was,” Gold corrected firmly, inwardly seething.

“I played the trumpet,” Jefferson said proudly. “Still do, in my spare time. But God, Gold, I miss playing with you!”

“What do you know?” Victor said. “I play the drums! As a hobby, of course. I’m not that good. But Arch here is a wiz on the bass.”

“You’re kidding!” Jefferson gushed. “Gold! Can you imagine?! We could start up our own band! Belle would flip!”

“You are out of your damned mind, Jefferson,” Gold deadpanned, but secretly, though he would never had any intention of joining, he rather liked the idea of the three of them banning together to play. Jefferson had true talent that had been wasted by the trauma of war, and he would like to see the man actually happy again. Never had Jefferson…never had either of them, been quite as happy as when they were playing music.

“Adam…” Jefferson said very suddenly, snapping Gold out of his musings with a terrified start due to the rare use of his first name. He was staring out past the crowd at something Gold couldn’t see, and was moving before Gold could ask what it was.

He knew, before Jefferson called out something to him over his shoulder, that there could only be one thing at that festival that could cause such a reaction. “Belle!”

It wasn’t long before Gold could see what Jefferson saw. Jones had left the stage, leaving the other two to carry on without him, not that it made much difference. He had Belle cornered beneath a copse of trees, pressed up against the trunk of one.

She was moving slightly, breath coming in quick pants, but not appearing like she was trying to get away as Jones’ mouth laved at her neck, and for a sickening moment Gold thought she was accepting his advances. He supposed all her apparent disgust could have been an act. Maybe she didn’t like Jones, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t attracted to him, and for some people, especially younger people, sometimes sex was just sex. But it saddened him, though he knew it shouldn’t. She didn’t belong to him.

Jefferson had hesitated too, unsure of the situation. “Something’s not right,” he said. “We should at least make sure she’s ok.”

“But she…”

Just then, Belle’s hands rose to Jones’ chest, pushing weakly, and she moaned a low “No…”

That was all it took for him, and he strode over toward them faster than a man with a cane had any right to. Once he was close, he could see that Belle’s face was pale, and her eyes were wide in fear. He didn’t know why she wasn’t fighting, but she sure as hell didn’t want this.

He grabbed Jones’ shoulder in a crushing grip, yanking him roughly away from her. “You’re going to want to release her…immediately,” he hissed dangerously.

Jones let her go, stumbling back with a curse. He swung around, raising his fist as if to strike, but Gold was faster; hitting him upside the head with his cane. He went down like a bag of rocks.

“Belle? Belle, hon, are you okay?” Jefferson was saying while Gold stared down murderously at Jones, contemplating hitting him a few more times for good measure. He’d not felt such a violent inclination since…since…well, a long time ago.

“Adam!” Jefferson yelled, snapping Gold out of his haze of fury. “Get over here! She’s wigged out on something!”

Instantly, all thoughts of violence were gone completely, and it was only after he stopped that he realized that he’d been shaking. Belle was staring directly at him, eyes wider than he’d ever seen, the pupils blown so wide that he couldn’t even see the blue.

“Belle?” Gold said softly, approaching her carefully. She was hyperventilating and shaking like a leaf. He didn’t know what Jefferson had meant at first by “wigging out,” but he could see right away that something was very, very wrong with her.

Once he was right in front of her, her eyes cleared slightly, focusing on his face. “Mr. Gold?” she whimpered, and before he could react, he found himself with his arms full of her, shuddering against his chest. His arms went about her automatically, and she pressed her face into his shirt. “Tighter,” she cried, and he didn’t know what that meant until she followed it by, “I’m gonna fall apart!”

So he tightened his hold, feeling like he was surely crushing the poor thing, but she only sighed in relief, her breath finally evening out, though her heart was beating at a rate that had his lurching in fear.

“Jefferson!” he said sharply. “Go back and get Whale! Now!”

Jefferson turned and ran without another word, and Gold walked with Belle in a strange sort of dance, to get her farther away from Jones and closer to a torch where he could see her better.

“Don’t leave me,” she whimpered softly into his chest.

“Never, my Belle,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I promise.”

He continued to murmur comforting words into her hair until Jefferson returned with Whale and Archie. “What happened to her?” Whale asked urgently, trying to get a look at her face, but she just kept burrowing into Gold.

“Killian Jones was harassing her,” Jefferson said. “But she’s high on something. She couldn’t fight him off, so Gold…” Jefferson gestured toward the unconscious lump a few feet away.

“I’ll go call the sheriff,” Archie said, darting away.

“Belle?” Whale spoke gently to her, no longer trying to pull her away from Gold when all that seemed to do was worsen her panic. “Belle? What did you take, Belle? It’s ok, just tell me.”

Belle cried, and grabbed a fistful of Gold’s shirt at his side, catching his skin in the process, but he ignored the pain. “Sweetheart, please, it’s ok. No one will think anything of it, just tell us what it was so we can help you,” he turned to Whale, trying to keep his own panic out of his voice. “How could this have happened? She was just talking to us half an hour ago at most and she was fine, then.”

“Some of this shit can take effect really quickly,” Whale said, managing to maneuver her face so that he could look into her eyes. “She’s out of it, but awake and on her feet. I don’t think she’s overdosed. Probably just needs to sleep it off. Belle? Do you feel like you need to go to the hospital?”

“No hospital,” Belle moaned, turning her face away from him.

“Belle, dear, maybe you ought to go…” Gold said, stroking her hair. “Just to be sure.”

She pushed away from him then, but only to the point of standing up straight on her own. “No,” she repeated firmly. “Papa will find out…and I’ll never hear the end of it…oh God…Jefferson could you stop yelling?!”

Gold and Whale looked at Jefferson, who’d been standing there silently the whole time. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“Dr. Whale,” Sheriff Nolan said, approaching the group with Archie at his side. “Everything ok, here?”

“Bad trip,” Whale said, indicating Belle. “I don’t think it’s serious, I just wish she could tell us exactly what she took so we can be sure. Probably acid, though, by the looks of it.”

“I didn’t,” Belle slurred, eyes drooping.

“Miss French, please,” Nolan said calmly. “We don’t have to take this matter any farther than right here. You’re not in trouble. Just be honest so the doctor can help.”

“But I didn’t.” she insisted. “I drank beer…that’s…he gave it to me…”

“Who did? Who gave you beer, Belle?”

She blinked in confusion for a moment before pointing over to where Jones was still unconscious. “Slug.”

“Belle! What’s going on?” Ruby along with several others were running over, and Gold had to reclaim his hold on Belle because it looked like she wanted to run away.

“Snakes!” Belle cried, ducking back into Gold’s jacket, almost literally burying herself under it.

“This young woman claims she was given a drugged beverage,” Nolan said. “Do you know anything about this?”

Ruby gasped. “What?! No! Belle doesn’t do drugs! Who would…Belle, are you okay?” she tried to approach her, to pull her away from Gold, but Belle flinched violently away and Gold tightened his grip protectively in response.

“Oh no,” it was Gaston, come fresh from the stage. At this point, most of the gathering was watching them. “It was my fault! I took a sip to show her it was ok, I swear I had no idea!”

“Then why aren’t you high?” Gold asked him accusingly.

“Look at him,” Jefferson said. “He is.”

“Alright, alright, I’m pulling the plug on this,” Nolan said. “Everyone go home now or I’m bringing out the cuffs!”

And just like that, the sizable crowd dispersed, fleeing the scene faster than a flock of birds, dragging their more inebriated friends with them.

Gaston and Smith went to pick up Killian and pull him away, but they were stopped by the Sheriff. “Not you two, I have some questions for you. And Whale, you might should come have a look at this one.”

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” Gold said, quietly enough that the Sheriff couldn’t hear.

“Judging by the smell I think the blow to his head was the least of his problems,” Jefferson said.

“What about Belle?” Gold asked Whale.

“Well she can’t be alone,” Whale said. “Someone needs to sit with her through the night.”

“I’ll take her to my place,” Ruby said, reaching for her again. “Her dad’ll wig if he sees her like this.”

Although he hated to let her go, Gold removed his hands from around Belle to allow her friend to take her, but Belle cried out; a heartbreaking little sound, and clung on tighter.

“No! She’s a snake!”

“A snake…” Ruby stammered. “Belle, honey…”

“She’s hallucinating,” Whale said unnecessarily. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“We had a fight just before this happened,” Ruby said, tearing up. “Belle, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t leave me,” Belle whimpered to Gold.

Gold sighed. It was highly improper, but he desperately wanted to just get her away from there. “I’ll take her,” he said.

“Take her where?” Ruby asked suspiciously.

“To my house,” he snapped at her. “You can come with us, and perhaps when her head clears a little she’ll let you take her home.”

Ruby seemed to debate with herself inwardly, before nodding begrudgingly.

 Gold, Jefferson, Ruby, and Belle made their way to Jefferson’s car after Whale detailed to them what to watch out for as Belle came off the drug, to make sure she stayed hydrated, and to keep her on her side in case she vomited. He promised to phone if they managed to get the type of drug out of Jones.

Ruby climbed into the front seat with Jefferson while Gold manhandled Belle into the back. She balked at first, declaring the vehicle unbelievably rude, but when Gold got in first, she followed instantly, clinging to him like a koala.

“He saved her from Jones,” Jefferson told Ruby. “He’s her knight in shining armor right now, so he makes her feel safe.”

Ruby couldn’t argue with that, seeing it clearly for herself, and her scowl relaxed.

Gold noticed that Belle was staring wide-eyed out the window, and he gently pulled her head back to his shoulder lest she make herself sick.

They were all silent as they climbed the steps to Gold’s home, slowly since Gold had to handle his cane and bad leg on one side, and a clinging koala on the other.

“Pink!” she blurted out, staring at the home. “Mr. Gold, why is it pink?”

“It’s salmon,” Gold defended.

Belle giggled. “That’s the biggest fish I’ve ever seen! Is it going to eat us?!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, figuring it was pointless to attempt to correct her. “But it’s ok, it’s nice and warm in the fish’s belly.”

“Oh good. I’m cold.”

When they entered the house, her wide, unfocused eyes looked all around, but then so did Ruby’s.

“Wooow,” Belle said in wonder. “So many things! She focused on a small clock sitting on a table in the foyer, next to an antique candelabra. “Pardon? Well, no, I haven’t seen a teapot, not today at least.”

“Oh my God, Belle,” Ruby said, laughing.

“It isn’t funny,” Gold snapped.

“It’s kind of funny,” Jefferson offered.

“Yeah, Mr. Gold!” Belle said, also laughing. “I mean…I mean…what did Jefferson call you? He called you by a name. Not Gold. Not any other color either.”

“Adam,” Jefferson provided helpfully, ignoring Gold’s scowl.

“Adam!” Belle exclaimed. “Adam Gold. Are you rich, Adam Gold? Because your name has gold in it. If you weren’t rich, your name should be…should be…”

“Broke?” Ruby suggested.

“Broke! But you’re not broken, Adam Gold. You’re just right.”

“Alright, that’s quite enough of that,” Gold said, before addressing the others. “You two go make her some coffee or tea. I’m going to get her into bed.”

Belle gave a scandalized gasp, a hand fluttering dramatically over her chest. “Adam Gold! You haven’t even bought me dinner yet!”

Ruby and Jefferson cracked up while Gold’s face flamed. He ignored the others’ merriment and guided Belle’s stumbling form up the stairs to his room. He had a guest room, and a room set aside for Neal, but the guest room bed wasn’t made up, and his own sheets were freshly laundered, plus he was loath to place an intoxicated woman in his son’s bed without permission.

“Here we are,” Gold said, steering her toward the bed.

“Whose room is this? she asked.

Gold sighed. “Mine, but it’s quite alright. You’ll be comfortable here.”

Belle fell into the bed, shoes and all, and snuggled against his pillow in a way that was so adorable, he almost choked.

He sat down beside her, gently removing her shoes, and the feathers from her ears and tangled hair. The daisy on her cheek had been reduced to an ugly smeared blur, and for some reason, the sight of it on her pale, drawn face made his anger resurface anew. He quickly bopped to the attached bathroom and returned with a cool, damp washcloth. He dabbed carefully at the flower, wiping it away, before oh-so-gently washing the rest of her face.

She lay still the whole time, closing her eyes with a dreamy smile on her face. For a moment, all he could do was stare at that face, and marvel at her trust in him, even in the throes of a hallucinogenic. He was just contemplating the removal of her vest and wondering if perhaps he should have Ruby come up to change her out of her dress when he looked down and realized that said dress had become rucked up around her hips, giving him full view of white lace panties that provided absolutely no covering of what lay beneath.

Blushing like a schoolboy, he snatched up a quilt at the foot of the bed and covered her with it, mentally berating himself for the depraved thoughts that were suddenly racing through his mind.

“How is she?” Ruby asked, making him jump and flush all over again. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “But I brought up some tea. She likes tea better than coffee at night.”

“I think she’s asleep,” he said. “But let’s try to get her up, she needs some liquid in her.”

Sat on either side of her, Gold and Ruby pulled a protesting Belle into a sitting position. “Drink some tea, love,” Gold said, holding the teacup up to her lips.

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbled. “The slug called me that.”

“My apologies, Belle,” he amended contritely.

“You can still call me nice names,” she pouted at him. “I liked sweetheart.”

Gold blushed, and then some more when Ruby noticed and smirked. “Sweetheart, drink the tea?”

Belle sipped the tea obediently after that, though that had to keep reminding her to finish it.

“I suppose you’ll want to sit with her?” Gold asked Ruby, thought it tore at him.

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “I’ll stay.”

“I’ll come check in a few hours,” Gold said. “In case you need to sleep.”

Ruby smiled at him, a genuine smile. “Thanks, ‘Adam Gold’.”

Gold rolled his eyes before setting Belle’s empty cup on the nightstand and grabbing his cane. He was halfway to the door when Belle’s eyes flew back open with a gasp and she started trying to struggle to her feet. The quilt however, wrapped around her legs, and she cried out in alarm. “Let go of me!”

In her upset, she rolled over, her arm flinging out and swiping the cup off the nightstand, which landed on the rug with a thud.

Belle got very still all of a sudden, staring off the side of the bed. Before they could stop her, she’d untangled herself from the quilt and was kneeling by the cup, which had apparently chipped in the fall.

“Oh no…” she whimpered, tearing up. “You’re chipped! Are you ok? Speak to me!”

Gold knelt beside her, wrapping his hand around hers that held the cup. “Belle, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s just a cup.”

“You were leaving,” she accused, tears still welling in her eyes. “You said you wouldn’t.”

And Lord, how those eyes could unman him with a look. “I’m sorry, Belle…I…” he looked over at Ruby helplessly as she peered down at them from the bed.

“He was only going to get you a shirt to wear, to sleep in,” Ruby finished for him.

“Oh,” Belle said simply before unceremoniously yanking her dress over her head.

Gold fell back on his ass, slamming his eyes shut, but not before he got an eyeful of pale, smooth skin and no brassier.

Ruby squealed in astonishment and he could hear her scramble off the bed to try and stop Belle, or cover her, one.

“Wow, Belle, let’s save that for later, huh? Maybe for when I’m not around?” Ruby cackled, only furthering Gold’s embarrassment. “Uh, Gold? Think we could get that shirt?”

With his eyes still closed, Gold stumbled to his feet with difficulty, biting back a curse when he stubbed a toe on his good foot on the leg of the bed. He didn’t open his eyes though until he was facing away from the bed and the naked Belle. He hurried to his chest of drawers and pulled out a soft flannel button-down pajama shirt. It was a little big on him, so he knew it would be plenty long enough to cover Belle. He would dare-say it would do a better job than her dress. He tossed it over his shoulder, hearing Ruby laugh, and then a few moments of rustling and Belle whining before Ruby told him it was safe to turn around.

When he did turn around, Belle was tucked into his bed, under the covers, wearing his shirt, looking sleepy and content. He gulped, and wondered if he was glad for or cursed the presence of a third person.

“I guess it’s on you,” Ruby said. “Mind if I crash on your couch?”

“You’re leaving?!” Gold exclaimed, his voice cracking like a pre-adolescent boy.

“Well, yeah, three’s a crowd, don’t you think? And Belle has clearly chosen,” she eyed him speculatively. “You know? If you were any other guy I know, I wouldn’t dream of leaving Belle alone with you when she was like this. But I actually am convinced that you’re not gonna lay a hand on her. Not now anyway.”

“Of course not!” Gold exclaimed, opting to ignore the last part of her statement. “But surely this isn’t…proper. Belle would be horrified when she wakes up!”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “She’ll probably be embarrassed, yeah, but not because of that. I’m gonna go see if there’s anything on that big TV of yours and see if Jefferson wants to hang loose with me to keep me awake, so I can come relieve you in a few hours.”

“Sleep if you need to,” Gold said, relenting. “I’ll come wake you if I can’t stay awake.”

“You’re a solid guy, Mr. Gold, a real gone cat.”

“I’m just going to assume that those are good things.”

Ruby chuckled and flashed him a peace sign, before leaving the bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

“Adam?” Belle whimpered.

Gold rushed to her side, sitting beside her on the bed and petting her hair. “I’m here.”

Her wide eyes were glaring daggers over his shoulder. “I don’t like the way that window is looking at me.”

Gold sighed, and, despite himself, chuckled. Only Belle could be this adorable while under the influence of drugs. Not that he’d ever want a repeat of all this. He made a show of closing the curtains, to block away the offending window, and returned to her side.

“Lay down with me?” she asked sleepily.

“I uh…think it’s better if I sit up,” he said nervously. “So I won’t fall asleep.”

“But it feels better when you’re holding me. Other…otherwise I might break apart.”

Well, there was no way humanly possible he could deny her at that, so that’s how Adam Gold found himself in bed with the woman he was rapidly falling in love with.

 Belle groaned, feeling like her head was just going to pop off and roll away, and she had a disgusting taste in her mouth.

A pair of strong, warm arms tightened around her, and she stiffened in panic. The last thing she remembered clearly was realizing that Killian had spiked her drink. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of waking in his bed.

Her eyes flew open, and she found herself face-to-face with, not Killian, but Mr. Gold. She felt dizzy with relief, but it was quickly replaced with confusion, and a different sort of panic.

Had they slept together? Like, slept slept together? She took a quick stock of herself, finding that though she wasn’t wearing her dress from the night before, she was still wearing underwear, and she felt that, with her lack of experience, she would know if she’d had her “cherry popped” the night before.

Bits and pieces of the night before came back to her, though she knew some of it wasn’t real, like the snakes and talking clock. Some of it she hoped wasn’t real, like basically crawling all over Mr. Gold and saying horrifyingly forward things to him. She also vaguely remembered waking in the night convinced that they were in an enchanted castle, and Mr. Gold had turned into some kind of magical lizard man with a strange voice. But instead of scary he’d been comforting, and she remembered telling him over and over how pretty his sparkly skin was. What had she kept calling him? Bumble? Rumple?

Mr. Gold’s, not Rumple’s, eyes opened suddenly, and she held her breath, both because she wasn’t sure what was about to happen, and also because they were practically nose-to-nose and she knew her breath had to be positively foul.

Gold sat up, and the sudden movement made her groan. “Belle!” he exclaimed, but softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Horrible,” she admitted. “What happened last night?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked, scooting over until he was only sitting on the bed, with his feet on the floor.

“A little,” she said. “I remember realizing only after my beer was almost gone that Killian must have spiked it, and I remember asking to…stay with you. I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold.”

“Sorry?” he breathed. “You have nothing to be sorry for sw…Belle. It’s that Jones boy who should be sorry.”

“But I practically forced you to take care of me,” she said miserably. “I’m remembering that right, aren’t I? I wouldn’t let Ruby stay with me?”

“You were confused and frightened,” Gold said. “I happened to be the first one to come to your rescue, though I wasn’t the only one. I was more than happy to do whatever I could to make you feel safe.”

Belle felt tears sting her eyes. “Thank you.”

Gold smiled, then patted her leg near her ankle. “You stay here, rest, and drink this water,” he gestured to a glass on the nightstand. I’ll go downstairs and see about breakfast, hm?”

Belle nodded, reaching for the water immediately. He wasn’t gone five minutes before Ruby entered, followed by Jefferson.

“And how’s our little psychedelic flower child?” Jefferson asked.

“Funny,” Ruby deadpanned, elbowing him in the ribs. “Are you feeling better, Belle?”

Belle tilted her head, wondering at the friendly behavior between the two. As far as she knew, they’d never even spoken before last night. “Better,” Belle said weakly. “Thank you both for your help last night.”

“You were a gas,” Jefferson said, laughing. “Let me know if you ever decide to imbibe again, I want to come watch!”

“Jefferson!” both women snapped, and he held up his hands in apology.

“I’m sure I was quite the sight,” Belle said, grimacing. “It was horrible, though. Everything was terrifying and it was like I could feel sounds!”

“Hugs, not drugs, honey,” Ruby said.

Belle snorted. “Indeed. Did I really cry over breaking a teacup?”

Ruby chuckled. “You thought you’d killed it.”

That reminded Belle of something else, and she inhaled a slow, deep gasp. “Oh my God…”

“What?” Ruby asked worriedly, rushing to her side.

“Ruby…please, please tell me I didn’t strip in front of Mr. Gold.”

Ruby winced, and Belle turned to bury her face in the pillow (the pillow that smelled just like Gold) and screamed, while Jefferson howled with laughter.

 After that, Gold had served everyone a delicious breakfast – served in his bedroom while they all sat on his bed – and then Belle excused herself to shower before being banished back to the bed, where she was kept all morning until Dr. Whale was able to stop by and check on her. He declared her alive, and told her to take it easy the rest of the weekend, and drink plenty of water.

He’d also said that Killian, Gaston, and Smith had been arrested, that Gaston and Smith had been bailed out right away, but Killian was still sitting in a cell last he heard. Belle was glad to hear it.

“I can’t believe I let them play at my rally,” Belle said miserably. “They ruined everything.”

“It was my fault,” Ruby said. “I’m the one who talked you into giving them the gig.”

“But I’m the leader,” Belle insisted. “It’s on me.”

“So we’ll do damage control,” Ruby said. “Get back out there. We can’t let this stop us.”

“Miss Lucas is right,” Gold said. “Don’t let a group of idiots and a bad experience stop you.”

“Really?” she asked, smiling. “You don’t even buy into our cause.”

“But you do, and I’d hate to ever see you lose your passion.”

“You won’t.”

 Belle left Mr. Gold’s house that afternoon after a heartfelt thanks and a warm hug, wishing she could do a bit more to thank him, but not with Jefferson and Ruby grinning at them that way.

“I’m sorry for the way I talked about him,” Ruby said as they walked arm in arm down the sidewalk, just in case Belle got unsteady on her feet. Jefferson had offered them a ride, but Belle wanted to get some fresh air to more fully clear her head before seeing her father.

“Mr. Gold,” Ruby clarified. “He’s not the monster the town makes him out to be. But you’ve always known that, haven’t you?”

Belle nodded. “Mr. Gold has always been kind to me. Why me and no one else, I’ll never know. But then again, I’m seeing now that I’m not the only one, am I? Did you know Gold and Jefferson were friends?”

“Can’t say I did. But Jefferson knew his way around that house like it was his own, so he’s obviously spent time there. I’ve heard they were stationed together at some point during the war. Though, I no longer can take any stock in what I hear.”

“Could be true, though,” Belle said. “I think Mr. Gold is really a kind person, I think maybe he’s just been through a lot. I also think he’s lonely.”

“Oh, I know that tone of voice,” Ruby said slyly. “You’re going to start peeling back those layers, huh?”

Belle smiled. “If he’ll let me, I would love to.”

 Chapter 4

In the days following the disastrous rally, Belle filed a report against Killian, but he was claiming that he had no clue that the beer was spiked, either, and that he, too, had been drugged without his consent. Unfortunately, it was found out that one of the kegs was indeed spiked with an LSD drug, and no one could prove who did it.

Belle kept quiet within HEN, intending to let the public just sort of forget about the drug-laden orgy her rally had become. She tried to just focus on work and the occasional hours she was able to volunteer at the town’s small library.

She didn’t go see Gold right away, feeling shy and uncertain about where they were in their relationship, if it could be called one. After what they’d gone through together, she could definitely say they were more than acquaintances. But she couldn’t be sure if he wanted to get to know her more, or if he’d been completely turned off by her that night.

“You should go!” Ruby pleaded with her, having turned a complete 180 on her opinion of the man since that fateful night. Though she still cautioned that they were very different people, and a relationship might have issues, she was suddenly Belle’s biggest cheerleader in her pursuit. “Don’t wait too long, he might think you feel weird about what happened!”

“I do feel weird,” Belle said. “But not because of anything he did, just because I don’t know where this leaves us!”

“Well, there’s one way to find out!”

 So Belle found herself standing at the door to Mr. Gold’s pawnshop, dressed conservatively in bellbottom jeans and a loose blouse. She still hadn’t quite gotten over her embarrassment that she’d stripped naked right in front of him, and wasn’t sure if she was thankful or disappointed when Ruby told her that he’d immediately turned his head.

She opened the door, hearing the cheerful ding of the bell, but almost turned right back around when she saw that not only was Jefferson present, but so were Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper.

“Come on, old man!” Jefferson was saying, to an unimpressed Gold, not having heard her come in. “Just think of how…”

“Jeff…” Whale nudged him, and they all four turned to look at her.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked weakly.

“No!” they all said at once, before Jefferson, Victor, and Archie were all scrambling over themselves to leave the shop.

After they’d all gone in a cloud of dust, Belle shifted on her feet awkwardly. “Wow, do I know how to clear a room, or what?” she joked, hoping to make him relax his tensed posture.

“Ignore them,” Gold said, not relaxing in the least. “They’re being idiotic. How are you Belle? Feeling okay?”

“Oh, I’m totally fine now,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But I’ve definitely learned my lesson about accepting drinks from people.”

“You shouldn’t have had to learn it that way,” he said darkly, and Belle shivered. Not in fear…but something else.

“Well, lucky for me you were there to save me,” she said, trying for coy.

He scoffed self-depreciatingly. “Jefferson is the one who saw that you were in trouble.”

“But you defended me from Killian, and you held and comforted me through the night. Not Jefferson.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but shut it again, and for a moment they just stood there in awkward silence.

“I…got a couple new albums,” Gold said, changing the subject. “One is of some of Elvis’s lesser known songs, I think you might like.”

Belle grinned. “Can we listen to it?”

Gold jerked his head over toward where he kept the player, and Belle felt a giddy bubble of happiness to see that he’d moved a chaise lounge into the corner with it. He’d obviously hoped she’d come back to listen some more, and wanted them to have a place to sit.

So sit they did, listening to music, and discussing the evolution of rock-n-roll. The chaise was small, so they had to sit close together. Therefor it wasn’t hard for her to lay her head on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen, and hoped she hadn’t been reading him wrong. But then his arm came up and around her, and he pulled her even closer. That same feeling that she remembered through her drug-induced haze came back to her in a rush; a feeling of safety, rightness, and…she was almost afraid to think it, love.

   When Belle had to finally leave to go to work at her father’s shop, Gold had to just sit on the lounge for a while and compose himself. He had hoped she hadn’t been able to tell just how much her closeness affected him. He thanked every deity he knew of that his body hadn’t betrayed him like this when she’d been in his bed, but at the time he had mostly just been worried about her.

This time, she’d come to him of her own free will, sound in mind and body. She’d asked to stay and listen to music, and had cuddled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it did feel natural, to put his arm around her and lean his head against hers, breathing in the fresh scent of her, feeling the warmth of her soft curves.

He needed to go talk to Jefferson.

Wait, where had that thought come from? What was he, fifteen? Bad enough that he couldn’t just sit next to the woman without getting excited, he wasn’t about to run off to gab about it! Besides, Jefferson and his new pals had nearly humiliated him in front of Belle. They’d ambushed him with this ridiculous idea to form a band. It was imbecilic.

Jefferson and Whale kept trying to use the excuse that it would impress Belle, but he knew that it would be more likely to embarrass her, especially if he actually did as they said and “write a song for her.” How horrifying.

Archie, at least, hadn’t been so aggressive, but he was obviously amenable to the idea himself.

“Why don’t you just do it without me?” he’d asked them. “You don’t need me.”

“But you’re the piano player,” Jefferson argued. “That’s the heart and soul of a band. And I daresay that you’re the best singer.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else. I don’t even play anymore. It’s been so long…I’ve probably forgotten how.”

“You haven’t forgotten,” Jefferson scoffed. “Those keys are part of you. Always have been.”

“Well, that part must have been the one to step on a land mine, because it’s gone.”

“Come on, Jefferson, he doesn’t want to do it,” Archie said then. “Don’t try to force him.”

But Jefferson had continued to plead until Belle walked in, which blessedly shut them up and chased them right out the door.

It was stupid. Pointless. Ridiculous. Music was something he’d let go of a long, long time ago, along with many other aspects of his life. All it would do at this point would be to serve as a reminder of the worst time in his life.

It was idiotic. But…

He glanced over at the covered upright. It hadn’t been tuned in a decade. Maybe it would actually sell if he uncovered it, cleaned it up, and tuned it.

Yes, he’d do that, then it would be sold and out of his life completely.

 Belle and Gold continued to see each other, either when she visited his shop, or just about town. When he came to the diner, Ruby greeted him with a friendly smile. If Belle wasn’t there, either Victor or Archie or both usually were, and they always insisted that he sit with them. Gold found, much to his surprise, that he rather didn’t mind the doctor and the psychiatrist. Especially Archie, who was quiet, but once he opened up was a good conversationalist.

Several of the townsfolk wondered at this change, seeing the feared Mr. Gold making friends of all things, probably wondering what nefarious plans in had in mind. But he also found he didn’t really care about that either.

For her part, Belle was thrilled to see Gold smile occasionally and talk to people, showing them a side that so far only she had ever seen. He seemed more relaxed than she’d ever seen him before, and it was wonderful. Perhaps he hadn’t come fully out of his shell, but it was certainly a start.

 One afternoon, after helping her father that morning and making plans for a small gathering for HEN – not a rally, just a meeting, and something to get them together again and hopefully mend some fences – she made her way to the pawnshop, twirling a yellow daisy between her fingers.

She could hear music playing before she even opened the door, and she smiled. She’d never caught him listening to music without her before, and she hoped that it meant that he was just in a good mood.

The sign on the door was flipped to ‘Closed’, but she didn’t let that stop her from turning the handle that was never locked as long as he was inside.

The piano music playing was some of the most beautiful she’d ever heard, and she was excited to ask him who it was. But once in the shop, she realized that the sound was clearer than any record she’d ever heard, and she slowly became aware of the fact that it was because it wasn’t a recording.

Someone…Gold…was sitting at the upright, and he was playing.

Belle froze on the spot, watching him from behind with her mouth hanging open. He’d said he’d played, but she hadn’t expected this. The melody was not one she recognized, but it seared through her skin and straight to her heart.

She didn’t think that music could feel like that, like being literally caressed. It sent chills through her spine and brought tears to her eyes.

She must have made a sound, a gasp or something, because he suddenly stopped and turned around, eyes widening like he’d been caught doing something illicit.

“I…I was just…” he gestured to the piano nervously.

“Don’t stop,” she begged softly.

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned back around, and began to play again. It was a different song this time, a slower one, but just as hauntingly beautiful.

Belle walked slowly over to him, afraid to move too fast lest she disturb him again. She watched as his long fingers flew across the keys like they weren’t even touching them. She’d never seen anything like it.

At some point she sat down beside him, her back to the keys, but her eyes went back and forth between his hands and the intense look on his face, not sure which one she wanted to stare at more.

Eventually the song ended, and with a boyish smirk, he started up a jaunty tune that she quickly identified as Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.

“He was a famous trumpet man from up Chicago way,” she sang once she picked up the rhythm. “He had a boogie sound that no one else could play, he was the top man at his craft, but then his number came up, and he was gone with the draft. He’s in the Army now, a-blowin’ revelry; he’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B.”

Gold stopped suddenly and turned to her in surprise. “Belle…you sing wonderfully!”

She blushed. “Oh, gosh, thank you. But you…I had no idea…why did you ever stop playing? You’re amazing!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I played all the time as a boy after my aunts taught me. Piano, guitar, even a little violin. It was what attracted my wife to me in the first place.”

Belle’s breath caught in her throat. She’d honestly had no idea he’d ever been married. Stupid rumors of purchased Japanese brides notwithstanding. She was determined not to let it bother her, however. He had, after all, lived a whole life before she was even born.

“What happened?” she prompted softly.

“Well, the war happened. Before that I was just a poor farm boy, abandoned by his drunken father when I was seven and shipped to America to live with his equally poor, aged aunts. The depression hit, but we were self-sufficient enough that we got by on what I made at a textile factory. Milah and I…well, it was hardly a great love. She saw me playing guitar in a bar and came up to me and said, “Why don’t you buy me a drink?” So I did. We went steady, and it was easy I suppose. I was good with money and made a decent living in a time where the entire country was struggling. I guess, to her, I was security. And to me, she was…comfort. We married, and got on just fine.  

“When the war hit, and boys started getting called up…I thought that maybe enlisting before the draft could get me would make me seem courageous. Manly. So I did. And Milah, she was so proud of me. I even worked up in rank fairly quickly. I had a mind for statistics and strategies, and I was put on several secret missions. That’s how I met Jefferson. He was Special Ops. We gravitated toward each other, first because we both came from poor families and deadbeat fathers, were both considered something of prodigies of warfare, and then because of music. He was a trumpet player, started out in the Army as the bugle boy. That song is his favorite. But he has a brilliant, brilliant mind, and it was only a matter of time before it was noticed, and he shot up in rank faster than I did. He was responsible for missions that…well…that cost a lot of lives. On their side, and sometimes ours. There’s no way that wouldn’t affect a man, seeing so many people, innocent or no, die because of your actions. Because of our actions.

“We were in Germany, following a lead that several POWs were being held in an old empty mill, way out in the country. We’d planned to go in with just our core group of ten, sneak in under the cover of dark, slit some necks and get our boys out of there with as little fuss as possible. But it had been a setup. There were prisoners in the mill, but they were just bait. The place was littered in landmines, but luckily, Jefferson realized it before we got too close. We had no choice but to retreat, but I argued, saying that since we knew there were landmines, we could be careful enough to get in.

“Our Sergeant wouldn’t hear of it, said it would be suicide to attempt. But I got it into my damned head to play the hero, and I broke rank, and I headed for the mill alone. Jefferson tried to stop me, but in the end he wouldn’t let me go alone, so he followed. If we were detected before we got close enough to the mill, everyone would be dead for, so the Sergeant really had no choice but to follow…”

Gold hesitated, his throat convulsing as he fought back tears. “I stepped on one of the mines. It caused a chain reaction that set them all off. Two men were killed. Four others seriously injured, not counting myself. Jefferson, thank God, made it out with only temporary hearing loss.”

Belle looked down at the leg she knew he always favored, unable to imagine stepping on a landmine and somehow living to tell the tale. She wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. Didn’t dare to so much as speak in case it made him stop talking. She had a strong feeling that he needed to get it all out, and he needed her to just listen.

Seeming to make up his mind about it, he took a deep breath and bent down slowly, then lifted his pants leg…

Revealing a wooden leg from the knee down.

Belle wanted to cry out in distress, but bit it back. She’d known of course that he had an injury, but she’d never known that he was missing a limb.

“I was shipped home, my injury being the only thing that saved me from a court martial for my actions on the battlefront. I was dishonorably discharged. Jefferson lost his position, and was eventually discharged with honor, but no medals. We learned later on that all of the POWs in that mill were killed.”

At this point, Belle couldn’t help but speak, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “But you know that they were probably going to be killed no matter what you did.”

“I know that. But if I’d just shut up and obeyed my commanding officer like I was supposed to, none of us would have been hurt. Those boys may still be alive, and I’d still be a whole man.”

“You are a whole man,” Belle insisted hotly, unable to help herself. She couldn’t dispute that he’d made a mistake all those years ago, but she would argue like hell that it took away at all from the man he was today. “Your leg makes no difference in that.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “My wife didn’t think so.”

“What?”

He looked at her for the first time since he’d begun his tale, and Belle’s heart shattered at the pain reflected in his eyes. How long had he been holding all of it inside?

“She was ashamed of me, coming home a broken, battered shell of man. All the honor from having joined the army stripped from me. I couldn’t blame her. But when I got home, still recovering, she surprised me with a son,” just like that, his voice became slightly lighter. “We’d conceived him, apparently, on my last visit home. He was a year old already, and the most adorable little thing you’d ever seen in your life. So I had to try, try to heal, to live. For him. I swear, if it hadn’t been for him…there was a very dark time in my life that I probably would have…well…I wouldn’t be alive now, let’s leave it at that.”

Belle took a breath, trying to process all this new information. Mr. Gold had a son, who would be rather close to her in age, and she’d had no clue. “And your wife?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer judging by the way his expression darkened.

“In time she grew to hate me. Not only had I been kicked out of the Army, I couldn’t work. Couldn’t help chase Neal around once he got up and running. Couldn’t even please…and, well, I guess I didn’t make it easy on her. I was angry all the time when I wasn’t with Neal, and every little sound sent me into a panic. One day, when Neal was just barely four years old, I came home from the doctor to find them gone. Her things, Neal’s things, all the cash we kept saved, all gone. All there was, was a note saying she’d met someone else, and knew that I was in no condition to take care of a child on my own, so she’d taken Neal with her and she’d…” he choked, tears finally springing to his eyes. “find him a good home.”

“What?!” Belle exclaimed. “She…she took him from you…and didn’t even keep him?!”

Gold nodded. “I spent years searching for my boy, but Milah covered her tracks well,” he took a deep breath and smiled. “I did find him though, my boy. I reached out to his adoptive family, fully expecting to have to fight tooth and nail to be able to see him, or else wait a couple more years until the lad turned eighteen. But they surprised me, by allowing me to meet and get to know him. Good people, the Darlings. They sent Neal to stay with me every summer once he turned sixteen. He lives in Boston now. He’s an artist.”

“That’s wonderful,” Belle enthused, happy that at least that portion of his story had a happy ending. “How did I never…” she trailed off, suddenly remembering a sweet teenager with a mop of unruly brown hair. “Neal! I do remember him! I never knew he was your son!”

“Yes, well, I chose not to advertise it,” Gold said, shrugging. “Several people knew; Granny, Mayor Mills, the Nolans, Jefferson of course.”

“I remember when Jefferson moved here,” Belle said, wracking her memory of when she was a kid. “Why did he?”

Gold shrugged. “I never knew, exactly. The man had every reason to hate me. I ruined his career. But he…didn’t. So he moved here, and hasn’t left me alone since.”

“He cares about you,” Belle said firmly.

“I suppose.”

“And you care about him.”

“…I suppose.”

Belle smiled, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes, then let her fingers trail through it some more when she realized how soft it was. “It wasn’t fair, the way your wife treated you. She should have been supportive, taken care of you. Love you.”

Gold sighed. “I suppose she never truly loved me. And I think I never truly loved her, either. It was young love not…true love…if such a thing exists.”

“You don’t think so?”

Gold met her eyes, and the look in them made her melt. “Maybe…maybe I do,” he said.

They were both hesitating, and Belle made up her mind that if either of them were going to move, it would have to be her, and she leaned forward, heart thundering, inwardly cheering when he mirrored her.

The first brush of his lips against hers was unlike anything Belle had ever felt. Oh, she’d been kissed plenty, by Gaston and a handful of other crushes in school and beyond. But this was electric in a way she’d previously not thought possible, and they were barely even touching.

He made a low sound in his throat, and suddenly he was kissing her, teeth grazing her lower lip, tongue running along it until she happily let him in. She dug her hands into his hair and held on for dear life, moaning in approval when his hands slid around her waist.

After a few minutes, they broke apart, gasping for air. She grinned, and he responded in kind, smiling bigger than she ever seen from him.

“Adam…” she began, venturing to use that ‘forbidden’ first name, when a piercing sound filled the air. She had just enough time to see his smile melt into terror before they wrenched apart.

It sounded like gunshot, or mini-explosions, and the dimly lit shop flashed like a pyrotechnic show.

“What’s happening?” she cried, but when she turned to him, he was just standing there, without his cane, his face deathly white. “Adam!”

Just then, the front window exploded in a shower of flame and glass, as something hurled through it. It erupted in a shower of sparks, and Belle finally could see that it was a firecracker. A firecracker…in an antique shop.

The sparks were flying everywhere, the high-pitched whistling noise deafening in the previously silent room.  Belle ducked away, feeling pin-pricks of heat on her arms, and screaming when tiny fires started breaking out in several places; on the rack of clothes, on the books, on a pair of marionettes.

“Adam! The shop’s gonna burn down!” she yelled, but he was suddenly nowhere to be found. Maybe he’d run for help? …And left her there?

But regardless, the shop was about to go up in flames, with her inside, so she rushed to the bookcase first as the last of the firecracker died down with a dwindling whistle. She ripped a quilt off the wall and started beating at the bookcase, then took a few books off the shelf to stomp the flames off, as much as it hurt her to step on books. With that fire out, the clothes were still burning, and fast, filling the small building with acrid smoke, and that needed to be the next to be extinguished but…

“No!” Belle cried, beating the flames licking the side of the piano, wishing she knew if and where Gold had a fire extinguisher.

“Gold!” Jefferson screamed, bursting into the shop.

“Jefferson, help!” Belle yelled back. “The piano!”

“Leave it!” Jefferson snapped, grabbing her arm. “You need to get out of here! Where’s Adam?!”

“I don’t know!” she turned around, looking for him. She knew in her heart that he hadn’t left her. Maybe he was hurt. “Check the back!”

Jefferson disappeared behind the curtain just as she caught sight of a foot. She dropped to her knees with a painful thud behind the counter, where Gold was curled into a ball, rocking and grinding his teeth so hard she could hear it, his hands pressed tightly to his ears.

“Gold!” she choked out, the smoke making her eyes sting and her throat burn. “Adam!” she laid a hand on his shoulder, and he screamed, a sound that would live in her nightmares for a while to come.

Jefferson reappeared then, brushing past her and ignoring Gold’s screams to drag him bodily to his feet. “Come on!” he yelled at her, leading the way to the backroom and out the back door, dragging Gold along.

The fire department was just arriving, and the firemen rushed inside the building, thankfully putting out the fire quickly before it got any more out of hand.

“Oh my God, Belle!” Ruby yelled, breaking out of the gathering crowd to come to her side. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Belle said, not taking her eyes off of Gold, where he sat against a trashcan, head buried in his hands. “Someone shot fireworks into the shop.”

“Are you serious?” Jefferson barked, and Belle jumped at the sharp tone of his voice, so unlike the Jefferson she knew. Ruby cowered back as well. “Someone fucking did this on purpose!”

“It could have been an accident,” Ruby offered. “Kids, maybe?”

“It was no kid, it was fucking Jones. I know it. I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t say things like that!” Ruby exclaimed, glancing back at where the police and firemen were gathered. “If Killian really did do this, they can charge him.”

Belle knelt beside Gold, afraid to touch him, but desperately wanting to comfort him somehow.

“Belle! Jefferson! Is everyone okay?” Victor asked as he and Archie made their ways past the forming police line.

Archie took one look at Gold and seemed to understand what was happening. “We need to get him off the street and away from this crowd. Come on, my office is just a building over.”

Jefferson and Victor propped Gold up between them, and carried him over to Archie’s office.

They maneuvered him into the office and to the couch. Ruby reached for the light switch, but Archie stopped her.

“No, leave it. And maybe some of you should leave for right now, he doesn’t need to feel crowded.”

Victor nodded understandingly, and led a somewhat confused Ruby out. Jefferson hesitated, clearly wanting to stay, but nodded decisively and headed for the door. “I’m going to tell Sheriff Nolen what you said about the fireworks,” he said. “And make sure he checks into Jones. You take care of him,” he said to her, and she took at as the warning it was. You better take care of him, or you’ll have me to answer to.

“What should I do?” she asked Archie helplessly, wringing her hands.

Archie handed her a cup of water, which she gratefully downed. “Maybe just sit beside him for now,” he said. “Don’t crowd him, don’t touch him. Just sit, and talk. Quietly.”

Belle did as instructed, and sat beside Gold where he was pressed against the back of the couch, his knees against his chest, his artificial leg sticking out at an awkward angle. She realized with a lurch that it was probably painful, but he either didn’t feel it at the moment, or didn’t care.

“I’m here, Adam,” she said softly, praying for the strength to keep her voice steady and the tears at bay. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m right here.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say, so remembering what he’d said about her voice, (was that really only an hour ago?) she began to sing slowly and quietly.

“See the pyramids along the Nile… watch the sun rise on a tropic isle… just remember, darling all the while…you belong to me…”

At length, Gold’s breathing evened out, and he leaned almost imperceptibly closer to her. At Archie’s nod, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned farther in, until his head was on her lap.

“…You belong to me,” Belle finished in a choked whisper, stroking his hair.

After a few more moments, she could see Gold blink, then he slowly raised his head, looking around as if he didn’t even know how he’d gotten there.

“Adam?” Belle ventured.

He looked at her, seeming to take a second to truly focus in on her, and saw the black smudges on her skin. “Oh God…” he whispered. “Belle…”

“I’m fine,” she rushed to assure him. “And I don’t think the shop suffered too much damage.”

“N…no…there was an explosion,” he said, confused. “A landmine…”

“A land…no, darling, there was no landmine, no explosion. It was just firecrackers. Someone lit them outside the shop on purpose, then shot one through the window.”

“But I felt it,” he insisted. “I could feel my leg…” he stared down at his leg, as if expecting to see a stump instead of his trouser-covered artificial limb.

“What you felt was common,” Archie said, and Gold looked up at him in surprise, clearly having not realized he was there. “You’ll probably have heard it called shell shock, but it’s actually a more complex condition known as gross stress reaction. A…delayed response, if you will, to the trauma of war.”

“I know about shell shock,” Gold said, sounding immensely tired.

“Have you experienced this before?”

“Not…like this,” he admitted. “But when I first came home after the war, I was fearful of loud sounds for a long time…still am, clearly.”

“And something like fireworks would create a direct fight or flight response in you. In most anyone who had been through an experience like yours.”

“Whoever did it must have known that,” Belle seethed. “They were deliberately trying to frighten him.”

“And they succeeded,” Gold said miserably. “I’m so sorry, Belle.”

“Sorry? What on earth for?”

“What for? Belle, my shop was burning down around our ears and I just cowered in a corner like an animal. You could have been hurt or…worse…and I did nothing.”

“You’re allowed to be afraid, Adam. God, we were just talking about what happened to you and then this happened. How could anyone blame you?”

“A real man doesn’t cower or run when someone he loves is in danger.”

Belle ignored the flutter she felt when he said “love.” “By a real man, I think you mean a human,” she said firmly. “One with fears, and flaws, just like the rest of us. Do you think it was smart of me to try to put out the fires on the books and piano, in that order? Instead of just trying to get us to safety?”

Gold chuckled despite himself. “I could hardly expect you of all people to let the books burn.”

“But books and instruments are replaceable. We aren’t. If it hadn’t been for Jefferson, we both might be dead.”

“Belle’s right,” Archie said. “You’ve been through something few of us can comprehend. I don’t even think I can. And your reaction to such a violent reminder was only human.”

“But you can’t possibly still want to be with me…er…friends with me…” he cut a shy look from Belle to Archie. “…after seeing me that way,” Gold said, but with a hint of hope in his voice that he would be proven wrong.

“You let me decide what I want,” Belle said. “And what I want right now, is to take you home and take care of you the way you did me when I was drugged. Cause that’s what a relationship is, right? We take care of each other? You, me, and our wayward child, Jefferson?”

Gold chuckled and allowed Belle to thread their fingers together. “Oh, a relationship now, is it?” his tone was playful, but she could see the genuine question there, and she only smirked in response.

“I think it’s really healthy for you to talk about this,” Archie said, smiling at the pair. “If Belle is who you’re most comfortable talking to, then that’s great. But if you like, I’m here, too, if you need to talk.”

“As a therapist?” Gold asked wryly.

“As a therapist, or just as a friend, if you’d rather. Or, perhaps Jefferson. He told me that you don’t open up to him, but don’t you think if anyone understands what you’ve been through, it’s him?”

Gold nodded, squeezing Belle’s hand. “He’s always been there for me. Always.”

“And now you have lots of people there for you,” Belle said.

He arched a brow. “Lots?”

“Well there’s Jeff, Archie, Victor, Ruby, and Neal. And you know, I think Sheriff Nolan actually really likes you. And his wife thinks you’re dashing. I remember her saying that to my mom once. And of course…there’s me.”

Gold looked like he wanted to debate her claims, but found that he couldn’t. He had friends; a family who cared about him, a woman who supported him, and that’s all there was to it.

 Chapter 5

If asked before it happened, Gold would have thought his panic attack in the shop would have irreparably humiliated him. The way he’d huddled up in fear, that Belle had been witness to such weakness, the fact that Jefferson had to carry him out of his burning shop like a child.

But the more he thought about, the more he realized it didn’t embarrass him. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was impossible to really feel shame when those around him did nothing but support him and just act happy that he was alive.

He wasn’t healed. The incident exasperated some old ticks; such as shaking hands, raised voices making him nauseated, and worst of all the phantom pains in his missing leg had returned with a vengeance, not to even mention the pain from misusing it that night. But even though it had been the worst panic attack he’d ever had, it had been the first that left him feeling almost cleansed instead of just plain sick.

A pair of smiling blue eyes had a lot to do with it.

“Belle,” he complained laughingly. “I have to get up!”

His bed had been transformed into something of a throne. All set up with pillows, (every pillow in the house,) and blankets, and a stack of books a mile high. Belle, Jefferson, and Ruby had even pitched in and bought him a brand new, portable record player, so that he could listen to music wherever.

“Nuh uh,” Belle declined with a prim shake of her head. “The doctor said to stay  off your feet for three days. It’s been one.”

“But Belle…”

“No buts! Whatever you need I can bring to you.”

“Belle…” he said again, firmly. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh…” Belle blinked, blushing slightly, but recovered quickly. “Well why didn’t you say so? Do you have a bedpan?”

Now it was his turn to blush. “No! Belle, the doctor specifically said to stay in bed except to use the restroom and to bathe. I am not using a damned bedpan. I know full well how to get around. Been doing it a long time and in worse condition than this.”

He hadn’t meant to snap, truly he didn’t. Belle was only trying to be a good caretaker, and bless her heart, she didn’t quite know what she was doing. He’d often snapped at Milah that way and worse, and she responded by screaming back and stomping out of the room, not that he’d deserved any less. Belle, on the other hand, just jutted her bottom lip out at him.

“Okay, okay, crankypants,” she replied, appearing completely unfazed.

“I’m sorry,” he said at once regardless. “I shouldn’t have spoken that way to you.”

Belle smiled and reached out to brush some hair out of his face. “It’s gonna take a bit more than a testy attitude when you aren’t feeling well to put me off. Now come on, up with you before I have to change your sheets.”

He chuckled, and let her pull the covers off before swinging his legs…his leg, over the side of the bed.

Jefferson had been the one to help him change and get into bed the day before, and to help remove his wooden leg. He never slept in it anyway, save that night when Belle had begged for his comfort, but the remaining stump from just above where his knee had been was red and enflamed from the abuse it had sustained, so he couldn’t put the thing back on until the swelling went down.

It wasn’t anything knew to him. He’d gotten around plenty of times without it, but it was the first time Belle had ever seen him without it, and he paused, evaluating her expression and letting her look, despite how uncomfortable it made him. He was only in boxer shorts, after all, and his mottled flesh was on full display.

“It’s swollen,” she said in sympathy.

“Yeah, it happens sometimes when I over-exert. It’ll be okay.”

Belle lightly brushed the tips of her fingers across the mangled skin and he jumped involuntarily. “Sorry!” she said quickly, snatching her hand back.

He grabbed her hand, pulling it back to him, if only to reassure her that he wasn’t upset. “No, it’s ok. I’m just not used to anyone but my doctor and me touching it.”

Belle ran her hand more confidently over the stump, and Gold marveled at the utter lack of disgust in her eyes. He’d been hastily and agonizingly cauterized by the field medic, then later stitched up, so the result, even after so many years, was hideous. “Would a massage help, maybe?” she asked sweetly.

He flushed. “Uh…my…my doctor sometimes…but you…you wouldn’t want to…”

Belle giggled. “I would. Just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, but he highly doubted it. It was one thing to let her touch that most hated part of him, but add that to the idea of her rubbing an area very close to another, more appreciated area, was a bit more than he could handle right then.

“Right,” she said finally, taking her hand away – and, amazingly, he missed it – and stood up. “Do you need help?”

He fought to restrain his temperamental tendencies. “No thank you, sweetheart. I can handle that part on my own.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, laughing. “I meant getting there. Although if you asked, I would certainly help you with that as well.”

To his astonishment, she winked at him, and would this slip of a girl ever stop making him blush?

He let her help him into a standing position, and hand him his crutches. He showed her how the top parts looped around his arms, but he only needed one to get him to the bathroom and back.

He felt her eyes on him as he returned, and he tried to keep the grimace of effort off his face.

When he plopped back down on the bed, he didn’t protest as Belle bustled about to tuck him in again.

“Clucking about like a mother hen,” he said with an amused smile.

“I’m not…” she froze and stared at him. “That was a dig at my organization, wasn’t it?”

“A little bit.”

Belle slapped him playfully with a throw pillow before settling down beside him on the bed, facing him. Her eyes moved to his nightstand, which his leg was propped up beside.

“May I?” she asked hesitantly.

When he figured out what she was talking about, he nodded, and she reached over to pick up the prosthetic.

“It’s heavy!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes,” he agreed, not sure how else to respond.

She slowly examined the leg, running her hands along the grainy wood and bits of aluminum at the knee and ankle joints.

“This looks uncomfortable,” she commented, fingering the rough leather straps that connected it to his thigh.

“I’m used to it,” he said. “Once the calluses built up, I didn’t notice it that much anymore.”

She moved the foot, testing the ankle joint. “Should it not move easier than this?”

He didn’t know why, but he was beginning to feel a little defensive of his wooden leg. “It shouldn’t move too easily, or else I’d fall. True, it’s a little stiff, but my leg is a far sight better than some.”

“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t meaning to sound insulting. I just…they’ve come pretty far in the development of prosthetics. I just wonder why you haven’t gotten a more comfortable one. One made of plastic.”

“Plastic?” he asked. “Uh, I guess I’d never given it much thought. I went for years with a horrible stick for a leg; my ‘temporary’ leg which was only meant to hold me off for short time until the VA gave me a new one. It was like the bottom of a crutch. Like a peg leg,” Belle winced in sympathy. “It was only after I started making money on investments that I was able to get ahold of this one. I knew it wasn’t the best…but it was sadly difficult to get a very good one.”

“Would you…” she trailed off, hesitant.

“Would I what?” he prompted. “It’s ok, I won’t be offended.”

She bit her lower lip. “Would you be interested in a new one? If maybe I could try looking into it?”

“How do you even know it’s possible?”

Belle shrugged self-consciously. “Well, Victor brought up…conversationally, that quality prosthetics were becoming more readily available for veterans, and I…may have already sent away for some information.”

“You did?” Gold asked in amazement. It hadn’t even been two ­days­ ­since she even found out that he had a fake leg!

“Are you upset?” she asked uncertainly.

Gold took the leg away from her, setting in carelessly on the floor, and gathered her up in his arms. “Upset? Oh sweetheart, how could I be upset, when you’re so wonderful?” he took her chin in his forefinger and thumb, and tilted her head up so that he could reach her lips.

It was their first kiss since the one that had ended so dramatically, but it was just as good as before.

Only this time, her tongue moved more quickly and confidently into his mouth, and he groaned in approval.

His hands went to her hair, tangling his fingers in her impossibly silky strands. She hadn’t bothered to straighten it, as she normally did, and it hung in soft, gentle curls. He adored it, and he hoped to one day find a polite way to let her know he preferred it. In the meantime, he would simply continue to muss it up to show his appreciation.

She was wiggling deliciously against him, and before he knew what was happening, she was straddling his lap. Her knee-length skirt bunched up around her thighs, so that all that remained between then was their underwear and a thin blanket.

One of his hands moved down to grip her thigh, sliding it up under her skirt until he had a hand full of her ass. She moaned in response, and moved even more.

It was like she couldn’t be still, and it was driving him insane. He knew she must feel him growing hard against him, but she must not have minded, since she only responded by grinding down against him.

Unfortunately – very unfortunately – that wonderful motion also put too much pressure on his thigh, and he involuntarily had to pull away from her delicious mouth to bite back a moan of pain.

“Oh God! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she stammered, rushing to get off of him. He tried to pull her back, pain be damned, but she wiggled away and put a foot of distance between them. “I’m so sorry!” she repeated.

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” he insisted. “I’m sure as hell not.”

“But it was stupid to do that when you’re already in pain.”

He chuckled. “For a minute there, I forgot I had any legs, much less lacking one. Please come back here. Sit on my good leg, it’s alright.”

But she wouldn’t straddle him again, much to his dismay. She did, however, cuddle against his side, which was a good consolation.

“Maybe we should just take it slow,” she said, biting her lip again in a way that was making him crazy. “I wouldn’t want to put you back on recovery.”

“You’re not,” he insisted. “But if you want to take things slow, we will,” he looked at her face, and there was something in her expression that gave him pause, because it wasn’t just about him and his leg. “Don’t think I expect anything from you, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “You don’t even have to tell me for me to know. I really just don’t want to hurt you…but also…”

“Also?”

“I’ve never…well, that is to say…”

He chuckled. “It’s okay to be a virgin, Belle. I’m not so old fashioned to expect it of you, but I’m certainly not going to be put off by it either.”

She sighed. “It’s just that you’re older, with more experience. You’ve had a wife, and I’m sure plenty of other lovers. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He just had to laugh at that. “Plenty of other lovers? You make me sound like a regular Don Juan. Trust me, I’m not. My, er, partners, can be counting on one hand, and none of them were anything special, and my wife and my relationship…well, my good memories of it were pretty tainted by the memory of how it ended. You? Christ, Belle, you could dance around the room for me, fully clothed, and I would be more turned-on by it than any of my past…dalliances. I mean…” he glanced surreptitiously to his lap, and she followed his gaze, blushing hotly when she could see that he was still aroused. “As for my age...does it bother you at all? You can be honest.”

“It doesn’t bother me in the least,” she said. “I’ve been gone for you for you since I was I was thirteen. I just hope it doesn’t bother you any. That you see me as a woman, not a kid.”

“Belle, believe me, if I hadn’t seen you as a woman for a very long time now, we would not be in this very situation right now. I’ll admit, when I’d started to become attracted to you, it galled me a bit. But you’re such an intelligent, articulate, caring, beautiful woman. And for some reason you chose me. Far from bother me, my dear. I just feel damned lucky. But wait a second, what do you mean, ‘gone for me since you were thirteen’?”

“I mean I’ve had a crush on you since I was thirteen.”

He chuckled. “How could you? I was nothing more than the grumpy old man who came to collect rent once a month.”

“You weren’t and aren’t old, and I happened to find you very debonair and mysterious. You spoke to me like an equal, and that really meant something to me. You, sir, are single-handedly responsible for my sexual awakening.”

Gold made a sound like someone was pushing the air out of his lungs, and removed his arm from around his giggling Belle. “Okay! Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“Very well,” she said, still laughing. “But it’s true. And it always felt like something completely unrealistic, like fantasizing about a book character or celebrity. It wasn’t like I had actual designs on you until…well, until that first day I came to your shop.”

“That’s a relief,” he chuckled. “And it was the same for me. But I’m happy you did.”

She grinned, then leaned up to kiss him lightly. “Me too.”

 The investigation about the fireworks hadn’t turned up any leads. If it was Killian, and Belle knew full well that it was, he’d covered his tracks well. No one had seen him outside the shop, but he had been seen at the Rabbit Hole that evening, even though no one was able to prove he’d been there at the same time as the incident.

After three days of rest, and more and more grumpiness as the days wore on, Adam was finally allowed by his doctor to put his leg back on and get out of bed.

In the three days of his bedrest, Belle had all but moved in with him for the time. Jefferson visited regularly, and he was the one to sit nearby while Adam took a bath, just in case he needed help, but he never did. Victor and Archie stopped by a couple of times too, and Ruby brought dinner every evening. Granny even accompanied her one night, gruffly informing him that she’d added some extra pickles – at no extra cost, just this once – and gave him an herbal oil that he could massage into the skin of his leg, saying that it worked wonders. Belle gave him a wink at that, which flustered him to no end, though he’d managed a thank you to the older woman.

Belle’s other friends were less understanding about her relationship with Gold, and their distrust put a huge damper on the group. Belle hoped that it would pass, and they would be able to come to terms with it.

Her father, well, he’d taken it better than Belle had feared.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she’d come home to pack for her stay at Adam’s. “You’re not moving out, are you?”

“Not just yet, Papa,” she said with a smile. “Although I’m getting up there in years, don’t you think it’s about time?”

“No,” he said bluntly. “You’re fine right where you are, until you’re married at least.”

Her father was of the opinion that a young woman remained at home until she went to live with a husband. He didn’t think young women should live on their own, and hadn’t allowed her to live in a dorm during college, though she’d only gone for two years. But Belle didn’t complain. Her father was all alone save for her, and besides, living at home allowed her to put aside a generous savings. She was only grateful that he’d never seemed keen on trying to marry her off. He’d tolerated Gaston the way only a protective father would, but seemed relieved instead of disappointed when she’d broken it off with him. When he found out, through the grapevine, just what had happened to cause the breakup, he’d been murderous. Only the pride he had in her for dealing with it on her own had stopped him from going to the boy’s house and giving him what for.

Belle had considered telling him that she’d be spending a few days at Ruby’s, but dismissed that thought. She hated lying, and besides, it was bound to get back to him eventually in this small town. And since nothing inappropriate was likely to happen while he was recovering, she had nothing to hide.

“I uh, I’m going to be staying at Adam Gold’s house for a few days.”

“Adam…who’s…wait, Mr. Gold?! The landlord?”

“Yes?” she said uncertainly.

“Why in the world would you go to stay at his house?”

“He was hurt last night, Papa. Didn’t you hear about the shop?”

Maurice’s ire deflated. “Yes, I did. That’s horrible, what was done to him. No one deserves that.”

Belle looked at him in surprise. Maurice had served in the war too, but he’d thankfully been stationed state-side, handling deployments and special operations. She knew that that didn’t mean he hadn’t had his share of grief, dealing with deployments that ended in boys being killed, but he luckily not had to go through the horror of battle. By that point, most everyone knew about Gold’s reaction to the fire, and Shell Shock was not something readily understood or accepted. But Maurice, for reasons Belle couldn’t know, seemed to truly empathize.

“It is,” she agreed. “And the incident aggravated an old injury, so he’s going to be on bed rest for a few days. He needs someone with him, to take care of him.”

“That doesn’t answer why you are going to be that person.”

Belle stood up, taking a deep breath. “Because, Papa, Adam and I…” she knew that Gold preferred people to use his last name, less personal that way, but if she was going to be talking about him in terms of being her boyfriend, she wasn’t about to call him Mr. Gold. “We’re…involved.”

“Involved?” Maurice echoed, blanching. “I’m going to need you to elaborate, I’m afraid.”

“Well, we haven’t exactly defined the relationship yet, but I have feelings for him, Papa. As he does for me.”

Belle expected one of several scenarios. Either her father would explode, tell her she was crazy and try to lock her in her room. He would become quietly furious and start listing all the ways he thought it was wrong. He would say nothing, and just go out and threaten Gold with physical harm if he didn’t leave his innocent little girl alone.

It was the one reaction Belle hadn’t anticipated that won out in the end.

Maurice shook his head, then pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a sudden headache. “Your mother would be having a field day right about now.”

“Mom…she what?”

“She told me how you puppy-dog eyed him as a teenager. She teased all the time about how you were going to grow up one of these days, and ‘go after your man’ as she put it. I know she only did it to rile me, I don’t think she ever actually expected it. But oh boy, would she be crowing now.”

Belle laughed softly. “I didn’t exactly intend to ‘go after him.’ It just sort of…happened.”

Maurice paled even further. “I don’t need details.”

“Papa! No! Nothing like that! Not…yet…”

“Ugh!”

“I’m sorry!” Belle was still laughing, dizzyingly happy that he wasn’t actually angry. “You don’t…you don’t mind?”

“Well, I’m not thrilled!” he said. “He’s old enough to be your father!”

“Technically,” Belle admitted. “But you’re almost old enough to be his. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Maurice rolled his eyes heavenward. “He’s an asshole.”

“Not to me, never to me.”

“I know,” he sighed. “You and your mother were always fond of him. And that does count for something. If he’s good to you, princess, I suppose that’s all that really matters to me.”

Belle flung her arms around him. “Thank you, Papa! And he is. He’s wonderful.”

He patted her back before setting her back to look at her. “However, it’s very improper for you to be staying at his home without being married.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to take care of him. It’s not a romantic getaway.”

“Still. He’s a man, and he’s bound to enjoy it too much.”

“Oh my God, Papa, stop.”

“Stop trying to protect my little girl? Never.”

 In the end, both she and Adam had enjoyed it…a bit too much. But Belle’s only regret was that he’d been in no condition to further the…enjoyment.

It wasn’t a sense of propriety that had kept her a virgin all these years, just a simple matter of not having found anyone that she felt that connection to. Ruby, from the time she lost her virginity at seventeen, had been of the inclination that sex and love could be mutually exclusive, that sex could be just for fun sometimes. Belle was fully supportive of her best friend’s activities as long as they were safe, she just didn’t share that opinion. She couldn’t imagine being able to be that unguarded with someone unless she loved and trusted them.

And she trusted Adam implicitly, and was quickly finding herself more and more in love with him, though she hadn’t had nearly enough nerve to reveal that to him. They hadn’t even progressed to calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Although, “boyfriend” wasn’t a title that really seemed to fit him.

She checked her watch, picking up her step, waving at Marco on the sidewalk. She’d gone back home to have lunch with her father, and assure him nothing inappropriate had happened during her stay. (And it wasn’t even a lie!) But she was supposed to meet Adam at his shop, which had been cleared by the fire department, to go over the damage together. She was running late though, and growled to herself for it. She didn’t want him to have to go inside alone.

She found him standing outside, leaning heavily on his cane, and she hoped dearly that he hadn’t been waiting long. But she couldn’t help but smile at his attire, even though it must have been picked out to save his suits from the ashes. Dark wash, fitted jeans (bellbottoms would not have done him justice,) a tight, white button-up, and the same brown blazer from the rally. On his face was a pair of round sunglasses, giving him a very Ringo Starr appearance. Though in her humble option, Ringo had nothing on Adam.

His face brightened when he saw her, and it pleased her somewhat to see that instead of leaning away from his cane to try and diminish the look of dependence like she’d seen him do with many people, including herself, he leaned even more on it, to better balance while he held out his other arm for her.

She complied immediately, wrapping her arms around his torso under his jacket, and pressing her nose against the skin at his chest the lack of tie and a few buttons mercifully undone provided for her.

It was ridiculous, really, how much she’d missed him. She’d left his house only that morning, pouting shamelessly as she packed her small overnight bag back up. He’d laughed at her dramatics, trying to insist that he was still convalescent, and perhaps she ought to stay a few more days. But despite her growing feelings, moving in with him would be too fast, and they both knew it. She refused to become that girlfriend who had to hang on her boyfriend constantly, especially now that he was becoming a little more social. She desperately wanted to see him living and having fun with friends without her, as contradictory as it seemed to the fact that she had the desire to be with him all the time now.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him, scrutinizing his face for any sign of tiredness or pain. He did look tired, but she suspected it was preemptive of what they were about to do.

“Ready to get this over with,” he sighed, eying the paper-covered remains of the window. “I uh…I waited for you…because I didn’t…”

“I know,” she said, squeezing him. “I’m sorry I was late, lunch with Papa took longer than I meant for it to.”

“No matter,” he said. “I’m sure he’s been worried about his little girl, spending time in the lair of the Beast.”

Belle swatted his arm playfully. “Oh hush, you. I’ll have you know he’s been very understanding about this.”

“I’m glad,” Adam said seriously. “I would hate to cause problems between you.”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about. Are you ready to go in?”

Adam took a deep breath. “I suppose so.”

He opened the door, and led the way in, still tightly gripping her hand. Belle supposed he was still holding that breath, because he let it out suddenly. “It’s not as bad as I I’d thought it would be,” he said.

The fire had claimed the entire rack of vintage coats and dresses, which was a real shame, as there had been a couple of 1920s era gowns Belle would have loved to have tried on at some point. Most of the items that had been displayed on the wall on that side were gone as well, but luckily the fire had been mostly contained to that one side of the shop. The biggest problem, unfortunately, would be the smell and amount of smoke damage affecting the quality and value of the rest of the items and antiques.

Adam kicked at the remains of the sparkler still sitting in the middle of the floor.

“Any arrests, yet?” Belle asked.

“No,” Gold said gruffly. “And I doubt there’ll be one. They covered their tracks well.”

Belle squeezed his hand. “Ready to get started?”

He smiled at her. “Ready.”

 For the next hour, Gold and Belle (mostly Belle, to Gold’s chagrin,) dragged the items most obviously beyond repair out to the curb for trash. Then they began the tedious job of examining the rest of his inventory and deciding what could be salvaged, and what couldn’t.

They were just about to launch the daunting task of removing all the books from the bookcase, sorting the damaged books from the good ones, and then removing the burned bookcase itself, when the door creaked open, the bell above making more of a clink instead of a ding.

“You started the party without us?” Jefferson asked, leading the way, followed by Victor, Archie, Ruby, Sheriff David Nolan, and his wife, Mary Margaret.

“What are you all doing here?” Gold asked, trying to keep his voice sounding polite instead of suspicious, accounting especially for the unexpected appearance of the sheriff and his wife.

“We’re here to help!” David said cheerfully. “Leroy and his crew are on their way to get that window replaced in a jiffy!”

“I brought some cleaning supplies,” Mary Margaret said, holding up a pair of buckets. “I can get things clean and smelling fresh in no time, just you wait.”

“And Granny’ll be by later with dinner for everyone,” Ruby announced then clapped her hands together. “Now, where do we start?”

Gold looked over at Belle in astonishment, believing she must have asked them to come. But she looked as surprised as he felt, if far less disbelieving.

“I…uh…” Gold stammered, totally unsure of how to react to so many smiling faces, aimed at him. “I…thank you.”

Everyone waved off his thanks as no big deal, and scattered out to start cleaning. With everyone helping together, the work was getting completed in no time at all. David, Jefferson, and Victor were able to haul out bigger pieces of ruined furniture and pieces of drywall, and Mary Margaret and Ruby were scrubbing what was left behind. Archie helped Belle with the books, and Gold was able to move around and answer everyone’s questions about what could stay and go.

“What about this, Mr. Gold?” Ruby asked, holding up an old red dress cape, the sort worn by women from his time to formal events and such. It had been displayed elsewhere from the rack of clothes, so hadn’t sustained damage. “It doesn’t smell terribly bad. I think with a bit of airing out, it’ll be just fine.”

It didn’t take someone as adept at deal-making as Gold to catch the glint in the young woman’s eyes as she carefully handled the velvet cape.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Gold said smoothly. “With things like clothing, it would be the height of unfairness to sell something like that that’s been through a fire. I wouldn’t be able to charge hardly anything.”

“Really? But it’s so pretty!”

Gold hummed. “I think not. But if you like it…why don’t you simply take it?”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Oh… I couldn’t!”

“Nonsense, I’ll just have to throw it out if you don’t give it a nice home. It’s rather old fashioned, but I think you could pull it off quite well.”

Ruby grinned excitedly and wrapped it around her shoulders. Gold hadn’t been just saying that, and he’d been right. The girl’s tall build and graceful air were made for such a classic garment. “What do you think, Belle?!” she asked, near squealing.

“It looks beautiful on you, Ruby!” Belle gushed from her position on the floor, surrounded by books.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” Ruby said shyly before turning away to continue cleaning, an extra bounce in her step, cape flowing merrily behind her.

Belle stood up, stretching the stiffness from her legs, and came to stand beside him. “That was very sweet of you.”

“I meant what I said,” he gruffed, trying to brush off her praise. “It was either she take it, or I threw it out.”

“No, you could have sold it if you’d wanted to. You just wanted her to have it, because she wanted it, and you’re being sweet.”

“Well…the least I can do for all her help is offer her a silly length of fabric if she wants it.”

Belle reached up and placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, ignoring Victor’s wolf whistle from somewhere on the other side of the shop.

Gold cleared his throat, a little overwhelmed with this level of public affection, but liking it all the same. “As for you, my dear, I do hope you have a decent stack of not quite ruined but not quite sellable books over there.

Belle blushed, guiltily following his gaze to an out-of-the-way pile, and he grinned in response. “Well…there are a few with just some singed edges, and I couldn’t bear to throw them out!”

“And I’m sure you know someone who would love to keep them.”

“Oh…I just thought maybe you’d take them.”

Gold kissed her brow. “I think not. And I also think that copy of Dracula you’ve been eyeballing for some time should find its way to that stack, as well.”

“But that one’s not damaged at all!”

“Humor me?”

Belle bit her bottom lip, but didn’t bother to argue. He knew that if he’d offered her something like jewelry, like his first impulse would tell him to do, her protests would come much stronger. But there was little chance of such a bibliophile refusing the gift of books. No, the jewelry would have to wait for her birthday.

In the end, he managed to sneakily give away “damaged” goods to everyone, once he caught the tell-tale sign of holding the object in question a bit too long, or asking him questions about it. Mary Margaret took a set of glass unicorn charms that he told her once belonged to a baby mobile. The way her eyes lit up, and one hand strayed to her middle made him suspect that even at their age, it was possible that they might soon be giving their adult daughter a brother or sister. David took, of all things, an antique prop sword. Victor, a WWI era stethoscope, and Archie, an ornamental umbrella. Only Jefferson escaped with nothing, but Gold knew that was because he knew him too well to be tricked. But Gold was especially glad that they accepted the gifts when offers of payment were vehemently refused.

Not even Leroy and his men accepted payment for the superb job they did in replacing the front window, and even went so far as to put up some new drywall in the corner that was most damaged. They wouldn’t, however, be able to stop him from lowering their rent next month.

Granny had arrived, just as Ruby said, with mounds of food, and everyone settled on whatever flat surface they could find to eat.

“You think this is ok?” Belle asked, setting aside the remains of her burger and wiping her hands before turning in her seat on the piano bench to indicate the upright. It had a large, ugly scorch mark on the side, but an earlier look told Gold that the interior had been undamaged.

“One way to find out,” Jefferson said, winking at Gold.

Gold stiffened in embarrassment, but risked a glance at Belle, who was looking back at him hopefully. She wouldn’t ask him, he knew, but he also knew that she wished he would.

And he found, to his surprise, that the thought didn’t fill him with the sick feeling of remembrance anymore. Instead of Milah’s scowls and derision, he thought only of Belle and the way she’d looked at him that night. And instead of explosions and fear, he thought of the way it had felt to play alongside his best friend to the joy of their troupe.

He wiped his own hands, turning in his seat, and lifted the cover before running a quick scale up and down the keys to test the sound.

He heard a gasp from someone behind him, either Ruby or Mary Margaret, and chanced a look to find everyone but Jefferson and Belle staring in utter surprise. With a mental shrug he began to play, the same song he’d played for Belle that night.

“It’s so beautiful,” Belle murmured. “But what is it?”

“I…wrote it,” he said quietly, not looking at her. “I started it years ago, but I finished it…well, for you.”

He glanced up to find happy tears forming in her eyes, and he looked back down at his hands quickly, before he became too flustered.

When the song finished, everyone was silent for a long beat. Mary Margaret and Ruby were staring with doe-eyed expressions that made Belle scowl playfully and David nudge his wife with his elbow.

“As lovely as that was…” Jefferson said, inexplicably now holding a trumpet in his hand, and brought it to his mouth to play a fast paced, jazzy tune.

Gold laughed, shaking his head, but followed his lead, the two falling into rhythm as easily as breathing air. The woman laughed out in delight, and everyone clapped along, until Victor suddenly compiled together the buckets, a broken tambourine, and two long paintbrushes, drumming out a rolling beat with practiced ease.

Archie leapt to his feet, dashing out the door, leaving everyone to wonder until he reappeared with his bass guitar from his office, picking up the song right away.

“Wait, I remember seeing…” Mary Margaret said, getting up to dig through some of the items they’d been sorting through and coming back with an acoustic guitar, all but shoving it into her husband’s hands. David flushed, but after a few moments spent tuning it, an entire band was in full swing.

They went back and forth between old jazz and some more modern music. And when Ruby begged for her favorite song, Heatwave, they complied. Gold didn’t know it, but he was able to pick up after a few tries.

The girls sang out, and Gold noticed Ruby from the corner of his eye, elbowing Mary Margaret stealthily before jerking her head toward Belle. He wondered what that meant, until the both suddenly stopped singing, dropping back to “backup singers,” as Belle, not paying attention, sang alone without inhibition, her voice more powerful and gravelly then he remembered.

“Whenever he calls my name, soft, low, sweet, and plain…I feel…well I feel that burnin’ flame. Has high blood pressure got a hold on me, or is this the way loves supposed to be…” she almost trailed off, noticing that she was having a bit of a solo, opening her eyes to find several other pairs gaping in astonishment. But Gold nodded at her encouragingly and she smiled and continued.

Gold could honestly say he’d never felt such a pure, easy, happiness. Even such a joyous occasion as meeting his son for the first time had been so tarnished by everything else. Right now, he didn’t just feel happy…he felt free.

In fact, there was only one thing that could make the moment utterly perfect, and like an answer to his thought, it opened the shop door.

“Dad?” a young man and woman exclaimed at the same time.

The music stuttered to a stop as everyone turned to face the newcomers.

“…Neal?!” Gold exclaimed, leaping to his feet so fast, forgetting his cane, that Belle had to shoot out a hand to stop him from falling back down.

His son was looking around with wide eyes, so was the lovely woman at his side. A woman he recognized.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret exclaimed jumping up to embrace her daughter. “What are you doing here?! You didn’t say you were coming into town!”

“What are you guys doing here?” Emma said, looking kind of dazed. “Daddy, you haven’t played in ages!”

Gold ignored them, however, rushing to pull his son into a tight hug. “My boy! Why didn’t you say you were coming to visit? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“Well, when you told me over the phone about what happened to the shop, I was worried about you, having to deal with it on your own,” he smiled over his father’s shoulder. “Guess I needn’t have worried after all.”

Gold rubbed the back of his neck. “Er, yes…my uh…” he glanced around. “My…friends…they all showed up today to pitch in. We were just…celebrating, I suppose.”

“This is out of sight!” Neal gushed. “I didn’t know you could rock like that, Pop! I mean, all of you. That sounded amazing!”

“Now, what about you?” David asked Emma. “What brings you here?”

Emma shrugged. “When Neal told me about his dad, I thought I’d come too, haven’t seen you guys in too long.”

David frowned, looking back and forth between the two, as a dawning realization was coming over Gold. “I didn’t even know you two knew each other!”

Neal and Emma both reddened and suddenly tried looking everywhere but their parents. “We met up in Boston,” Emma said. “I didn’t even know he was Gold’s son at the time. We uh…started dating…”

David looked over at Gold in surprise, who only gave a one-shoulder shrug. Who his son dated was his own business, but what he knew of Emma was that she was a strong-willed, intelligent young woman, and quite lovely to boot. He knew from seeing them together over the years that Belle admired Emma, being who started their peace coalition in the first place, despite Emma being several years younger. Anyone who Belle thought so highly of was fine by him.

“Hey Emma!” Belle intoned, right on time.

Emma grinned and rushed past her father to hug her friends.

“This is really something, Pop,” Neal said, and Gold would never grow tired of the honorific. Neal called his adoptive father Dad, of course, but in time Neal had come to refer to Gold as Papa, or Pop, and Gold had been euphoric. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Gold gave a half smile. “A lot’s happened of late, son.”

Right then, Belle sidled up beside him, smiling up at Neal, and Gold threaded their fingers together. “Neal, I believe you’ve met Belle…my, er…girlfriend.” Belle squeezed his hand, approving the title, and Gold was relieved.

Neal blinked dumbly for a moment, glancing between the two of them, at their joined hands, then at Emma who was returning to his side.. “You’re…together?” he asked.

“Yeah, that adds up,” Emma said dryly.

“What you mean, it adds up?” Neal asked her in shock. “When have they ever…but she’s…”

“Oh come on, Neal, Belle’s been in love with your dad forever. It was only a matter of time till she wore him down.”

Belle squeaked in surprise. “Was I that obvious?!”

“Yes,” said everyone else in the room.

“Except to Gold, of course,” Jefferson said, holding up a finger. “But then again, it’s all but impossible to convince the man that someone cares about him.”

Gold gave him a wry look.

“How do we feel about this?” David asked his wife, referring to Neal and Emma.

Mary Margaret patted his arm. “We feel like Emma’s a big girl who makes her own choices, and Neal is a nice boy from a nice family.”

David sighed, but let his wife lead him back over to where the food and drink were laid out, followed by Emma, who hanged on her father’s arm and offered him a kiss on his cheek.

“Are you…okay with this?” Gold asked, indicating Belle, who’d let go of his hand to go help the others with the food and give him a moment with his son. “I know it must seem odd to you.”

“A little,” Neal admitted. “She’s close to my age, so I guess I just never would have thought about it. But…I mean…Belle’s really nice, and she’s smart, a hell of singer apparently, and Emma adores her. And, well, I had just enough time to see the look on her face while she was singing to you when we walked in and in retrospect…yeah, I’m okay with it. Not that you need my permission.”

“I know that, but I wouldn’t mind your blessing. You mean everything to me, but now…so does she.”

“Then consider yourself blessed. So it’s serious?”

Gold chuckled. “I hope it’s headed there. This hasn’t been going on very long, I would have told you otherwise.”

“That’s ok, it’s the same with me and Emma. She’s great, Papa. The fact that she didn’t so much as blink when I told her you were my biological father really cemented it for me.”

Gold remembered sixteen-year-old Neal’s ire when he learned of Storybrooke’s opinion of his father. Not toward Gold, but toward the town, stating that he couldn’t understand why everyone would hate a man for being a firm yet fair businessman. It was why Neal had never made any effort to socialize in town, and Gold had never had it in him to complain, since it meant their short visits were spent in quality time together.

“Then I’m sure I’ll love her,” Gold told him. “I’m going to admit something though; it’s a little strange that our respective girlfriends are old friends themselves.”

Neal made a face, “I know! That means they’ll talk about us! About…personal stuff!”

Gold grimaced. “That’s disconcerting. Let’s never talk about that again. Now, what did you mean a moment ago when you said, ‘Belle’s face when she was singing to me?’”

Neal laughed and patted his father on the back. “If you don’t know, old man, I won’t be the one to tell you.”

 Chapter 6

Neal and Emma ended up making their stay an extended one, with both Emma and Belle spending more time at Adam’s house than their parents’, sometimes with Ruby and Jefferson in tow.

Belle noticed that Ruby and Jefferson were becoming closer, though they still just circled around one another going back and forth between shy flirting and trading bantering insults. It made Belle impossibly happy, like they were all becoming one big family.

No sleepovers had happened, however, both Belle and Emma feeling a little too awkward about it, since it would have all been in the same house. Well, there had been one sleepover, but not the kind the men had much part of.

Adam had been baffled, huffing protests and insincere outrage when the three women set up camp in his bedroom…and kicked him out. They’d all been there, watching a late night airing of The Wolfman on TV, and had been too sleepy to make their ways home. Adam had offered them all to spend the night, and she could tell he’d been hoping that she would bunk with him, if only to sleep. But the women had been giggling like teenagers when they staged a revolt and took over his bedroom, since it was the only one with a bed big enough for all of them.

Adam huffed and puffed and complained, but Belle could see the glint of indulgent amusement in his eyes, otherwise she would have made the other girls go. When he later delivered some chocolate ice cream and bottles of pop before retreating to the guest room, she knew that all was well. If anything, she suspected he got a sense of pleasure out of her laying claim to his space.

“I gotta know,” Ruby said as they all sat cross-legged on the bed, passing around the tub of ice cream. “Have you and Gold done the dirty, yet?”

“Ruby!” Belle squealed, slapping her with a pillow.

“No details necessary, please,” Emma said, grimacing. “And for the love of God, don’t tell me it if it was in this bed.”

“Well I want details!” Ruby insisted. “Especially after seeing him play the piano. Those fingers…”

“Ruby!” both other girls moaned.

“Ruby, stop!” Belle repeated, laughing. “We haven’t done anything yet.”

“Nothing?” Emma asked, surprised despite herself. “Really?”

“Really. I mean, for one, we haven’t really gotten a chance. All of our alone time seems to have been spent with one of us being incapacitated. And with Neal here it’s just too weird.”

“I’ll say,” Ruby said, laughing. “Do you two realize that if you both got married, Emma would be your step-daughter in law?”

Belle made a face. “Must we?”

“But Mooom!” Emma whined laughingly, causing Belle to shove her almost off the bed.

Belle was laughing so hard, she almost fell off too. “Enough of that, young lady!”

They were halfway to laughing themselves sick when they remembered that there were others in the house trying to sleep, and managed to quiet down.

“So, do you want to?” Ruby asked, like a dog with a bone when it came to topics of a romantic nature. “I know with Gaston you had no interest…”

Belle wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Gaston was different. And I do want to with Adam…” she chuckled. “I really do. But I don’t want to just jump into bed with him for the sake of it, you know? I want it to happen when it feels right for both of us. I want everything to go right with us.”

“You really love him,” Ruby said dreamily.

Belle flushed. “I…well, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. But anything more than that, I think maybe he ought to be the first to hear it.”

“Neal and I have been sort of dancing around that word,” Emma admitted. “And we did pretty much fall into bed for the sake of it. But we weren’t star-crossed lovers like you and Gold, and more built after that.”

Belle snorted at the ‘star-crossed lovers’ line. “And what about you, Miss Lucas?”

“What about me?”

“Please,” Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed you and Jefferson being all cute together. Can’t say I blame you, he’s fine.”

Ruby blushed, and Belle’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Normally, Ruby had exactly no problems with raving on about anyone she found attractive, and how she was going to hook them. So this quiet bashfulness was something else indeed.

“He’s not what I always thought he was,” Ruby said. “I mean, I always thought he was a real kook, but it turns out he has some problems, just like Gold, only instead of covering up with grouchiness, he covers up with…”

“Eclecticness?” Belle offered kindly.

“Yeah,” Ruby chuckled. “But beneath the flapping around, and silly hats, he’s really sensitive. And I mean, you know, Belle, how protective he is of people he cares about.”

And Belle did know. Jefferson was fiercely protective and loyal to Adam, and in turn had become just as so to Belle. He treated Neal like a little brother, and Belle could easily see the way he was beginning to act toward Ruby. Jefferson, as a mate, Belle knew would be endlessly loyal and kind. Just the type of person she thought her best friend deserved.

“That tells me what a good person he is,” Ruby continued. “But I dunno, there’s almost as big of an age gap as you and Gold, and what if he doesn’t like me because of my reputation?”

Emma scoffed. “If he didn’t like you because of a reputation, he’d not only be a jerk, but a hypocrite.”

“I really don’t think he’s the type of person to worry about that,” Belle said. “And you must know my opinion on age gaps!”

“Maybe,” Ruby said, but she was smiling.

 Belle lay in a heap with her snoring friends that night, staring at the ceiling and having a mental debate with herself.

She wanted Adam, but even though she meant what she said about wanting to wait for the right time, truth was, she was scared. Scared of not being any good, scared doing something wrong. Scared, simply, of the unknown.

A part of her almost wished she wasn’t a virgin just so she wouldn’t be so damned nervous.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know what would happen. She read plenty of books, after all, and then there had been that dirty magazine that Ruby had gotten her hands on in 10th grade.

But, she suspected that even if she’d been with a hundred guys, she’d still be nervous because she’d never been with him.

Well, she wasn’t getting any sleep anyway, so, heart hammering, she wiggled out from underneath Ruby’s arm and slipped out of bed, tiptoeing out the door.

She glanced both ways down the hall, listening for any sounds of anyone being awake. The light in Neal’s room was off, but so was the one in the guest room.

Do the brave thing, Belle thought to herself, remembering a quote from her favorite book. And bravery will follow.

 Gold lay awake in bed, unable to sleep, both from being unceremoniously kicked out of his own bed and into an unfamiliar one, and just from the events of the past couple of days. He simply wasn’t accustomed to this much contentedness. It almost made him afraid, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Jefferson had caught something in his expression the other night, picking up on that train of thought and shutting it down immediately.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he’d said. “And you need to stop. You can’t live a life pushing away happiness before it can be taken from you. We may not know what may happen tomorrow, but we have to just live, and be glad we’ve been given the chance to.”

Gold had nodded, remembering shamefully all the men and boys he’d known that hadn’t been given the chance to live, and by God, he was determined to give up hiding.

And it was all because of Belle, with her smiles and her light and simply being who she was. She made him feel whole, and worthy of love. And that was a gift he could only hope to repay by making her as happy as he could.

The thought of her brought a smile unbidden to his face, as it always did. He thought of her face earlier that night, mischief warring with her usual joyful expression as she and the other girls commandeered his room. He’d obliged their game by providing the appropriate amount of fuss, all the while not really minding at all. In fact, it made him absurdly happy that Belle was so comfortable with his personal space that she claimed it as hers. That, and laying in the dark, listening to girlish laughing, with his son sound asleep in the next room, made his house feel more like a home than it ever had before.

He was so caught up in his musing, and was perhaps starting to doze, that he didn’t notice his door open and then shut again. He didn’t realize anyone was in the room with him, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He jumped, eyes flying open and half-way sitting up. But it was only the object of his thoughts, standing beside his bed, looking impossibly sweet and innocent in his button-up shirt. Wait…when had she changed into that?

“Belle,” he whispered.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No…no…it’s fine, really. Are you okay? Did you need something, sweetheart?”

Even in the dark, Gold could see her bite her bottom lip, and surely she knew by now what that did to him. Wordlessly, she lifted the covers, and he immediately scooted over to make room.

He made no hesitation to wrap her up in his arms, breathing deep the fresh, floral scent of her. She was still for several minutes, and he thought she’d fallen asleep, until she was twisting slightly in his arms, tilting her face up to his. Not needing to be asked twice, he lowered his mouth to hers, groaning low in his throat.

For a time they simply kissed, sweet, nibbling kisses, hands remaining still. But then she started to move, rolling until she was half on top of him, one hand going straight into his hair, like always.

Gold slid one hand down, then up under her (and he suspected that it was now officially hers) shirt to grasp her bottom, causing her to wiggle delightfully. For her part, the hand not tangled in his hair roamed his chest, popping open the buttons of his pajama top.

He pulled away from her mouth, only to move across the side of her jaw, licking and biting and making his way down until he found a spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder that made her breath hitch, and fastened his mouth there. He sucked the skin there into his mouth only lightly, not enough to leave a mark. He would wait and get her permission before he did that. It was enough, though, to have her bucking against him, whining pitifully.

In his limited experience, Gold had never made love to a virgin before. Instead of scandalized, he’d been relieved when Milah told him she’d been with other men before him. It had lifted some of the pressure. But Belle meant more to him than all of his previous lovers combined, and she’d never been with another man. It frightened him, because the last thing he wanted in the world was to hurt or scare her, or make it anything but a pleasurable experience. But it also made him feel honored, and if this was a gift Belle wanted to give him, he was going to give it back to her tenfold.

Feeling bold in the face of her obvious pleasure, he sat up a little to flip them over, so that he was on top. He pulled back briefly, just to check her face and make sure everything was still ok. Her pupils were blown, looking impossibly dark in the dim light of his room.

“Adam,” she whispered, launching up to catch his lower lip in her own.

She was still wriggling, seeming completely unable to be still, and he relished it. He brought a hand tentatively up to cup her breast, growing more confident when she moaned, thumbing the pebbled nipple through the fabric of the shirt.

His other hand was still down by her thigh, moving in slow, soothing circles inward, closer to where he most wanted to be.

He pressed his erection into the mattress, trying to relive a little of the pressure, but it was difficult, braced as he was on one knee. He thought, dimly, that it would be easier with her on top, or with his prosthetic leg on the way he’d done with his last bedmate.

But Belle was innocent, and may be uncomfortable being on top, and he didn’t have it in him to stop things long enough to put on his leg.

The thought of logistics at least brought a little more blood back to the correct head, which allowed him to focus on who really mattered here. Belle.

She was moaning wildly, and…actually…starting to get a little loud. It was erotic in the extreme, but he had to remember that there were three other people in the house.

But then, suddenly, her sneaky little hand was down at his groin, and then she was touching him, and fucking hell, his son and the girls were adults. They would get over it.

Never one to take and not give, his fingers found her center, hot and soaking through her panties. He gave a moan of his own, hardly able to believe her reaction to him, and began to rub lightly.

“Adam,” she whined, and he shushed her with a kiss, despite his earlier thoughts.

The hand artlessly – yet distractingly – caressing him faltered, but he didn’t care, only doubled his pace on her. Her breath was coming in quick little pants, and he knew she was close, as incredible as it was.

He kissed down her past her neck, finding a nipple and fastening his mouth on it through the shirt. He maneuvered one finger under her panties, having to bite his tongue at how soft and slick she felt.

And then…everything went wrong.

She bucked into his hand, but her leg moved suddenly, catching his bad one, making him fall against her and cry out in pain.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, “Adam, honey, I’m so sorry!”

He rolled off of her, but was unable to speak for just a moment. It was only by chance that she’d happened to hit just the right spot, which made his muscles convulse painfully.

“I’m sorry,” she was repeating over and over, and he realized with a feeling like a punch to the gut, that she was crying.

“Belle!” he exclaimed, forgetting his pain and sitting up, pulling her with him. “Oh sweetheart, no, oh please don’t cry.”

“I hurt you,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry!”

“I know,” he crooned, pulling her into his arms. “Oh, love, it was an accident. I knew I shouldn’t have been positioned like that without my leg, it was my fault. You’re breaking my heart, please.”

Belle wiped her eyes, sniffling. “It’s just I was so afraid of doing something wrong, or hurting you. And I managed to do both.”

Gold pulled back, taking her face in his hands. “Belle, you listen here; you did absolutely nothing wrong. I believe you could tell just how much I was enjoying that. There’s nothing you could do wrong. Nothing! Sex is just…well, it’s awkward, sweetheart, especially at first. It’ll never be like it is in books, throbbing members and whatnot,” she giggled at that. “Sometimes it takes a few tries to get it right. I’m forty-five years old, love, and I still haven’t managed to get it right!”

“I know it’s not like books,” she said. “I just thought the woman was supposed to experience pain the first time, not the man.”

She’d chuckled at her own joke, but he frowned. “For starters, the woman isn’t supposed to experience pain. I suppose sometimes they do, but love, I have every intention on assuring that you experience nothing but pleasure.”

Belle’s eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip. It was enticing, but Gold mentally scolded his own throbbing member to behave itself. He was still hurting, and they were probably already going to have to deal with the embarrassment of everyone having heard them in the morning. No sense robbing them of sleep, too.

“Sorry,” he said, remembering something suddenly. “You don’t like to be called ‘love.’”

Belle smiled. “It’s different when you say it.”

That sounded, to him, like an invitation, but he found his mouth had suddenly dried up.

“You want to sleep?” she asked shyly.

He laid down on his back, holding out an arm so she could nestle along his good side.

“Belle?” he said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you, too, Adam.”

 The morning hadn’t been as awkward as he’d feared. Emma and Ruby had seemed none the wiser, so perhaps they’d been sound asleep. He knew at least Ruby wouldn’t be clueless for long, if the way Belle was dragging her out of the house was any indication. No doubt to tell her all about it. He hoped that Ruby would comfort her, and reassure her that she’d done nothing wrong.

Jefferson had popped over for breakfast, exchanging bashful smiles with Ruby before the three girls left. But not before Belle had kissed Gold sweetly and told him she loved him, and he high suspected he’d never get tired of hearing that.

“Damn, I missed out!” Jefferson laughed. “You didn’t tell me all the girls were sleeping over!”

“They took over my bedroom,” Gold said, hurrying to complete the sentence when Jefferson’s eyes and mouth flew open wide. “Without me, you imbecile!”

“But Belle didn’t stay there…” Neal said solemnly.

Gold and Jefferson turned to look at him, only then did Gold realize how quiet his son had been all morning. “Huh?” Jefferson asked.

Neal was sitting at the breakfast table, looking for all the world like he was about to tell a spooky ghost story. “I…heard things.”

“Oh no,” Gold muttered.

“Oh no!” Jefferson said as well, in an entirely different tone.

Neal wasn’t done, however. “Sounds…sounds from nice, sweet Belle and my father that I never wish to hear again.”

Jefferson was howling, while Gold had his head buried in one hand.

“Will you two get over it?” Gold barked. “You’re both grown men, for crying out loud!”

But they didn’t get over it, and Gold had to hear about it for the rest of the morning.

 “Aw, don’t worry Belle, awkward shit like that happens to everyone,” Ruby said sympathetically once Belle had told them the embarrassing tale as they walked to Granny’s.

“Yeah, seriously, it’s no big deal,” Emma agreed, bravely overcoming the discomfort of hearing about her boyfriend’s dad’s sex life.

“That’s what Adam said,” Belle said with a sigh. “I still feel lousy that I ruined our first time.”

“Well, technically speaking, it wasn’t your first time, so don’t sweat it,” Ruby said. “But I’m glad he was cool about it, I’d have to gut him if he’d made you feel bad.”

Belle chuckled. “Oh no, quite the opposite, he was so sweet.”

“I couldn’t help but overhear you exchange the ‘L’ word this morning,” Emma said with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Belle said, cheeks hurting from grinning so wide. “But okay, let’s talk about something else. How’re things in Boston, Emma?!”

“Great!” she said. “Neal and I are headed to this really important protest in Washington in a couple of months. Maybe you guys could come?”

“That’d be amazing!” Ruby said. “I’ve never been to a real protest like that before.”

“Maybe,” Belle said hesitantly.

“Oh don’t worry, Belle, it’ll be totally peaceful. We’re not one of the more rowdy groups.”

“It’s not that,” Belle said. “I’ve just been sort of rethinking things lately.”

“What,” Ruby said. “Do you not want to be part of HEN anymore?”

Belle shrugged. “Maybe? Maybe not. I don’t know. I haven’t changed my views on things, just…how I want to go about changing them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Emma said softly. “I march, and protest, and rally, not because I expect an immediate result, but because it’s all I can do right now. I’m not a congressperson or the President, I can’t sign a paper that gives women power, or people the right to love the way they want to, or that stops wars. But it doesn’t hurt…and it’s a start. If you think you need a different way, Belle, then you should go that way. I honestly believe you could do more and go farther than any of us could.”

Belle blinked in utter surprise. “Wh…me? Why?”

Emma shrugged, and looked at Ruby, who shrugged as well, as if to agree.

“You’re you, Belle,” Ruby answered for Emma as if it were simple as that. “You have more conviction and empathy in your pinky finger than most people have in their whole bodies. And you have this crazy knack for making people wanna be better.”

Belle hardly knew what to say. She had no clue that anyone thought that way about her, and it was humbling to say the least.

“We need a fundraiser first, though,” Emma said. “Before the Washington rally. Actually, Belle, I was hoping you’d help me out with it, and maybe hold it here in Storybrooke.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Belle hesitated.

“What you did before with the concert was good, just…not with that crowd, you know?”

Belle and Ruby both chuckled.

“What I’m thinking is, we have a festival. Members of my group make things like dreamcatchers and blankets that always sell good, and that money can go toward the trip. Meanwhile, I’d like for actual ticket sales for the event to go toward a bigger cause or a charity, so it’s not all about us, yeah?”

“It sounds like a great idea,” Belle admitted. “Like what I had hoped for, but better. What do you need me for?”

Emma gave her a look. “I can’t do it without you, Belle! I don’t know a lot about what charities are the best, but I bet anything that if you don’t already have an idea, you’d find one. And I was hoping you’d take charge of the entertainment.”

“I do have a couple of ideas about a good cause,” Belle said. “But why would you want me to book the entertainment? My track record there isn’t stellar!”

“But that wasn’t your fault,” Ruby said. “Except maybe succumbing to peer pressure. This time you have the support you should have had the first time.”

Belle grinned up at her friends, her mind already whirring with ideas.

The nice moment was ruined, however, by a very unwelcome presence.

“Hello, ladies,” Killian said in that usual smarmy way of his. “And little Emma Nolan, pleasure to see you again, love.”

“Jones,” Emma said flatly. “Where’re your lackeys? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without their presence to prop you up?”

Killian flapped a hand dismissively. “Eh who knows, and who needs ‘em. Meanwhile, I happen to find myself looking for some company,” he stepped closer to Emma. “What do you say, love? Want to go park at the beach in that little bug of yours watch the submarine races with me?”

Emma smiled in a way Belle knew to be dangerous. “How about a contest to see who can hold their breath the longest, you or the submarine?”

Killian backed away, trying to appear unfazed, although Belle could see his jaw clench. “Cute. How about you, Belly? Tired of grandpa yet? Or maybe he hasn’t managed to stop crying and crawl his way out of the corner long enough to get it up yet.”

Ruby gasped, and Belle saw red, lurching forward to – she didn’t know yet, claw his eyes out, maybe punch him. She’d figure it out. But Emma stayed her hand, speaking calmly. “Just what are you referring to, Killian? Were you there the night of the fire?”

For a split second, his expression faltered, replaced by a look of fear, but it was gone before Belle could really pinpoint it. “Nah, I just heard all about it. How pathetic is it that a couple stupid bottle rockets would scare the pansy?”

Emma smirked. “Funny, my father told me that the only bit of information made public was that the fire was started by one firework. A sparkling shower. No one else knew anything about the bottle rockets fired first.”

Belle gaped at her friend, and so did Killian, who rushed to backtrack. “I…I didn’t know, I just said bottle rockets! What’re you trying to do, pin this on me?”

Emma made a wounded face. “I’m only making conversation. I’d never try to pin anything on someone who didn’t do it.”

“Fuck you,” Killian said, then looked at Belle. “And you too. Hope you enjoy sucking off that shriveled old gimp.”

Belle froze, then looked up at Emma, who was still holding her arm. “Okay,” Emma said calmly, then released her.

Before Killian could dodge, Belle’s fist stuck out, punching him in the stomach. He wheezed, bowling over. “Stupid bitch!” he yelled, before hobbling away.

“That felt good,” Belle said.

“Felt good from over here, too! And I didn’t even do anything!” Ruby exclaimed. “Was that bullshit coming out of his mouth good enough as a confession, Emma?”

“Unfortunately, no, I don’t think so,” Emma said. “I caught him with the bottle rocket thing. But Dad didn’t actually say that that part was specifically not made public. It wasn’t listed in the report under “cause of fire” though.”

“Still,” Belle said. “That was good. You ever think about becoming a cop?”

Emma smirked. “Like Daddy? Nah. But…” she shrugged. “Maybe something more like…a detective?”

“That’d be amazing, Emma!” Belle said. “You ever said anything to your dad?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone, not even Neal, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Well,” Ruby said, “If I were a crook, I’d be afraid.”

 “Hm, not bad, Princess,” David told his daughter, when the three women had caught up with the sheriff at Adam’s shop, where he’d dropped by to suggest installing a sprinkler system. “You kept calm, didn’t get agitated, just like I taught you!”

Emma grimaced at her father’s nickname, but beamed at his praise. “I just wish I could have gotten more out of him. It would have been enough, right? With three witnesses?”

“Maybe try to refrain from interrogating him unless I’m around, but it was a good try,” David said.

“It sounds to me like you have more than enough to put him behind bars,” Gold groused. “Forget what he did to my shop. He deserves to pay for what he did to Belle.”

“What did he do to Belle?” Emma asked, eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t hear?!” Ruby screeched. “The ass spiked Belle’s drink at our last rally with acid. And then he tried to come on to her. Who knows what he would have done if Gold hadn’t come along.”

“I’ll kill him,” Emma said plainly, as if talking about getting coffee, eliciting a smile of approval from Adam.

“Unfortunately,” David broke in. “It was the keg that was spiked, and we couldn’t prove that he’d done it. And Belle herself decided not to press charges for the assault.”

“You what?” Adam asked Belle, appalled. “Why didn’t you press charges?”

Belle sighed. “Because I didn’t want too much limelight on the whole event. I’m lucky David didn’t bring me in due to the drug use there. Besides, he didn’t do enough to get more than a slap on the wrist, not that I’m complaining. But he is going down for what he did to you and the shop.”

“And even if we can’t peg him for it,” David said. “I’m going to just keep watching him. It’s only a matter of time before he slips up.”

“That’s all well and good,” Gold growled. “Until his next slip up causes someone to get really hurt!”

David spread out his hands. “I’m doing the best I can, Gold. I have to do this by the book.”

Adam glared at the sheriff, a look that made Belle’s breath catch in her throat. She’d heard of “the Beast” of course, but she’d never seen it. She knew he wasn’t threatening David though, and felt like David knew that as well.

“You have to,” Adam said warningly.

“Gold…” David said firmly, pointing a finger. “Don’t you go getting any ideas. I let you off the hook for hitting Killian, because you were just defending Belle. Premeditation is something completely different!”

Adam shrugged innocently, folding both hands over the top of his cane. “I don’t know what you mean, Sheriff.”

“Cut the crap,” David said with a roll of his eyes. “We’re past this, Adam.”

Adam’s cheek twitched in annoyance at the use of his first name, and Belle had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

David sighed. “I have to go. But I’m warning you Gold, don’t do anything stupid!”

“I’d never,” Adam said innocently.

“David’s right,” Belle said after the sheriff had left. “Leave it be, Adam. Killian isn’t worth you getting into trouble over.”

“He hurt you,” Adam said tightly, grasping her arm and squeezing gently. “He hurt you, he assaulted you, he could have killed you in that fire, and he insulted and spoke crudely to you on the street. How can I just let this stand?”

Belle took his face between her own hands. “By knowing that he’ll get what’s coming to him. It may not be right away, but it’ll happen. Bad people always get what they deserve.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

She pecked his lips lightly. “I am. And you’re sure about me, right?”

At that, he smiled lovingly. “I am.”

“Oookay, y’all know we’re still here, right?” Neal said, indicating himself, Emma, and Ruby.

Adam made a thoughtful face. “And just why is that exactly?” Belle swatted him playfully.

Emma chuckled, offering Belle a quick hug before dragging her boyfriend and friend out of the shop.

Adam sighed once they were gone, pulling Belle closer. “As much as I adore my son,” he said. “And though I find I don’t really mind all of my other new…friends. It gets rather tiring having so…many people around all the time.”

Belle tensed slightly, worrying her lower lip. She’d been a little afraid of this. He had, after all, been a loner for a long time. “Um, that’s understandable. It’s a lot in a short amount of time. You know…you can…you can tell me if you want time alone. It won’t hurt my feelings…I can go right now…”

“Belle, Belle,” Adam tried to cut off her rambling. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean you! I’m sorry you took it that way.”

“No, really, don’t worry about me…”

“Belle, do you want to spend more time apart?”

Belle’s eyes widened. “No! I didn’t mean that! I just…”

This time, Adam cut her off by kissing her, indulging a good few minutes before slowly pulling back. “Having a lot of people around all of the time is odd to me after so long in my own dull company, but it’s time alone with you that I’ve come to truly cherish. If anything, I worry about monopolizing your time.”

Belle shook her head. “I guess we’re just a couple of dips, aren’t we?”

Adam chuckled. “I suppose we are. Now, can you stay a little while now? Or do you have to get to the floral shop?”

“No I have some time…” her eyes twinkled. “If you’re wanting company, that is.”

“Always, my dearest,” he said. “No matter my mood, no matter how much of an ass I’m being, no matter if I want everyone else in the world to just go away, there will never be a time that I don’t want you around.”

“Never is a long time,” Belle said. “And you haven’t seen me when I’m grumpy.”

“Perhaps those can be the days I try to cheer you up. Or perhaps those can be the days we can just be grumpy together.”

Belle chuckled. “I oddly like the sound of that. Now listen, there’s something I wanted to run by you, but not when anyone else was around.”

One of Adam’s eyebrows rose in interest. “Oh? And just what would that be?”

“Don’t get too excited. You probably won’t like it. But that’s why I wanted to ask you first.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“I think I’m done with HEN.”

Now Adam’s brows were rising in surprise. “What? Why, Belle? If that Jones boy has scared you from…”

“No, no, it’s not because of him. Really. I just keep thinking about what you said about not actually getting anything done.”

“Belle…I…I shouldn’t have discouraged you that way, I’m sorry. You do make a difference, just by being who you are!”

Belle smiled shyly. “Emma and Ruby actually said something similar. I’m not saying I want to give up trying to make a difference, I just think I want to try going at it a different way.”

Adam ran a hand up and down her back. “And what’s that?”

“There are plenty of people protesting the war, people like Emma, and they’re doing the best they can. But I don’t think there are enough of us trying to help the people coming home from the war. I’ve been doing research, and the VA is overwhelmed and poorly managed. These men and their families need help. I want to start an organization to help them with things like therapy and medical needs…like prosthetics. Also legal help, and getting the benefits the government owes them. And hopefully in time, the war will be over for good, and I can help anyone who has trouble getting the help they need. But I don’t know enough about that sort of organization so I thought…maybe I should go back to school…”

Adam shook his head in wonder. “Belle, honey, that sounds wonderful. God, if only more people in this world could be more like you. And if you want to go back to school, I will support you every step of the way, and help in any way I can…or that you’ll let me. But why did you think you need to ask me?”

“Well, that wasn’t the part I wanted to ask you about,” she said, grinning sheepishly. “I just had to tell you that part first. Emma is planning a festival, and she mentioned maybe holding it in Storybrooke. It’ll attract a big crowd, but not like the last one. And it’ll be a fundraiser, and she asked me if I could choose a worthy cause to donate to, and I think it should be the DAV.”

“That’s great…but…”

“Okay, okay, here’s the part I wanted to ask you…” she took a deep breath, fortifying her nerve. “Will you play?”

Adam balked, releasing her and stepping away. “Belle…”

Belle waved her hands excitedly. “Just hear me out for a second, please?”’ Adam nodded for her to continue. “It would really be something good, a group comprised of war veterans, showing themselves as normal, relatable people, not violence-hungry barbarians. It would be you, Jefferson, Victor, Archie, and David. Storybrooke would love it, and so would everyone else! Adam, you are so, so talented, and I, personally, believe the world should know. But…if you don’t want to, or you just feel like you’re not ready…then say the word, and I won’t ask again.”

Adam stared hard at her, and Belle could find absolutely no hint of what he was thinking. She hoped, at least, that he wasn’t angry, but she meant what she said. If he said no, she would leave it at that.

He sighed, then ran his hand through his hair. “Can I think about it?”

“Yes!” Belle exclaimed. “Yes, definitely! Take all the time you need! I mean, the benefit is in a couple of weeks, but yes! Please, think about it.”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you come back this evening? I found some more albums while we were checking through the inventory. We can have some dinner and listen to music, and I’ll give you my answer.”

“Oh, ok!” Belle said happily. “That sounds great! Just us?!”

“Why do you think I’m inviting you to my shop instead of the house? Yes, I’m asking for some alone time with you. …That okay?”

“More than,” Belle said slyly. “In that case, I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

 Belle bustled through the day, all but forgetting about her request to Adam in her anticipation of just being alone with him for an extended period of time. She didn’t expect them to do anything, but it would be so nice to just sit and cuddle and kiss without Neal, Jefferson, or Ruby playfully going “eww” or worse, offering commentary like they were narrating a nature documentary.

“And now we see that the male is tentatively initiating a mating dance with the female. She will either accept or reject his advances depending on her reaction to his hand on her…”

“Shut UP, Jefferson!!”

“The male has become territorial…”

She ran up to the apartment above the florist that she shared with her father after her shift to change into a nicer outfit. She considered her favorite yellow dress. She hadn’t worn it since the failed rally, and worried it would just serve to remind Adam of the way she was mid-trip. But it was still one of her favorites. In the end, though, she decided to give it more time, and opted instead for a blue dress she seldom wore. It was more demure than most she had, fitted, but with a more conservative hemline. It had a white collar and pockets, but it was the added detail of a row of buttons all the way up and down the back of the dress that she liked the best. It made it difficult to get into by herself, but she thought it was ginchy.

And…as a second thought, she decided to wear her best underwear. It didn’t matter whether he saw them or not, but it made her feel more confident regardless. She didn’t have time to iron her hair, but the curls were framing her face nicely, and if the evening went the way she’d like it to, her boyfriend would only end up mussing it up anyway.

“Going on a date?” her dad asked as she made her way back through the store.

“Yep,” she chirped.

“Are you…uh…staying over?”

“Papa…” she said warningly. “None of your business, remember?”

He sighed. “I only meant should I expect you home tonight? Grown up or not, I worry when I don’t know where my daughter is.”

Belle smiled, and kissed his cheek. “Sorry. We’re just eating dinner at his shop. If I end up back at his house, it’ll just be in the company of Neal and probably Emma. I’ll phone you if I do, though, okay?”

“Alright,” he relented. “Doesn’t it bother you, your boyfriend having a son closer to age to you than he is?”

“Not as much as one would think,” she said, shrugging. “You don’t always pick who you love, right?”

“Love?” he asked, eyes wide. “Never heard you talk like that before. Are you in love with him?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, smiling. “I know our relationship will have obstacles, but they don’t even really feel like obstacles to me, because I’m just so happy to overcome them with him.”

“You look happy.”

“I guess that’s because I am.”

Maurice sighed long-sufferingly and hugged her. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. And I guess this means I probably ought to spend some time with the man, get to know him outside of rent collection.”

“I think that would be great, Papa! But…not tonight, bye!”

With that, Belle practically skipped out, making her way quickly to her love’s shop. When she opened the door, smiling at the sound of the brand new bell, she didn’t immediately see him. Figuring he was in the back, she took the liberty of flipping the sign to “Closed” and firmly locked the door. Just for good measure.

She walked over to the chaise lounge, thankfully undamaged in the fire, and now practically hidden behind the piano, and saw a small table set up with hors d’oeuvres; cheese, bite-sized sandwiches, strawberries, and wine.

Smiling, she turned around, meaning to find her errant love, only to find him standing right behind her, a soft look in his eyes. How the man moved so quietly with a limp and a cane was a mystery.

“I know you didn’t get this from Granny’s,” she said, grinning up at him.

He chuckled. “No I did not, I happened to put this together myself. I thought it would be easiest to eat while we sit and listen.”

“Looks perfect to me.”

Belle sat as Adam set a record to playing, Marvin Gaye by the sound of it, not that she was really paying that close attention to anything but him. When he sat down beside her, she offered him one of the sandwiches, giggling in surprise when he bit it out of her hand. Thinking that was a nice idea, she offered him a small bite of cheese the same way. He plucked it from her with his teeth, accidentally nipping her finger in the process. She gasped, and he took her hand, wordlessly apologizing for the bite by sucking the offended digit into his mouth.

Belle chuckled nervously when he released her, and she settled more comfortably against him. When he offered her a bite of food, she followed his example, biting the strawberry while he held it, and when it was gone, darting her tongue out to catch the juice on his hand. It was an unconscious gesture, not meaning to be seductive, but she couldn’t miss the way his eyes seemed to darken.

They fed each other in companionable silence, the only sounds being the crooning coming from the record player, and the occasional laugh when their game got a little messy.

When they were done, they sat back, cuddled together, sipping the wine.

“I made a decision,” he said at last.

“A decision? Oh! A decision! Okay. And please, don’t worry, I won’t be mad if the answer is no. Truly.”

“The other boys would like it,” he said quietly.

“Yes…” she said, not daring to hope. “They would. I think maybe you would too. But only if you want to, and feel ready.”

“…And it would benefit the DAV.”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Belle blinked. “W…what? Okay?”

“I said okay. I’ll do it.”

“S…seriously?! Just like that?!”

Adam chuckled. “Do you want me to, or not?”

“Yes, of course! But…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. On one condition.”

Belle grinned. “Name it!”

“On the condition that you’ll sing.”

Belle’s smile fell slightly, settling into a look of anxiousness. “Sing? Me? On a stage? In front of people?”

“Mmhmm. You talk about my talent, but you don’t seem to realize your own. And I loved playing with you that night. You don’t have to sing in every number if you don’t want, but at least one. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

“It does,” Belle said, nodding. “If you can be brave enough, so can I. The deal is struck.”

She giggled when he stuck out his hand, and shook it firmly. They held like that for a beat, and then Adam was slowly pulling her closer, until their mouths could meet.

Belle sighed into the kiss, tilting her face to get a better angle. God but he was a good kisser.

For a long time it was gentle, unrushed. Loving, but not passionate. But then Belle’s hand snuck into his hair, loving the way it felt slipping through her fingers, then it was like she’d flipped a switch and he was growling deep in his chest, hauling her against him until all she could do was swing her leg over both of his, straddling him.

The sudden movement made her fingers clench in his hair, accidentally yanking sharply. Adam broke off with a gasp, his face wincing.

“Sorry!” she yelped, cursing herself for seemingly being unable to stop hurting the poor man! “I didn’t mean to pull!”

But then he was chuckling breathily, in a way she’d never heard before, and the look on his face would have been intimidating in its intensity if she didn’t trust him so much. Even still though, it made her breath catch.

He took the hand that had fallen away from his head, pressed a hard kiss to her palm, before guiding it back up. When he finally spoke again, his voice was rough. “Pull my hair, Belle.”

Surprised, a little confused, and aroused in a way she didn’t fully understand, she flexed her fingers experimentally, tightening her hold gradually and watching his expression slack until his mouth opened slightly and he was breathing like he was running a marathon.

Getting the message, and making up her mind, she pulled…hard.

All at once his mouth and hands were everywhere. He kissed her mouth, her face, her jaw, and her neck almost clumsily, unable to stay in any one spot. He bit and suckled at her skin, and she knew there’d be marks. And she also really didn’t care.

One hand found her breast, kneading it carefully, the gentle manner a contrast to the franticness of the rest of him. His other hand found its way up her dress and to her ass, as she was quickly learning was a favorite for him.

This hadn’t been what she expected when she imagined their first time. (And she HAD imagined it!) She’d pictured being in his house, on his bed, or maybe even going a trip together and finding a romantic bed and breakfast.

But she quickly decided, with what few thoughts she was still able to put together, that this was perfect. This was right.

Her fingers flew to his shirt, desperate to get to his skin. She made short work of the buttons, and splayed her hands across his lean, but strong, chest. He made a quick sound of approval, and then his hand began roaming her back, presumably to find a zipper. When what he found, instead, were countless tiny buttons, he grunted, pulling away with a dazed, disgruntled expression.

“Guess I found the downside to this dress,” she giggled breathlessly, struggling to stand up.

He whined pitifully, but he didn’t try to pull her back down, and she liked that. He would never push her. She took a moment to take in his appearance, and she liked that as well. His hair was a disaster, his shirt wide open, his chest flushed red and heaving. And the area close to where she’d just been sitting sported an impressive bulge – not that she had any other point of reference to compare it to.

Smiling in a way that was meant to be demure and she hoped didn’t look crazy, she turned around giving him her back.

He didn’t touch her for a full minute, and she frowned, afraid he was having second thoughts. But apparently his brain was just taking extra time to catch up because she suddenly felt his hands at the top of her dress, busily undoing buttons. Or trying to at least.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his grumbles of frustration, but it turned to a yelp when he pinched her side in retaliation.

“What sort of sadist made this monstrosity?” he growled.

“An hour ago you were telling me it looked pretty,” she said, still smirking.

“It does look pretty. But right now I hate it and I just want it off of you!”

“You and me both.”

There was a pop, and the tell-tale sound of a button hitting the floor, followed by a soft “fuck.”

“I can fix that,” he sighed.

Belle took a deep breath, feeling her face flame, and knowing she was probably going to regret her words a little later, but damn it if she wasn’t just as frustrated as he was.

“Do it,” she said, firmly.

He clearly didn’t need or care about an elaboration, because his hands instantly grabbed the sides near the top where he’d only managed to undo four buttons, and jerked. Buttons flew everywhere and her dress pooled at her feet. As if to make up for ruining it, Adam picked the dress back up and draped it over the piano bench, then sat back to look at her.

She turned around to face him, feeling like her whole body must be bright red. But any self-consciousness was banished in the face of his awed expression.

“God, but you’re incredible,” he whispered. “I can hardly believe you’re real.”

“I’m real,” she said shyly. “And you’re overdressed.”

His chuckle turned to a strangled yip when she bent to reach for his fly, deftly undoing the belt and buttons. He lifted up to pull help her pull his pants down, but didn’t seem to realize until it was too late that she’d taken his underwear with them.

His cock bounced up once free of its confines, and Belle’s curious eyes raked over it hungrily. She’d seen them before, of course, and had even touched one. (The boyfriend previous to Gaston, but it had been dark, in the back of a car, and Belle hadn’t been impressed.) But she’d never been allowed to just look before, and the knowledge that she was allowed, that she could proceed how she wanted, even if it meant she wanted to stop, was heady.

It twitched, as if it knew it was being watched and was begging for more attention, and she reached down to run a finger lightly up one side.

Adam threw back his head and hissed through his teeth, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Belle kept an eye on his expression as she wrapped her hand around him, squeezing gently. He seemed to like that, so she tried moving her hand up and down along it, loving the feel of how hot and hard it was, yet the skin was so soft.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

“We wouldn’t want that,” she said primly, taking her hand off of him. “What fun would there be, then?”

His eyes opened, and his hands shot out to grab her around the waist. “Minx,” he growled. “I believe you’re the one who’s overdressed now, darling.”

Feeling less shy in the face of his very obvious desire, she swayed a bit to the music that was still playing, watching him smile darkly as she made a show of pushing her chest out and contorting her arms to unhook her bra, before tossing it playfully at him.

She shimmied out of her panties then, and tossed those at him as well. But some of her shyness came back with a spark of shock when he brought the panties up to his face and breathed in deeply, never taking his eyes off of hers.

Adam held out a hand, not reaching for her, but inviting her. Letting her set the pace.

She remembered what he’d said during their last attempt, that her being on top would be better for him. She realized then, that he meant for them to carry on the way they’d been sitting before, with her astride him. She took his hand and stepped closer to him again.

She must have been wrong, however, because he stopped her when she started to climb back onto his lap. To her confusion, he bent forward and gently grabbed her behind one knee before slowly guiding her leg up, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wished it.

He settled her leg on his shoulder, her foot against the back of the chaise, with one hand splayed firmly on her backside and the other holding hers to help her keep her balance.

She was feeling a little unsure and exposed that way, but before she could ask him what he wanted her to do now, he was kissing her inner thigh, moving slowly but steadily upward, closer and closer to...

Now, one thing she had thought she’d understood was that men generally didn’t like to do that. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to ask it of him, so why did he seem so eager about it?

She wanted to say something, tell him he didn’t have to, her self-consciousness was warring with innate curiosity, but he was leaving little bites along her thigh, and it was making her head spin. She was so caught up in that, and wondering where he was going with this, when suddenly his mouth was there, where she was wet and aching. He was kissing her as passionately as he kissed her mouth, lapping at her and moaning like he was loving every minute.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Every nerve in her body felt like it was humming, and every breath that she released was coming out in little high pitched moans.

She held his hand in a death grip, the foot resting on the floor rising up on tip-toe, causing her thigh to shake. Her other hand found its way back to his hair, pulling the strands roughly, which only made him devour her more thoroughly.

His hand that had been on her ass moved around and between her legs, and she felt a long finger probe into her. She’d done enough self-exploration that this didn’t surprise her, in fact it only added to the sensation, especially when he added a second one, stretching her pleasantly.

She moaned louder, and a thought half-formed in her mind that they were in the front of his shop. If someone heard her, they might peer into the window, and they would be able to see her even behind the piano since she was standing. She should probably care…she did care…but it was so hard to remember why at the moment.

When her cries increased in volume and speed, and her hips began to move of their own volition, his fingers pumping inside of her picked up speed as well. She felt like she needed something, but wasn’t sure how to ask for it.

She needn’t have worried though, because his mouth found her clit, circling with his tongue before sucking on it.

Belle cried out sharply, her whole body going rigid as lights flashed behind her eyes. She would have fallen down if Adam wasn’t holding her up.

Her leg couldn’t take her weight anymore though, and, still pulsing, she fell bonelessly into his lap.

“Wow…” she said dazedly.

He chuckled, holding her tightly to him. She could feel him pressed between his stomach and hers, and she reached down to stroke him lovingly.

“As nice as that is,” he breathed. “If you want this to keep going, you’d better stop. I won’t be able to recover as quickly as you can.”

Belle gave him an affectionate squeeze before releasing him, then looking up at his eyes expectantly.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “Please be sure. If at any time you want to stop, you need only to say the word. You know that, right? I won’t be upset with you if you want to end it here, but I need you to tell me.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I don’t want to stop. I’m just not sure what I should do.”

Adam smiled and gently guided her into rising up with her knees braced on the chaise on either side of his thighs. He took his cock in hand, holding it still as he gently guided her back down. She felt him there, the head pressing against her opening. Adam stopped then, however, letting her take the lead.

She concentrated on breathing steadily as she slowly continued to lower her body, wriggling a little to adjust. It was a strange sensation, not pain really, but not pleasure either. She felt full and stretched. Taking a deep breath, she let herself fall the rest of the way down, taking all of him. He slid inside surprisingly easily after that, and if this was all it was going to be like to her, the expression on Adam’s face made it more than worth it. Besides, what he’d done for her moments before was a very equal tradeoff.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding positively and deliciously wrecked.

“I’m perfect,” she said. “You were right, no pain.”

“Told you,” he breathed. “And you are perfect.”

He bucked his hips, causing her to bounce upward with him. She struggled to match his pace, and it took a few false starts, but they soon managed to find a rhythm.

His eyes moved from hers down to her breasts, watching how they moved, so she pushed her chest out toward him. He leaned forward to suck one her nipples into his mouth and she groaned, never having known that being touched and kissed there could feel so good, especially when his other hand came up to twist and pluck at the other nipple.

His thrusts were starting to become more frantic, and she worked to keep up with him, desperate for him to feel the way he’d made her feel before.

It felt good just being so close to him, as close as two people can get, and she loved watching him. She wondered, though, how long she could keep moving like this, until something changed…big time. He tilted his hips to one side, and he pushed into her a different way, and somehow he hit something inside of her that robbed her of breath and made her see stars.

He must have noticed her reaction, because he released her nipple with a pop and looked up at her questioningly, her pace slowing. “Are you okay?”

She nodded frantically, biting her lower lip so hard it might bleed. “Please don’t stop,” she begged, her movements desperate.

With a low growl, he fastened his lips to hers and redoubled his effort, managing to hit that same spot again and again. He snuck a hand between then, and all it took was one pinch to her clit and she was coming even harder than before.

She hadn’t had time to come down off her high, when suddenly he was roughly lifting her off him, and she gave a cry of alarm until she felt something warm and wet hit her thigh.

She wondered about that for only a moment before understanding what he’d done, and she cringed at the realization that it hadn’t once occurred to her to exercise caution, and she was relieved that he’d had the presence of mind to think of it for her.

Not that a baby with Adam was a bad thought…just…not yet.

His arms went limp, letting her flop gracelessly against his chest. She squirmed to find a more comfortable position, nuzzling her nose into his neck, and sighed as his arms tightened around her once more. “Hold still, you little vixen,” he commanded, but with a light, breathy voice that she knew was teasing. “It’ll be some time yet before I’m capable of responding to you again, but you’re making it a difficult wait.”

Belle giggled, but stilled her movements, only until her legs became stiff where they were still bent on either side of him, and she was forced to finally move off of him.

She blushed furiously at the sight and feeling of their mixed fluids smeared all over both their thighs and lower stomachs.

“I guess I never realized how messy this could be,” she murmured, lightly touching her sticky skin and noticing that some had gotten on the couch as well. She wondered if it would leave a stain, because if it did, she was never going to be able to look at it while Adam had customers or friends in his shop without blushing. Oh, who was she kidding, she was going to blush anyway.

“Yes,” Adam said lazily, his arm tight around her waist, not letting her move any farther away from him. “They never mention that part in your novels, do they?”

She laughed again. “No.”

He opened his eyes, seeming to finally come fully back to himself, and looked sharply at her. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” he looked at her legs, then at himself, presumably to check for blood, but finding none.

“I’m wonderful,” she said, smiling wide. “And you? Your leg is okay?”

He smirked at her. “If I’m a little sore tomorrow, it will have been well-worth it my love.”

“Oh good…so we can do it again, later?”

He laughed, one of his open, happy laughs that were far too rare. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

“And what will you do with this monster of yours?”

“You’ll soon find out, sweetheart.”

  Chapter 7

 Gold was aching by the time they made it home that night, but in the best possible way. He suspected that Belle was too, being so unused to that sort of…exertion.

He’d asked her if she wanted him to take her home, and he wouldn’t have minded overmuch, thinking maybe she needed a little time alone after taking such a big step, so he’d tried to keep his desire for her to stay out of his voice. He needn’t have bothered though, because she just quipped about him “not getting rid of her so easily,” and they made their way to his house together.

Though it was very late, Neal and Emma were watching television in the living room. Some inane telethon by the looks of it, but what else would have been on at that hour? They were cuddled up innocently on the sofa, but by the looks of their mussed hair and flushed cheeks, he suspected that their positions had been a lot less innocent until they’d heard his car pull up.

“Hey guys,” Neal said after clearing his throat.

Gold pulled Belle by the hand toward the staircase. “We’re turning in for the night, you two behave yourselves, hm?”

Neal snorted. “Look who’s talking. Nice lipstick, Dad.”

Gold frowned in confusion until Belle giggled suddenly, reaching up to swipe at something on his neck, coming away with a hint of pale pink on her fingertips.

Gold rolled his eyes, and almost missed a look passing between Emma and Belle. He chose to ignore it, however. It was far too knowing for his comfort. That Belle and her close friends would share details about their intimate relationships was something he understood to be a forgone conclusion. That one of said close friends was his son’s girlfriend, and therefore certain details were destined to pass between the two, was something he tried not to think too hard on.

He led his sweet little love up the stairs to his master suite and straight to the bathroom to turn on the shower. That was when he remembered the damn shower chair that he had to keep inside, and wished fervently that he’d taken her to the hallway bathroom instead.

“Something wrong?” she asked him.

“I…uh…” he stammered, momentarily distracted by the sight of her casually disrobing. She’d been resplendent in the dim light of his shop, but even in the unforgiving bright light of his bathroom she was gorgeous. In here he could see imperfections in her skin, dimples on her thighs, a scar on the small of her back that he made a note to ask about later. None of it did a single thing to take away from just how stunning she was to him.

“Aren’t you coming in with me?” she asked sweetly, seeming completely devoid of shyness as she stood before him, naked as the day she was born.

Remembering the source of his earlier discomfort, he shook his head. “I uh…it’s not that easy, sweetheart,” he reached around her, trying not to become overwhelmed by her nakedness, and pulled back the curtain, indicating the ugly plastic chair inside. Like something you’d see in a damned old folks’ home. “Unfortunately, I can’t take my leg in. It isn’t water-proof and I…well…you go first my love, and I’ll shower after.”

Belle looked from the chair and back at him. “Well, yes, I figured you might have something like that. You’re acting like a chair should bother me?”

He grunted, wishing she would get the message without him having to explain it. “I can’t take a…a sexy shower with you, Belle. For me it’s, quite frankly, an undignified process.”

What he wouldn’t give to be a whole man for her. He knew she didn’t mind his disability, he knew that, but what he wouldn’t give for the ability to hop into that steaming shower with her, lather her up, then take her hard against the wall like he once could have.

Belle made a face, and despite his knowledge that she loved him, old insecurities were hard to overcome and for a moment he thought she was finally coming to her senses about him.

“I wasn’t really looking for a…how did you put it? Sexy shower? I just thought we were gonna get clean so we could go to bed. I mean…as much fun as I had earlier…I’m a little tired, and I thought you were too. I won’t try to talk you into getting in with me if it makes you uncomfortable, but for the record, that chair looks pretty handy to me. For when we aren’t tired…”

Gold blinked, her meaning taking a moment to break through the fog of self-pity he was wallowing in. “Fuck…” he murmured.

She giggled and rolled her eyes at him, then got into the shower without another word. He could hear her moving around, and decided he really was being stupid, and set about taking off his clothes, and then sat down on a bench placed near the shower to take off his leg.

He was glad she was already in the shower, so she wouldn’t have to see him do his half-shuffle half-hop, propped up with his cane. Maybe one day, after they were more comfortable with one another, when it wasn’t so new, he wouldn’t mind letting her see him in all of his awkward glory, but there could be very little in the world more unsightly than a one-legged man hopping while naked.

He opened the curtain and found her already smiling at him, apparently having been listening for his approach. He’d made the right choice, and she was pleased with him.

She held out her hands, and held onto him firmly as he settled in the chair. She was really quite strong for such a little thing.

His little Belle then began the process of lathering up her washcloth and set about washing him, starting at his neck. She was silent and businesslike, not touching to tease but only to get him clean. She was nothing like a nurse, however, standing intimately between his knees, and smiling lovingly at him.

It took all of his power to fight his instincts that told him to push her away, that he didn’t need help to bathe, he wasn’t an invalid. But Belle knew that he was no invalid. This wasn’t an act of duty or pity, but one of love and intimacy, and it left him feeling lightheaded.

So he sat back, and allowed himself to enjoy her attentions. It didn’t matter that his body agreed with Belle’s earlier statement that they were both tired and ready for bed, and that there was nothing sexual in Belle’s movements, his cock well and truly had a mind of its own and was becoming increasingly interested in what was going on.

As more blood fled from his brain downward, his eyes moved from Belle’s serene face down to where her breasts swayed as she bent over him, water dripping from the tips. They were only inches from his mouth…

But then she was kneeling, and he gulped. Her eyes shot up in mock reproof at the state of his arousal and he gave her a sheepish look in return.

“Sorry,” he said. “He can’t help himself. There’s a beautiful, wet, naked woman in front of him. He’s weak.”

Belle laughed and shook her head, carefully washing his thighs were there was still dried cum even after cleaning up at the shop. His cock twitched in response, and he grunted. “Just ignore it, sweetheart,” he said seriously. “It’ll go away on its own.”

Belle still didn’t speak however, and just proceeded to wash his leg, and then his foot. He tensed when she moved to his half-leg, but she only washed the scarred stump like it was any other part of him, no special attention whatsoever. Somehow that touched him more than if she had taken extra care there. He had a flashback to her telling him she wouldn’t mind massaging it for him when it was sore, and he was beginning to think he might just have to take her up on that.

He thought she would stand then, and let him rinse off so that they could be done. But she didn’t rise, and he realized that she was staring right at his cock.

He yelped at the first brush of her fingers. “Darling, you needn’t do that! We don’t have to…”

“I know,” she murmured, tucking the washrag underneath her knees to cushion them. For some reason, that only inflamed him further…like she was preparing to stay for a while.

She wrapped those devious fingers around his length and squeezed, harder than she had dared the first time, evidentially already having learned that he didn’t have to be treated like glass there.

She gave him a few tugs, her movements unsure and unpracticed, but it drove him wild. When she paused, he looked down at her, breathing hard, and watched as she cradled his balls in her palm. She squeezed them gently, and it didn’t hurt, but reflex made him still her hand immediately. “Careful there,” he warned, his voice gone gravelly.

“Got it,” she said, and he was happy that she didn’t apologize. He hated that she ever felt sorry when everything she did made him feel like he was on fire. “I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you what?” he asked. “You’re doing splendidly on your own, my love.”

Belle gave a pout. “But I want to know what really makes you feel good.”

He chuckled. “Belle, I swear, everything you’re doing feels good. Feels amazing, in fact. I would let you know if something didn’t feel good, just like I fully expect and insist you do for me. But there’s really very little you could do that wouldn’t make my head spin.”

“Then…you wouldn’t mind if I tried something? Something I’ve always been a bit curious about?”

Why did those words make his heartrate increase so much? “I…Belle…you can do…whatever you want. I’m yours, sweetheart. Totally and completely.”

She grinned, and her shoulders bounced like he’d just told her she could have an extra sweet after supper. But then she sobered, and hesitated unsurely. “But what if I don’t like it?”

He blinked. What a ridiculous question. “Then you stop,” he said simply, because it really was that simple. “And we never discuss it again.”

Her smiled returned, as did her hand to his cock, causing him to groan. She gave a few more experimental pulls, her other hand tracing the veins along the side curiously, and then just barely touching the tip.

He wondered dimly if one could die from sexual frustration. He’d fully meant what he’d said, he was absolutely hers to explore and experiment on to her precious heart’s content. She was inexperienced and possessed such a delightful curious spirit that he adored. She loathed not knowing things, and for as long as he’d known her she would pursue knowledge of any unknown subject with the ferocity of a lioness on the hunt. He was absolutely certain she’d read any number of tawdry romance novels, but the lack of practical application probably drove her crazy.

But right now, her practical application was driving him crazy. Her light touches more than enough to enflame him but not nearly enough to bring him to completion. He clenched his fists on his thighs, pressing discreetly into his bad one so that the slight pain would keep him focused on not moving. Anything to keep from trying to urge her on.

He thought he was doing well, but all that flew right out the window and into the sun because without warning, there was a warmth on the tip of his cock that had nothing to do with the hot shower spray.

His eyes flew open wide and looked down to see her giving an open-mouthed kiss to the scarlet head.

“Oh my God…” he shouted loudly enough that his voice echoed.

“Shh!” Belle hushed, pulling her unbelievable mouth away from him. “We don’t know if Neal and Emma have come upstairs!”

Not even the names of his son and his son’s girlfriend could calm him now, and he struggling to reclaim his control.

He had to keep struggling, however, when she lowered her head to him again, and that tongue of hers licked him from base to tip in one long swipe like she was licking a fucking ice cream cone.

“Christ, Belle,” he hissed. “You don’t need…you don’t have…”

“I know I don’t have to,” she said. “But you said I could try what I want. And I want. Is it alright?”

“Alright?” he huffed in a laugh. “I’m not…I’m not sure if… “alright”…is the…is the correct word…”

She smirked, the little devil, and kissed the very tip of his cock again before opening her mouth and taking him inside.

Gold had to bite his lip hard to keep from crying out, and he tasted blood. It took every single ounce of self-control to keep from grabbing her head and thrusting up into her delicious mouth helplessly.

Her movements were tentative and light, moving her mouth up and down his shaft, fitting more and more in each time, but he knew he could very well come from this alone. Just the sight of her head bobbing before him…

She released him with an obscene pop and kissed down the side again, lapping at him like he was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

“Tell me how to do this,” she said breathlessly, and she couldn’t be getting as aroused by this as he was…surely?

“I…don’t think I need to,” he gasped. “Just where did…you learn this…anyway?”

She grinned shamelessly. “I read a lot. But, really, please…I want you to tell me, Adam. Guide my movements, if you need to.”

Something in her voice caught his attention through the haze of lust, and he suddenly had a strong suspicion that this wasn’t just about instruction.

Licking his lips, and fighting back a wave of bashfulness, he brought a hand to her head, twisting his fingers into her wet hair. At her first moan he remembered how it had felt when she’d pulled his hair, and he tugged lightly, bringing forth another lovely sound.

Then he pressed, guiding her head back to him, and she went eagerly, taking hold of him at the base, and wrapping her lips around him once more. “Try to move your hand in time with your mouth,” he whispered roughly, amazed that he could even link together a complete sentence.

She following his instruction immediately, pumping her hand up and down the portion that didn’t fit inside her mouth. He guided the pace of her head with his grip on her hair, but he was careful to keep it a suggestion, allowing her to control the actual movement, ready to release her the very second she pulled away.

“H…hollow you cheeks, sweetheart…suck in…” he knew his accent was deepening to the point of being unintelligible at this point, but she must have understood because she moaned loudly, the sound vibrating through him, and she sucked him, hard.

His climax came on suddenly and powerfully, with none of the warning he was used to. He tried to pull her head away, yanking forcefully on her hair, but she didn’t move in time, and he felt her cry out in surprise and swallow compulsively.

When she did pull back, there was cum on her chin and a surprised look on her face.

It took him several deep breaths to be able to react, his brain having been scrambled to smithereens from the most mind-blowing orgasm he’d ever experienced. When he was able to form coherent thoughts, he was appalled.

“I am…so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…to come in your… it was sudden and I tried to…”

Belle was licking her lips thoughtfully, and God, that must have been horrible for her. He didn’t know why she wasn’t turning into the cooling spray to wash her mouth out.

“Belle?” he said weakly, feeling like he could cry. If he ever hurt, frightened, or disgusted her, he would never forgive himself.

She stood up on shaky legs, and he prepared for her to leave, but instead she lifted one foot up, propping it on the backrest of his chair and grasping his shoulders for balance. It was the same position he’d shown her in the shop, and there was a smug look of demand on her face that he was not about to deny. And fuck, if he hadn’t just been thoroughly spent, he’d be rock hard again.

He yanked her roughly by the hips and brought her core to his face. She was absolutely drenched, and he couldn’t believe that bringing him off would do that to her. He wasted no time with gentle kisses or teasing, and went straight for her clit, suckling relentlessly. To his utter amazement, she was coming almost immediately, biting down on her lip to hold in a scream. He didn’t stop; he continued to lap and suck, and even bite ever so gently. He brought up a finger to plunge into her, but she stayed his hand, shaking her head slightly.

Still too tender, then.

Gratified beyond anything that she was letting him know what she did and didn’t want, he continued on with his mouth alone, bringing her to yet another shaking climax.

By the time they came back to themselves, the water was well and truly cold and Belle rushed to shut it off before handing Gold his cane and helping him to stand.

They dried themselves off and dressed, too cold and satiated for any more games at the present. Belle unsurprisingly produced his shirt that she favored from some hiding spot and donned it, grinning impishly at him.

When they at last fell into bed, it was with duel sighs of satisfaction, and he rolled over to pull her into his arms, wondering if it would ever become old hat to fall asleep with her, and suspecting it never would.

***

Belle had often daydreamed of what it would be like waking up with the man she loved (and most of the time, those dream men had one particular face,) and it was as pleasurable as she’d hoped.

When she awoke, she had her back molded to his front, and she thought he was awake too, because at least one portion of his anatomy certainly was. When she craned her neck around to kiss him however, (their time spent nursing each other back to health had cured her of such worries as morning breath,) his face was still lax in sleep.

She gave a mental shrug, having read something about this somewhere. She took stock of herself, and though she was still a little achy, it wasn’t too bad, and one thing that outweighed her soreness was a very different sort of ache between her legs, and she realized that she had woken up in a very similar female-equivalent state that Adam had.

After a moment spent deciding how she would like to proceed, she tried to turn around in his arms, only to find herself pretty firmly anchored down. So instead, she ground her rear against him, feeling him twitch beneath the thin layer of his boxer shorts. She’d forgone underwear for the night, foolishly not thinking to bring an extra set of clothes, (it was her first real sleepover at a boyfriend’s house, okay?) and her (his) shirt was rucked up around her waist.

He grew even harder with the way she rubbed against him, but he still didn’t wake up. Either that, or he was doing a bang-up job of faking, and she couldn’t fathom why he’d do that.

Huffing in indignation, she reached around behind her, and spread her hand flat against him, pressing and rubbing. This produced a sleepy moan, muffled into her hair, so she weaseled her hand into the slit in his shorts and took him in hand, fondling clumsily as best she could with the awkward position.

She could feel the exact moment he woke up, from the way his whole body went rigid for just a split second before relaxing as he let out a breath. “Minx,” he whispered, nudging her hair out of the way with his nose before nipping at her shoulder.

“Well, someone woke me up with a jab in the back, so I thought you should be awake, too.”

“How can I be blamed when my very dreams are infused with the smell of your skin and the warmth of your body against mine?”

“That was very poetic.”

He growled low. “If you think that was poetic…” he brushed her hand away, snaking a hand between her legs from behind, making her squeak from surprise, and when he found her wet and ready, he guided himself to her and eased in slowly.

The new position produced a very different feeling than before. It didn’t allow for his pelvis to press against her clit like it had, but it glanced that spot he’d discovered, just passingly, enough to make her body hum with feeling without being driven absolutely crazy by it.

He pumped almost lazily, easing all the way inside slowly before pulling back more quickly. Focusing her mind downward, she tried to use her muscles there to pull at him as he withdrew, and the result was him biting her neck harder and she smiled in victory.

As if in retaliation, he slid the hand pulling at her waist down to find her clit, rubbing and pinching it mercilessly.

“Too hard,” she gasped, touching his hand lightly.

He hummed in apology and softened his touch, and she buried her face into the pillow to muffle her cries. But he must have taken her meaning that it all was too hard, because his thrusts became softer too, and that needed correcting.

She reached around, clawing and his hip and ass. “I didn’t mean that,” she ground out, undulated her hips to get him to go faster.

With a rough chuckle, he picked up his pace more and more, until she was almost on her stomach, helpless to do anything but lay there and try not to scream too loud, but she kept her hand at his hip, silently begging to go even harder, thrilling when he did.

She crashed over the edge like a wave on rocks, the feeling spreading from the tips of her toes to the very top of her head.

He slowed only momentarily, letting her savor her orgasm before redoubling his efforts. He pulled out suddenly, and she thought it was because he was spilling himself until he grunted harshly, and flipped her over with a strength that made her clench despite the very recent release. She opened her mouth to protest, remembering what had happened the last time he tried to take her this way, but all the came out was a whimper when he plunged back into her hard. She hooked her legs around his hips, trying to simply let him take what he needed so not to risk moving wrong and hurting him again.

He had one hand on the mattress, right beside where his missing knee would be, helping to stay balanced and give him leverage.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her nails digging into the skin of his back and ass as she spurred him on.

He made an anguished sound in response, so she wondered if maybe the sound of her voice was having a similar effect on him as his had on her when she’d gone down on him.

“Come on…” she whimpered out, unversed in dirty talk so not really knowing what to say. It had an effect, however, so she tried something else.

“Fuck me, Adam.”

With a bitten back shout, he pulled out of her, and she felt the hot semen spurt onto her stomach.

He rolled off of her, groaning in both satisfaction and – she suspected – pain, if the way he rubbed his thigh was any indication. “You shouldn’t do that if it hurts,” she said softly, dragging a finger through the fluid on her belly. He eyed that action interestedly, but rolled to his other side to offer her a tissue from his night stand.

After cleaning up, he opened his arms for her, and she snuggled into him with a happy sigh.

“I’m fine,” he said in answer to her earlier question. “It didn’t hurt much like last time. It’s probably just like any body part, and needs to become accustomed to new activities. To be quite honest, I wasn’t thinking much of it at the time.”

“I could tell,” she said with a giggle.

He pulled back slightly, eyeing her with concern. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

Belle shook her head. “No I…I liked it. A lot.”

He grinned. “Well I rather liked your foul mouth. I’ve never heard you use such a word.”

“It seemed like the thing to say. Adam?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

She chewed her lip in thought. “Is it…um, would it not feel better…uh…finishing while you’re still inside? It seems to me like if I were a man that would feel…anticlimactic.”

He chuckled. “I think that’s a poor choice of words, because I can assure you it’s not anticlimactic. Would it feel even better? Well, yes, of course it would, but trust me, dear, I am not complaining. It feels…you feel wonderful, and a quick second of increased pleasure is hardly worth the risk of you falling pregnant.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to insinuate that we should risk it. I’m not ready to become pregnant, trust me. I was just thinking that maybe we could look into something a bit more…accommodating.”

“Oh, well I’ve been meaning to get some condoms. It just felt sort of…presumptuous until last night. But I suppose that was just careless of me. If you’re worried at all, I can get some right away before we do anything else.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she said. “But I was actually thinking more of something for me. I’ve read a lot of interesting literature on birth control pills. I could just take them daily and be unable to conceive while taking them. They’ve only recently been available to the public, but from what I understand, not many doctors will prescribe them to unmarried women.”

“How absurd,” Adam commented. “It seems to me they would be the most beneficial to unmarried women. A married woman needn’t worry half so much about an unexpected pregnancy.”

Belle couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve a very modern outlook on things. I love it.”

He snorted. “First time I’ve ever been referred to as modern. I just don’t think restricting a woman’s access to contraception is going to make her be abstinent. It’s like teenage pregnancies don’t exist.”

“That’s part of what our group advocates, you know. Not just protesting war, but also fighting for rights. For women, children, minorities, homosexuals…” she trailed off, wondering how he’d respond.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully. “I thought HEN was strictly anti-war. You would have had Jefferson at your rallies ages ago if you made more of a show of that.”

“Jefferson? What do you mean?”

Adam looked at her meaningfully. “I mean he can be…swayed…by either side…if you take my meaning. I do hope Ruby doesn’t mind, because he truly does like her. She only needs to understand that he…well, to put it frankly, he had a male lover or two in the Army. But that’s not to be spoken of, you understand.”

“Of course not!” Belle promised. “I’d never. And you don’t have to worry about Ruby. She likes Jefferson too…and she’s the same way he is.”

“Is she? Well, that should make things simple, then shouldn’t it? And just how did you come by this information of Ruby then, hm?” he asked, teasingly.

She playfully slapped his bicep. “Very mature of you, cad! And if you must know, there was an exploratory kiss…or two…when we were about fifteen. It simply stuck for her, and not for me.”

“Intriguing,” he said, ducking away when she made to slap him again.

Belle snuggled back against him, happy beyond measure that Adam was so opened-hearted. If she hadn’t already been in love with the man, that would have sealed it.

 Chapter 8

“Really?”

“That would be amazing!”

“Are you sure, Belle? We’re not exactly practiced…”

Belle laughed, pleased by the response when she asked the boys if they were willing to play for Emma’s fundraiser. Emma herself stood nearby, smirking at the grown men’s childlike reaction. She’d accepted whole-heartedly when Belle made the suggestion to her, stating that it was just the thing to really pull Storybrooke into the event, especially in the wake of the bad rep the last rally had incurred.

“You have two weeks to get ready,” Belle said. “And it’s just a couple of songs covers, it’s not like I’m asking you to write something new.”

Jefferson was leaning up against a fence where they were all gathered in the courtyard behind Granny’s diner, his arms crossed and one brow raised skeptically. “But we’re not exactly a well-rounded group, are we?” he looked meaningfully over at Adam, who’d been silently watching the exchange, hands folded over his cane.

“I think you mean you need a piano player,” Belle grinned slyly. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’ve already found you one!”

“Who?” David asked, he and Victor looking genuinely surprised, while Archie’s eyes widened knowingly.

Belle spoke to Jefferson, “Only the best pianist you or I know.”

Finally, Jefferson got it, and he gasped. “You’re not serious. Gold?!”

“Pop?” Neal asked, shocked as well.

Adam rolled his eyes, but his expression lacked any sort of his old contempt. “She’s serious. I’m afraid my Belle is really quite persuasive when there’s something she wants.”

Belle was beaming, unused to hearing him speak so possessively of her in public, but Victor interrupted the moment in true-to-form fashion.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you, old dog?” he crooned, winking saucily and receiving an elbow in the gut from Archie.

Adam’s gaze snapped murderously to the doctor, but Belle’s hand on his arm calmed him down.

“You’ll really play with us?” Jefferson asked, not distracted in the least. “On a stage? In front of people?”

“You could refrain from making it sound so ominous,” Adam snapped, eyes flashing in nervousness. “And yes, I made a deal with Belle.”

“What kind of de…OOF!” Victor’s innuendous reply was cut off by Archie quite literally shoving him away. The medical doctor disappeared, falling over a potted plant.

“What kind of deal?” Archie asked far more innocently.

Adam glanced once at where Victor was still laying dramatically on the ground before joining the others in ignoring his incredulous pleas for assistance. “I’ll play, if Belle sings.”

“Marvelous!” Jefferson clapped his hands gleefully. “I say, this is getting better and better!”

“I still need help down here!”

“And…” Adam continued, staring at Emma. “Belle had better get recognition for her part in the success of this event.”

“Of course,” Emma said, with a roll of her own eyes. “I’m no idiot.”

“So no one is gonna help me then?!”

***

While Emma set off to make arrangements for the rally, Neal followed Belle and Gold back to the shop.

“This is fantastic, Papa!” Neal exclaimed once they were inside. “I can’t wait.”

“What about you?” Belle asked him. “Any hidden musical talent you’d like to add?”

Neal winced. “Eh, I’m afraid that particular gene skipped a generation. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“He’s not being modest,” Gold said, laughing. It was true, his son had no natural musical talent, but more than made up for it in sheer artistic talent, and in truth Gold was glad that he had his own skills and path in life, instead of merely taking after him.

“I remember though,” Neal said, speaking straight to Gold, a faraway look in his eyes. “I had forgotten, but when I saw you playing the other night, it sorta came back to me. I remember when I was a really little kid, sitting on your knee while you played some song in a language I couldn’t understand, but you’d make these silly voices while you sang, and it’d make me laugh.”

Gold stared at his son, amazed. “You…you remember that? You couldn’t have been older than three or four.”

“Yeah, but I remember. It couldn’t have been comfortable for you at the time, sitting at the piano, but you always played for me when I asked.”

Gold turned away, feeling the burn of tears in his eyes. He’d always thought that his son had completely forgotten those short years he’d been allowed to be the child’s father, before he’d been cruelly ripped away. That ache had been assuaged during the years he’d gotten to spend time with Neal as an adult, but never completely erased.

“What was it you used to play?” Neal asked.

Gold didn’t answer, just moved to sit on the piano bench. He glanced up at Belle, who was smiling lovingly at him from beside the counter.

He knew precisely what song Neal was talking about, and memories of his own flooded his senses – of his beloved aunts singing the same song to him as a boy, and of sharing it with Jefferson and the other men in camp.

When Neal perched beside him on the bench, Gold’s heart felt like it might explode, and he twisted around to find Belle, who moved over to better be seen by him, but keeping a respectable distance, letting father and son have a moment.

He began to play, singing the familiar words despite not having spoken the language in decades. He even threw in the silly voice that he’d done for Neal as a toddler. A high pitched, almost growling and utterly ridiculous voice that sounded like a flamboyant, pompous imp.

Neal and Belle both laughed wildly, especially when he raised one hand to twirl it delicately.

“What was that?” Belle asked, almost bent over in mirth.

“Gaelic,” Gold said, grinning. “An old bawdy song my aunties sang to me. The voices I added myself, to make Neal laugh, and I see it still works.”

“Wait, bawdy?!” Neal asked, incredulous. “What do those words mean?!”

Gold’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I suppose you’re old enough, now. It a song about a king who tries to convince a woman to wed him, to the point of capturing her and taking her to his castle. But instead of being fearful, the woman says she’ll marry him willingly if…well…if he can please her, since no man before had ever been able to. The rest of the song simply details the many ways the king does just that. The chorus roughly translates to bend her on over, lad, stick your dagger…”

He was cut off by fresh waves of hilarity. “You sang that to a toddler?!” Belle shrieked, gasping for breath.

“It’s really quite educational, if you think about it,” Gold said, chuckling. “It did make Neal’s mother quite furious, but it wasn’t like Neal knew what I was saying, after all.”

Belle shook her head. “A dagger? Really? What a very male thing to compare to…his…well...”

Gold blinked up at her. “But that’s not what it means. Surely you’ve heard the term about a tongue being sharp as a dagger?”

Belle’s face reddened before she and Neal were sent into another fit of laughter.

***

Belle had almost tried to sneak out the back once Neal had perched beside his father at the piano, recounting old memories of a too-brief childhood spent with the man. She felt like she should give them space and time alone, since most of Adam’s time of late had been spent with her. But she just hadn’t been able to pry herself away from the warm moment, especially once Adam began to sing in that hilarious, creature-like voice.

Their mirth was interrupted by Tom Clarke, the local Pharmacist, who appeared scared half to death of stepping fully into the shop, no matter that he could see Adam being relaxed and happy with his family.

Belle watched in fascination as Adam’s peaceful expression morphed into one of vague displeasure, and he excused himself to go speak with the stammering, sneezing man about his rent.

“Almost makes you think he should have been an actor, huh?” Neal said, making Belle jump slightly when his voice came from right next to her ear and she hadn’t noticed him stand. He was like his father in that way. “The way he can switch from one persona to another.”

Belle hummed thoughtfully. “Except, I believe that the way he is with us is no persona. That’s the real Adam.”

“I definitely think he’s more him than he’s ever been, since you.”

Belle tore her eyes away from Adam. (Was it wrong to find his dark, intimidating persona so attractive?) “What do you mean?” she asked.

Neal shrugged. “I just mean…I love the old man, have since I met him and he was falling over himself to try to make me feel at ease, and I could see just how desperately nervous he was. My adoptive father is great, you understand, he did a ton for me, but he was never very warm. Not affectionate, and always just seemed anxious for us to grow up. He was the same with his biological kids, so it never exactly bothered me. Adam was the exact opposite. The minute he could see that I didn’t mind a hug, it was like he couldn’t stop giving them. He tells me every single time I talk to him, in person, on the phone, or in a letter, that he loves me. Maybe he used to try and buy my love a little too much with too many gifts, but I could see it just came from a place of love, and making up for lost time.

“But what I meant before, was he’s always been so…tense. Every time we say goodbye, even if I’m just gonna walk over to Granny’s, he says it with such emotion, like it’s the last time he’s ever gonna see me.”

“Can you blame him?” Belle said softly. “He missed so much of your life.”

“No, I can’t blame him, but that’s a sad way to live, isn’t it? Like always just waiting for an end.”

Belle smiled sadly. “How can you enjoy a story if you spend all your time worrying about the last chapter?”

“Exactly! And that’s how he’s always been…until now. Until you. Ever since I got here, for the first time since I’ve known him, he’s seems like he’s finally just happy to live life. I think that, this time, when I go back to Boston, saying goodbye to him isn’t going to be quite so hard. Because he has more to live for now than just me, or the hope of finding me. He has music again, and friends, and you.”

Belle had to look away from him then, feeling tears well in her eyes. Though she and Neal got along just fine, she hadn’t dared to hope that she’d receive such a heartfelt blessing from him, at least not so soon. And it meant the world.

“You both give me a lot of credit,” she said, her voice thick. “But all I did was admit feelings for him that I’ve had a long time.”

“You did a lot more than that, Belle,” Neal said, smirking. “You may never really see all you’ve done, but you definitely did.”

“Well, he’s done a lot for me, too. So I like to think it’s even.”

Adam and Mr. Clarke finished up their business and Adam made his way back over to them, his face growing concerned when he saw the tears glistening in Belle’s eyes. “What is it?” he shot a slightly accusing look at Neal.

“Nothing,” Belle said with a smile, shaking her head, before leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Everything is wonderful.”

She caught him sharing another quick look with Neal, but when he found nothing wrong on that end either, he gave a half shrug and wrapped his arms around her.

 Chapter 9

The rally, now dubbed Arms of Love Concert, (named apparently because of the fact that it was benefiting the need for prosthetics, though even Belle thought it was cringingly cheesy,) was coming together smoothly and quickly.

Several of the members of Emma’s Boston coalition arrived in Storybrooke a week beforehand to finish up the arrangements and begin setup.

For Belle, it felt good to be able to help out with such a good cause, but not be in charge of every single aspect as she had before. Emma and her friends August and Lily shared the brunt of the responsibilities, and Belle admired their teamwork. Neal, Belle, and Ruby helped out in every way they could, and between them all it was coming together beautifully.

Despite all the extra hands, Belle was kept very busy, so she didn’t have much time at all to spend with Adam. He was so sweet and understanding about it, though, and she was determined to reward him for it later.

But Adam was fairly busy as well, as he and the rest of the band had a lot of rehearsing to do in a short amount of time. It was going to be a short lineup of cover songs, and Belle had given them absolute free reign on what to pick, trusting Jefferson to convince Adam to perform at least a couple of newer songs.

The only one she had any say on was the one she would be singing. Unsure about being on stage for the first time, Adam had kindly offered to make it a duet, and she agreed with exuberance. Though they’d picked the song together, and she’d been practicing alone at night before bed, (at her own house, alas,) they hadn’t actually had a chance to rehearse together, which renewed her agitation.

As nervous as she was, Adam had seemed surprisingly calm. All the others, even Jefferson, were jittery, if excited, but Adam had displayed nothing but relaxed readiness. Belle wasn’t sure if it was a front or not.

By the morning of the rally, she still hadn’t rehearsed with the band, but Adam assured her that they would do just fine together, and she trusted him completely, of course.

They were holding the concert right in the middle of Main Street. Mayor Mills had been vehemently against it at first, but something had suddenly changed her mind, and when Belle had casually mentioned it to Adam, the smug look on his face prompted her to demand to know how he’d done it. “Oh, she owed me a favor, is all,” he’d said smoothly. “Plus, I said please.”

Belle was helping Lilly hang up a sign displaying the name of the newly formed band. Company B had been Jefferson’s choice, after his favorite song.

“Belle!” Ruby called from the patio of Granny’s, where they were preparing to close early for the rally. “Jeff called! He asked if you could go to the shop!”

Worried that Adam was having a sudden change of mind, Belle rushed to the shop. All the guys were there, already dressed for the stage.

“Why are you ready so soon?” she asked. “The concert doesn’t start till this evening.”

“Dress rehearsal, you might say,” Archie said. Belle raised her eyebrows in appreciation at the meek, unassuming man who usually wore huge cable knit sweaters, now dressed to the nines in a sleek black suit.

All of the men were wearing the same – or at least very similar – black, slim-fitting pants and blazer, with pristine white shirts and a thin black tie. They all looked outrageously attractive, but David, who was already a traditionally handsome man in his khakis and flannel was really something else. Belle wondered how Mary Margaret was going to feel about the girls who were doubtlessly going to drool over the guitarist. And Jefferson, with his black hair to match, well, Belle thought Ruby might have an aneurism.

Victor looked like he knew how good he looked.

“You all look outta sight!” Belle enthused. “But where’s Adam?” She was more than ready to see her handsome man.

“Hiding,” Jefferson said exasperatedly. “He won’t come out. Doesn’t like his outfit.”

Belle’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Doesn’t like…it’s a suit. It’s not that different at all than what he normally wears, just perhaps a little tighter, but he could certainly pull that off.”

“We know!” Jefferson said, flapping his arms as if he was hoping to take flight. “But the digs we got him aren’t…exactly like ours.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Adam growled from behind the curtain leading the back of his shop.

“Adam?” Belle called, chuckling. “Are you going to come out or are we supposed to pay no mind to the man behind the curtain?”

“I am not coming out. Not until I’m provided a better outfit, or Jefferson fucking returns my clothes!”

Belle glanced at the pile of clothing sitting on the counter, but it was swiped away by Victor before she could grab it. “He’s being stubborn,” Victor said, defensively clutching the clothes against him when Belle rolled her eyes and held her hands out for them. “And besides, there’s no time to get another suit.”

“Then I’ll wear one of mine,” Adam roared, and Belle could tell his patience was absolutely worn thin.

“Adam,” Belle said. “Despite what these loons say, no one is going to make you wear something you don’t want to,” she returned the glare she received from Jefferson and Victor. “But can I see it? Please?”

She could hear him heave a great sigh, and almost imagined that the curtain moved with it. When he emerged, she didn’t see at first any difference between what he was wearing and what the others were, except his tie was a deep gold instead of black. But then he came fully around the counter and Belle definitely saw the difference.

Adam’s pants and jacket were leather.

Not a cheap, shiny faux leather like what Killian wore. This was clearly fine, genuine leather that barely made a sound when he walked.

Belle’s mouth dropped open, eyes instantly fastening on his pants. They clung to him in the most devastating way, leaving blessedly little to the imagination, and looked buttery soft to the touch. (And God did she want to touch!) The jacket, too, fit his form perfectly, emphasizing his arms and shoulders to their best advantage.

Belle shook her head, mouth still agape. “No, absolutely not.”

Adam looked half victorious, half embarrassed, but the look morphed into complete shock when she continued.

“Once women see you in that, I’ll be beating them off with a stick.”

“Wha?” Adam said, blinking owlishly while the other men laughed.

“I told you!” Jefferson said. “I’ve always said you were made for leather!”

“Man to man,” David said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You really do look good.”

“I hate you,” Victor said.

Adam flushed. “It’s too tight! You can tell which leg is fake!”

Archie tilted his head to look. “Only if you know what to look for. No one else would ever notice, and certainly not in the dark.”

“I’m still not wearing it.”

Belle walked up to him, resting her hands on his shoulders, (it was buttery soft!) and spoke quietly to him, making sure her feeling showed through her voice. “I maintain what I said. If you’re uncomfortable, then change. But just know that I will have every intention of making you put those pants on again soon, even if it’s only to peel them off of you.”

“We can hear you,” Victor said, grimacing.

“You really like it?” Adam asked, bewildered.

Belle released him to step around him, nearly whimpering aloud when she saw what it did to his ass. She dared a discreet pinch in passing, making him jump. “Like doesn’t quite cover it, my love.”

“And besides,” Jefferson whined. “I had it made ‘specially for you!” he continued in a whisper, “And it wasn’t cheap either.”

Adam threw his hands up, cane and all, in surrender. “Fine! I’ll wear it,” he glared at them all for cheering. “But I still don’t see why I should be dressed differently than the rest of you. The lead guitarist is typically the frontrunner, if one should be attired specially.”

“But you’re the lead singer,” Jefferson reasoned. “And besides, you’ll be at the keys most of the time.”

Adam looked at Belle, hooking an arm around her waist. “Should I slick back my hair?”

Belle shook her head emphatically. “No way, leave it!” she emphasized her point by mussing it up, letting strands fall into his face.

“And what will you be wearing?” he asked.

Belle bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well, I hadn’t settled on anything yet, but I think I have just the thing to go with that tie.”

  The dress Belle had decided on the moment she laid eyes on the color of Adam’s tie was one she hadn’t considered before due to it being a tad more formal and traditional than she would normally wear to a rally.

It had been her mother’s; a gift from her father on her thirtieth birthday when he’d taken her out dancing just like she loved. Belle had been ten years old and positive she’d never seen anything as beautiful or glamorous as her mother that night. Just like a real-life movie star.

Belle rushed home and begged her father to help her pull it out of storage. “I hope it’s still in good condition,” she said anxiously.

“Oh I’m sure it is,” Maurice said, pulling a long box down from the attic. “Your mother was meticulous in how she stored things.”

She couldn’t even wait to carry it to her room, plopping down on the floor and flipping off the lid. “It’s just as beautiful as I remember!” she said dreamily.

Maurice’s eyes sparkled jovially. “Well? Are you gonna sit there or go try it on?”

Belle squealed and darted to her room with the dress. She held her breath as she pulled it on and dragged up the small zipper. She was shorter than her mother had been, and a little curvier, so she hoped it would fit.

She stood before her full-length mirror, turning from one side to the other.

The dress was a gold lamè; slightly metallic in appearance without being garish. It was made to fit like a second skin from the bust to the hips, where it fell gently down to the knees – or past them, in Belle’s case. But the fit was perfect. A knot tied in the front, gathering the fabric at the hips, emphasized her hips well. Beading, in a darker gold, decorated the top of the bust in a leafy pattern, dipping down to a point between her breasts. The dainty cap sleeves added a hint of sweetness to the otherwise sultry form.

Belle removed the dress giddily, and ran about to do her hair and get ready. She decided to curl her hair in a forties style more befitting the dress. Besides, she’d worked out that Adam liked her hair curled and even though she would be wearing this dress on stage in front of hundreds of people, she was really wearing it for him tonight.

It was 4pm when she was finished getting ready, adding a final touch to her makeup, and the concert started at 6. But she was going to need to get there soon as she could already hear a crowd starting to form.

“Belle!” her father called up. “Ruby’s here!”

When Belle descended the stairs, both Ruby and Maurice gasped.

“Oh my God, Belle!” Ruby exclaimed.

Belle grinned up at her Papa, who, to her surprise, was actually tearing up a little. “You looked just like your mother walking down those stairs,” he said with an adoring smile. “Just when did this stunning woman replace my little girl?”

“I’m still your little girl,” Belle said and kissed his cheek. “You’re coming to the concert, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Now go on, you two. Break some necks.”

“Papa!” Belle admonished laughingly.

“What? I bought that dress for your Mama. I know good and well what it does to men. Just try not to give poor Gold a heart attack.”

Belle rolled her eyes playfully before donning a long overcoat and sashaying out the door.

“He was right, though,” Ruby said once they were outside. “You are sex incarnate in that thing! Gold’s not gonna know what hit him!”

“I could say the same about you,” Belle said, eyeing Ruby’s red, midriff and cleavage baring front-tying top above matching bellbottoms. “Plus, you just wait until you see the guys.”

 ***

Gold watched Emma in admiration as she made her opening speech on stage. Oh, it was still just a bunch of flowery platitudes about bringing change, but she delivered them with such a vibrant conviction. Her long blonde hair billowed around her face, the lighting making it look like a halo, but with her impassioned expression she was more of an avenging angel. He glanced over at Neal, intending to offer up an approving nod but his son was entirely captivated, his eyes glossed over and completely unmoving from the avenging angel’s form.

He chuckled to himself, knowing well the feeling, having felt it every single time Belle spoke to him, or sang.

“She’s really something,” he had to lean close to Neal’s ear to be heard.

“She sure is…” Neal said dazedly, but then he snapped out of it somewhat to look at his father. “Do you like her?”

Gold’s heart almost broke at the childlike, hopeful look in his son’s eyes. He had never realized until that very moment how important his opinion was to his son, this precious boy he’d only been allowed to have in his life for a grand total of eight years out of twenty.

“You love her,” Gold said. It wasn’t a question.

“You didn’t answer,” Neal said impatiently.

Gold smiled, clapping a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “I like her very much, Neal. I can’t imagine anyone more suited for one another than you two.” And it was true; Neal’s quiet, sweet nature was perfectly balanced by Emma’s outgoing, if brash personality.

Neal’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, I dunno, I can think of a pair,” he said teasingly.

“Oh? Who? David and Mary Margaret?”

Neal rolled his eyes. “You and Belle, dummy. She brings out the best in you, and according to Emma, the reverse is true, too.”

Gold blinked, having a very hard time believing that Belle’s best was ever hidden, ever, and that he of all people would bring it out. “Well, that first part I can admit is true,” he said gruffly. “You like her, then?” he knew full well that Neal did like Belle, but he also knew his son would be able to read between the lines of the question.

“It’ll never not be weird to have a stepmama five years older than me, but yeah, Pop. I like her.”

Gold floundered for a proper response to “stepmama,” and Neal just laughed when he could only huff in embarrassment.

Emma wrapped up her speech, allowing another young person to take the stand so-to-speak. People cheered and waved signs and flowers in the air, and Gold shook his head in bemusement.

“Gold!”

He spun around to find Jefferson making his way over to him. “You’re not dressed!” he complained.

Indeed, Gold was dressed in one of his usual suits. He may have agreed (and WHAT had possessed him?!) to wear the infernal leather getup, but he wasn’t about to waltz around in it before he had to.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he sighed, fending off Jefferson’s flapping hands in irritation. He looked up at the stage where some of Emma’s minions were now setting up the instruments and microphones to his specifications, and nerves fluttered in his stomach.

He’d never experienced stage-fright when performing with Jefferson in the Army, or even before the war when he’d played guitar and piano in a couple of smoky, filthy bars that had no qualms about letting a 16 year old boy come and play and drink.

And, truth be told, he wasn’t exactly afraid this time either. He didn’t care what the people of Storybrooke thought of him, so long as they didn’t think he was weak. Initially, he’d been disgruntled that everyone would see him for something other than the ruthless deal-maker he’d tried so hard to make himself up to be. But this was for Belle, and if he was afraid of anything, it was of disappointing or maybe worse, embarrassing her.

“Do you know where Belle is?” he asked, careful to keep the edge from his voice.

Jefferson only smirked knowingly, however. “Don’t you fret. If nothing else, you’ll see her right beside you on stage.”

Gold rolled his eyes and turned to make his way back to his shop, wishing he could instead go find Belle now.

Once inside the shop, he grimaced at the mess the others had made in their efforts to get ready, and closed the blinds before heading for the back. He had just finished removing his suit and was giving the leather pants a rueful look when he heard the bell above his door ring, cursing that he’d forgotten to lock it.

“Adam? Are you in here?”

Gold sighed in relief, and felt all of his nerves settle instantly. It still astounded him how just her voice could do that to him.

“I’m back here, Belle,” he called, adding hastily in case Ruby or someone was with her, “I’m changing.”

“But I like you the way you are!” she teased.

“Hilarious,” he deadpanned. “A regular Joan Davis, you are.”

Belle giggled. “Who?”

“Oh hush, you. Are you coming back or not?”

“Am I allowed? I’d hate to catch you when you’re indecent!”

He hoped he was right and that by the tone of her voice, she was alone. Otherwise, he was about to make her and whoever was with her really blush. “And having me buried to the hilt inside of you wasn’t indecent?”

He could just barely make out a small hiccupping sound, but no response. A moment later the curtain was pushed aside and she was standing in the doorway, smirking but definitely red around the cheeks. “You win,” she said, crossing her arms.

But it was his turn to be left speechless, although that was common when he ever saw her for the first time after even mere hours of separation.

Her hair done in wide, soft curls that waved seductively around her face, a style he hadn’t seen much of since his twenties. Her eyes were lined in dark kohl, and her lips were painted in a vibrant red. He firmly believed that she didn’t need an ounce of makeup, and she rarely wore much, if at all, but the differentness and the way it brought attention to her full lips and made her already incredible blue eyes stand out even more left him feeling completely stunned.

It was the flower that did it, though. A small, shimmery gold flower was painted on her right cheek, and judging by her smirk when he eyed it, he knew it was there just for him. How she had guessed his odd love for her flowers, he didn’t know.

“You look…uh…” he couldn’t even find the damn word. He was an intelligent, well-read man but he couldn’t sift through his credible vocabulary for one that accurately described how she looked to him.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, taking his silence as the compliment it was. “You look rather nice as well.”

It was only then that he remembered that he was still standing there in nothing but a pair of black briefs. He flushed hotly, but laughed at himself, and reached for the accursed pants. “Are you going to show me what’s under that coat?” he asked as he sat down in a chair to maneuver the unwieldy things over his wooden leg.

“Not yet,” she said simply, pushing herself up to sit on the work table. The movement allowed him to catch a flash of gold, however, and he gulped. She had said, after all, that she had something to match him.

He stood up, almost unbalancing, and struggled to pull the pants up. “I hope you’re enjoying the show,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

But she was biting her lip, eyeing him with wide pupils. For heaven’s sake, was she becoming aroused by this undignified production?!

He thought about asking her to help him, but they simply didn’t have time for shenanigans right then, and the last thing he needed was another wooden appendage to take onstage.

But she was sitting there, her legs uncrossed, looking so inviting, that he gave in and stepped between her knees so that she could do up the buttons of his shirt.

“This is the opposite of what I’d like to be doing right now,” she murmured, her low voice going straight to his groin.

He smiled in fond surprise when she took his tie from him, looping it around her own neck to do up the knot expertly. “Always did it for Papa,” she explained quietly.

Once she had the tie around his neck, and the knot meticulously straightened, she patted his chest with both hands. “Perfect.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, unable to keep from imagining this exact scenario every morning for the rest of his life.

His hands wandered to the belt of her coat, wanting to see her without the heavy thing dwarfing her beautiful form.

“Not yet,” she said, pulling away and lightly smacking his hand. When he whined in protest, she smirked impishly and started slowly hiking up both coat and dress, uncovering her thighs to his eager view. “But how about a little preview to tide you over?”

He licked his lips, eyes unwavering as his own hands smoothed up her stockinged legs to help her. His breath hitched when, at the top of her thighs, he felt a band of soft lace and the clasp of garters. When the clothing was at last moved out of the way, he could see that her garter belt was a dainty, tantalizing thing colored a soft ivory. Something made to seduce, not like a regular utilitarian one.

“My dear,” he said gruffly, fingering the delicate lace. “As…as absolutely lovely as this is, I’m afraid I’m coming into a rather precarious situation involving very tight pants.”

Belle let out a breathy chuckle and quickly smoothed down her dress and coat. “Sorry,” she said, with absolutely no remorse.

Both Gold and Belle nearly jumped out of their skin when the curtain to the backroom flew back, a flash of red being all he could make out until the blood rushed back to his brain and he could see Ruby standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the bell ring.

“Oh, damn, am I interrupting something?” she said, grinning.

“Well, at least that took care of that problem,” Gold muttered, backing away from Belle.

“Jeff’s looking for you,” Ruby said. “He said to get your ass…” she trailed off, and Gold turned back around from where he’d been donning his jacket to see what was the matter. Her eyes were wide, and fastened to his legs. He froze, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable. Did she think he looked ridiculous? Not that he cared what she thought…oh, who was he kidding? She was Belle’s best friend, and if he was going to be honest with himself, the last thing he wanted was to be laughed at by a woman.

“Holy shit,” Ruby said, her eyebrows reaching her hairline. “Belle, you weren’t even exaggerating.”

Gold shot a glare over at Belle. “What does she mean?”

Belle just shrugged innocently. “I only told her about how good you look in leather, that’s all. It would seem she agrees with me.”

Gold pulled a face. “Seriously?”

Ruby threw back her head and barked out a laugh, turning to leave and saying over her shoulder, “just be glad Belle got to you when you were still lurking in your shop in old fashioned suits, cause if you’d looked like that all along, you’d be getting more action than Ringo,” she continued to call out as she exited the shop, “and I’m counting myself, just for the record!”

Once she was gone, Gold stared in horror at the spot where she had been standing before slowly looking at Belle again.

“I hope you’re not getting ideas,” she said, teasing, but with perhaps a bit of sincerity.

“My idea is pleading with you for help,” he said, making her laugh.

“I’m afraid the time has come for the rest of Storybrooke to fall in love with you,” she sighed, hopping down from the counter, and he made a show of rolling his eyes. “You ready?” she asked him.

“As long as you’re with me,” he said, crooking his arm for her to take. “Then I’m ready for anything.”

 Belle led Adam through alleyways to get to the stage without having to weave through the crowd. Jefferson and all the rest where already there.

“Bout time,” Jefferson snapped. “You two can have celebratory sex later!”

“Jefferson!” Gold growled.

“Wow, Pop,” Neal said. “You look…uh…different,” he looked at Emma, who averted her eyes awkwardly.

“Can we just get on with it?” Gold growled, wishing very much to not be the center of attention anymore.

“You’re up, Belle,” Emma said nodding at her.

Gold hadn’t known that it’d be Belle who would announce him, but he was pleased. She finally shrugged off that coat of hers, and handed it to Ruby. But Gold was struck absolutely dumb by the sight of her.

The shimmering gold fabric hugged her body from behind like it wasn’t even there, like she was just standing there, naked, her body dripping in liquefied gold. When she turned, his eyes caught the glittering beading decorating the tops of her breasts. She looked like some kind of siren, or someone who belonged on a Hollywood red carpet, and not backwater Maine.

“You like it?” she asked shyly, and it was amazing how anyone that beautiful could ever feel shy about her looks. “It was my mother’s.”

Gold could barely imagine the stately, conservative Collette dressed so, and believed strongly that the mother’s willowy frame did not do the dress justice the way Belle’s graceful, womanly shape did.

“It’s extraordinary, Belle. And I think Collette would have been very proud of you tonight, sweetheart,” he said, and not talking about the dress.

Belle beamed, and spun on her heels to make her way on stage.

He listened with half an ear while Belle described how ticket sales of the evening were being put to good use, but as much as he liked to listen to her talk, it was time for him to mentally prepare for playing music for an audience for the first time in twenty years.

He supposed he hadn’t let himself think too much about it in the days leading up to this event. He knew if he did think about it, he’d overthink it. Well, all that time spent putting it out of his mind was catching up to him.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, not really meaning for anyone to hear.

But Jefferson, as usual, heard anyway. “Yeah, you can.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you and the others at least have a certain stage presence. You’re all young, nice looking…”

Jefferson laughed. “You seriously haven’t gotten a clue about yourself, huh? And what are you even saying? You’re barely a couple of years older than me.”

“But I look old, you don’t.”

“What does looks have to do with anything, anyway?”

Gold shook his head. “Nothing. I just…”

Jefferson laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great. We all are. If it gets to be too much, just look at Belle. If you can’t see Belle, close your eyes and pretend we’re in that pub in Dublin, just you, me, and a handful of drunk women and even drunker cadets.”

Gold chuckled. “Thank you, Jefferson.”

Jefferson tried to wave him off, but he continued. Feeling like if he didn’t say this now while the noise of the crowd all but drowned him out, he never would. “No, I mean, thank you for everything. For showing up at my house unannounced all those years, and ignoring me when I tried to kick you out. For helping me when I was searching for Neal, even when I didn’t ask for your help. For never turning away from me, even though you probably should have.”

Jefferson grinned, and gave Gold’s shoulder a squeeze. “What’s a best friend for? Now come on, old man, this mushy stuff is getting too much. Who knew you were such a sap?”

Gold shoved ineffectively at the larger man, and barely caught the end of Belle announcing their names.

 “…because if we want a change for our children, we need to start with the people who are here now,” Belle paused for effect. “And now, for our special surprise musical performance, we have a few faces here that the Storybrooke locals will recognize! All five of these men served in the US military during World War II, all barely out of high school when they either enlisted or were drafted. Some were injured, and all of their lives were altered forever. When we hold up signs that say, Bring Our Boys Home, I just hope we all remember that coming home is just half the battle for some of those boys, and we must continue to support them! And now, without further ado, may I present…Company B!”

Belle exited the stage as the group went on, shooting Adam a quick thumbs-up as they passed by one another.

“Hello, Storybrooke!” Jefferson exclaimed into the mike to an uproarious applause. He reached behind his back, and like some sort of magic trick, produced one of his infamous top hats, rolling it over his arm before flicking it on to his head with a dramatic flourish. “For those of you who don’t already know us; my name is Jefferson, and over on electric guitar is David, that’s Victor on drums, Archie on bass, and last but certainly not least…on the keys and lead vocals, Adam, a.k.a. Mr. Gold!”

Belle just had to peak around the stairs, first up at Adam who was glaring daggers at the back of Jefferson’s head, and then at the audience who was absolutely buzzing. It was easy to spot from a distance who was local and who was not. The non-locals merely looked excited and the women were whispering and pointing out the ones they thought were cutest. The locals were having a fit of utter and wild shock the moment the name Mr. Gold left Jeff’s mouth. She wasn’t at all sure if anyone would have recognized him up there if Jefferson had only called him Adam.

Adam quietly counted down, and they launched right into their first number, a bluesy cover of The Wanderer. This would be the only one led by David, Victor, and Archie. Jefferson had told her in an aside that it was to sort of ease the public into the idea of Adam as a “rock star,” (his words.)

“They’re loving it!” Ruby exclaimed, bouncing up at down. “Killian’s crap band had nothing on these guys!”

Where The Killings had accrued a modicum of enthusiasm from the crowd that night, it had been mostly due to the fact that the entire audience was either drunk, stoned, or both.

There was no doubt that any number of the concert goers currently in attendance were probably under the influence, but David had called in reinforcements from Augusta PD to act as security, and their intimidating and comforting presence was everywhere.

The reaction to Company B was something entirely different, and when they merged straight from The Wanderer into a fast-paced, more rock-n-roll version of an old Glenn Miller number; Moonlight Cocktail, Belle had to just laugh at loud at the change.

Adam leaned forward toward his microphone, his usual croon taking on a slighter rougher edge. She didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but it was sexy as hell.

“Couple of jiggers of moonlight, and add a star, pour in the blue of a June night and one guitar. Mix in a couple of dreamers, and there you are: lovers hail the Moonlight Cocktail..”

From the first word Belle heard an actual scream from somewhere in the crowd. Jaws were practically on the ground.

“This is absolutely gonna ruin his reputation,” Neal said cheerfully.

Belle watched as Adam’s confidence slowly grew, and he was pulled further into the music. No one else was there for him. His eyes were closed and it was just him, the piano, and his own voice.

There were people who could sing and play music and sound very good. There were simply people who wholly loved music. And then there was someone like Adam, who held the music in their soul until it had no choice but to come bursting out. And he’d been holding it in for far too long.

It was the most beautiful thing Belle had ever seen.

As the song was coming to a close, something caught Belle’s attention from the corner of her eye.

There was someone mounting the steps on the other side of the stage. From the way the lights were angled Belle couldn’t tell who it was until he was already on stage.

“Who the hell is that?!” Emma demanded.

“Oh no,” Belle gasped.

David reached out to stop Killian, but his guitar got in the way and Killian snaked around him, snatching his mic on the way.

“The fuck kind of faggot music is this?!” he slurred. “Who ‘ere wants some real music?!”

He pumped his fist, apparently expecting a cheer, but only response he got was some nervous laughing and one guy somewhere yelling, “Get off the stage, moron!”

Belle and Emma were mounting the steps to the stage the same time a couple of officers were from the other side, but they were both halted by a look from Adam.

The two officers snatched the mic from Killian and grabbed his arms while he flailed uselessly against them. “Hey! The fuck, man?!”

“Time for you to go, Mr. Jones,” Adam said, having stood from the piano and approached him, his voice low and dangerous. “You know, I’m rather glad for this pathetic show of yours. This way, you can be escorted straight to a cell and bother no one for the rest of the night.”

“Piss off, you fucking old…crocodile!” Killian said. “I’ll be out tomorrow, and you better watch your back!”

Adam rolled his eyes, standing with both hands on his cane. “What are you going to do? Throw more cheap firecrackers into my shop like a pre-adolescent boy? Not your best work, Dearie.”

“Oh yeah?! It had you pissing yourself like a useless pansy! Or maybe next time I should bring out the big guns! Just gotta make sure that whore of yours is there too!”

“Like you did last time?”

Killian huffed a laugh. “Last time I was just lucky that she was there to see what a coward you are!”

Adam’s eyes calmly darted up to David’s. “Will that do it?”

David shook his head in amusement. “That’ll do it. You all heard that as a confession, right?” he addressed the audience, who all cheered. “Not to mention a threat.”

Killian blanched, looking out at the crowd and then down at the mic that David was holding out toward him. “Wha…no! Wait!”

But he was dragged off the stage by then, and the crowd was going wild.

“You think it’ll matter that he’s probably drunk?” Ruby asked Belle.

“It shouldn’t.”

They spun around to see Gaston, standing with his arms crossed. “He wasn’t that drunk, I was with him while he was drinking. And if asked, I’m prepared to say he was sober as a nun.”

“Really?” Belle asked. “Why? He’s your friend.”

“He’s an ass,” Gaston said. “And maybe I am, too, but what he did to you, and to Gold…well…that was shit. And I’m sorry. Though I swear, I had nothing to do with the firecrackers. That was all Killian and Smith.”

“Then will you file a report?” Emma asked him. “Against them both?”

Gaston nodded. “Yeah. I’m sick of being their muscle.”

Belle smiled up at him, happy to know he wasn’t all bad.

But right then she had more important things to do, and she rushed up on stage as they were righting the mic stand and getting back into position. Adam was still standing, grinning proudly at her, and she didn’t hesitate to throw herself into his arms and kiss him hard, mindless of the hundreds of eyes upon them.

“And on that note…” Jefferson enthused, “Ladies and gents, Miss Belle French!”

“You ready?” Adam asked her quietly, facing away from the crowd.

Belle grinned up at him. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”

She had planned on either standing or sitting beside him on the bench, but Adam surprised her by pushing her up against the back of the piano, setting his cane aside, and hoisting her up. Quite a feat, since it was rather high. The crowd hooted and whistled when Adam lingered, pressed against her, his nose inches from hers.

He left her regretfully and took his seat, running a scale before beginning the song she knew well. They still never managed to rehearse, but Belle found it as easy as breathing to sing with him. Her eyes never left his, both because they didn’t want to, but also to pick out subtle cues from him.

“I don’t like you, but I love you.”

“Seems that I’m always, thinking of you.”

“Though, you treat me badly, I love you madly, you really got a hold on me.”

Though the lyrics didn’t quite fit their relationship, (as if he would ever treat her badly!) it was simply one they both had agreed they liked.

Belle sang straight through, and Adam came in and out as he occasionally had to focus on his playing, but also, she suspected, to just let her go at it alone. She swayed from her perch on the piano, feeling like a starlet from an old Hollywood film.

“I don’t want you, but I need you. Don’t want to kiss you, but I need to. Though, you do me wrong now, my love is strong now. You really got a hold on me,”

“You really got a hold on me…”

Adam was giving her a look from beneath his lashes, and God if she didn’t want to just slide down into his lap and have him right there, spectators be damned. How could he really not know how sexy he was?!

“Baby, I love you and all I want you to do is just…

Hold me,

Hold me,

Hold me…tighter…”

They finished the song, still looking at nothing but one another, and Belle was pleasantly surprised when he stood up and leaned over the keys to kiss her thoroughly.

“Okay you two, get a room!” Jefferson said into the mic, eliciting a riotous response. “You ready Adam?”

A look passed between Jefferson and Adam that Belle couldn’t decipher. When he turned back to her again, it was with such a boyish smirk that Belle had never seen on him. It took years off of him. “Stay there?” he asked, and she was helpless at that point but to grant his request.

To her confusion, he didn’t resume his spot at the keys, and instead went to stand beside David, who was holding up a second electric guitar. Adam had mentioned, briefly, that he knew how to play several instruments, but that piano was just the one he loved. She’d had no clue that he had been planning this, but all the other guys had a look of excited expectation that she wondered if perhaps this possibility had been up in the air.

She watched he took position in the center of the stage before handing Jefferson his cane, who in turn handed it to her. She couldn’t help worrying about his balance, but though he leaned all of his weight on his good leg, he appeared confident.

“And now,” Adam said into the mic. “A crap rendition of one of your favorites. Two…three…four…

“Well she was just seventeen, and you know, what I mean, and the way she looked was way beyond compare…”

The audience finally lost it at that point, and Belle could almost believe that the actual Beatles had somehow snuck up behind them. They didn’t try to outright mimic the hugely popular group, however, still maintaining their own bluesy vibe, but Belle could barely recognize the…well…rock star that had taken over her boyfriend.

“So, how could I dance with another, oh, when I saw her standing there?”

Adam half turned to catch her gaze, singing directly at her. “Well she looked at me, and I, I could see, that before too long, I’d fall in love with her…”

Belle blew a kiss at him.

“She wouldn’t dance with another, oh…when I saw her standing there.”

Jefferson lowered his horn and hopped over to share Adam’s mic. It didn’t look rehearsed, but Adam only grinned and moved aside to let him.

“Well my heart went boom, when I crossed that room, and I held her hand in mine…”

Jefferson glanced off stage himself, and Belle followed his look to where Ruby was standing. Belle waved her over, and although she was turning as red as her outfit, Ruby skipped out on stage to stand beside her as the giggled and sang along.

“Oh we danced, through the night, and we held each other tight, and before too long, I fell in love with her.

“Now I’ll never dance with another, when I saw her standing there.”

 Company B was called out for two encores before the night was over. Though he kept trying to tell himself that his ears were playing tricks on him, Gold could actually hear people in the crowd specifically chanting, “Adam! Adam!”

When they finally exited the stage for a final time to allow the rest of the evening to carry on, they were flocked by excited young people, all strangers that Gold could tell. Each man seemed to have his own little group of moon-eyed girls, and while Victor looked thrilled, and Archie looked bashfully flattered, he, David, and Jefferson all grouped together to try and escape.

“Will you sign my program?” A girl (too young to be there, in his opinion,) asked him, holding up one of the pamphlets being passed around that detailed the lineup of the event.

Gold looked at Jefferson, unsure of how to respond. Why would a child want his autograph? Did they make a mistake and think the band was actually famous? But Jefferson jerked his head and motioned for him to do it, so he awkwardly took the girl’s program and signed his name the same way he did countless lease agreements.

The girl squealed her thanks before moving on to Jefferson, asking the same, and that started a trend of everyone holding up pamphlets and flyers and whatever else they had in their hands from wallets to T-shirts to be signed.

Gold shook his head, murmuring to Jefferson, “They can’t honestly believe anything signed by us would be worth anything one day.”

Jefferson rolled his eyes at him, a clear imitation of him. “Not everything is about money, old man. They simply want to have something to remember a fun night. Just sign your damn John Handcock and enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame, will you?”

Gold shrugged and reached for the nearest flyer, managing a smile for the surprisingly earnest looking young man. He scanned the crowd for Belle, finding her just a few feet behind him, and was gratified to see that they were asking her to add her signature as well. He didn’t like how most of the people surrounding her were young men, but he refused to begrudge her the well-deserved attention. Especially since she looked like she was having so much fun. She looked up and gave him a heated look, and his disquiet settled immediately. Let the randy boys lust after her, as it was his bed she would be returning to that night.

When he took a flyer from a young Storybrooke resident, he blinked in surprise. He recognized him as William Gus, or “Billy,” the son of one of his tenants. Gold had never had much contact with him outside of the boy helping his father at the auto repair shop her frequented.

“Wow, Mr. Gold,” he said. “You’re far out!”

“Um, thank you?” Gold replied, feeling odd about giving a teenager an autograph when in years prior, he and his friends would dare one another to run into his backyard to show how “brave” they were.

“I’d give anything to play piano like that,” he continued, his face sincere. “I’ve tried learning on my own but…you think maybe sometime you could give me some pointers?”

Gold’s eyebrows raised, and he ignored the nudge from Jefferson. “Um…we can see if we can work something out. Come by my shop sometime…”

Billy grinned, but he was pushed unceremoniously away by a tall redhead.

She might have been pretty, had it not been for the somewhat manic look in her eyes, and Gold took an involuntary step back.

“Hi! I’m Zelena,” she said, perhaps trying for alluring but looking more like she needed to visit the latrine. “Could I please have your autograph?”

Gold looked for a flyer, but her hands were empty. “Um…what do you…”

Before he could even hope to react, the daft women’s blouse was up and over her head, and due to their considerable height difference and her high-heeled boots, he was eye level with a pair of bare breasts.

He stumbled backward, horrified despite being unable to look away. Jefferson, damn the idiot, was only laughing.

“Right here, and here,” she said demurely, pointing to just above her nipples, and stepping closer to his retreating form, reaching a hand out to his leather-clad thigh. “And then perhaps I could accompany you…”

“Ookay, that’ll be quite enough of that.”

Gold heaved a sigh of relief to see Belle suddenly standing between him and the demented woman, staring up at her like she wasn’t also face-to-face with a strange woman’s tits. But he felt his breath hitch at the low, dangerous sound of her voice. She hadn’t sounded like that even speaking to Jones.

“Excuse me?” Zelena snapped.

“You heard me! Put those away and get the fuck away from my man!”

Zelena looked ready to fight, but her arms were seized by David, who was motioning for some other officers to come over while grabbing up the woman’s shirt and holding it in front of her.

Gold didn’t watch the crazed woman get arrested, he only had eyes for his fierce little love.

“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to that,” she growled, turning to him. “Now that the secret is out of what a sexy beast you are.”

Gold threw back his head and laughed, then twined his arms around her. “Well, I may be a beast, but let’s not get carried away. And you most certainly will not have to get used to that, because I’m ready to go home.”

He watched as her hackles lowered and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Me too.”

“What? No, you should stay…”

She cut him off with a quick kiss. “But I’ve been watching you sway and dance in those infernal pants and…I’m ready to go home.”

“Have a good night, Gold,” Victor said, managing to turn such a simple sentence into something lewd.

“You as well,” he toned, glancing at the multiple women all but hanging off him.

Before they could escape the crowd, Neal and Emma found them, followed by an older man.

“That was UNBELIEVABLE!” Neal exclaimed, and Gold’s heart warmed at his son’s boyish enthusiasm. “Pop, you’re a god!”

Gold pulled a face before rolling his eyes indulgently. “Well, my name is only a letter away…”

“Pop…uh, I mean, Mr. Gold…” Emma said, an uncharacteristic pink blush creeping onto her cheeks, but instead of laughing at the slip, Gold gave her a warm smile. “This is Mr. Midas,” she continued. “He was watching the concert and asked to speak to you.”

“Wonderful to meet you,” Midas said, shaking Gold’s hand before pulling out a business card. “I just happened to be in the area when I heard about a concert being put on starring a band made up of WWII vets. Being a former Marine myself, I just had to come see, and I must tell you, I liked what I saw.”

Gold looked at the card before handing it off to Belle. “You’re a record producer?” he asked, with no little amount of skepticism.

“That’s right. And I’ve been keeping an eye out for something different, and you, Mr. Gold, are different. I’d like to discuss signing you on, you and the band, of course.”

Gold help up a hand, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Midas, but I have no interest in pursuing this as a career. I’m a businessman, not a singer. This was a one-time thing. Now, if you’d like to speak to the other men, perhaps they…”

But Midas was shaking his head. “Don’t get me wrong, the others are good, but I’m really only interested in a deal with you as the front man. Besides simple, raw talent, you have a very rare charisma Mr. Gold, one that isn’t easy to find.”

Gold shook his head again, and looked down at Belle, who was smiling up at him with something like triumph in her eyes.

“Thank you,” Gold said. “But I’m going to have to decline.”

Midas narrowed his eyes at him. “I can make you rich.”

Gold chuffed. “I’m already rich.”

“And it’s nothing compared to what you can have, and you look like a savvy businessman, Mr. Gold. One who understands the value of a dollar. I’m not giving up on this.”

Gold felt irritation building. “Well, you’ll have to direct all inquiries to my agent.”

“Your…you have an agent?”

Gold flipped his hand toward Belle. “Her.”

Belle gave him a look, but then straightened up and stuck out her hand. “Belle French. I represent the band.”

Midas looked at them both shrewdly, but shook Belle’s hand. “You were something yourself, Miss French. Quite a voice you have there. I’ll be in touch.”

Once he was gone, Gold all but pulled Belle away until they were where he had parked his car by the shop.

Belle didn’t speak until they were at his house. “Was that just a ploy to get him to leave, or are you really considering it?” she asked while she hanged up her coat.

“What do you think of it?” he asked her.

“What I think of it doesn’t really matter. It’s your decision. Yours and the band’s.”

“You are in the band,” he reasoned.

She chuckled. “Not really. But at any rate, Midas was pretty clear that what he really wants is you. So the decision is really all yours.”

Gold shook his head, and placed his hands on her hips to pull her closer. “Your opinion absolutely matters, Belle. Even if I was considering such a thing, I wouldn’t take a single step until I was sure of your feelings on it. I love you, Belle, I want you always in my life. So yes, your opinion matters.”

Belle bit her lip, and he gently freed it with his thumb. “I think you have such a wonderful talent,” she said carefully. “And you looked so joyful up on stage, like I’ve never seen…”

“But…” he prompted.

She averted her eyes to her shoes. “But I would be afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid…oh, I don’t know! You’d get all famous and be taken away from me!”

Gold chuckled and pressed a few nibbling kisses to her lips. “Not bloody likely, my love. I have no desire, whatsoever, to be any sort of famous…unless I’m infamous.”

Belle swatted his arm. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not going to sign on with Midas. I don’t want nor need the money he’s obviously after himself. However…”

She looked back up at him. “However?”

Gold jerked his head toward the stairs, and led the way up. His leg was screaming and he needed to be off of it immediately. He knew he would probably regret that little guitar performance without his cane.

He fell onto bed and Belle started fussing over him immediately.

“Oh you poor darling! I wasn’t even thinking. You’ve been putting way too much weight on it all night, having you?”

“Way too much,” he admitted, feeling it all start to catch up with him.

Belle propped him up with some pillows then moved her hands down to his waist, deftly undoing the buttons of his pants, but not before running a lingering hand up his thigh.

It was hardly a sexy production, peeling the ridiculous pants off him, and he cringed at how sweaty he was.

“I should probably shower,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m in much the same boat as you,” she chuckled. “This dress doesn’t exactly breathe well.”

“That dress is going to live in my dreams for the rest of my life,” he said honestly.

“How about a bath?” she suggested. “You have a rather huge tub in there…enough room for two, perhaps?”

Gold grinned. A good soak sounded wonderful, but a good soak with Belle sounded like heaven.

He tensed when she took it upon herself to undo the clasps of his leg, but she was businesslike and did it so efficiently, (she must have been watching,) that he relaxed under her touch, especially when she began to rub the enflamed stump.

“My poor love,” she cooed, before reaching to hand him his crutches and helping him up.

He stopped once he was in a sitting position however, running his hands up and down her sides like he’d wanted to all evening, loving the way the fabric glistened as it moved.

Smiling, she turned around so he could access the zipper, and he helped her step out of the dress, taking care not to crush the delicate material.

His mouth ran dry at the sight of her ivory lace brassiere that pushed her breasts up while doing nothing to conceal them, and the matching panties and garter belt. “Beautiful…” he whispered.

He unhooked her stockings from the garters and took his time rolling them down, propping first one foot and then the other on his knee, and nipping at her skin as we went.

“Glad you like them,” she said. “I’ve never bought sexy lingerie before.”

He smiled against her inner thigh. “If you like lingerie, then you should have it. I’ll buy you the whole store.”

Belle laughed and threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling sharply and making him groan. “It’s funny, except I believe you’d actually do that.”

“It would be a small price to pay if it meant you would maybe give me a fashion show.”

She pulled her leg away from him, but he didn’t have time to pout before she was unhooking her brassiere and stepping closer so her breasts were inches from his face.

“Could I have your autograph?” she asked in a mockingly high voice, barely able to keep a straight face.

He smirked up at her, but proceeded to do just that, and signed his name above her nipples…with his tongue.

“Come on, you,” she sighed when he sucked a nipple into his mouth. “Let’s get you into the tub before you make yourself any more achy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled, giving her rear a swift pinch and making her giggle.

She helped him to stand, and hobble his way to the bathroom. His arousal waned during the process of undressing and getting into the tub. It was awkward and clumsy, not sexy in the least, and never would be.

But Belle helped him along lovingly and patiently, humming their song under her breath and giving him sweet kisses every time her mouth was near enough to his.

And he could finally believe it, fully and completely for the first time in their relationship. “You don’t love me despite it,” he said, not realizing until she looked up at him that he’d said it aloud.

“What?”

“My injury. You don’t just love me despite it. It really doesn’t bother you at all, does it?”

Belle smiled, her eyes growing soft. “You finally believe me?” she asked. “I love all of you, Adam Gold. I love your mind, your body, the scars that make you who you are today, and I even love that artificial leg because it’s part of you.”

Gold kissed her then. He had to. He tried to infuse every ounce of love he felt for her into it, but still wasn’t sure if it was enough. He would simply have to spend the rest of his life showing her, and he was more than happy to do just that.

They got into the water, sighing both as the warmth soothed away both of their various aches from the evening, but mostly due to their bodies finally being pressed against one another with no barriers.

They started out simply relaxing, but naturally it was only a matter of time before kisses led to touches, and touches led to Belle twisting around, giggling as she almost slipped, and straddling him as he reclined further back into the water. He knew then that spending the extra money on the large tub had been well worth it.

If they ended up splashing most of the water out of the tub, they hardly cared as they made love slowly. Gold whispered how much he loved her into her ear with every thrust, and she cried out the same in response.

It was difficult to get traction in the tub, and the way she was on top of and wrapped securely around him, he found he couldn’t pull out of her though his orgasm was rapidly approaching. She was hardly even moving up and down anymore, just grinding and writhing on him, and it was driving him mad.

“Belle,” he groaned, not stilling his motion despite the danger. “I can’t…you need…you need to get up, sweetheart, I can’t…”

“No…” she moaned, desperate for release, her face glorious as it twisted up in what might look like pain if he didn’t know better. “Don’t leave me!”

With a proverbial fuck it, he pulled her down even harder against him, twisting his hips. He covered her mouth with, swallowing her scream as she came, the throbbing of her core pulling him even deeper into her, giving him no choice but to follow her into bliss with a shout.

They lay slumped in the cooling water for a long time, letting their breathing even out and their heartrates return to normal.

At long last though, what remained of the water had gotten too cold, and without speaking they both moved to get up. Belle gasped when he slipped out of her.

They still didn’t speak as they got ready for bed, but could hardly keep from touching one another as they donned nightclothes (she wore his shirt again, of course.)

Once they were finally in bed, Belle’s head pillowed against his chest, she broke the silence.

“That was intense,” she whispered.

“Yes, it was,” he agreed. “Belle, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“Why are you sorry?” she asked, raising his head to look at him. “I’m the one who should apologize. I wouldn’t let you pull out. It was stupid of me…I just wasn’t thinking…”

“But I should have used one of the condoms I bought. I wasn’t thinking either, love. I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t we just agree that we were both a little foolish, and not do it again? It was only once, after all. And in water…doesn’t that make a difference?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think so, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Adam?”

“Yes, Belle?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you, so very much.”

 Epilogue

 “You ready?” his doctor asked, having generously granted a house call for this.

Gold nodded, swallowing in both nervousness and self-consciousness.

Belle, Jefferson, and Neal were all present in his living room, all focused on him as he sat on the sofa in a t-shirt and cotton shorts, trying on his new leg for the first time.

It was sleek, smooth gray plastic, made to be the exact same size and shape of his other leg. Jefferson had said it looked like something from the Space Age. The joints were fitted with titanium ball and sockets, which would give him a natural range of motion, instead of the jerky movement of the aluminum joints on his old one.

The part that attached the limb to his thigh was comprised of soft, smooth leather straps, and a rubbery substance that molded to his flesh comfortably, preventing slipping and absorbing shock. The special “sock” worn under it would keep it from feeling too hot.

It was already incomparably more comfortable than his old one, and he wasn’t even standing yet.

The doctor stood back, so he could observe the fit, and Jefferson lent a hand to help him to his feet. Gold took a deep breath, and levered himself up, clinging to both Jefferson and his cane.

The joints rolled smoothly, but not so smoothly that they wouldn’t lock one he was standing straight.

He looked over at Belle, who was grinning madly. Neal had reached over and taken one of her hands, and she looked like she was about to squeeze the life out of it.

When she nodded in encouragement, he lifted his good foot first, as always, marveling at the lack of pressure and discomfort when all of his weight was braced on the prosthetic.

“Go slowly,” the doctor cautioned. “The joints will move much more easily than you’re used to, so you’re likely to overcompensate.”

Gold took a full step, understanding immediately what the doctor was talking about. It was like picking up an empty box when you were expecting one filled with books.

But once he understood that, he felt much steadier, and released his hold on Jefferson. He walked to the far end of the living room, each step more confident than the last. The discomfort and pain he’d lived with for half his life was all but gone.

When he reached the far wall, he turned back around to face his family, and looked down at the cane in his hand. After twenty years of needing assistance in order to walk, he leaned the cane against the wall, and took his first steps alone.

He almost unbalanced for a second, causing Belle to make a small sound of alarm, but he held up a hand to stop anyone from helping, and crossed the room back to them.

By the time he reached where Belle had come to stand, he was no longer even limping. He could walk – normally and comfortably – for the first time in twenty years.

“Belle,” he whispered, tears now running unchecked down his face.

She was in no better condition, but neither were Jefferson and Neal for that matter. Even his doctor had to turn away to fish out a handkerchief.

“You did it!” Belle said.

He opened his arms, both arms, and she obliged him by flying into them. “Thank you, Belle,” he whispered.

“Why are you thanking me?” she asked, pulling back just far enough to look at him.

“Why?” he laughed. “For looking into the choices available to me? For helping me research the best one? For being so damned wonderful all of the time and bringing me…God…for bringing me back from the dead?”

Belle blushed, ducking her face into his chest. “You did that on your own,” she said, her voice muffled. “I just kicked you into gear.”

“A kick I sorely needed,” he said into her hair. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.”

“AND I LOVE YOU, TOO!” Jefferson exclaimed loudly, making them all jump.

“Oh get over here,” Gold said, rolling his eyes and beckoning with one arm.

Jefferson almost plowed the two of them over, throwing his long arms around them both.

Shrugging at the bemused doctor, Neal sauntered over to the bunch, opposite side of Jefferson, and joined the group hug.

“Help! I’m suffocating!” Belle squawked from her position in the middle.

“Just feel the love,” Jefferson said, patting her hair. “Feel the love.”

“That’s enough!” Gold roared, pushing everyone but Belle away. “I’ve had just about enough love for one day, thank you!”

“But the others aren’t even here yet!” Jefferson complained. “They’ll want to share the love, believe me.”

“Others? You mean Emma and Ruby?”

Jefferson hesitated. “…And Victor, and Archie, and David, and Mary Margaret…oh! And Granny. Uh, and Moe.”

Gold groaned. “What? You didn’t tell me you were inviting everyone over!”

“You invited my dad?” Belle asked, surprised.

“Granny and Ruby are bringing dinner!” he said as if that made up for everything. “They all just want to offer their congratulations, that’s all!”

“Come on, Papa,” Neal said. “They’re your friends.”

Gold rolled his eyes again. “I suppose. I’m glad you at least gave me this much warning. I’d better go change. Belle?”

“What?” she asked innocently. “What do you need me to go with you for? You said you’ve had enough love for one day!”

He reached over and grabbed her arm, yanking her playfully to him before kissing her soundly.

“Ewww…” both Neal and Jefferson teased.

 The evening wound up turning into a party, everyone surprised and delighted to see Gold walking so straight and easily, unaided. He’d even let Belle talk him into wearing his loosest fitting trousers so that he could obligingly pull up the pant leg when Victor and David inevitably asked him to.

Gold looked around the room, at Granny petting at Mary Margaret’s growing belly while Emma and Neal speculated on the baby’s gender and name. At David, Victor, Archie, and Maurice deep in a game of darts (with the dartboard David and Mary Margaret brought as a gift,) and at Jefferson and Ruby snuggling in a corner. “Everyone we care about most is here,” he commented.

“Mhmm,” Belle said drowsily, leaning on his shoulder as they sat on the couch.

“And there’s something I can do now, that I couldn’t do before.”

“What’s that?” she asked, sitting up to look at him.

Gold stood up, still marveling at how easy it was, only to kneel down on one knee before her.

All trace of sleepiness gone, Belle sat up straight, eyes wide.

“Belle,” he began quietly and nervously. “I’ve forgotten what life was like before you walked into mine just a few short months ago, when I saw you standing there with a flower painted on your cheek. I…I feel like I owe you so much and I…well, all I can do to pay you back for everything you’ve given me is to just love you and spend every day for the rest of my life making you happy. I’d like to do that…if you’ll have me.”

By this point, everyone was taking notice to what was going on. Mary Margaret grabbed the back of David’s shirt roughly to turn him around, and Ruby swatted excitedly at Jefferson even though he’d been watching from the start. Maurice smiled knowingly, as Gold had done the proper thing by his standards, and asked for his blessing weeks before.

Gold reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small velvet box, opening it with shaking hands to reveal the ring Belle had been eyeballing in his shop for ages. A gold band, with a modestly-sized diamond surrounded by small sapphires. Simple, yet beautiful.

Belle’s hand was already sticking out before Gold even said the words, and he chuckled, taking the ring out of the box to slip it onto her hand. “Will you marry me?” he asked.

The moment the ring was slid into place, Belle was launching herself off the couch and quite literally tackling him to the floor. A risk she probably wouldn’t have taken with his old leg. But he only flopped onto his back, holding her tightly, and laughing with joy. “You haven’t given me your answer!”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, of course!”

She threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled his head up to meet hers, kissing him deeply and thoroughly.

Maurice cleared his throat uncomfortably, but the couple didn’t come up for air.

“They may be like that for a while,” Jefferson said. “Granny, didn’t you mention earlier that there was cake in the kitchen?”

“Sure is,” Granny said. “Come on, everyone.”

They all filed out of the living room, leaving the oblivious pair to their amorous celebration.

“I’m so happy!” Belle exclaimed, laughing. “When should we get married?! Before the trip?!”

Gold chuckled, sitting up but keeping her close. “That’s awfully soon, sweetheart. We leave in two weeks.”

Though he had refused Midas’s admittedly tempting offers, Gold had decided that he did truly enjoy performing, and it was no secret that the rest of Company B did as well. So, with the help of Belle and Emma, they organized and planned a little tour of their own, playing in festivals and small venues. Emma insisted that as word spread, more and bigger venues would be asking them to come, but for now they were just going to take a road trip around the East coast. The first show was actually set in Tallahassee, Florida. Emma and Neal had taken a trip there together a month prior, and Emma had returned with a show venue and a ring of her very own. Gold looked forward, not only to the show, but to getting to see Belle in a bikini.

Because of course, Belle was coming. She was both a singer and co-manager after all, and she’d always longed to travel. Ruby and Mary Margaret were staying at home, Ruby because of her work with her Granny, and Mary Margaret because she was only a couple short months away from giving birth. For his part, David would only be able to participate in part of the tour, as he didn’t want to use all of his time off when he needed to save some for the birth of his new son or daughter.

“I know it’s soon,” Belle said, kissing him again. “But I just can’t wait to be married to you! I need to be able to tell all of those groupies that, hey, that’s my HUSBAND! Hands off!”

“I quite like the sound of that,” Gold said. “And I must say, I’m also rather fond of your possessiveness.”

Belle giggled, before a sheepish look crossed her features and she bit her lip. “But also…it might be…good to go ahead and get married.”

Gold furrowed his brows “Belle?”

“I was going to tell you tonight after everyone left, I only just found out! I…well…we’re going to have ourselves a second-generation musician soon.”

Gold was silent for a long beat before the wires in his brain finally connected. “Are…are you saying what…I think you’re saying?!”

“We’re having a baby, Adam.”

Gold stammered in shock. “Are you…how?!”

Belle laughed. “What do you mean, how?!”

“I mean…we were so careful…except…oh.”

“Yes, oh. It would seem that one time was all it took. I know this isn’t exactly a good time, what with the tour and not even being married just yet…I’m three months along so it’s not like anyone won’t know. But I love it already and…are you happy, Adam?”

In response, Gold hauled her against him and kissed her soundly. “Happy?” he said, pulling back with tears in his eyes. “Belle, you just told me you would marry me and are having my child all at once. I’ve never been happier in my life!”

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?” Neal said, he and Jefferson peeking back into the room. “Am I gonna be a big brother?”

Gold laughed. “Damned eavesdroppers! Yes, you are.”

Everyone came piling back into the living room then, offering up a whole new set of congratulations. Maurice was surprisingly relaxed, seeming not terribly perturbed that his daughter had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, only thrilled at the prospect of being a grandpa.

“This is wonderful!” Mary Margaret gushed. “Our babies can grow up together!”

“Um…I don’t know if this is a good time…” Emma said, her and Neal looking at one another nervously. “Not trying to steal your thunder or anything, Belle, but since everyone is so baby happy right now…”

“Oh God,” David moaned. “Don’t tell me…”

Neal looked right at Gold. “How do you feel about a new baby, and a new grandbaby?”

Both Gold and David had to sit down then, while Belle threw her arms around first Emma’s neck, then Neal’s. Mary Margaret took a deep breath but hugged her daughter tight.

“This is the greatest day of MY LIFE!” Jefferson yelled. “I’m going to be the best all-around uncle in the world! Ruby, you don’t have anything to say, do you?!”

Ruby blanched. “NO! And don’t get any ideas, mister!”

“I think this calls for wine,” Granny declared, leading the way once again to the kitchen.

“Well,” David said before standing up and looking down at Gold. “At least I know she’s joining a hell of a family.”

Gold gave him a smile. “Likewise for Neal.”

He opened his arms for Belle to curl up in his lap. “It’s going to be so much fun with so many babies running around!” she enthused.

He chuckled. “So it will be. Before that, though, I can’t wait to spoil my pregnant wife absolutely rotten.”

“You already spoil me rotten. Must be practice for how you’ll spoil this little one.”

But what Gold had meant was he couldn’t wait to care for her the way she always did with him and his leg. And yes, he knew that one day soon he would be helpless but to dote upon his child, a child he would get to raise and love and never let go. And a grandchild he would get to do the same for. And, also, one other he had already been anticipating becoming the favorite uncle to.

“I’ve found my HEN,” he said, holding back a smirk.

“Excuse me? Did you just call me a hen?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Happy Ending Now.”

Belle groaned and rolled her eyes, getting a small handful of hair and threatening to pull.

“Go ahead,” Gold challenged her. “Pull my hair, Belle.”

Belle did, and she kissed him hard, and he hoped everyone else would go home soon so he could celebrate properly with his fiancé.

“I love you, Adam Gold.”

“And I love you, soon-to-be Belle Gold.”

 The End

Note: I apologize for any mistakes in the accuracy of the 1960′s, prosthesis, or anything else. :)

[ficdirectory]

Blink (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

 Pearl has tried to psych herself up all day, but going to the post office simply is not happening.

She’s started to get ready half a dozen times.  Sometimes, she’s gotten as far as starting the car, but just sitting in the driver’s seat made flashbacks grip her hard.  (Jared in the seat next to her.  Telling her to drive.  Now.)  Any pressure at all makes Pearl remember that pressure.  That night.  

 It’s beyond imagining why at sixteen, Pearl could endure what she had, but at 31, she can’t run a simple errand.

 It would be okay if this could wait.  But without pressure, Pearl also lacked motivation.  It’s crunch time now, because she knows she has to go.  It’s for work.  Someone paid for their cute little Lhasa Apso to have a sweater and the last thing Pearl wants is for an adorable little dog to freeze because she’s incompetent and can’t make a post office run.

 She just can’t make herself do it.  The more the pressure, the less motivated she is.  Instead, she curls up on the couch with Gracie.  She knows she needs to touch base with somebody, but Char has an actual in-person support group thing (mortifying) and it’s Pav’s husband’s birthday.

 And that leaves Jesus.  Who hasn’t really been in the touching base place for her.  Which is fine.  It’s just that, if left to her own devices, Pearl would hole up here, and never leave.

 It’s happened before.  It was her life before she got Gracie.

 As if she knows what’s on Pearl’s mind, Gracie licks her face.  

 “I know we can try again tomorrow, but I don’t want to go into town at all,” Pearl whines.  There’s nobody here but her and Gracie.  Nobody to judge her totally childlike moment of just being done with everything.

 Gracie cocks her head.  

 “I don’t know why.  Do I need a reason?” Pearl asks, pulling a blanket up around her.

 --

 Friday afternoon, Jesus walks into therapy with Dr. H. carrying his new backpack from Mama. He still has his scarf on.  And his new bracelet.  And Jesus really wants to be able to talk about some of this stuff.  Why it’s significant.  Why it helps him feel safe.

 His phone chimes with a text from Pearl:

 It’s official.  I am officially a failure at going to the post office.  Gracie told me I should go, but I couldn’t get out the door.  Now I have to go tomorrow or this stupid dog sweater will be late.  Not how I want to spend my Saturday.

 Quickly, Jesus sends a string of emojis back her way.  A heart.  A dog.  A present.  And a message that says:

 Call when you go.  I can be your backup.

 After that, he turns the volume down on his phone and gets to work.  

 First, he gets grounded, and then he updates Dr. H. about the last twenty-four hours. He tells her about relapsing, and getting hard feedback on his essay and how that triggered him.  How they talked it out and Mama explained why she did what she did and how it was different.  That it led to some great conversations, especially with Mama, where Jesus was able to open up.

 “I’ve been able to share stuff with her I haven’t really told anybody in my family yet.  Like about my disappearing and how it has different levels and all that.  She asked what she could do to help and I told her some stuff.  Today - this morning - she noticed I was having trouble, and she came and helped me before it got bad.”

 “How did that make you feel?” Dr. H. asks.

 “Not invisible,” Jesus says.

 “I see.  And what emotion were you feeling when your mother noticed you were having trouble?”

 “I felt...hopeful…” Jesus ventures.

 “Why were you feeling hopeful?”

 “Because she was following through.  Because she didn’t just tell me she would do something to help she actually followed through.  Not in the way she thought I needed...but the way I actually needed.”

 “I understand.  You deserve to feel hopeful, Jesus.  It sounds like you and your mother have made some great steps in a short period of time.”

 He nods.  Then they pause to breathe and refocus.  Dr. H. asks if he wants to share about the things he brought to the office.

 “Well...speaking of following through in the way I needed…  Remember earlier this week when Mama threw the food in my backpack away?  And she didn’t ask me?”

 “I do.”

 “And we talked about what I’d need if there was ever a next time and I said I’d need her to give me another backpack with food in it before she took the other one.  So,” he holds out the bag.  Swallows back the lump in his throat.

 “I’d like you to breathe and see if you can finish your thought, Jesus.  I can see you’re feeling emotional.  That’s okay in here.  Your feelings are safe.  You won’t be mocked or hurt in any way.”

 Jesus drags in a shaky breath.  Looks at Dr. H. even though she’s all blurry.  “Mama gave this to me…” he confesses softly.

 “What feeling does that bring up?” she checks.

 “Overwhelm…” Jesus hedges.

 “It’s okay to be overwhelmed, Jesus.  That’s perfectly reasonable. Is it safe to assume there’s food in this backpack, as well?”

 “Yes…” he breathes.  “I need to do a sidenote.  But it’s still on topic.  You know how when I was at the cabin a lot of stuff came up about Isaac?”

 Dr. H. nods, listening.

 “Well, I realized, talking to Pearl one day that I was hoarding all the food in that backpack kinda like...for him…” Jesus ventures.  “Like, I couldn’t save him, but I could save the food.  And our main connection was really me bringing him food.  We talked about it.  Once I stole cupcakes from The House when he said it was his birthday.  The Hostess ones.  And so there was two, and I helped him eat one.  But he wouldn’t take the second one.  He said it was for me.  Because we found out our birthdays were a week apart…”

 “So, is it fair to say that food is something very powerful that you two shared?”

 “Yes.  Can I show you what’s in the bag?” Jesus asks.  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  Just carefully assembles everything on the low table between them.  The food from Mama.  The box of cupcakes from Pearl.  The letter from Mama.  The letter he wrote for Isaac.  And the picture.

 “I see Hostess cupcakes.  That’s significant.  From your mother?” Dr. H. asks.

 “No, Pearl sent those when she realized what happened with the other bag.”

 “How did that resonate?  Did you find it difficult to receive them?”

 “No, actually.  It’s like...she paid attention to what I was saying.  And sent me something that she knew mattered to me.”

 “You found it validating.”

 “Right.”

 “And when your mother got rid of the food in the other backpack?  I can see why that felt like a very big loss.”

 “Yeah,” Jesus sighs.

 After a pause, she asks.  “Would you say you hoarding at the cabin was just about Isaac and your grief over him...or was it also about you, Jesus?”

 “Oh, it was for sure about me, too.”

 “How so?”

 “Because it was a new place,” he starts deliberately.  He knows how easily he could get carried away in the fear of these memories.  “I was away from home.  I hadn’t been away from home since I got back.  So being away, of course, meant that I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat.  Or how long I’d have access to food that was there.  And...I kept misinterpreting, I think?”

 “Tell me about misinterpreting.  What did you misinterpret?”

 “Well, like, one morning, Mama had said something like, ‘Go take a shower and then we can eat breakfast.’  Now, I get that she probably meant if I showered first, by the time I was done, breakfast would be ready.  But I heard...that I wouldn’t get breakfast unless I showered.”

 “That must’ve felt very unsafe.”

 “It did,” Jesus nods.

 “Do you still feel the compulsion to hoard now that you’re home?” Dr. H. asks.

 “I feel the compulsion to do other things…” Jesus mutters, looking away.

 “Feel your feet on the floor? Press down.  Sit up straight.  Head up, please,” she cues.  “Now take a breath.  She waits while Jesus does.  “Do you feel safe right now?”

 “My skin is crawling…” he admits.  Without thinking, Jesus takes the scarf off from around his neck and winds it around his left wrist, which got the worst of it, and still has bandaids.  The only bad thing is now he can’t see his new bracelet from Mama.

 “Let’s give your hands something else to do.  Something to keep them busy.  Would you like to put things back in your backpack?  Draw?”

 “Both,” he blurts.  And Jesus reaches out to put everything back in its place in the backpack.  Then, he accepts the sketch pad from Dr. H.  He doesn’t realize he’s basically curled in the chair until Dr. H. asks if he can put his feet on the floor, please.  (It’s so she has an eyeline to his hands, he knows.)

 So Jesus makes an attempt to organize himself.  Repositioning the sketchpad on his lap, with his feet flat on the floor.  Starts drawing.

 Dr. H. is quiet, not asking Jesus to split his focus, which he needs all of to reroute the seriously intense urges happening right now.  He concentrates on what he’s doing.  And slowly, starts to talk.

 “I drew a really awesome picture of my baby sis today,” Jesus confides, choosing to share this - something that gives him pride - over something that might cause him to slip up (like hoarding.)

 “Would you like to tell me anymore about it?’ Dr. H. asks, and Jesus talks about how Frankie had pretended to be his art teacher and asked him if he wanted to draw what made him happy.

 “She makes me happy, so I drew her.  And she really liked the drawing.  Said it was like a picture you take with your phone.  It was probably one of my best…  Mama even framed it and put it in her room,” Jesus muses letting his mind get consumed by pencil strokes against an empty page, not by giving in and letting the unhealthy part of him have another win.

 “We have about five minutes left,” Dr. H. says calmly.  “How are you feeling?”

 “Better.  It’s gone for now.  The weird sensations,” Jesus realizes.

 “I think you handled that beautifully, Jesus.” Dr. H. says.

 “How?” he wonders.

 “You alerted me to how you were feeling.  You picked another activity to focus on and you talked about something positive while you did it.  I’m very proud of you.”

 Jesus can feel his ears get hot.  “Thanks,” he mutters, keeping eye contact, because it’s what they do in here.  “Um…  Here…” he says, laying the sketchpad on the table, facing the doc.

 “You’re extremely talented, Jesus,” Dr. H. tells him, looking honest-to-God intrigued.

 “I wanna say before I have to leave...it’s not the hoarding that’s an issue for me anymore.  It’s...managing this…” he admits, nodding at his wrist, still wrapped in the scarf from Pearl.  Dr. H. listens, in case he has more to say.  Turns out, he does.  “I have a question.  Are you disappointed?  I mean, that I relapsed yesterday?”

 “No.  I’m not disappointed that you relapsed yesterday, Jesus.  Relapse is expected.  It’s a part of recovery.  And by your own account, it sounds like you’re beginning to trust those around you to help keep you safe.  And that’s an impressive thing, indeed.  Over the weekend?  Keep it up.”

 “That’s it?”

 “That’s it.  Practice coping in a way that prioritizes your mental health and your safety.  Practice alerting your safe people when you feel overwhelmed.  Perhaps, tell your mother, when she comes to pick you up, about needing to keep your hands busy when you’re feeling triggered to harm yourself.  Choose something you enjoy that takes a lot of your concentration.  I highly recommend sketching or drawing.  This is impressive, Jesus,” Dr. H. emphasizes, still studying the picture he drew.  “What inspired this?  Can I ask?”

 “It’s something that helped me cope,” he shares.

 “May I hang it up?  It’s possible, seeing it might help someone else cope…”

 “Yeah.  That would be awesome,” he nods.

 Jesus gives his drawing one last glance before he leaves the office.  Snapping a pic to send to Pearl before he goes:

 Because on the page, Jesus has drawn a tree.

[youngerdrgrey]

okay but shouldn’t we be the epicenter? // a Dear White People fic, part 1

full title: *lionel voice* okay but shouldn’t /we/ be the epicenter of black life on this campus?

chapter title: shouldn’t we be (idk) calling out our friends?

or, a further exploration into these black lives on Winchester’s campus, making my way through the season for further depth and hilarity

/

about: what happens when Defamation ends and Jo pauses in her screaming with her heart still racing to go and get her boy. Or, the time Jo calls out Reggie for letting his jealousy get the best of him on a sacred night.

references include Scandal, Orange is the New Black and the completely unnecessary fucked up death that I will never forgive them for, the 100 and the death that I don’t have an opinion on bc I never watched that show, and casual use of both dicktamized and heedlessly in the same sentence #codeswitching

+ this chapter takes place at the end of episode one; read on ao3?

/

/

Honestly, even the Defamation live tweets coming from AP got interrupted today so people could throw in their two cents about Sam, Reggie, and the white boy coming between them and the movement. And it’s not like Joelle would normally care that much about the gossip. Everyone on campus knows that race relations at Winchester are like the pre-teen child Sam and Reggie adopted just when a group home or juvie were closing in on ‘em. But there’s a difference between the normal talk about Jo’s friends and the talk tonight. Normally it’s just a few direct tweets, but tonight, half her timeline’s subtweets about just whip it out already #nottalkingDefamation or  #loveitwhen bae meets activist!bae for the first time or just a simple *Crazy Eyes voice* swiiirl swirl swiiiirl swirl. So fine, Jo can’t even scroll through her timeline without having to address this, so she needs to address it in person. Even if all she can do is snap at Reggie about growing the fuck up.

She gets out her chair to stalk over to him at his. “You couldn’t wait, could you?”

Reggie peers up at her, still too deep into his feigned nonchalance to lift his legs back off the arm rest. As if she doesn’t deserve the full extent of his energy, or a head to head showdown. Honestly, his mind’s probably still on whatever ‘girl you better watch’ text he just sent Sam about the end of the episode. He flips his phone onto his stomach without even killing the screen.

“Wait for what?”

To whip his fucking dick out and wave it in Gabe’s face. Seriously, what’s with that impulse in guys? Jo’s not out here in booty shorts and bandeaus to prove she’s got more going on than Sam does. (Not that she does. Not that it’s a competition. She’s not competing with her best friend; she’s merely pointing out that she doesn’t have the same need to constantly battle anyone that her crush is into.)

(( Not that it’s much of a competition anyway. Guys always go for girls like Sam, don’t they? Girls who don’t really have to try to summon all the light in the room and can go on without necessarily having to know what it’s like to be black in ‘post-racial’ America. ))

((( Sam knows what it’s like. She knows what her experience is like, anyway, and Jo’s really not trying to get too deep into the whole color-ism of it all. European beauty standards are bullshit and forced on everyone. Jo’s got a banging body that works for a lot of guys who might not want to fully claim her, but she’s not all too interested in guys who unironically use ‘females’ to describe women and call her Queen before they ever even think to ask her name. )))

(((( Wait, what was the point again? ))))

Reggie cocks his head to the side. Assured and righteous as he normally is. But he’s the one in the wrong right now. The one pouncing instead of giving Gabe two seconds to try being in their lives.

“Come on, Reg. He—“ and Reggie groans and rolls his eyes immediately, so Jo just talks louder “—he was here for all of two minutes before you jumped down his throat to make sure everyone in the room could see how down he was.”

Reggie nearly snorts, singing lightly, “‘He ain’t really down.” But it’s Reggie playing those games you do, not Gabe. Reggie throwing his name in the Goblet of Fire for no fucking purpose but to run into the maze and get spat back out for doing it. “Come on. Not even a chuckle? You love old house music.”

She also loves getting to enjoy her hate-watch without being constantly reminded of their stupid relationship drama. “Be serious. I’m not happy either, but you don’t see me picking fights during Defamation.”

He shrugs. “You would if you weren’t so busy snapping at everything Olive does."

“Not everything.” Olive could literally control the whole world if she wanted to, but she keeps on going back to that trash ass president she put in the oval. Plus, the shit they do in there? Five seasons in, there’s probably permanent grooves on the rug that her knees put there. Which, whatever, but it’s been years, and Olive won’t leave someone who’s no good for her. “She needs to wise up, and so do you. Jumping all around the point.”

Reggie sits up so straight his shoulders level out. The steel in his eyes snags the light from the TV while his jaw locks up for a beat. “What’s your point then, Jo?” He asks as if he doesn’t already know.

Everybody on this campus knows how Reggie feels about Sam. Including Sam, on some level; she’s just somehow deluded herself into thinking that Reggie only wants her mind, or her activism, or a partner in the movement. But Reggie’s been into every piece of Sam since she still had a relaxer and shared a room with Coco Conners. He’s been trailing after her since the first time she spoke up in class freshman year, and if Jo has to hear about how Sam was like a blacktivist Hermione Granger one more time, she will Obliviate herself, him, and anyone else who’s had to listen to it. But none of that knowledge changes anything. None of that brings what’s been subtext to the forefront quite like this does.

“Sam brought him here on Defamation night. She’s serious about this.” Serious enough that she didn’t tell either of them. And Jo’s not quite sure if Sam’s ashamed of his whiteness or their unapologetic blackness or maybe just that she got dicktamized into a relationship with the very sort of guy she normally mocks heedlessly, but here they all are. “I mean, we’ve supported her through worse.”

“Like what?”

Like the time she single-handedly tried responding to every single person who justified Poussey’s death in Orange is the New Black, dedicating a whole episode of DWP to debunking its use in the narrative. (It’s still a great episode, complete with gems like, “Dear white people, if you fix your mouth one more time to tell me why Poussey’s death was okay but you’re still crying over Lexa from The 100, I honestly don’t have the time to deal with you.” Top ratings, top notch, though it led to some serious rifts within the LGBTQ community on campus.)

Or the time she dated Troy. She planned yacht trips over rallies and acted like Jo and Reggie were both in the wrong for wondering if everything with them was just some dalliance in danger, like a pre-approved trek through the blackness of Sam’s identity before settling in to a non-confrontational future. But even then, Troy was the heir to respectability at Winchester, the crowned prince of how to be the right kind of negro who everyone can rally behind when something goes south and they wind up dead. He couldn’t so much as choose a cereal without his dad’s approval, so Sam and him were never gonna last. Not at this part of her life anyway.

“Just — Sam’s no Olive, Reg.” She won’t be with Picture Frame Gabe more than a few months, not when his true politics start coming out. He might be ready on paper to be part of this, but nobody understands the work until they’re in it. “She won’t choose some white boy over everything else she cares about.” Sam loves them.

Reggie leans up so his chest meets his knees at the armrest. It puts him at her level for the first time this conversation. He asks her, “You sure about that?"

Sam helped Jo take out her braids the night her Hulu trial ended and all they had were YouTube videos for filler. Sam missed her own midterm for psych last semester to help Reggie study for his midterm in poli sci. (Never mind the fact that Sam’s psych class dropped the lowest midterm score; the girl needed the points with the number of events that she kept scheduling during that class.) Sam’s their girl, for more than the movement and for nothing less than life. And if Jo has to fight against the need to widen her eyes and has to run these memories through her mind to convince herself that all of that still matters, then she’s not going to tell him.

“How can you not be?” she asks. Sam’s not going anywhere, even if Jo has to hold her down herself. Friends don’t let friends fuck the president. (And friends, real friends, tell you if they are, don’t they? Real friends let you in on the stuff they’re ashamed about, or wondering about, because if they don’t talk about it, then it’s not real, and if you’re not the one they go to, then maybe your whole friendship was just one of convenience. Maybe it’s high school all over again and the fact that your friends now are cool black kids instead of cool white ones doesn’t actually make a difference. Maybe you’re nothing more than the Coco of junior year.) “I’ll talk to her. Can you just hold off on vilifying her boy until then?”

Reggie plucks at a thread on the seam of his pants. “‘Her boy.’” He yanks the thread a little too hard, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Just leaves him with his fist clenched in the air over nothing. “He said, ‘it’s not worth it,’ then left.” Back in that fight? Seriously? Reggie glances up at Jo again. “He mean her when he say that?”

Because that’s what actually eats at Reggie, isn’t it? That someone on this planet could see his almighty love Samantha White and think she’s anything less than pure perfection.

“Of course not.” Everyone loves Sam; it’s them that everyone else seems unsure about. Because Reggie’s smart and brilliant, but he’s millitant in a way that can chafe at people who want to just enjoy themselves. And most people don’t know that he’ll talk shit for two seconds about the lives they’re ignoring by binge-watching The Get Down all day but that he’ll give himself over to it just a few minutes later. Or that he hasn’t missed a single night of Defamation since the first time Jo dragged him along after Open Mic let out two seasons ago. “Gabe just meant fighting you wasn’t worth sticking around tonight.” She swats a hand at his knee, batting at him as playfully as she can get. As casually as she can make this right now. “Good thing too. You too damn stubborn to ever stop.”

Reggie grins, but his eyes still have this shade over them. His brow crinkles while his nose scrunches up. He’s probably wondering, is it worth it to keep fighting? Think Sam will ever notice? Think Sam will ever fight for me too? At this point, it’d take an act of either God or the devil to get a reaction out of Sam, and after this blackface party, it sure seems like the devil’s more likely.

Jo swallows that comment down, scans the room to get away from soft eyes that never seem soft just for her. “Now get up. Walk me back to my room.”

He groans, but he pushes up off the chair. Throws his arm around her and tugs her into his side. Her eyes flutter closed, and she gets a whole three seconds of imagining that this could be about them. This could be them. Soft smiles and warm arms wrapped around each other. “You think she’ll ever leave him?” Then he opens his mouth and says that. His voice still comes out a little too heavy. He clears it while she blinks away the three second fantasy. “I mean, the oval’s got to have dents from her knees in the carpet at this point.”

“Oh!” She cackles — quick and bright and like the Defamation flashes are going off inside of her. Olive. Does she think Olive will ever leave the president? Not Sam. They’re finally done talking about Sam. And, okay, seriously, “That’s exactly what I said. Like power to her, get some, but does it have to be with Mr. President?”

“No eyebrows having,” Reggie starts.

“Disrespectful ass,” she continues.

“‘I know what you taste like’ Gerald Grant III.” They shudder together, and if she nestles in closer to his chest on the rest of the walk, they don’t talk about it. Maybe that’s how their little trio works — talk about everything but the big three: how Jo feels about Reggie, how Reggie feels about Sam, and how Sam might not be theirs forever.

Or maybe that’s just post-Defamation overdramatic thinking.

Yeah. (Maybe.) 

.

.

.

[metatiki]

Life ramblings

Speaking about my life in any kind of public forum has always been exceptionally difficult for me. Even though I know to the most absolute degree that no one will care what I have to say, talking about something as simple as a haircut can make me nervous and make me delete/rewrite/never bother with a post.

Case in point: the reason I've been pretty much only slightly ghosting on Tumblr and nonexistent on Dreamwidth: changes in my life.

It's one thing to endlessly research and learn and analyze and wonder, but it's always another to actually begin the journey, especially when you start it so much later than most. Self-discovery for me is a winding trail with several side paths that I always want to explore, and that makes it a road which can take me quite a while to traverse to the next important crossroads.

For the one or two of you who might actually read this, buckle up. This really is a ramble.

Coming to the realization that I was transgender was both easy and gradual. Easy, because once that bulb turned on, it explained a myriad of different behaviors, preferences, and ideations. Yet it was also gradual, because I literally had no framework to even think it might be a thing for me until I met and RP’d in a group with an FTM a while ago. I suppose to younger people it might be mind-boggling that I’d never even considered it a reality until then, but without any media presence (and I have a very narrow view of pop culture as it is anyway) or literary examples, the idea that I might actually be a man rather than masculine-leaning woman was a foreign one, and certainly not something I could apply to myself in any substantial sense. So I had to realize it was a thing, and then research gender dysphoria to see if it was just a wild idea, or if I fit the criteria. And boy, did I, to a T. *cough*

Once I figured that out, I then had to decide if I want to transition or simply accept the diagnosis and see if I could just live the rest of my life. After all, it's been over twenty years since I was in high school, after all, and I've gotten college degrees, married, divorced, and been an employee at multiple companies in that time. I’d obviously been able to live this way for a number of years as an adult, so could I simply continue and simply make small allowances here or there? Transitioning at any age is never easy, but the challenges differ from one age group to the next. I had to carefully weigh my choices and make the final decision - which was that I absolutely did not want to finish my life as a woman.

I've been absolutely fortunate to have a supportive network of family and friends, and work so far has been accepting (though it's not generally public knowledge there yet). Still, there's a lot I have to sort out, from inside my head to determining how I fit in the outside world (not that I ever figured that out in the first place).

And with that new male self-identity in place, other aspects of my life have shifted in fundamental but subtle ways. I'm a feminist, but not a woman. I'm questioning my sexuality (again), but it hasn't really changed so much as the POV to consider it has altered. I'm re-centering myself in the world in a way that I completely ignored before because everything was wrong so it didn't seem worth it to try. I'm actually working on my health seriously for the first time in my entire life - again, never a concern because my body was completely disconnected from me prior to acknowledging what I truly am. I'm analyzing my ASD and introvertism and a myriad of other things, wondering what will change and what won't, what was me and what was the result of my social and gender dysphoria. All this while my body is literally changing and my psyche shifts to the most calm and *right* it has ever felt since before puberty.

It's fucking amazing and fucking terrifying, all at once. And I don't regret the decision for an instant.

As for fandom, I certainly identify more closely with male protagonists and mlm romances now. To be fair, that was building as I came closer and closer to my decision to transition, but now that all that is settling into place, I understand so much more about my writing and my preferred POVs, why my favorite characters are who they are, and why I feel so distant from certain characters and ships. I had to put my playthrough of Andromeda completely on hold because I'm hoping (against hope) that the mlm romances will be improved as they promised. Ironically, I was finally able to complete a run-through of the original Mass Effect trilogy because I stopped trying to play as a woman and just gaymanced my way through with an M!Shenko story that, despite its flaws, I absolutely adored. I'm even going to go back and replay DA2 with a male Hawke and see if I connect better. Oh, and my former canon Hawke? Yup. Transgender man, always was. I just didn't realize that either.

It has put a distance between me and Tumblr, though. It's subtle, but I notice it when I try to re-engage with fandom and utterly fail. I've distanced myself from my old blog and presence even further and pretty much abandoned the two sub-communities within the fandom that I tried haphazardly to belong to: writing and modding.

For writing, I have three major stories left open/unfinished: my Warden story, my Cullrian fic where Dorian becomes the Inquisitor, and my canon Inquisitor Martin Trevelyan story. I adore my Warden, but I feel so distant from her that I wonder if I'll ever pick that up again. I love my Inquisitor Dorian story as well - I had so much politics and fun with derailing the canon plot planned for that one - and of the three, it's the one I'm most likely to return to writing. The one I want to do the most is my Martin Trevelyan story, but I'm not sure I want to pour myself into writing that story when I'm feeling so distant from the fandom itself. I don't write for accolades, necessarily, but I do like to feel a connection between my readers and myself for fic, and the time for DAI has come and gone. It's hard to write when I feel that no one will read it.

As for modding, I now regret my involvement in that community. I don't have a suitable personality or a viable skillset to offer, and I should have just backed out early and let someone else take over and do what I did, but better. A couple of other blogs have stepped up to the plate, for which I am grateful, but it's a weekly debate with myself whether or not I should just delete that sideblog - heck, my whole Tumblr - and simply move on. The only reason I don't is that I know there are quite a few links to some of the tutorials and lists on the sideblog, and I feel it would be unfair to do so. Yet I tried and failed at Discord, and am completely disinterested in modding ME:A, so I think that ship will not sail again.

In addition to that, I've been in a constant re-evaluation of my online presence and what it means. The release of ME:A had me intrigued at first, but as time has progressed, I've come to realize that even though I enjoy and love the game itself, I feel no connection whatsoever to other fans of it. I don't like the fanart, I don't like the same characters as everyone else, and I simply don’t experience it in the same way I'm seeing it on my dash. People are leaving Dragon Age behind again (which is fine, fandoms are always circular), but I don't choose to move on. And it's getting harder and harder to find meaningful ways to interact with what remains of the parts of fandom I am interested in. Outside of my perennial RPs (which is still Dragon Age), I don't really maintain an online presence except for what little I've struggled to establish here on Tumblr - and the value is diminishing enough that I wonder how long I'll be around.

So. Anyway. Many ramblings later, I guess I just needed to get all that out and written down somewhere. My apologies if you actually read all this. And kudos, as well.

At least Tiki is a unisex name. That I don't have to change.

Tiki on Dreamwidth | AO3 | FF.net

[ponyregrets]

Is there any way you can do a Clarke POV for "No One Can Lift the Damn Thing" please? (I was going through your fics and was listing all the ones I would want an Alt-POV for, and they all involved Bellamy as James Potter, wow I have A Type.)

I feel kinda bad calling this a Clarke POV but whatev I had fun I like social media AUs

Original fic and alt POV on AO3!!

Raven: Just got my invite to Finn and Ontari's weddingYou?

Me: NopeDo you think they flipped a coin?Or she just gave him an ultimatum?LikeYou can invite one of your awkward exesBut only oneChoose wisely

Raven: Honestly, I'm guessing he never actually told his mom why we broke upAnd given the choice between telling her he cheated on me and I dumped his assAnd just inviting me to his weddingHe invited me to his wedding

Me: Yeah, that's definitely what happenedAre you going to go?

Raven: YupGot a hot girlfriendI like his parentsAnd I want him to feel awkward about shitToo bad he didn't invite you

Me: I really don't mindI feel like I dodged a bullet

Raven: You could have brought BellamyFinn was jealous of him BEFORE he was famous for being hotImagine how much he'd hate seeing you guys together now

Me: You know, I was going to say Bellamy has better things to do than go to a wedding just to piss off FinnBut then I remembered this is Bellamy we're talking aboutSo he'd probably do it

Raven: Yeah, I doubt fame changed him that muchSucks that you're not coming, thoughWe should get together soon

Me: Maybe I'll just come hang out in townCoincidentally

Raven: I know you're joking, but you shouldI bet Monty and Miller are going

Me: I'll think about it

*

supreme-girl-wonder posted: do you ever get amazed that people you went to college with are now getting married and have lives and seem to know what they're doing?? I think I might have the most competent group of college friends ever, it's really intimidating

but congrats to my cheating ex-boyfriend on his engagement and thanks for not inviting me to the wedding

Tagged: #no seriously #thanks #I really did not want to go #it would be awkward af but if he invited me I'd feel like I had to go #or else they were winning #glad I don't have to worry about that #I can just get drunk in the comfort of my own home instead

*

Bellamy: Did you book your hotel for Finn's wedding yet?What days are you going to be there?

Me: Hahaha that's cuteYou think Finn invited me to his wedding

Bellamy: He didn't?He invited me

Me: You're rich and famous

Bellamy: So are you, princessAre we calling you that again? Did we reclaim it from Finn?

Me: I prefer Supreme Leader nowI'm rich, but I'm not featured in tumblr gif setsPeople commission me to do fanart of you

Bellamy: And you haven't sent it to me?I thought we were friends, Clarke

Me: Is James/Sirius a pairing you're into?

Bellamy: Obviously

Me: Then I'll send you some links

Bellamy: AwesomeFinn really didn't invite you to the wedding?

Me: He used to hit on me in front of the woman he's now marryingWhile they were datingShe hated meOf course they didn't invite meThey'd probably keel over and die if I showed upRelated: Did you get a plus one?

Bellamy: YeahI was planning to get them really excited thinking I was bringing some famous actress or something and then I show up with Octavia

Me: Or you could show up with me

Bellamy: Yeah, that's a way better ideaSo, what nights do you want me to book the hotel?

*

Anonymous asked: do u know if bellamy blake has a gf????

supreme-girl-wonder answered: why would you ask me, a fanart blog, this

*

Bellamy: Is it weird that I feel bad flying first class?

Me: DefinitelyBut you're famous nowI assume you can afford a therapist to talk you through these issues

Bellamy: Why would I pay someone when you took that one psych course sophomore year?

Me: Good pointBad how?

Bellamy: Guilty, mostlyIt feels like such a waste of moneyBut holy shit it's so much nicerI feel bad for everyone who isn't in first class

Me: I'm flying coach soFuck you

Bellamy: I don't feel bad for you

Me: Wow, you're curedI'm better at this therapy thing than I thought

Bellamy: Ha ha.I hope the tone came across thereAnyway, I don't feel bad for you because you're richI assume you flew first class when you were a kidAlso I have to switch to airplane modeYou're boarding soon?

Me: Pretty soon, yeah

Bellamy: CoolSee you in Ohio

Me: Can't wait

*

siriusly-jily: omgkarakaradid u see the new bellamy pics????

supreme-girl-wonder: probably notI'm out of town for the weekendand pretty drunkwhat happened?

siriusly-jily: he's at some airport in ohioidk why, there aren't any cons or anythingwhat's in ohio????

supreme-girl-wonder: maybe he has a lifein ohiofor some reason

siriusly-jily: no wayactors exist only for our benefit :Panyway, he's got a gf :(people are saying it's clarke griffinthe vp's daughter

supreme-girl-wonder: wowam I just drunk or is that a lot of conclusions to jump to

siriusly-jily: check it outhttp://remus-lupin-lady.tumblr.com/post/138742714390/omg-omg-omgthere's more of him with fans but lbrthat's A LOT of huggingand I googled, it does look like the VP's daughter

supreme-girl-wonder: if they were dating they probably wouldn't be having their reunion in an airport in ohiojust saying

siriusly-jily: truuuuuuuuuuuuuuokay I gotta go to bedhave fun with whatever thing you're doing

supreme-girl-wonder: will dokeep me posted on Bellamy pics

*

Jasper: did you really bring FAMOUS ACTOR AND KNOWN DREAM BOAT BELLAMY BLAKE to this wedding???

Me: NopeHe brought me

Jasper: ohwellthat was my second guessgrats on landing a celebritybut I guess you're a celebrity too???so it makes sense

Me: You must be this famous to ride Are you coming over for video games?

Jasper: yes obvomw

*

Anonymous asked: omg kara do you follow m&m media??? they posted pix of them w bellamy and the vp's daughter??? apparently they're engaged??? im so heartbroken rn plz help

supreme-girl-wonder answered: Don't panic, anon! M&M have said they went to college with him like ten billion times. Quick google search says VP's daughter did too. So they're probably at a reunion or something. And let's be real, if you were posing for a picture with him, you'd want to be as close as possible too.

*

Raven: SooooooYou took off early last night

Me: Not THAT earlyWe danced a bunchI think Bellamy made a lot of dreams come true

Raven: Including yours?Seriously, I can't believe you never fucked him

Me: I was going to, but his mom diedBetter late than never, right?

Raven: [confetti emoji]Seriously I'm happy for you guysOne-time thing or?

Me: NoDefinitely notWe're going to try to dateIf we can make it workAnd if nothing elseNon-stop sex for the rest of the weekend

Raven: Well, we're doing breakfast in an hourSo make sure you come up for air so we can make fun of you

Me: You make it sound so funGetting breakfastInstead of having sex with my TV star boyfriend

Raven: One hourIf you're not there I'm going to break into your hotel room and post pics on tumblr

Me: OkaySee you in an hour

Raven: [kiss emoji]

*

natsukashii-na asked: Random question but do you have a gf now?? You've been reblogging some couple-y stuff and I was just wondering haha sorry if that's weird

supreme-girl-wonder answered: Boyfriend, actually! Bisexuality: it's awesome. But yeah, we've been together for about a month and it's going really well. Long distance right now but I'm moving in with him in a couple weeks. I'm really excited.

Tagged: #I know that sounds fast but #trust me #it definitely took us long enough

*

Anonymous asked: doesn't your bf mind that you're really into bellamy blake :/

supreme-girl-wonder answered: He'll live.

[ficdirectory]

Disuphere (An AU Fosters family fic) Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Sunday, March 31, 2019

Home: 7 years, 5 months and 17 days

In two days, Francesca’s turning nine years old, but the whole family is celebrating today.  Right now, it’s just Francesca and her two brothers, Jude and Jesus, who live at home  Her favorite is Jesus.  The rest of her brothers and sisters are in college or just moved out.  (Callie and Mariana are in college.  Brandon’s just moved out.)  Francesca wants to be a dancer and an artist when she grows up.

This is the first time in a long time all of them are together.  Francesca likes it when they are together, because they aren’t very much.  She has to stay in her room a lot today, because Jesus and Jude and moms are decorating and doing stuff, and she doesn’t get to help.

(She did help Jesus bake her birthday cake.  It’s confetti cake with green frosting like a monster and sprinkles on top.) Mama told them a story of when Jesus and Mariana tried to bake her a cake when they were Francesca’s age all by themselves and it was gross, but she ate it anyway.  Jesus laughs.  That’s how Francesca know it’s an okay story to laugh at, too.

At school, the kids tease her about how she walks and think they know a lot better than her what she should do.  She stopped being Frankie, because they said it like she was a baby.  (You can’t say Francesca in a baby voice, or you just sound silly.)

Francesca’s watching on the porch for Callie and Mariana to get here.  They’re bringing the ice cream, yum!  She really want a bike for her birthday, but she thinks she won’t be able to ride one without training wheels.  All the other kids were done with training wheels forever ago.  But Francesca still needs hers for balance.

She has another worry, too.

“Jesus,” Francesca whispers.

“Hey, buddy,” (He always calls her buddy.  She doesn’t know why.  But he claims she started it when she didn’t, she doesn’t think.)

Jesus is 20 like Mariana.  They’re twins, but that doesn’t mean they do everything the same.  Like Jesus lives at home with me, and Mariana doesn’t.  Both are okay.

“What’s up?” he asks, sitting on the porch swing next to her.

“I really don’t want to be nine…” Francesca tells him seriously.

“Why?” he asks.  He listens to her better than anyone else.  That’s because he’s her best friend.  Francesca doesn’t have kid best friends because they all treat her different.  Jesus treats her the same.

She bites her lip.  Sometimes, talking about this is okay, and sometimes it’s not.  She won’t know until she starts.  “You know the bad guy that took you to his house that one time?”

Jesus nods.  

“Will that happen to me when I’m nine?” she worries.

“Buddy, I didn’t get kidnapped because I was nine.  I got kidnapped because a guy did a stupid thing.”

His words don’t make sense.  She squints at him.  “Tell me in nine year old words,” she says.

“No.  You’re not going get kidnapped just because you’re nine.  You remember what we talk about?  Don’t walk places by yourself.  Don’t take rides from people you don’t know even if they seem nice, and even if they say they know Moms.”

“I know.  I just…” her voice hitches.

“Hey….  There’s no crying on your birthday!”

“Mariana!” Francesca screams, but Jesus is already up and hugging her like he hasn’t seen her in a million years.

--

Mariana can barely hang onto her balloon bouquet, Jesus is squeezing her so hard.  It’s been so hard being at school while he’s not.  It’s the longest they’ve been apart since 2007.  Luckily now they can FaceTime and call and Facebook chat, and they do.  Every day.

But it’s not the same.

She’s studying to become a legal advocate for kids, which means she needs a law degree.  That means tons of school.  She misses her family, though. Jesus, most of all.

After the epic hug from Jesus, Mariana scoops up Francesca.  She’s still super skinny, because she burns calories like crazy just from moving around.  Mariana holds onto her a little extra too.

“Why so sad?” Mari wonders.

Francesca exchanges a look with Jesus.  In unison both shrug and chorus, “No reason…”

She should have known.  (Obviously porch time equals private, Mariana.  Duh.)  Instead, she offers Francesca a smile and says, “You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were Jesus’s twin, not me.”

Francesca’s face splits into the widest grin.  She loves being told she and Jesus are close.  She often says he’s her best friend.  That makes sense.

He’s Mariana’s best friend, too.

“My dear!” a voice reprimands from behind Mariana.  “Get out of the doorway or this will melt!”

--

Callie hasn’t brought out Mrs. Georgina Feathersby Longbottom in years.  She thinks it’s time to break her back in.  Just like she hopes, she gets a smile from Jesus, and uproarious laughs from Francesca.  Callie’s boyfriend, AJ, doesn’t know what to make of the voice, but a smile from Jesus is pretty major.

Even five years later, their trust feels a little dented from her senior project debacle.  She ended up getting an A on her amended project, and she got her phone back on graduation day.  (Yes, Moms were serious about that one.)

Now 21, Callie’s majoring in child psych and minoring in photography.  Today, when she goes anywhere to photograph anyone, she always asks: “Hey can I take your picture?  I’m Callie and I’m studying to be a photographer.”

Not everyone says yes.  In fact, a lot don’t.  But it’s important that she gives them the choice.  (And if people don’t work out, Callie takes great pictures of rooms, of nature, and of anything she finds beauty in.  Or sadness.  Or truth.)

She hurries inside with the ice cream, finding Jude and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek and then leaving the cartons with him.

--

“Thanks,” Jude calls at Callie’s back, not knowing what to do with two cartons of ice cream.  

He walks into the kitchen.  “You know I have homework to do.  I don’t have time for this today.”  

“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you went to Taylor’s Friday night and spent the whole of Saturday there,” Mom reprimands.

“Mom.  Nobody does their homework Friday night,”

“People who don’t want to be grounded with no social life to speak of most certainly do,” Mom cautions.

Crap.

“I’m sorry.  Lesson learned.  I’ll do better.”

“What?” Jesus asks, looking concerned.  (He has this way of showing up right when somebody in the family is getting in trouble.  It freaks Jesus out still.)  

Even though it’s been a long time, Jude still remembers Jesus back when he first came home and had that knife.  The talk on the porch a few years later had helped, but he still had to talk to Moms a few times because of not feeling safe around Jesus.  Mostly around October.  Luckily that’s a ways away.  Jude will be in college the next time October comes.  Studying creative writing or journalism.  He wishes the theater programs at colleges weren’t so competitive, or he’d totally do that.

“Nothing, I’m just gonna do my homework,” Jude says.

“Not right now you’re not, love.  I need your help bringing the food outside,” Mama interjects.

“I’ll help,” Jesus offers.

“I’ll help, too.  Hey, Mom.  Where’s Cranky Frankie?” Brandon asks, walking in with Talya.

“I heard that!” Francesca exclaims, pouting.

--

“B, don’t tease your sister, please,” Mom says, and just like that, Brandon’s back.

“Here, Stef, let me help,” Talya says.  (They’ve been dating since before Jesus came home.  She’s pretty much one of the family now.)  He’s thinking about marriage, but never about kids.  Just not his thing.

He’s got an office job that pays the bills, but his real passion is his YouTube channel where he takes requests for piano covers of different songs.  He’s got a lot of followers.  It’s nice to play again.

Brandon takes some paper plates and plastic silverware outside.  Through the window, he can see Moms kissing.  He would say it’s gross, but he’s glad they’re still together.

--

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Stef and Lena have been together for sixteen years, and married for five.  They’d be lying if they said this hasn’t been a hard road for them.  Ironically, it was in the years after Jesus came home that their marriage became rocky, with Lena rehired at Anchor Beach as principal and Stef still a cop with the SDPD.

They hit a few rough patches and even thought of divorcing.  But Lena suggested counseling, and since Stef never wants it to be said that she’s a quitter, she gave it a shot.

Now, they are at the point where they can make their marriage more of a priority.  They do a couple’s retreat every year, and have date nights every week, where they talk about what’s going on with each other.  Not the house.  Not the kids.  Them.  As whole people.  As women.  (Jesus is comfortable watching Francesca while they go out, even overnight, as long as another sibling - usually Jude - is also home.)

So far, it’s working - prioritizing themselves and their marriage.

Communication is not always easy, but they’re working on it.  On showing each other they appreciate each other.  On being there when they need one another.

It’s hard work, but as they always say, it’s worth it.

--

Sometimes it still strikes Jesus just how grateful he is.  Seven years home and the feeling hasn’t gone away.  In fact, it’s gotten stronger.

He never got another letter from Allie Martin, but keeps the picture of Isaac tucked in that notebook, right next to the letter to his mom.  Sometimes he still looks at it.  Sometimes, it still hurts like hell, because he’s here and Isaac isn’t and there really is no rhyme or reason for it.

Even though he’s 20 and technically should be on his own, Jesus isn’t yet.  He kinda still feels like he should get a couple more years at home, to make up for the ones he lost.  Luckily, Moms have never pushed him to leave.

In a way it’s nice with less kids around the house.  It means less unpredictability.  Less chaos.  But it’s quieter, too, and Jesus learned pretty quick he needed to fill that quiet with something.  He doesn’t see Dr. H. anymore because she works with teenagers and Jesus is past that point now, but he still does therapy and support groups.  Sometimes he speaks at them.  Sometimes not. His biggest passion these days is tweeting for social justice type causes @ItsHeyZeus: Mainly, to missing kids.  To let them know they are not alone.  To stay strong.  That people will never stop looking for them.  He tells them don’t give up.

(It’s everything he wished he had Then.  Somewhere to turn.  Someone to listen.)

Just like that, lunch is eaten and it’s time for cake and presents.  He scoots in next to Francesca as she gets ready to blow out her candles.

“Don’t be afraid to turn nine,” he whispers.  “At nine, you’re at the strongest you have ever been.  The smartest.  Okay?  Don’t ever be afraid of turning nine.”

“‘Cause you’ll always be here for me?”

“Absolutely.  I always have your back.” (He feels Mariana slip her hand into his.  Squeeze.)

“Okay…” Francesca says, and she blows out the candles.

After the cake and the presents, everyone would normally leave, but Francesca begs to play a game, all of them together.  (It won’t really be all of them together, since Callie and AJ and Brandon and Talya did have to jet early.  Brandon has work and Callie has school stuff.)

Just because she knows it bugs them, Mom wants to play Scrabble.  They pair off: Jesus and Mariana, Mom and Francesca, and Mama and Jude.

“Don’t you have school stuff?” Jesus asks softly as they all pick their letters.

“I mean, yeah.  But it doesn’t take priority over this,” Mariana shrugs.

It doesn’t take long to remember that Scrabble so isn’t Jesus’s game.  There’s too much going on.  It’s hard to focus.  And in the end Mariana just scores 60-point words by herself anyway.  In the middle of the game, he gets up and starts making sure she’ll have enough leftovers to take back to school with her.

“Vixen!  That’s 21 points!  I am so good!” Jude cheers.

“Excuse me?  Who thought of vixen?” Mama wonders, smiling.

“Fine.  We are so good!” Jude amends.

“Mariana, do you want potato salad?” Jesus asks.

“Hmm…  Cabbage!” Mariana exclaims.

“We don’t have cabbage, genius,” Jesus teases.

“No!  Cabbage!  Our word, Jesus.  With our letters.”

“Okay but cabbage is only 14 points,” Mom insists.  “Are you sure you don’t want to think of a better use for all those letters?” she asks.

“Yeah.  14 points is not a lot of points…” Francesca insists.

“No, because Jesus and I used all our letters and now we get to draw more and keep playing,” Mariana  says gleefully.

“So...no potato salad?” Jesus asks.

“Um, yes potato salad,” Mariana says like withholding it would be an insult.

“Okay.  Let’s just say I’ll give you some of everything…”

“Ooh, but no cheese, please...and no meat.  And oh...potato salad has eggs in it doesn’t it?”

“Cake?” Jesus tries.

“Yes!” Mariana cheers.  Jesus isn’t sure whether she got another word on the board and is beating the other teams or she’s saying yes to cake.  He decides to give her some anyway, and not tell her there’s eggs in that, too.  She needs to eat something.

“Honey, come and sit down,” Mama calls.

Jesus does and they finish the game.  Mariana beats everyone all by herself, and Jesus sends her off with a giant piece of monster cake and a hug.  “Miss you.  FaceTime me, okay?  I’ll help you study.”

“You will?” Mari squints.

“Well, I’ll distract you while you study so maybe just text when you’re done.  At least to say goodnight.”

“Yeah, of course.  Love you.”

“Love you,” he returns.

Mariana makes the rounds, hugging everyone and then stops by him one last time.  “Really, Jesus?  Cake?”

“You just ate a piece five minutes ago at Francesca’s party, like another one to help you study is really gonna be so bad.”

She frowns.  “Ooh.  You’re right.  I’ll probably need the sugar.”

“Okay bye, I miss you.  Text if you need me.”

“I miss you, and same.” Jesus says back, because even knowing they will be apart makes them start missing each other early.

Once she’s gone, the house seems so much quieter.  That could be because Moms are out watching Francesca ride her new bike, and Jude’s doing all his homework at the last possible second.

Jesus is on the couch, on his laptop, when a message pops up through the email he has attached to his Twitter account:

Jesus,

I follow you on Twitter, I have for a long time.  And I have wanted to talk to you for a while, but I didn’t know what to say except...I’m like you.  And how do I move on?  You are a role model to me and I saw your tweets when I was missing.  They gave me hope, but I’m not sure how to start moving on now that I am home.  It’s been months.  I’m so glad to be home but I’m scared all the time.  I just want to be normal.

Sincerely,

Ava

Jesus takes a deep breath and starts writing back:

Ava,

You are normal.  It’s normal to be scared after what we’ve been through.  So, it makes sense that you’ll move through your experience, too, not on with your life and away from it.  It’s okay to need help.  I’m not sure of your age, but let me give you the name and number of a great doctor I know who might be able to refer you to somebody, her name is Dr. Holly Hitchens…  Please take care, and believe that you did everything right, because you made it home.  And as long as you’re alive there’s hope.  So hang on.  And know that with the right support you’ll be okay.

Jesus