#i traded my table loom with a nice lady who also just moved to the area

[saltpixiefibercraft]

New loom new loom!!!! I got myself a lil Wolf Pup loom that I can more easily move for transport when I do craft fairs! It's so much fun to play with its so lil!!!

[dreamofcentipedes]

Red Lotus Blooms: 7 - Blood and Water

Summary: A monster is forged in flame. As light burns out, red leaves unfurl. Under the new lights of Tokyo, Tatara's feral existence is disturbed by the appearance of a girl calling herself a god.

Characters: Tatara, Eto, Noro

Rating: Teen Words: 5, 749 Link to AO3

Link to Table of Contents

The Japanese air suited Tatara well. An unfamiliar air to an unfamiliar place, hostile and unwelcoming, where he was unknown and undesired. A bad place to live, a good place to die.

That was Tatara’s life here – an extended death. A quest for death, inspired by death, suffused with death, seen through the eyes of the dead man walking, who had no home to return to and nothing left to defend. He was the agent now rather than the victim. He had encountered the reaper and left with the scythe.

This was the tale the devastated bodies of countless Tokyo ghouls testified. A year and a half had passed since the refugee conned his way aboard an aeroplane and came to the Japanese metropolis, where the futuristic sheen of neon lights and towering concrete was juxtaposed against remnant wooden shrines and their ghosts of gods and nature. It was a modernity forever in the shadow of the ancient, a living past well suited for his zombie-like existence. In those eighteen months he had set about cannibalising every ghoul he could get his hands on. He did not know the rules of territory, and they did not matter to him. The big fish ate the little, and Tatara had yet to encounter any fish bigger.

Nor did the birds pose any threat. Excessive eating habits like those Tatara was exhibiting typically attract the attention of the local doves, but the years he spent in Chi She Lian had taught him the art of stealth. He made sure to leave nothing left of his prey – if he was interrupted, the intruding element would join his meal. When a ghoul syndicate of the size of Lian had floated past the CCG like ships in the night for years, masking the presence of one ghoul using their techniques was child’s play. He still did not understand how the Chinese CCG ever managed to find Yan. They could not find him, though – no-one knew Tatara Huo was in Japan.

His days were spent sleeping in alleyways and his nights prowling the dark. He had none of the comforts he was used to in his old home, but comfort, or home, was not what he was looking for. This was atonement. He would master his kakuja and kill Kousuke Houji. That was all.

It was the kind of lifestyle that made little in the way of allies and much in the way of enemies. It was on one night in a brisk winter, within which even the ascetic Tatara could not abide sleeping outside, that he came across a dilapidated hideout and discovered it was occupied. This was not much of a deterrent as he slaughtered every ghoul inside. They were stronger than he was used to, but it was hardly an even match. After sleeping there for two nights, he heard a knock on his door in the morning.

His white cloak, now stained with dirt and blood and sewer water, dragged along the ground as he moved to the shattered window and peered out with tired eyes. The ancient house was detached in an old industrial area that was mostly abandoned but had become a common haunt for ghouls. He knew what kind of visitors they would be.

A short girl who looked around his age stood out front in a burgundy robe and a green-haired bob cut with some kind of accessory. She was flanked by a tall and sinister figure wearing a similar robe and sporting a black ponytail that stuck straight out of the top of his head. Most notable, however, was his mask. It was pale, with the emblem of a toothy mouth and no discernible eye holes. Tatara felt as though he should be careful of this one. Shortly, he lumbered down the stairs and swung open the door.

“What?” He asked charmlessly. Japanese had been one of the languages Chi She Lian had taught him. The Huo family had been big figures in the Chinese business world, so knowing the language of their closest trading partner, together with English, was necessary to retain their influence in the sphere of human politics.

He could see now that the accessory on the girl’s head was a red lotus flower, not unlike the kind that had floated among the fish in the old pond at Yangshuo. It soured his already grim mood to see a stranger so casually appropriate his memories. He could also pick up their scent at this range. The masked man smelled as ghoulish as he looked, but the girl had a curious scent he could not quite place. Her big eyes beamed with a salesman-like enthusiasm.

“Hello sir, we’re here to talk to you about Our Lord and Saviour -”

Tatara swung the door shut. He made to leave, but he saw the door open again. The girl had caught it just in time.

“Ah���you’re definitely going to hell for that one.” He heard her grumble cheerily.

“I’ll send you to hell if you don’t leave now.” Tatara threatened, looming over the dwarfish woman with a glower. He had always been tall for his age, but he had come to equal Yan’s stature in the past year. Her silent companion matched him for height, however, dampening the threat.

“Mmm, I doubt that.” She retorted with a wink.

Tatara’s patience ran out and his kagune raced out. As soon as his eyes reddened, so did one of hers – just one - and she instantly blocked the blow with a bizarre-looking kagune of her own. It stretched out from her upper back and was swollen and bloated with an array of tiny arms and fully-fingered hands growing out of it. The masked man did not seem to react at all beyond leisurely moving back a few steps to give the girl some room.

After Tatara glared at her some more and she responded with a smug grin of her own, he swung his kagune back to his side and she lowered hers.

“So you are a ghoul. Or some kind of mongrel.”

“How rude, a lady has feelings!”

Tatara narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, okay, Mr Grinch.” The girl complained, and lightly rapped her knuckles against the man standing next to her. “Couldn’t you tell from my buddy here? He sticks out a bit. Kind of like you, with your chin-mask and your period dress.”

“I knew about him.” Tatara snapped. “It’s you who I was unsure of. You stink.”

The girl clutched her imaginary pearls again in affected wide-mouthed shock. She had a major talent for getting on his nerves.

“And I made an effort to look nice and everything. Here, do you like it?”

She tugged on the flower perched on her head. There was no denying that the girl was pretty, but her personality quickly poisoned any appeal she might have. Not that Tatara had any interest in such frivolous matters in the first place.

“Why are you here?” He growled. “To fight? You want the building?”

“Well, that’s one way this could go down.” She mused with a knowing smirk. “We want the building back. You’re squatting in my territory.”

Her territory? So the masked man wasn’t the leader? It was this runt? Tatara could not help but scoff. Well, he was here to eat ghouls anyway. He was hardly going to complain if they presented themselves at his doorstep. No matter how strong they might be, Tokyo had no ghoul organisation anything like Chi She Lian. He was a big fish in a small pond.

“You’re not getting it back.” Tatara asserted menacingly as he poised his kagune above his head in striking position.

“Oh, you can keep it, I just want it back.”

…What on earth was this woman saying?

“This is the other way of going about things.” She touched her nose in confirmation of secret knowledge.

“And what’s that?” Tatara asked warily.

“We talk about our Lord and Saviour.”

Tatara swung the door shut.

“Wait, seriously!”

She caught it again.

“I’m serious. I think we could all do with a bit of God in our lives. Without a God to look up to, we’re lost, confused. We might as well just be stumbling around in the dark.”

The girl was sounding frustratingly earnest now. He preferred it when she was mocking him, instead of saying such ridiculous things to him in all seriousness. He was torn between killing her and just walking away.

“After all, if there’s no God…hmm. What was it Shakespeare said? ‘Humanity must perforce prey on itself like monsters of the deep’.”

Tatara froze. How much did she know…?

“You’ve been eating a lot of ghouls, haven’t you? Those hits, the reason it’s so dangerous for ghouls to go out at night now – it’s you, isn’t it?”

“And what if it is?” His returning whisper was sharp as a dagger.

“Well, some of those people are my people. You’ve been making things veeery difficult for me. But, if I can avoid fighting someone as scary as you, that would be swell. Especially if that rumour is true.”

The rumour that cannibalisation makes ghouls stronger, he assumed. Tatara knew this to be a fact, but it was not common knowledge.

“It is. So go home, and stay out of my way.”

“But here’s the thing,” The girl yammered on, “I think this can all be settled peaceably. I can’t let a ghoul like you keep making trouble for my baby organisation. However, a great threat could also make a great asset.”

Tatara watched her expectantly. She stretched out her hand.

“Be happy, Hannibal Lecter. I’m offering you a job.”

He met her with stony silence.

“You’d get to keep the pad, of course, as company accommodation. Besides, aren’t you tired of living like a wild animal? Aogiri Tree can give you roots. Stability. Purpose.” She looked up at him with a wicked and unstable smile that made her suddenly seem much more dangerous than she had initially appeared.  “Let me be your God.”

The cold wind whistled down the early morning alleyway. Their cloaks fluttered in the breeze.

“I have a God.” Tatara answered icily. The severed head of Kousuke Houji. “Do you want to fight here?”

The girl looked down in disappointment, and then heaved out a sigh with a shrug of her shoulders. “Ah, I really thought you would agree. What a pain. Well, no, we’ll probably kill you in your sleep or something. Until then, think about my offer! The name’s Eto, this guy’s Noro. Don’t call us – we’ll call you.”

She turned and began walking away with the tall man following behind her. Tatara was hardly going to let a threat like that slide by. He shot his kagune silently through the air towards the girl’s back.

In an instant, an eldritch, carmine kagune with a maw of enormous jagged teeth burst out of from the lower back of her companion. It smashed back Tatara’s bikaku and slipped right back into his body. Neither of them missed a step.

What a strange pair, Tatara thought. He did not mean it fondly.

He knew he would have to be all the more on his guard henceforth. But perhaps, if he grew strong enough to defeat that silent spectre, he would be strong enough to defeat Houji, too.

--

It was not long before the Aogiri assaults began.

It started with minor assassins that Tatara made short work of. He was no heavy sleeper, alert from his feral lifestyle and plagued as he was by nightmares of burning buildings. He knew he could be free of his unwanted guests if he just left the old shack. The nights had not gotten any warmer, but if necessary he could always get hold of a place occupied by less persistent ghouls. However, he had no intention of giving that brat the satisfaction of victory, and besides, he was grateful for the free meals and prey he could play with like the catfish in that pond he was feeling nostalgic for. He had kept a collection of heads now that he had somewhere to hide them, mostly just to keep count.

The more time passed, the more assailants came. Clearly this Eto did not like that her drones were not coming back. As the waves kept coming, Tatara began to notice some disturbing features. One set of heads he collected had their mouths completely stitched up. Others, their eyes, groping about entirely by smell. If she was hoping to win the battle of psychological warfare, she had picked the wrong target. Horror was his habitat now, and burnt bodies all looked the same.

He could feel his power growing with every discoloured limb he forced down his throat. On the rare occasions he needed to activate his kakuja, he noticed it had grown taller, wider, stronger. His firepower was now hot enough to rage in blue. It was not enough to simply become like Yan: he must surpass him if he ever hoped to defeat his killer. So he welcomed the nightmare more than ever when it came to his doorstep in full force.

A light snow was falling that night, but the heavy snow from the night before had already swamped the ground in velvety frost. Trudging through the snowfield, the small army knew they could not approach quietly, so they compensated by making themselves horrifically visible. Monstrous masks replaced their faces and their kagune stretched out on full ghastly display. They yelled war chants and beat their chests and stamped their feet with ferocious intensity until they came to a halt outside Tatara’s self-made abode.

He examined them from the window. Something like a hundred ghouls were amassed beyond his walls. Not bad for a fledgling organisation, though he had certainly never heard of Aogiri Tree before. He noted with caution the presence of the masked man, Noro, among them. His kagune was freakish, like nothing Tatara had seen before. Perhaps it would be wisest to take him out first.

As for Eto, he could not see a green head of hair among them. Leaving it to the grunts. How insulting. Or so he thought, when he heard a familiar voice pierce the dark.

“Tatara? Tatara Huo?”

He backed away from his vantage point in shock before hurriedly pressing himself up against the aperture. He could see a small figure wrapped head to toe in bandages, wearing a short burgundy cloak with a colourful neckerchief and a hood with protrusions like rabbit ears. What a grotesque appearance. Was this Eto in full ghoul flare? More importantly, Tatara thought, grinding his teeth, how does she know my name?

“I see you, Tatara, come on down!”

Tatara placed his hands on the windowsill and looked down disdainfully.

“Come in, I insist. I’ll make it nice and warm for you.”

“Somehow that doesn’t sound too inviting.” Eto objected from below. “It still doesn’t have to be this way, Tatara. You can make up for all my people you’ve killed. Join us, and we’ll give you a blank slate.”

“There are no blank slates.” Tatara shot back cynically.

Eto giggled. “No, maybe not. We’re never really free from our pasts, are we? Not until the wrongs are righted.”

A brief silence fell upon them amid the tension and snowfall.

“You know,” Tatara told Eto through hostile eyes, “I’m getting tired of your indirectness.”

“I’m telling you that I can take you to Kousuke Houji.”

A longer silence passed as Tatara gripped the rotten wooden windowsill like a liferaft. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears as blood pulsated through his brain. Houji. She can take me to Houji.

“I told a friend of mine about you, and apparently he knows you. He knew about China and Chi She Lian. He knew about the Huo family and their extermination, and the operation’s shining star: First Class Kousuke Houji. Ah, or that should be Special Class now. He did so well they bumped him up two ranks when he got back home.”

He’s here. In Japan. In Tokyo? If Eto could take him to him, then he could not be too far away. Tatara’s head was flooded with a rush of memories like acid. Fei’s stupid nicknames for him. The pride on Yan’s face when Tatara told him about his first kill. A burning building, an interloping whale, and, out of the corner of his eye, the cold professional face of Death. A solemn admission and an agonised howl.

“I also heard a story about a half-kakuja escaping their grasp. Apparently, they never found the middle child either.” Her bandages crinkled in an impish grin. “So how about it, Tatara Huo? Join us, and he’s yours.”

“No.” Tatara responded immediately.

“…No?” Came Eto’s confused reaction.

“No.” Tatara asserted in a firm voice coloured by the anger surging through him. “Here’s what we’re going to do instead. You’re going to tell me where he is or I’m going to kill every last one of you.”

Eto stood silently as snowflakes settled on her cloak.

“You’re alone against a hundred of my best ghouls. Do you really think you’re in the position to make an ultimatum like that?” Her face, expressionless behind her bandages, rose. A single red kakugan gleamed in the black hollows of her eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

“No. And by the time I’m done with you, no-one will.”

Tatara reached into a storage space and threw something out onto the snow. The ghouls instinctively leapt back, but when they saw it was not explosive they inched closer and turned it over. The head of a would-be assassin graced the midwinter floor elegantly, the blood long too black and congealed to stain.

As soon as they looked back up at him, Tatara left the windowside and retreated inside to prepare. No more negotiation. This would be no Xuhangli, he affirmed to himself: Eto would follow the Longxia into the graveyard of over-reachers.

--

It was a matter of seconds before the first wave of Aogiri ghouls had broken down the door. It was a matter of seconds before their bloody carcasses decorated the desolated apartment.

They had instantly began running up the stairs, knowing that Tatara would not have had the time to descend, only to find strange burning balls tumbling down the stairway. On impact, the long red cloaks of the ghouls were set alight, and they immediately turned around to quench the flames in the moistness of the snow. A turned back made an easy target for Tatara’s kagune, snaking down from the top of the stairs to zip in and out of head after head like a fine scalpel, sparing no time stuck in the flesh but seizing prey after prey after prey.

All the while, in his hands Tatara began to hurl the flaming balls directly at the backs of his victims, knocking them to the ground and catching them in between the fire on their back and the fire on the floor: as the balls from before were still rolling about, spreading fire in their wake. To burn alive caught between two walls of flame while looking at the stitched eyes of your fallen comrade staring up at you sightlessly, the flames melting their face and yours alike…

How’s that for psychological warfare?

The warriors in the first wave who survived the initial onslaught left screaming in a mad panic, deserting into the darkness and ruining the Aogiri formation as other ghouls broke off to stop them. There was a brief pause before Eto sent in a second pack of wolves, but it was a hesitant, demoralised bunch. As they inched into the kitchen just through the entrance, their heads swung round at a flaming object sent hurtling towards the old gas cooker.

Those heads were jerked back at lethal angles in the force of the explosion that resounded throughout the ground floor. It was left blackened and smoking without a single survivor from that second wave. Tatara had sprinted back up the stairs just in time to avoid the blast himself and rolled to the floor to avoid being spotted through the window. Peeking up outside, he could see more desertions ensuing. Suddenly, a kagune smashed down right in front of his face.

He leapt back as a ghoul pulled itself up onto the window frame. Eto must have sent out two waves at once, he realised with irritation, one for the door and one for the windows. Before the ghoul could break its kagune free from the house’s brick exterior, Tatara rammed it outside again with his own kagune. He realised that now, however, Eto would have an accurate read on his location.

Several other ghouls quickly followed, clambering up the windows into multiple different rooms. As soon as Tatara knocked one off he would find another entering through a different window, and while he managed to keep the windows in his immediate range clear, he could not defend windows in separate rooms at the same time: which meant that an increasingly large numbers of ghouls did manage to get into the house, posing a much larger threat and taking much longer to kill. And the longer it took to kill those ghouls, the less time he could spend defending the windows, until he found himself becoming overwhelmed.

The space was too small. It had worked to his advantage before, but this time he needed open space. Charging towards an invading enemy, he kicked her out of the window and jumped.

Cracking out his kagune, he anchored himself to the wall of the house and scampered vertically towards the roof. As he ran he noticed that the assembly of the main force below was completely gone, while clamberers were everywhere. He even had to kick a few off just to make it to the roof. Eto had clearly recognised which strategy was superior. Somewhere, she must be among them.

He climbed up on top of the roof in little time and saw that, for now, thankfully, it was clear. It was flat and tiled, making it ideal as a non-flammable battleground – it would be no good if the roof collapsed beneath him. As clamberers made their way up to him, he activated his kakuja.

It had reached colossal proportions. A scaled silver beast, nigh identical to Yan’s. The old anger coursed through him now, savage, relentless. With a sweep of its gigantic arm, the clamberers fell right back down into the snow; the cushioned fall meant nothing when their bones were shattered instantaneously.

The titan peered over the ledge. The scalers were struck with terror, one so badly he fell off immediately. The others joined him when their lives were scorched out of them by the firestorm erupting from Tatara’s throat. He kept the blast going like a red waterfall, moving along one side of the building, then another, roasting every climber who dared advance. They plummeted to the ground like ashen comets. Tatara had lost track of how many scores of people he had killed now, but he knew there was only one side of the building left.

Before he could turn around, he was knocked severely off balance by an intrusive wormish kagune. His flames puttered out as he skidded along the rooftop, but managed to remain upright. The kagune bit into the tiles and, propelled by its forward motion, a man burst into the sky like a rocket, before landing on the rooftop with perfect form. The eyeless mask stared at him. It was a confrontation Tatara had been waiting for. He was ready to incinerate him on sight, before something emerged from his back. Relinquishing her clutch on Noro’s robe, Eto hopped down to join them.

“If you were going to destroy the house, you might as well have just left.” She complained.

Her words were just meaningless noise to Tatara in his kakuja’s mental state. It lived to kill, not to talk. With a roar like a hurricane, Tatara barrelled forward.

Noro’s kagune with its rows of shark teeth bit at Tatara’s legs, but his armour sustained the blow. Hauling his great weight into the air over the ankle-biter, he slammed his chest into the empty space where Noro and Eto were standing just a second before. They had split in opposite directions, Eto perched on a corner of the roof, enjoying the show, while Noro stood directly behind Tatara, his kagune already poising, rising, striking.

Just in time, Tatara managed to block the great serpent with his appendage. The tension between the two forces continued for some time before Tatara flung off the kagune to the side, but it wasn’t long before it was circling back around towards him. He unleashed a jet of flame that sent the kagune rearing back to its owner with its blind head singed and seeming to scream. Tatara continued to defend himself with the blaze of protective blue fire as he pummelled his pillars into the rooftop to right himself. When he was standing and blew the fire out, Noro was gone.

Immediately the kagune smashed into his back, and Tatara thrust his appendage forward to prevent his weight from being used against him again. The kagune was fast, hitting his back like a machine gun, first here, then there, constantly moving and leaving nothing unscathed. Tatara could feel his armour weakening and his pain rising, but while he was under assault from behind, he could not turn to face his foe, rendering his firepower useless. Each hit made his anger burn more furiously. Eventually, Noro’s teeth cracked through the armour and sunk into the kakuja’s exposed flesh.

It was the opening Tatara needed. Now that Noro’s kagune was firmly attached to him, he hauled his bulk around with all his strength, and dragged Noro with him. As the kagune’s teeth clung onto Tatara’s flesh, Noro was flung upwards into the sky and twisted around by Tatara’s circling movements. The stress of the motion made the kagune finally give way and broke off with a chunk of kakuja flesh, and Noro went flying off the side of the building and plunged into the snow beneath.

Tatara lumbered towards the edge, stinging from the sheet of missing skin. Through the spiderlike eyes beneath his helmet he could see that Noro had landed on a bricky outcrop in the snow from which a small leafless tree stood up limply. Or rather, his head had. Blood stained the bricks as his cranium was twisted at an unnatural angle. This battle was over. He made to turn to Eto and crush her next.

But before he could, he saw a strange spasm out of the corner of his eye, and turned back to the body. There was no way he could be alive. And yet, with sudden recoil like an elastic band, the head spun rapidly back into place. The vacancy of its white plaster face stared up at him, expectantly.

What kind of monster was this?

The body begun bleeding, but not blood. His body was bubbling with a boiling red tar that oozed and squelched around him in a mad cthonic dance. As the crimson mass grew and grew, more and more mouths grew out of it, littering the tendrils racing at Tatara with tongues and teeth. Tatara swung out his appendages to defend himself, but the teeth of the chattering, moaning wall of crimson midnight bit into them and tugged, throwing Tatara off his balance and towards the snow, toward the nightmare abominable.

A rocket of flame lit up the bloodlike darkness and set the creature curving backwards as its many mouths shrieked and gnashed their teeth in hatred of the light. The snow melted beneath Tatara’s feet as he stomped forward and vomited fire, pouring out of his helmet in an incessant stream of incendiary viscosity. The alien entity loathed the heat, and its tentacles surrounded Tatara and assaulted his back relentlessly as its main body desperately retreated further from the flames with each step Tatara took.

The force of the assaults were far worse with Noro in kakuja form, and his many arms flooded into the hole his kagune made earlier, ramming and tearing at the exposed skin of Tatara’s kakuja. Yet Tatara persisted, even while his legs stumbled and his body grew weary, and his earholes ached with the cacophony of screeching sound and pain multiplied in him like a virus. The vaccine of hatred soothed whatever torments hell could unleash upon him. This thing was getting in his way, just like the Whale had back at Xuhangli. Standing between him and Houji. Between vengeance. Between salvation.

He would not forgive that.

As chunks of Tatara’s armour were torn off and shattered on the ground, as blood poured from his wounds and his legs gave way, Tatara dragged himself across the floor, inching closer and closer to the noctal horror until he could grab it by its fleshy, slimy surface and hold it still so its central, largest, mouth, tongue lashing out like mad dog, could face the judgement of fire.

It screamed at a pitch that rent the human ears before disappearing into the supersonic as the moisture was drained, sucked, stolen from the once-slobbering tongue. The flames burned right through the protective wall of teeth, exposing the creature’s innards to the full agony of the scorching of the flames that warped the tongue and shrivelled it to a cinder. Its tendrils writhed around uselessly as its mind was subsumed by torture. Before the judgement could conclude and Tatara rule death on the hellspawn, another interfering voice cut through the silent noise.

“Stop it, Tatara. That’s enough. You win.”

The flames guttered out and the aberration lay dazed, its many visionless heads paused mid-motion, jaws wide or clenched or thrown back. Tatara tore himself out of his ruined kakuja and dropped into the snow, battered, bruised and bloody, but far from broken.

Eto was standing in front of the house not far from them, her small form smaller in defeat. To make sure, Tatara blasted his hulkish kagune towards her. She had no time to react and was quickly caught with a yelp inside its stranglehold, crushing and squeezing her like a boa constrictor. Tatara walked closer as he hoisted her into the air.

“You’re going to take me to Kousuke Houji. Understand?” He informed her in a voice colder than the night now warmed by the inferno.

She eked out a response like “Yes” as she battered at the kagune with her small arms, struggling to breathe.

“I will have full control over you and your organisation until such a time that he lies dead at my feet. Do you understand?”

She hacked out an affirmation like a wheezing cough. He had not been opposed to working with Aogiri, but merely working for them. The last scion of Chi She Lian was not going to follow a petty gang leader around like a lapdog. They might make for convenient puppets, however, so long as he pulled the strings.

Tatara relaxed his grip for a moment so he could get a clear answer out of her for his next question. She gulped down air like an oasis in the desert.

“Where is he?”

Eto was still focused on her heavy breathing. He made his point in a sudden constriction, and she screeched out an answer at the night sky as her back was jolted up again.

“Cochlea! He’s in Cochlea!”

Cochlea, huh…Tatara had heard via eavesdropped conversations from ghouls and doves alike about the maximum security ghoul prison in the 23rd Ward. What, had he become a glorified guard dog? It was about the worst, most difficult to access place he could be. But with Aogiri at Tatara’s disposal, assuming he had not already killed all the ghouls they had enlisted, it might just be possible to squeeze open a breach and find his way inside. Making his way out again was not important. All that mattered was that Houji dies.

He cast his gaze over the smoking husk of the Noro kakuja. Its owner was just now tearing himself free, come back to his senses, with his cloak tattered and singed and looking much worse for wear. If he could defeat a monster like that, win a battle of a hundred to one, and bring the head of a sizeable ghoul organisation to heel within the same half-hour, then he was ready to face Houji. He could feel it in his heated blood. After a year and a half of this bestial existence, he could finally fulfil the promise he made to those ghosts so dear to him.

He pulled the barely breathing mummy closer to him so his glare singed her bandaged face.

“You’re going to break into Cochlea for me. No objections.”

Before her solitary red eye could make any response, he released her from the hold of his kagune the hard way. She was flung into the snow and rolled along its dunes, until she finally came to a halt and shakily began to lift herself up. Noro strode over to help her with a quickened pace.

A second, ethereal sunset fell in the sky as the night was illuminated by the glow of the red and blue flames coating the house which had led to all this chaos. Just as the roof caved in, ten or so survivor ghouls crawled hurriedly out of the ruin to freeze before the triumphant Tatara. They dropped to their knees when they read the situation, as did the eight ghouls who had left earlier to unsuccessfully round up deserters.

The remainder of the ghouls that had come there that night lay out in a litany of charred corpses. Together with the remains of the great black kakuja, they stood out in sharp contrast against the septic whiteness of the snow. They had made quite the spectacle here, and a great deal of noise too. It would be good to leave before the doves caught wind of it.

As the reluctant ghouls led Tatara to the Aogiri base under the menace of his kagune, he looked back on the scene with a pride like elation. Here was one burning building that burned for him. Nothing was taken from him in these flames - only from his enemies.

Cochlea would be next. He was so close now. So close.

[sunshinemiranda]

King of the Lost Boys - Anthony Ramos x Reader (Chapter 4)

Summary: Nibs seems to see a certain spark between you and Pan. Some Pablo Neruda is traded for intimacy. A waltz ends up in a fight. Hook wants Neverland. 

Warnings: Swearing! (it’s pretty much all Nibs that kid curses like a sailor)

Words: 5,299 (listen...just listen...)

A/N: oh my god i have sucked so bad with writing lately. this helped me get over a block but i also totally procrastinated studying for an exam haha priorities so that’s great! there is a song that plays in this chapter so i’ll just link it on one of the words in the scene. please listen to it, oh my god, it is so good. enjoy. 

askbox | masterlist

Change was in the air. Everyone could feel it crackling in the air like electricity. The future loomed, clouded, unsure and threateningly close. Time seemed to pull to an immediate stop in Neverland, but as soon as you stepped one foot on the highway asphalt, it was if the world had to compensate for the temporary freeze by speeding up instead.

“God, before this term is over, Mr. Kravitz will actually kill me.” Nibs was groaning from the corner, buried in piles of textbooks, loose pages and half-finished assignments.

“You’ll be fine,” you chuckled. “Besides, it’s too hard for him to kill a student who never goes to his class.”

Narrowing his eyes, he flipped his middle finger in your general direction, to which you replied with an affectionate grin. Things with Daveed had smoothed over in a way that you had never thought possible. He was more insecure than anyone believed him to be and a new bond of trust between the two of you made talking through it much easier. You had worked past your prejudices, and he had finally gained a friend through more than compensation. It was the perfect equation.

“So, (Y/N), since you’re a new member of the Lost Boys,” he drawled, standing to make his way to sit across from you. “I’ve got to ask. When are you going to fuck Pan?”

You, in the middle of drinking from a mug of tea, choked ungraciously as you sputtered through words. “Oh my God. You can’t just spring that shit on me. The answer to that is: A, I don’t have to tell you anything and B, don’t ask stupid questions, dickhead.”

He reached one of his long legs out to kick gently at your shin, a bit of a laugh bubbling from his chest as you choked on mint tea. “You do have to tell me something because you’re one of us now, and my questions are gloriously stupid, thank you very much. It’s one of my talents with the ladies. They all think I’m dumb.”

You couldn’t help but snort out a laugh as he made a show of himself, puffing his chest out in mock pride and flexing to the point of it looking painful. “You know, that’s probably the truest thing you’ve ever said in your life. I always did wonder how you got so many dates. You have a truly unmatched talent and being unintelligent. Congratulations.”

“Don’t you try to get purposefully carried away now. We have to talk about this.”

“Nibs, there is nothing to talk about. Pan and I kissed like, once at a bar. He was drunk, I was drunk. People do that all the time and never even interact again.”

“First of all, Pan was sober as fuck when that happened. It’s not that he doesn’t drink, it’s just that he hadn’t gotten to it when you guys made out. He made that decision in good judgment and through a valid choice.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “Then let’s just say I was drunk. That still doesn’t change anything.”

“Actually, yes it does. It takes Pan at least, like, four shots to actually find a girl he’s willing to swap saliva with. It didn’t take any for you.”

“Gross. We did not ‘swap saliva’, Daveed.”

“Right. And I don’t think your friend is hot. Anyway, you’re right when you say people do that all the time and never speak again. Remember who you’re talking to, babe, I’m the master at avoiding. Problem is, you guys interact. A lot. And half of it is charged with this weird, frustrated, sexual tension that just makes everyone uncomfortable.”

You gave a groan and let your head fall back on the couch. “Can we please not discuss my love life? I already feel like enough of a sinner in your presence.”

“So it’s your love life with Pan, now? Hm. Interesting.” Daveed nudged your leg again, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Fuck you, Diggs.”

“Wrong person, (Y/N). The person you want is Anthony, who, by the way, should be getting here any minute now.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wow. You’ve really painted me into a corner. Way to use your clever wit. I’m not scared of being in his presence, Daveed.”

“I believe that,” he nodded, and it was sincere. “I just think it’s better for you guys to be alone, so I’ll be leaving when he gets here. That way, you guys can talk it out without other people in the room, and when I say talk it out, I mean use that couch for what it’s for.”

“Nibs, you don’t understand. He’s…different with me, and different with you. It’s like he has-“

“Two personalities.” Daveed gave a sigh, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. “I know. It’s a problem for him.”

“You knew this entire time?” You couldn’t do anything but stare. Up until this point, it had been a Jekyll and Hyde case with Anthony that you thought had been under wraps this entire time.

“We all do. It’s hard to talk about it with him, he gets so defensive. We were all hoping that he’d realize he doesn’t have to pretend to be a hard-headed dick in the public eye now that he’s met you.”

Eyes widening, you opened your mouth to pull a snarky reply together but the screen door clattering open dragged your attention away.

Anthony stood there, in all his leather-jacket clad glory and God, it seemed like he looked even more beautiful than the last time you’d seen him. His hair was down for once, and the sun had brought out his star-kissed freckles. He shot you a smile and the part of your brain that could not be controlled whispered, fuck. Daveed was right.

“Right, that’s my cue,” Daveed stood, throwing his leather jacket over his shoulder. “I should get going. Nice to see you, Pan.” He reached out and grasped his leader’s hand for a moment before sweeping by you, shooting you a quick, almost imperceptible wink as he exited.

Anthony took a seat, letting out a tired breath. The smile was still on his face but it was uneasy now. The atmosphere had changed. “Was Nibs bothering you?”

“Yeah, but just the usual kind of bothering. I don’t think Daveed can help but get on everybody’s nerves, at least a little.” You offered a smile, an olive branch of sorts.

“Oh, God, I know. I still don’t understand how these women fall at his feet while he manages to still be that childish.” A laugh fell from his lips and it was as if the sound dissolved all the uneasiness in the air. He was truly a magic kind of boy.

“He’s undeniably good at what he does,” you chuckled, leaning back on the couch as you took a sip of your tea.

He let out a breath, closing his eyes with exhaustion momentarily before he shook himself and glanced at the table in front of you. It was covered in different books, highlighters, colour coded page markers. A Pablo Neruda book was open on the table, orange highlighter picking out special lines.

“Did I interrupt anything?” He asked, concerned, and gave a gesture to the table.

His comment ripped you back to reality and, blushing, you reached forward to scramble your open books and highlighters into a pile. “No, no, I was…I was just reading.”

“You need all that,” he chuckled, moving from the wooden chair to take a spot next to you on the couch. “Just to read?”

“Well…yes,” you smiled, staring at the half-open Neruda book in your hands, still open to a poem titled Absence. “I can’t read a Neruda book, or Whitman’s words without knowing I have a highlighter. I feel like if I don’t remind myself which parts made me feel something, that I’ll forget it altogether and I’ll never remember why Charles Bukowski made me feel a certain way.”

A silence passed and you looked up to see him staring at you, eyes deep with awe and reflection. You blushed, looking away hurriedly, embarrassment coiling deep in your chest.

“It sounds stupid, doesn’t it.” You attempted a laugh, looking down at your hands as your face burned.

He paused, and then reached out, gently taking the Neruda book from your hands. Gently, he reached out to tip your chin up, encouraging you to meet his eyes again. He was smiling.

“I love Neruda.”

It was a silent assurance, a wordless comfort that he understood, more than anyone you had ever met, what it meant to be at the mercy of words.

“Then let’s read some,” you smiled, reaching to take the book from his hands. You flipped through the pages thoughtfully, silently wondering which beautiful passage to read from. Finally, you found something.

“Beloved of the rivers, beset by azure water and transparent drops-“ you started, but the look of recognition on his face dragged your attention to him.

“I love this one.” He grinned.

“Me too,” you admitted, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“(Y/N), please, could you continue?” He asked, voice soft. “It sounds so good when you read it.”

The way he stared at you with the wondrous eyes that seemed to reflect in the curious gaze belonging to children made your heart clench painfully. The realization that the two of you were still, simply kids came flowing back. Somewhere in the past, he had been let down and you felt a strong willingness to right every wrong committed against him rise up in your chest. You sent him a fond smile before continuing.

“Like a tree of veins your specter, of dark goddess biting apples; and then awakening naked to be tattooed by rivers, and in the wet heights your head filled the world with new dew. Water rose to your waist, you are made of wellsprings and lakes shone on your forehead. From your sources of density you drew water like vital tears, and hauled the riverbeds to the sand across the planetary night, crossing rough dilated stone, breaking down on the way.” In glancing up, you caught a sight of him mouthing the words of the poem to himself, leaning ever closer to hear you say them.

“All the salt of geology, cutting through forests of compact walls, dislodging the muscles of quartz.”

You set the book down and looked up to grin at him, to which he returned it.

“That one always reminds me of Neverland. I didn’t lie, you know?”

“About what?” you enquired.

“About it sounding good when you read it. It really did.”

“Thank you.” You found yourself blushing harder than you had planned. “You’ve got a good voice too, you know. You should read one.”

“Okay. My turn then,” he smiled and you reached to place the book in his hands. He flipped through the pages until he found a particularly highlighted page, marked all over with notes in the margins and orange streaking line after line.

“I have scarcely left you, when you go in me, crystalline, or trembling.” His voice struck a resounding, plaintive chord within you and the air itself seemed to still at the sound of his voice speaking poetry. It was all of a sudden imbued with a magic that was incomparable. It seemed that he was practically made to speak beautiful words. “Or easy, wounded by me, or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes close upon the gift of life that without cease, I give to you.”

He looked up, saw the rapt attention with which you listened and moved closer to you, took one of your palms in his. His fingers ran rampant, tracing lines over your fingers, exploring, and yet still preoccupied with the words on the page. 

“My love, we have found each other thirsty and we have drunk up all the water and the blood, we have found each other hungry and we bit each other as fire bites, leaving wounds in us.” 

You could hardly breathe with his presence and yet you were so enraptured that your body seemed to tremble at his tone. It was overwhelming in the sweetest way possible.

“But wait for me,” his voice had softened. “Keep for me your sweetness. I will give you, too, a rose.”

The room fell so quiet that even the birds of Neverland ceased their singing. Then, in unison, the two of you drew a breath and released it at the same time, as if your lungs had synced on purpose, your hearts matched beat and oh God, his hand was still tracing shapes over yours.

“My turn,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

It didn’t take long to find the poem you had pored over endlessly. After the first night you had met this boy, someone who had managed to reinvent your world in the space of one hour, you had read these words over and over, finding relevance and bittersweet memories in every line. It was painfully familiar.

“We have lost even this twilight. No one saw us this evening, hand in hand, while the blue night dropped on the world. I have seen, from my window, the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.”

His fingertips started their motion again. You had to remember how to breathe before you could continue.

“Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand. I remembered you with my soul clenched in that sadness of mine that you know. What were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away?”

You ventured a glance past the book and saw him staring intently at you, eyes searching, searching, and then finding. You weren’t sure what he had been looking for but by the look in his eyes, you assumed he had found it. Your stomach fluttered.

“The book fell that always closed at twilight and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet. Always, always you recede through the evenings, toward the twilight erasing statues.”

A prolonged silence marked the end of Pablo Neruda’s words flowing between you and his hands wandered past the heel of your palm, pushing back the leather jacket that marked you as one of his circle to start tracing shapes against your wrist. An involuntary shiver travelled down your back.

“There’s this one that always reminds me of you.” He whispered.

“Read it to me.”

He flicked through the pages gently, as if afraid that a sound too loud would break the balance you two had created with so much poetry heavy in the air. Finally he found the desired page and you caught a glimpse of the title: Sonnet XVII. It was your favourite.

“I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.” By the first line, his voice had punctured the air like a golden arrow. It was boyish and youthful, soft, powerful and undeniably magic. Everything with Pan seemed to be touched by fairy dust.

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved: in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.”

You leaned closer to hear his words and revel in the atmosphere he created and so did he, an ever-present desire for closeness deep in his heart. Soon enough you were tucked against his side, hand on his chest as his voice created vibrations that tickled your palm. His arm draped gently over your waist and there you sat, knee to knee, hip to hip, side to side, as you listened and he read.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. So I love you because I know no other way than this: where I do not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.” 

The air crackled as he closed the book and set it down. His eyes went to you immediately and stayed there, searching for that same thing he had been looking for just a moment ago and staying locked on that. You slowly realized that he had found it with more ease this time. You had let your feelings become too obvious and it was time to stop being a child. Pulling away quickly, something in the air broke and the world started to spin again.

“I have to go. I promised I’d meet Nat at the Lagoon for a few drinks.” You stood, posture wooden, pretending to brush at your clothing to avert your eyes.

He stood too and as you looked up, you were astonished to see that he hadn’t closed down and exhibited his defense mechanism of lashing out. There was a soft smile still on his lips.

“Okay.” It was a simple but genuine reply and before you could realize the significance of that, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on your cheek, light enough to be the brush of a fairy’s wing. “Be safe, (Y/N).”

You could do nothing but smile as you nodded, pushing out of the screen door as your stomach tumbled like a clothes dryer.

Pablo Neruda would never be the same again.

“So you guys read poetry to each other…and still didn’t make out.” Daveed’s voice was disbelieving and you could see him cocking an eyebrow at you from where he sat.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, (Y/N), just jump his bones, it’s not that hard, I don’t see why-“

“Am I interrupting something?” Slightly grinned from the doorway, a messenger bag likely full of pages of writing draped over his shoulder.

“Nothing at all,” you replied, glad for another presence. “Come on in. Nibs was just being lecherous, as per usual.” 

“You know it,” Daveed grinned, shrugging shamelessly.

“Why am I not surprised?” Lin laughed, setting his stuff down before taking a seat next to you on the couch.

“Hey, don’t you put this all on me. (Y/N)’s the one who won’t take initiative.”

“Oh, sure, ‘take initiative’, is that what you call it now?” You sent Nibs a glare.

“Ah. Are we talking about the sensitive subject of Pan’s softening towards our newest member?” Lin added.

“See? See? Slightly sees it too!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” You gave a groan and fell sideways, head landing in Lin’s lap. He chuckled, reaching down to ruffle your hair.

“What? Trouble in paradise?”

“Lin, there is no paradise. Jesus, you guys just don’t get it.” You pouted.

Lin’s hands had began to smooth over your hair gently, not unlike a caring sibling would to quell your stressing fears. “(Y/N), reading poetry with Pan is pretty much as intimate as anyone has ever gotten with him. Ever.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” You groaned, about to huff but soothed by Lin’s touch against your hair.

“Sure. How about the fact that Slightly’s hair makes him look like one of the founding fathers?” Daveed grinned.

Wordlessly, Lin reached for a pillow and whipped it at him as you laughed, unable to stop your giggles.

“Fuck you, man. I like it long.”

“Totally. John Adams could only wish.”

Lin flipped him off with a huff. “Shut up. Besides, if I was any one of the founding fathers, it would be Washington, the guy was a badass. Do you guys have any idea what he-“

“No, we don’t, and we don’t want to.” Nibs interrupted, rolling his eyes.

As you giggled, Lin’s hand still tugging through your hair, a movement out of the corner of your eye pulled your attention.

Anthony swept through the door, a grin already in place on his mouth but it faltered as he caught sight of you, mid-laugh, looking quite comfortable on Slightly’s lap. What made it worse was that Lin had clearly made no attempt to curb that behavior and the sight of his hands brushing gently through your hair made Pan’s hands tighten into fists.

“Anthony, yo, what’s up man?” Daveed stood to reach out for a one-armed hug as a greeting. Pan went along with it half-heartedly.

“I…” he started, taking a breath before straightening. “I was just dropping by, wanted to see who was here. I should go.”

You frowned, sitting up from Lin’s lap as you fixed him with a curious look. “Why don’t you stay?”

“I’m just not feeling up to it, okay?” He threw back, a bit of bitterness leaking into his tone. You startled back, hurt and confused.

Daveed quirked an eyebrow, looking between Pan and you. “Oh…kay. Huh. Alright, well, see you around Anthony.”

Before Nibs could even finish his farewell, the screen door rattled closed and the room fell silent.

“What the hell was that all about?” You huffed.

“Oh, honey…” Daveed simpered, shaking his head. “You really don’t know?”

Lin sent you a sheepish smile. “I think he’s jealous. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make anything weird.”

“No, no it’s fine.” You breathed out, reassuring him with a half-hearted smile. “I should go explain.”

“Yeah, you should. Kiss him while you’re at it too, huh?” Daveed laughed.

You sent him a goodbye in the form of an affectionate middle finger before stepping out of the projection room, taking a breath of Neverland air that always seemed to be tinged with a sort of un-placeable sweetness.

Ahead you saw Anthony’s receding back, just about to enter the path that lead back to the highway. His pace was quick and you needed to jog to catch up but that started to become pointless too, so you called out.

“Anthony!” He didn’t turn at the sound of your voice but he did stop and that gave you enough time to make your way to his side. “Why did you leave like that? Is something wrong?”

The concern in your voice seemed to pull the tension from his shoulders and he deflated, looking down at the ground. “Just tell me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Did you read poetry with Slightly too?”

So he was jealous. A small smile turned the corners of your mouth up and you reached out to brush your hand against his, just barely, pinky against pinky. 

“No. No, I would never. What you saw back there was just friendliness. Nothing more.”

He took another breath then finally met your eyes and the relief that you found in his gaze both delighted and terrified you. Attachment could not be far behind and your heart quivered at the thought.

“Good.” He grinned. “Come on, I have something I wanted to show you, it’s what I came here to do.”

He reached and grasped your hand in his, a motion that seemed hauntingly familiar. It tingled an electric current through all your nerves, every limb of yours feeling a jolt of something you had never felt before. You followed happily, a part of you feeling terrifyingly satisfied with going with him anywhere he wished.

“Where are we going?” You questioned, eyebrow raised.

“It’s a surprise.” He shrugged, focusing forwards after a vague reply.

“Anthony, last time you showed me a surprise was-“

“Was when I showed you Neverland. And how did that work out?” He turned to you, raising an expectant eyebrow as a triumphant grin spread across his face.

“Okay, okay.” You resigned, pretending to grumble as a wave of curiosity and excitement rattled your stomach.

He took you down a path you had never seen before and the lack of familiarity delighted you. It was like taking a final plunge off a cliff’s edge or willingly throwing yourself into a dark room that you had no idea how to escape from. The possibilities became endless and soon there was nothing to concern yourself with other than Anthony’s presence and the forest around you. It wasn’t a long way to travel and after fifteen minutes of throwing banter back and forth, complete with a few Neruda references, you arrived at the mouth of a clearing. The grass seemed to thrive better in this area, becoming a healthier, deeper green. The trees seemed to take delight in the clear magic in the area, their branches reaching taller than any of the other pines in Neverland. Birds sang sweeter, the air was charged with a peacefulness that seemed to be balanced perfectly. Right in the centre of the clearing stood a huge stump, much too big for you and Anthony to wrap your arms around, even at full wingspan. It would have been a regular sight if it weren’t for the unmistakable glow that seemed to flow from every crevice and crack of the stump. Something inside was shining brightly and you weren’t exactly sure how the hell it could work but being a Lost Boy led you to leave logic far, far behind.

“I call this place Fairy Hollow,” Anthony smiled, voice returning to a shy softness.

“I can see why.” You sent him a smile, glancing to his face then back to the enchanting light that seemed to touch every surface in the clearing.

“Sometimes,” he whispered, eyes trained on you as if he couldn’t get them away. “You can hear music, if you listen really closely. It’s quiet.”

You nodded, following his advice immediately and nearly cutting off your own breath to keep the silence that suspended the clearing in a perfect sort of cradle. Frozen, the both of you waited with baited breath, not daring to speak a word. The only movement that could be visibly seen was the slow circles he traced into the back of your hand, your fingers still inevitably splayed into his.

You waited for a long time. Almost too long and you were considering giving up your temporary vow when suddenly you heard the first chords ring out, clear as day but whispered as if it the music was brought upon the wings of pixies. It was like the sound that came from music boxes with dancing ballerinas, or elegant carousels. The sound of a harp joined in. You turned to him, wonder glistening in your eyes and you found the exact same childish excitement in his gaze. Your grip tightened on his hand.

A string section seemed to join in and soon an entire symphony of melody was streaming from between the bark of what had just been an ordinary stump, the remainder of a tree. A choir started to sing and you didn’t wait to question such a phenomenon. It was only then that Anthony dared move again. He raised your clasped hands and stepped forward, his hand going to rest lightly on your waist. You, in turn, reached out and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder and soon enough he took a step back, leading you further into the clearing.

He bowed; you curtsied, unable to push away a smile. His hand reached out and you slid your palm into his, the warm of his touch creating a fire in your nerves. A smile from him reassured you that no previous experience was necessary. He stepped back, leading you and soon enough, you were engage in an airy waltz that felt like flying. Every step of his was planned out perfectly and with him leading you, nothing could go wrong. Each move was meaningful and as the music hit a crescendo he lifted you up, twirled you around with his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he set you down and you froze there, caught up endlessly in the way he looked at you, God he did that well. The clearing settled. The music faded.

“Anthony?” You could hardly dare to bring your voice above a whisper.

“Yes?” He grinned back. 

“Tell me,” you breathed. “What-What are we doing?”

He paused, cocking an eyebrow before looking down, remembering the way you had stepped, perfectly in time, at his side. “Flying.”

“No, I…I mean you and I.”

His face clouded over as you said that. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t even know myself,” you whispered, reaching out tentatively to brush a fingertip across his cheekbone. “But I think that if I were to tell you I love-“

“Love?” He spat the word, pulling away from you within a moment. Too soon, did he leave your arms, pulling with him the delightful warmth you had felt just moments ago. You froze, a rolling wave of hurt attacking your chest as you waited for his next words.

“I have never heard of it.” All at once, he had closed himself off. You were now dealing with Pan.

“I think you have, Anthony,” you pleaded, desperate for just a second longer of that sweet boy’s presence, the truth behind an enigma. “Perhaps for someone long ago, someone you felt for-“

“You don’t understand, (Y/N).” A tone of desperation leaked through the coldness of his voice. “Everyone leaves.”

Your heart gave a great ache. He had been hurt, and bad. “It doesn’t have to be that way. There is more than just-“

“More than just what? I showed you Neverland, I made you a Lost Boy, I took you on adventures. What more is there?” He stepped forward, despairing, pleading for an answer.

“You’re just a boy,” you whispered, realization washing over you. He was still so young.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anthony’s hands closed into fists, searching your eyes again but finding nothing.

“Anthony, I think…I think we need to grow up.” Even as you said the words they drilled holes in your heart. If only everything was as simple and innocent and magical as Anthony saw it.

“No,” he shook his head, creating further distance between the two of you. “No, you cannot make me.”

You plead with him silently, reaching out only to fall short as he flinched away. Slowly, your hands dropped and resignation fell like a rock into the pit of your stomach.

He stepped forward, gaze vulnerably soft for just a moment. “I want always to be a boy, and have fun.”

You closed your eyes and in a second saw so many possibilities: the adventures, the flying, and every bit of the world under the pad of your thumb. It was painful to watch.

“Then I can’t,” you shook your head, stepping toward the pathway. “I can’t be here.”

“Fine,” he threw back, arms crossed. “Leave, (Y/N), just like how everyone else does. You know what, while you’re at it, don’t bother coming back.”

You turned around, eyes bright with fury. “I will not be banished.” The statement took him by surprise but you ventured further. “Do whatever the hell you want with your Lost Boys, but there is a piece of Neverland that, whether you like it or not, belongs to me. You cannot keep me away from it.”

“Like hell I can’t. If you think-“ He was interrupted by Slightly’s voice.

“Pan!” His tone was despairing, searching. Something was wrong. Immediately, it took priority and your argument was left behind. “Pan!”

“What is it, Slightly?” Anthony replied, not even bothering to turn to his friend, fists clenched at his sides.

“Hook is here.” Lin was pale, out of breath and rattled. “He wants a fight.”

“How many of them?” Anthony asked, turning to face his comrade now.

“All of them. Pan, every single Pirate in town is here.” Slightly’s tone dipped with importance. “I think they want Neverland.”

[mosylufanfic]

The Permission Slip

Because @anghraine mentioned PTA AU, and her brain went one place and mine went another.

The Permission Slip

Jyn opened the door as quietly as possible and slid into the school library. Not that she really should have bothered with stealth. The big room echoed with chatter and laughter and suddenly, happy shrieking as something went pop!

She leaned her back against the wall, looking around. She vaguely remembered coming here on a long-ago Parent Night. At the time, the posters had been dusty and faded, the shelves looming, and the tables dirty. Not to mention a sour librarian who'd been quick to tell her that Lyra refused to stick to books at her grade level, and hadn't taken it well when Jyn had snapped back that maybe the librarian shouldn't be giving her kid boring-ass shit she didn't want to read.

Now it looked bright and warm, the tables all pushed together at one end, sunlight streaming in through the windows. The new librarian had been making changes. Impressive considering he split his time between here and the high school.

The top half of the shelves were empty, all the books moved down. She wondered where the rest of them had gone. Still, there were enough books to make her itchy. She'd kicked the dust of school off her Doc Martens ten years ago, and while she'd gotten her GED, she still wasn't a fan of scholastic environments in general.

Lyra, she reminded herself. She was here for Lyra. For Lyra, she’d walk over hot coals and swallow live scorpions and -

And take the afternoon off work to tell her kid’s school librarian a thing or two.

She examined one poster that said, "Join the Rebellion - Read!" with a picture of some cheesy sci-fi movie. Then she drifted over to study the certificates and photos mounted above the desk. The photos showed the same man, different ages, but always dressed in a cap and gown. The first one was the cheap plasticky gown that she remembered seeing in people's high-school graduation pictures. But they got progressively fancier until the last picture showed him in the heavy black gown and colorful hood of movie academics. She glanced at the diploma next to it. University of Arizona, Masters' of Library Science, it read.

She snorted.

He was pretty good-looking, though. When he smiled.

A couple of sharp claps brought her head around. At the tables, the older version of the man in the photos called out, "It's ten to five, ladies and gentleman, time to clean up!" He had a faint accent, an angle to the vowels and pressure on unexpected consonants. It was nice. "I want your wrappers in the trash, your crumbs swept up, and all your materials put away. Let's go, vamanos!"

Most of the teachers at Yavin K-8 were pretty casual, but he wore a button-down shirt with a tie. Who wore a tie anymore? And those shiny shoes. Jesus.

He looked around and his eyes met hers. His brows pulled together. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Mom!"  A tiny rocket in a blue t-shirt burst out of the crowd of kids, sprinted across the library, and slammed square into Jyn's side.

Jyn wrapped her arms around her nine-year-old daughter. "Heya, stardust."

"Where's Bodhi?" Lyra Erso's face scrunched. "Is he having one of his bad days?" she said wisely.

After two tours in Afghanistan, their neighbor and his PTSD had a hard time holding down a steady job, but he could usually manage to look after Lyra until Jyn got home from work. Jyn thought they probably traded off looking after each other, but she still paid Bodhi Rook a little money every week. It was cheaper than daycare, it supplemented his disability checks, and it kept CPS off her back. Wins all around as far as she was concerned.

Jyn brushed her daughter's hair out of her eyes. "No, he's just fine. He had some appointments at the VA today. Remember? I told you I was going to come pick you up."

"Ohhhh yeahhhhhh," Lyra said.

"Ohhhhh yeahhhhh," Jyn mocked her gently.

Lyra twisted around, then peeled herself away from Jyn's side to jump up and down, as if to catch the attention of the man already walking over. "Mr. Andor, Mr. Andor! This is my mom."

She suddenly wanted to tug at the frayed cuffs of her flannel shirt and check her worn cargo pants for dirt. She stiffened her spine. If a woman in honest work clothes wasn't fancy enough for him, screw him and his shiny shoes.

"Yes, I see that, Lyra." He held out his hand. "Cassian Andor."

"Jyn Erso," she said, shaking it. His hand was warm, and more callused than she would have expected from someone who read books for a living.

"Have you come to see what we do in Science Club?"

"Actually, I came to speak to you about this." She rooted in her back pocket and pulled a many-folded piece of paper out, unfolding it so he could see what it was.

Of course, he knew what it was; he'd sent it home two weeks ago.

His eyes dropped to the paper. She thought he might have sighed, but it also might have been her imagination.

"Of course," he said. "I have to supervise cleanup and walk the kids out to the late bus. But after that, I'd be happy to hear your concerns, if you don't mind waiting."

"I got nothing but time," she said.

His brow quirked, as if he could hear the sarcasm she thought she'd buried.

He turned to her daughter. "Lyra, go clean up your spot, please," he said. Without protest she dashed off. "No running!" he called out and shook his head.

"Lost cause," Jyn said. "She came out running and hasn't stopped since."

He looked over his shoulder with something that might have been a smile or might just have been a grimace, and turned back to the kids. Wading back into the fray, he called out, "Poe Dameron, this is not the soccer pitch. You go walk and put that trash in the trash can."

A curly-headed boy looked up with a giant, face-splitting grin. "Aaaaahhh, Señor - "

The librarian said something stern-sounding in Spanish. Poe sighed deeply, but didn't seem abashed in the least. When he dropped a ball of trash into the can, Andor paused in the middle of pulling a tiny pink jacket right-side-out to nod to him.

Jyn noticed that the small acknowledgement made the boy beam as if he'd just been handed the World Cup. Apparently her kid wasn't the only one who thought Mr. Andor had hung the moon.

Feeling extraneous, she looked around and found a chair behind the desk. She settled herself into it, watching him herd children toward the door. Lyra came dashing over again. "Mom, you're in Mr. Andor's chair."

"It's all right, Lyra," Mr. Andor said. "You can stay here with your mom while I take the others out, okay?"

"Okay!"

"I'll see you in a bit." He nodded at Jyn, then reached out and tapped Poe Dameron's shoulder. The boy, who'd been half-draped on the desk staring at the graduation pictures, blinked and grinned again, then rushed to follow Mr. Andor to the front of the line.

Jyn watched the other kids pile out after the librarian, all chattering and giggling and shoving and wiggling and generally being kids. He moved along at the front of the line as calm and cool as a shark with a school of guppies on his tail.

She turned to her daughter. "So, kid, tell me, how was school today?"

Jyn listened to Lyra telling her all about Science Club's latest experiment, and the math test she'd aced, and the deadly dull Social Studies lesson, so dull she'd wanted to fall out of her chair and diiiiiiiiiie. "Oh, and Kyle was being a total jerk to Poe on the playground so I tripped him."

"Did anybody see you?"

"Nope! And Kyle will never admit that a girl took him down, so it was the perfect crime."

"Good work." Jyn held up her hand for a high-five.

Mr. Andor came back in, sans guppies. "Thank you for waiting, ladies," he said. He went behind the desk and pulled out a giant, heavy book with a shiny foil cover that read Guinness World Records. "Lyra, this just came in. Would you like to sit over there and review it for me?"

Her eyes widened, and she took it like she was handling the Ark of the Covenant. Without a glance at Jyn, she took it to the set of tables across the library.

Mr. Andor pulled over another chair and sat down. "Now. How can I help you?"

Jyn tapped the permission slip. It was a list of book titles and a short block of text at the bottom, telling her that she could choose to allow or deny her daughter the privilege of checking some or all of them out from the library. "Like I said. It's this. I'd like to know where you get off, sending something like this home."

He said smoothly, "Mrs. Erso - "

"Ms," she snapped. "Never married, don't care to be."

"Ms Erso," he said. "The books on this list are recent additions to the library." He waved his hand at a shelf behind them, lined with shiny-new volumes. "They are here for your review, if you choose. If you would rather Lyra not have access to them, all you have to do is sign the second line - "

"Lyra is getting access to every book on this list, and every book in this goddamn library. The ones you haven't managed to throw away." She glared narrow-eyed around her, the empty shelves suddenly sinister. "What is this bullshit?"

"We're in a school, Ms. Erso, please don't curse." He studied her. "You want her to read these? You know the topics?"

"Do I know the topic of this book?" She poked at one of the titles, which was It's Perfectly Normal: Changing Bodies, Growing Up, Sex, and Sexual Health. "Uh, yeah, I think I can sound out all the words."

"It's just that all the parents who have already spoken to me would rather - "

"Listen, bub, attitudes like that are how Lyra got here. My foster parents told me all the contraception I needed was abstinence, and you see how that worked out for the two of us." She crossed her arms. "I wouldn't trade my kid in for all the gold in Fort Knox, but I also don't want her knocked up before she's legal to vote, like I was. Now maybe that's how you get your jollies, but locking information about her own damn body and how it works into a vault is the opposite of helpful. I don't know the stats - "

"I do," he said.

"Okay, so you know this stuff is basic as hell - "

"Ms. Erso, please - "

"My kid's heard worse and she's the only one here. This stuff is basic as hell. What happens when she wants to know about things you can't even bring yourself to buy a book for? Sex isn't a dirty word, Mr. Andor. In fact, done right it's a whole hell of a lot of fun. But I wouldn't expect you to know that."

He didn't rise to the challenge, at least not with words. But he shot her a single, sizzling glance that made every nerve in her body leap to attention.

Holy shit. A librarian should not be able to look at a woman like that.

While she was still trying to battle back her blush, he said, "As it happens, Ms. Erso, I agree. Every child in this school should have access to these books, to information about their body and their health." He tapped the paper. "This is bullshit."

She blinked at him.

"But this is the bullshit compromise I've managed to drag out of my principal after six months of fighting to be able to buy these books in the first place."

All she could think to say was, "You shouldn't have settled."

"Six months ago, I would have agreed. But would you like to hear some of the other things I'm fighting for?" Without waiting for her answer, he ticked them off on his fingers. "A budget that's not a wad of singles and a coupon to Borders. Permission for a special ESL collection at both schools. Weeding and updating two libraries that still had books about East and West Germany. Computers that aren't from the 20th century. And did I mention the budget? Of course I care about access to information. It's one of the things I care about the most. But right now, I've got to fight the battles I can win." His eyes dropped to the paper again. "Unfortunately, this, I have to count as a win."

She screwed up her mouth. "So your principal is the one I need to be raking over the coals."

"Principal Draven's not a bad man. He's fighting his own battles, is all. It was quite a concession he made, considering this whole thing might be a moot point next month."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know if you've seen the agenda for the next school board meeting - "

"Hey, buddy, I'm a little busy working my ass off trying to keep food on the table and a roof over my kid's head. I don't have time to read every flyer and email that gets sent home."

"Even if you did, you might have missed it. They've been very quiet about the whole thing."

"What whole thing?"

"At the next meeting in three weeks, the school board is going to vote on an abstinence-only sex education policy for all the schools in Scarif County."

Her mouth fell open. "Fuck that noise!"

Across the library, Lyra looked up, her brows crinkled warily. She'd heard Jyn swear before, of course. Pretty much since birth. But she knew her mom's mad voice.

"It's okay, baby," Jyn called to her. "Just talking. Go back to your book."

Lyra, not actually stupid, looked at Cassian, who gave her a little nod. She went back to her book, shaking her head at the mysterious ways of grown-ups.

Jyn said, "How long have you known about this?"

"Since a faculty meeting at the high school last week."

"And? What are you doing about it?"

"There are some teachers besides me who object. There's one, Leia Organa - she teaches government and history, and oversees the debate team. She's working with her kids to speak at the meeting. But the parents are a harder sell. A lot of them think abstinence-only is the way to go. More so at this age." He waved a hand around the library. "And the ones that don't, well, they don't think they can win the fight."

She pressed her hand to her stomach. "So it's just going to happen."

"It's certainly not going to be brought down by a few teachers." He gave her a long, considering look. "What this really needs is a parent to speak up, and a whole lot of parents behind her."

"Oh," she said. "Wait. Uh-uh. You're not volunteering me for this."

"Why not? You had no problem getting in my face. You were even looking forward to spitting in the principal's eye. What's the problem staring down a school board?"

"It's different," she mumbled. "And it's not just that. You're talking about me going out and, like, inspiring people - I'm not inspirational, okay? I don't have a herd of Facebook mommy friends to whip into a frenzy. I go to work, I hang with my kid, sometimes I drink with my neighbor, and I go to sleep. That's my exciting life. I'm not a hero."

"Don't you know anybody who might be slightly concerned?"

She fiddled with a button on her shirt. "The whole school district is going to adopt this policy?"

"The whole school district. K through twelve."

"My bosses," she said slowly. "They have a foster son up at the high school. You might know him - Finn? Shit, I can never remember his last name. Good-looking black kid?"

"Junior? Transferred in at Christmas? Attached by the hand to Rey Skywalker?" When she nodded, he nodded too. "He's a good kid."

"Considering everything, he's a great kid. Anyway, his foster dads, Chirrut and Baze, they lived in San Francisco during the AIDS epidemic. You wanna talk some war stories. Not to mention, the way they're going, their son and Rey aren't going to stop at hands. They'd probably have something to say about sex ed."

"Okay," he said. "It's a start."

She rubbed her hand over her mouth. Oh, Christ. She was going to do this. How had he talked her into this?

"Do you think this can be done?" she asked him. "You think we can actually yell loud enough to keep this backwards, Puritanical garbage out?"

"I don't know," he admitted frankly. "There's a lot of support on the other side. Plenty of parents, and the big church in town - but I'll tell you what." He leaned forward a little. His hair fell over his forehead and he suddenly looked five years younger. "I like our chances better than I did half an hour ago."

She found herself smiling. He smiled back.

"I have to warn you," he said. "I don't have a lot of personal clout with the school board. Half of them think I'm overpaid and overqualified, and my contract is only for this year. I'm going to do my best work behind the scenes."

"I'll take that," she said. "I'll take whatever you got."

"You're welcome to it."

She found herself asking, "Would you like to come home with me?"

His eyes went wide. "I - uh - I don't think that - "

She squinted at him, then played back her own words and gulped. "Oh my god! I meant for a strategy session over mac and cheese, not - " She stole a glance at Lyra. She was still nose-deep in the book. Still, Jyn lowered her voice. "Not to play the beast with two backs while my kid is in the next room. What the hell do you think of me?"

"I have no idea what to think of you," he said. He'd gone red, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Join the club," she said. "They have t-shirts."

He snorted, very softly, in a way that was almost a laugh.

She rubbed her palms over the knees of her cargo pants. She suspected that she wouldn't have been half so embarrassed if the idea hadn't sounded quite so amazing. She wondered if that was why he'd reacted the way he had

"Look," she said. "You said you know the stats. You sound like you know the players, too. I don't know any of that. And I don't know where to start."

"And we only have three weeks."

"Exactly. So? Mac and cheese and plotting the downfall of the school board?"

"That sounds . . ." He nodded a couple of times, then met her eyes. "Yes. I would like that."

"Good," she said, scrawling her address on a scrap of paper and handing it to him. "Because that's all that's on offer." She looked at him through her lashes. "At the moment."

His eyebrows went up, and just when she thought he was going to poker up on her again, he grinned. It wasn't the triumphant smile of his graduation pictures, or the supportive smile of a few minutes ago, but something sly and sexy and - oh. Oh wow. She might be in over her head.

Her favorite place to be.

She went across the room to tug at her daughter's ponytail. "Hey, kid," she said. "Turn your book back in and grab your stuff. We're bugging out."

"Awww," Lyra said, but she shut the book and carried it to the desk. Cassian - when had she started thinking of him as Cassian? - waved at her from his office, where he was shutting down his computer and packing books and folders into a satchel.

Jyn felt heat touch her cheeks again as their eyes met, and she looked away first, glancing down at her daughter as she wrestled with her backpack.

"Hey, so, um. Mr. Andor's coming over for dinner. Is that going to be weird?"

"Wait, what? Really?" Lyra bounced with excitement, then stopped and peered up at her. "Why?"

"He's going to help me with - uh - with a project. Boring, grownup stuff."

"Do I have to help?"

Jyn ruffled her hair. "Not tonight. You focus on your homework."

Lyra flicked her bangs out of her eyes. "Are you going to start making trouble, Mom?"

"Probably."

She grinned. "Awesome."

"Seriously?"

"Bodhi says you've been cruising too long. He says everyone needs to cause trouble now and then."

She thought of the fight ahead of her, and found herself smiling. "Bodhi may not be wrong."

It took many, many strategy meetings, about a billion emails and phone calls, enough stats and studies to choke a horse, and even a few Saturdays going door to door. But the vote on abstinence-only in Scarif County was deferred twice and finally, definitively struck down in favor of a more comprehensive sex-ed program. Not perfect - what was? - but not as bad as simply telling kids not to do something they were going to do anyway.

After the third, victorious meeting, some said that they'd spotted the school librarian and the fiery parent that had led the charge against the proposal, making out against his car like a couple of horny teenagers.

Even if they were, Leia Organa said, so what? They were adults.

FINIS

[gray-autumn-sky]

Meant to Be Yours, Chapter 19

Robin, Regina and the boys fall into familiar new routines; and Regina’s nightmares persist as she struggles to find a way to break the curse. All the while Valentine’s comes and goes.

For the anon who requested Robin and Regina dancing to “Can’t Help Falling in Love with you; and for @restrainedubiquity who requested Robin teaching Henry to dance (with Regina). Also, for @trina-deckers who requested a little Mal. While Mal doesn’t make an appearance, she (and DQ) are mentioned fondly.

Previous chapters can be found HERE; and the Valentine’s portions of this chapter might be a bit more clear if you read Valentine’s Past beforehand.

It was a typical Tuesday. Regina had picked up Henry from school after tutoring, and they’d gone to the grocery store. He helped her pick out the things on her list—running excitedly down the aisles in a way that always humored her and standing on the back of the cart as she wheeled him to the next item. And when they got home, they started preparing for dinner, waiting for Robin and Roland to arrive.

They chatted about the day. Henry told her all about a game of Red Rover that was played at recess and how he’d enjoyed the roast beef sandwich she’d made him for lunch and how one of his friends offered to trade a pizza Lunchable for it—something she’d come to know was pure gold in the third grade world. But when she’d asked about school itself, he’d sighed and shook his head, and he told her he didn’t want to talk about it just then. She pressed further and he offered her a lopsided little grin and ensured her everything was fine as he shifted uncomfortably—and before she could  ask again, there was a light knock at the door.

Once Roland and Robin arrived—with overnight bags in hand—everyone’s attention shifted to dinner. Roland was hungry and Robin brought a cake, and Henry was all too happy to help him frost it. And when dinner was ready, the boys set the table as Robin and Regina plated the food—and then it was time for clean-up and desert.

Robin cut slices of cake for the boys as Regina started to rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher, and once they were happily enjoying their cake, he turned to the sink to help her. She grinned as his hip knocked against hers, gently pushing her away from the sink, and taking over the rinsing so that she could focus on loading—and when he picked up a particularly grimy pan that would take more than a light rise to clean off, she looked back over her shoulder at the boys, still enjoying their cake.

“You never told me what happened at school today,” Regina says as her eyes focus on Henry and Robin reaches for a scrub brush. “You said we’d talk about it later, but... we haven’t.”

Henry sighs as he looks up from his slice of cake and his eyes roll. “We started something new in Language Arts today.”

“But that’s your favorite subject…”

Henry nods and sighs again—and this time his eyes roll, earning a soft chuckle from Robin. “Ms. Blanchard is making us do a unit on fairy tales,” he says as Regina’s eyes slide to Robin and his to her. “It’s going to be all… stupid princess and royal balls and gross kisses at midnight.”

Regina feels her stomach clench as her jaw tightens. “Well, not… all fairy tales are like that.”

“No,” Robin interjects. “There are stories of dragons and ogres and…”

Henry’s arms fold skeptically over his chest. “Not the ones Ms. Blanchard will pick,” he tells them. “You should have seen her. She was all starry eyed and…” Instinctively, Regina’s eyes roll—she knows the exact look he’s talk about. “…and she told us today that we’re going to have a cotillion.”

“That’s so cool,” Roland cuts in, his mouth full of cake. “I wish my class was getting one.”

Henry’s eyes narrow as he turned his attention to Roland. “What?”

“It’d be so cool to have one as a class pet!”

Henry blinks and in spite of her churning stomach, she feels a giggle bubbling in her chest. “I… don’t think you know what a cotillion is.”

“Yes, I do,” Roland says, looking between them all. “It’s like a lizard that changes colors and stuff.”

Robin laughs out. “That’s a chameleon, Roland, not a cotillion. A cotillion is like a… dance.”

“Like the chicken dance?”

“No,” Robin says, still laughing as he shakes his head. “Like… a ball. Like the one in Cinderella.”

“Oh,” Roland murmurs as Henry sighs. “Ewww.”

“Maybe it… won’t be so bad,” Regina says, reaching for the dishwasher soap as she takes a breath and looks to Henry. “This might be like the Thanksgiving Play. You didn’t think you’d have fun at that, and… then you did.”

“I… don’t think so,” he says as he stabs is fork into his cake. “I… have to dance with a girl.”

“Ewww,” Roland says again as he bites into his cake. “I’m sorry.”

Regina turns the dial on the dishwasher and then wipes her hands on one of the cloths as Robin leans forward, placing his elbows beside Henry’s cake. “Which girl?”

“Paige.”

“The one who sits at your table?”

Henry nods and his cheeks flush, “Yeah, she’s really nice… and pretty.”

“Then why don’t you want to dance with her?”

“Because,” he sighs, his brow creasing as Regina’s finger dips into the frosting of his cake and Roland giggles. “I… don’t know how to dance. She takes ballet classes. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

Before she can assure him that he’ll likely learn at school and that Paige probably doesn’t know how to do this particular dance either, a smile stretches across Robin’s lips. “Well, it’s a good thing that I do.” He offers Regina a wink as he pulls Henry off his stool. “I’ll teach you.”

“Now?” Henry asks with wide eyes as he reaches for his cake. “Don’t you have to… I don’t know… wait an hour after eating or something?”

“That’s swimming,” Robin laughs as he reaches for Roland. “Come on…”

Regina follows watches as the boys stand in the center of her living room and Robin pushes aside the furniture, looking doubtfully between each other. She leans against the frame of the doorway, the knot in her stomach loosening as Robin moves to the stereo and selects something to play.

“This sounds like the music at the dentist,” Roland mutters, scrunching his nose as he looks to Henry, who only shrugs.

“Turn toward each other,” Robin tells them—and she watches the boys exchange glances.

“I… don’t see why I have to learn to dance,” Roland says. “I’m not the one having a chameleon.”

“Cotillion.”

“Whatever.”

“Roland’s not a girl, anyway,” Henry says slowly, as he between Roland and Robin. “I need to know how to dance with a girl. It’s… different.”

Robin sighs as his eyes shift to Regina, and she watches as a warm grin pulls onto his lips. “Your mom’s a girl. Would you dance with her?”

“I’d even dance with her,” Roland says as he flops back onto the couch.

Henry giggles a bit and nods, and he turns to watch Regina come into the room. “I’m… not very good at this,” she tells them. “It’s been… a very long time since I’ve danced with anyone and I’m not sure that I remember how.”

“It just so happens I am a very good teacher.”

“That’s true,” Henry says with a nod. “He did the impossible. He taught me long division.”

“He also taught me how to shoot an arrow without hurting anyone,” Roland adds.

Regina laughs as her hands slide over Henry’s shoulders, giving them a little squeeze. “Okay, teach away.”

She grins down at Henry as he looks to Robin. “So, the first thing, you don’t want to get too close,” he says. “My mother used to tell me there should be enough room for her between me and the young lady I was dancing with…”

“Your… mother taught you to dance?” She asks, rhetorically as her heart flutters a little at the thought of Robin as a boy in Sherwood Forest, leaning to dance by standing on his mother’s feet and holding onto her apron strings. “That’s… so sweet.”

“I… hated it then, but those are very fond memories now,” he tells her with a wink, before turning his attention back to Henry. “So, take a step back.” Henry does as he’s told and then looks between them, as Robin nods. “Good, now hold out your left arm,” he says, his eyes sliding to Regina. “You, too.”

“Oh… right,” she murmurs as she presses her hand to Henry’s and her fingers lace down through his. “And my other hand goes around his shoulder…”

“Yes, exactly.” Henry grins a little awkwardly as he blinks up at her, and Robin situates his other hand on her waist. “Now, you have to act as a guide.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Step forward, and you…”

“Step back,” Regina injects with a grin. “I remember.”

“Good,” Robin says, watching as Henry steps. “Now left…” Henry giggles and looks down at his feet. “And back, the right and…” Robin laughs a little as Henry concentrates on his feet. “You’re doing great, now… again. Forward, left, back and right… there you go.”

Henry smiles up at her—and she finds him unexpectedly bright-eyed, and for that moment, it’s so easy to get lost in his happy smile.

____

Regina falls asleep easily—Robin is breathing rhythmically at her side, and down the hall Henry and Roland are tucked in. As she drifts to sleep, thinks of Henry’s giggle as they slowly moved around the carpet—and in spite of everything looming, she’s glad that the most troubling thing in his day was worrying about impressing a little girl in his class.

Her eyes flutter open and she squints, feeling a rush of cool air—and when her eyes adjust to the dark, she’s no longer in her bedroom. Swallowing hard, she looks around in search of Robin, but he’s not there with her—and she can’t help but think that has to be a mistake. She takes a few steps forward, and it’s only then that she feels the weight of whatever it is that she’s wearing—and her hands begin to explore, feeling over the thick, scratchy tulle of a full skirt.

It doesn’t make sense—none of it makes sense—and she feels a sense of panic seeping in. She looks around wildly in search of someone—and she takes another step—and then her foot touches to something firm. Letting out a shaky breath, she presses her eyes closed—and when they open again, her breath catches in her throat, and she takes in the carnage.

There are bodies everywhere—bloody and lifeless—and smoldering flames in the distance. There’s not a sound to be heard outside of herself—the fast-paced thumping of her heart and the little whimpers that escape her as she makes her way through what seems like a sea of lifeless bodies. Tears fill her eyes as she realizes what she’s done—and then she hears a rustling.

Spinning in the direction of the noise, her eyes search the darkness, looking for some sign of life, some glimmer of hope. She moves toward the sound, still not seeing anything or anyone, and she pray to any higher being that might be listening—but for what, she doesn’t know.

“Don’t hurt me,” says a familiar little, distant voice. “Please.”

Her heart sinks as she turns her head sharply—and a few feet away from her, she sees a terrified little boy, staring back at her with tears shimmering in his hazel eyes.

“Henry!” She calls, reaching out into the darkness for a boy who isn’t actually there. Her heart races as she looks around the bedroom, watching the way the moonlight streams in through the window and illuminates a patch of carpet. Taking a deep breath, she feels tears flood her eyes, haunted by the fearful way Henry had looked at her. Lying back, she lets out a shaky breath—and then the lamp turns on.

“Hey,” Robin murmurs groggily, as he rolls onto his side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…”

“Had a nightmare,” he supplies as she nods. “Come here.” She slides toward him and he rolls onto his back, pulling her down into his chest as his arms wrap around her. He drops a couple of kisses over the top of her head and his hands rub up and down her back. “You’re okay,” he tells her. “It was just a dream.”

“But… it… it wasn’t,” she admits in a small voice. “It was… a memory.”

“Ah…”

“But Henry was there and he… he saw what I’d done and he…”

“Shhh…”

“He was so afraid.”

“It’s okay,” he says again. “Memory or not, it wasn’t real.”

“But…”

“Shh…” He murmurs as his hand slips to the small of her back. “It’s over now.” He presses a kiss to her hair, and holds her for a minute or two. Her eyes close and she listens to the soft beat of his heart—and there’s something so soothing about having him so near. “Per Henry’s instructions, I am supposed to take you down to the kitchen and warm up some milk and honey.”

“That is how we generally treat nightmares around here,” she murmurs quietly. “But, you don’t have to…”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I will.”

A small smile edges onto her lips as she tips her head up. “This is making me feel better.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “How, um… how of often does this happen?”

“I… don’t know,” she lies, not wanting to admit that she barely remembers the last time she had more than one full night’s rest. “Occasionally.”

“Once, twice? Nightly?”

She blinks and looks away, pressing her head back to his chest to listen to his heart beat. “Something like that...”

“And… what do you do?”

“Try to go back to sleep,” she admits quietly. “Sometimes Henry’s up—that’s when we have milk and talk—but mostly, I just try to go back to sleep.”

“Does that work?”

“No.”

He sighs and hugs her a little tighter. “Call me.”

“What?”

“The next time this happens, if I’m not here, I want you to call me.”

Lifting her head, she rests her chin on his chest. “I can’t do that. I can’t just wake you up every…”

“I want you to,” he cuts in. “You… shouldn’t have to suffer in silence.” He grins a little and combs his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I love you. I want to help.”

“I love you, too,” she murmurs, “But… I just…”

“Let me help.” With a sigh, she nods and lies back down against him. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about… something else?”

“Sure,” she breathes out, pressing her eyes closed. “Talk about something.”

“Okay,” he begins in a tentative voice—and then she feels a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “We could talk about the birthday you had last week that you didn’t tell anyone about.” Her head lifts and her eyes widen—she didn’t know that he knew—and before she can ask, a grin tugs up from the corners of his mouth. “I read your story, remember? And, I took notes.”

“You… took notes.”

“Yes,” he says with a nod, “Because as much as I love and trust you, I’ve come to realize that when it comes to information about yourself, you are often an unreliable courier of information.”

“I… am not.”

“You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt, you always see just the bad and you always ignore the good…” She lifts his head to protest, but his finger presses to her lips. “All I’m saying is that you’re hard on yourself.” He grins. “Though it would have been nice to spoil you for day, I… think I understand why you didn’t want to celebrate.”

“It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to, I just… after all these years of living under the curse, things like birthdays stopped mattering.” Robin nods and she sighs a little. “But I have to admit, even though no one knew, I had a pretty fantastic birthday this year.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says as a small grin creeps onto her lips. “You and Roland were over for dinner and we had apple pie, and… I got to pick the movie… and…” she laughs a little, “I couldn’t have asked for better birthday.”

“I’m glad,” he murmurs as he leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead. “And I suppose I could find another day to spoil you… perhaps on Valentine’s Day?” Her eyes widen a little. “Is it okay that I made reservations?”

“Oh, I… I don’t know that I want to leave…”

“I made lunch reservations,” he cuts in to clarify. “I was thinking that since it’s a Friday and I don’t have to tutor, we could both take the afternoon off and celebrate together, and then we could pick up the boys and celebrate with them after school.” His grin brightens. “We could make heart shaped pasta and caprice salad and… decorate sugar cookies with them and…” His voice trails off. “What do you think?”

“I… think that sounds perfect.”

“Then, it’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” she says, as she inhales a long breath, then slowly exhales it as she cuddles back into him. “Robin,” she asks after a few minutes. “Can you… keep talking?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies without questioning it, “Whatever you want.”

Closing her eyes, she takes long breaths, slowly releasing them as she listens. His voice is soothing and his touches methodical, and she can’t help but feel comforted—and there’s something so freeing in that. For so long, she’d considered the nightmares that tormented her night after night to be her penance; they were the price she paid for her sins—and thought she didn’t necessarily disagree with that, the temptation of Robin’s comfort was too great, and she was too weak to resist it.

His words bled together as her eyes grew tired, and felt herself drifting back to sleep, no longer feeling guilty or afraid. She felt Robin’s hand stop as he pulled himself up a little and her eyes fluttered, just as the door pushed open.

“Mom?”

“Henry,” she murmurs, pulling herself up.

“I saw the light on and…” he fidgets in the door way as he looks between her and Robin. “And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shakes his head and before she can say anything else, Robin pulls back the covers and pats the bed. Henry hesitates for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip as a warm smile stretches onto Robin’s lips. She looks from Henry to Robin, then back again, watching as Henry takes a tentative step forward. She slides away from Robin as he reaches for Henry, lifting him into the bed and settling him in the center. Immediately, Regina’s arms wrap around him and he cuddles into her. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Positive,” he says in a decisive voice as he cuddles closer. “Can I sleep in here?”

“Of course…” Regina murmurs glancing over the top of Henry’s head and grinning appreciatively at Robin, who offers her a wink before rolling over and turning off the lamp.

Her cheek rests atop Henry’s head and she traces circles against his flannel clad back—and finally, she feels his breathing even out, and finally, she can close her eyes—then, just as she does, the door creeks open again.

“Why is everyone in here?” Roland asks as he walks to the center of the bed.

Robin sighs, then laughs; and once again, he peels back the covers and pats the bed—but before he can lift Roland, Roland jumps onto the bed, and neither she nor Robin can keep themselves from laughing.

____

She’s lost track of the hours she’s spent in Archie’s office—hours waiting and in session, hours pacing in front of his office building, hours wondering just how much she could reveal without sounding too crazy, even for a psychiatrist. Though, in spite of never being truly honest with him in their sessions—never revealing the source of her nightmares or the sordid past that plagued her even in her waking hours—they’d helped.

And she reminded herself of that every time she sat in Archie’s waiting room, waiting for Henry.

Finally the door opened and Archie led Henry out, and they both offered her a little smile—and she felt a small pang of guilt as she smiled back and held out her hand to her son. He took it easily, his little fingers folding around her palm as Archie waved goodbye, and chattered on about his session, not really telling her much and focusing on irrelevant details—and not at all aware that the next morning, she’d be back in Archie office to go over his notes, just as she had after each of his sessions. In some ways, that felt like a betrayal of trust—Henry believed that his sessions were private, that what he told Archie stayed between the two of them—but she was far too concerned to be kept out of the loop; and, as she often reminded herself, these Thursday morning meetings had been Archie’s suggestion, not hers.

“So,” she cuts in as they step outside, “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“I’m starving,” he tells her, as he pulls his hat down around his ears. “I’ll eat anything.”

“I’m pretty hungry too,” she replies, casting her eyes down Main Street. “Do you want Granny’s? We have…”

“I always want Granny’s,” he interjects, offering her a wide grin. “Can I get a milkshake?”

“Sure…”

Henry swings their hands back and forth as they walk toward the diner, and he fills in her on everything that happened in his day. He tells her about the Valentine’s art project they got to do—explaining that he chose to paint his hearts green because he chose a black background, and decided that meant they were alien hearts—and then he seamlessly transitions into other stories. He tells about a spelling test that he got an A on, and he tells her about the kickball game they played in gym—and heart beat skips when informs that he didn’t cry when he skinned his knee.

When they get to the diner, he runs ahead of her, claiming a booth in front of the window. Ruby hands her two menus and sets two glasses of water down on the table, letting them know she’ll be back in a few minutes to take their order.

“Did… anything else happen at school?” She asks, handing him a menu, not want to ask directly about the fairy tale unit his class was supposed to start—and she hadn’t quite made up her mind about how she felt about it. “Maybe something you… weren’t really looking forward to?”

Henry blinks a few times as he considers—and then his eyes light up. “Oh, yeah!” He exclaims as he turns away from her and reaches into his backpack. “I got my math test back today,” he says, turning back to her and handing her a folded piece of paper, that slowly takes from him. “Look.”

She watches him as she unfolds the paper, and then, her eyes cast down—and immediately, her breath hitches in her throat. At the top of the test next to his name, in pink glittery ink is an 80%, with a smiley face in the center of the zero. There’s a sticker on the page with a little note—also written in pink glitter—and the note is full of compliments and praise. Taking a breath, she reads it a second time—and no matter what history she and Snow White have, she’ll never be able to thank her enough for caring about Henry the way that she does.

“I got a Batman sticker,” he says, almost shyly.

“I see that,” she replies, taking a breath and laughing a little as she fights back proud tears. “This is going on the refrigerator when we get home.”

Henry giggles. “Is there room?”

“We’ll make room.”

He giggles again as Ruby come back to the table, a pen and notepad in hand, ready to take their order—and Regina laughs as Henry orders a cheeseburger, fries and a milkshake, and then lowers his voice and asks for extra whipped cream. Ruby offers him a wink and tells him she’ll see what she can do, and then turns to Regina to take her order.

Henry continues to tell her about his day, all through dinner; and not once, does he make a mention of fairy tales. By the time they’re done and the bill is paid, the sky is dark, making it seem much later than it is. Henry takes her hand again, as they walk back to her car at City Hall, swinging it back and forth as he goes on about how excited he is to start The Goblet of Fire—and how he thinks this might be his favorite. She reminds him that he’s said that about all of the Harry Potter books, and he just giggles, unconcerned with that particular detail.

As they pass a mailbox, Regina stops and reaches into her purse, carefully drawing out an envelope and concealing the front of it with her gloved hand. She drops it into the mailbox quickly and she’s glad when Henry doesn’t ask about it as they turn toward the parking lot in front of City Hall.

“Mom?” He asks in a suddenly tentative voice as they reach the car. “I… need to tell you something.” Regina blinks, and looks over at him as she unlocks the car, opening his side first. “Dr. Hopper said I should tell you… that… that I made up my mind about what I want to do.”

“What you want to do…” she repeats, not quite following. “What do you mean?”

“I… I think I… I want to… meet her,” he says as he fumbles with his fingers and focuses his attention at his feet. “I mean, I just… I think…”

“Her,” Regina repeats, her stomach suddenly tightening. “You mean your birth mother?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…”

“Is that still okay?” He asks, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Because if it’s not then I don’t want…”

“No, no, no,” she cuts in. “It’s still okay.”

“You’re sure?” A small smile tugs onto her lips, and she nods. “Dr. Hopper thinks that… that it might give me closure.”

Regina takes a short breath, and again finds herself nodding. “It might.”

“You’re not… mad?”

“No,” she says, crouching down in front of him. “I’m not mad.” Taking his hands in hers, she gives them a squeeze and then presses a kiss to his cheek. “Tomorrow I’ll see if I can get in touch with her, okay?” Henry nods, and she can see that he’s still unsure. “But, I want you to know that… she might not want to.”

“I know,” he says. “Dr. Hopper said that, too.”

“You have a closed adoption…”

“I know,” he says again. “I just… want to try.”

“Then we’ll try,” she tells him simply, leaning in once more to kiss him. “Now, let’s go home—with any luck, we can get two chapters in tonight.”  She offers him a wink as she stands up and her stomach tightens yet again as a small smile edges onto Henry’s lips.

_____

She couldn’t help the yawn that escaped her as she turned the page of an old leather bound book—a book that made her smile for all the wrong reasons. It seemed like a life time ago Maleficent had given it to her—a gift of encouragement at the beginning of their too-brief love affair, and a book filled with old magic and obscure spells. She remembers the way she poured over the handwritten pages, admiring the way the ink looked on the parchment and the gold-edged pages; and remembering the heartening way Maleficent explained, how they’d practiced and how she’d slowly found herself believing that all the answers could be found in magic.

But eventually, just like their love affair, magic lost a bit of its shiny allure—and she was no longer sure it could be her salvation; and just as she’d realized then, she now realized she’d found yet another dead end and another promising spark extinguished.

Feeling her frustration bubbling up, she took a long, deep breath and pushed the book away—and from the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the little clock in the corner of her computer screen. And a slight smile begins to tug onto her lips.

The night before she and Robin had spent about hour or so on the phone, planning out their Valentine’s Day. He’d kept laughing about their lack of spontaneity and she’d kept insisting she found the careful planning he always put into their time together sweet—and admittedly, a bit of a relief.

He’d made reservations at the Chop House a few buildings down from his shop, and they’d agreed to meet there just before noon—and then, she asked if he’d want to go back to her house for a little alone time. She’d barely been able to contain her smile as she asked him—and in his voice, she could almost hear that he was smiling, too. For the first time in her life, she’d bought a matching set of lingerie that was someone else was meant to see—and her smile deepened as she thought of Robin’s expression when he saw her in it—and the effect it might have. Then of course, they’d pick up the boys from school and spend the rest of the evening eating heart-shaped pasta for dinner and frosting sugar cookies as a movie that one of the boys picked out played.

And she could hardly wait for any of it.

Rolling her shoulders she got up from behind her desk, stretching out her arms as another yawn escaped her—and once more, she tried to push away her exhaustion. The night before, Henry had gone to bed early with a headache; and then, a few hours later, he awoke breathless and in tears. She’d gotten up with him and crawled into his bed, and they read together for a little while. Eventually, Henry fell asleep, cuddled into her side and stretched out on the small twin bed, and she’d lied beside him, awkwardly formed around him, awake with wandering thoughts—and then suddenly, it was morning.

“Knock, knock,” Robin’s voice calls as his head pokes into the door and a smile stretches across his lips. “You ready?”

“I… thought I was meeting you at the restaurant,” she replies, as her eyes widen in surprise. “We decided…”

“I know, I know,” he tells her with a nod. “That was the plan, but.. I thought it’d be nice to walk together.”

“Oh…”

“It’s nice out today, and…” he chuckles softly as he steps into the office, holding out a long-stem rose. “And I couldn’t handle John’s pathetic attempts at finding a last-minute date.” He shakes his head. “He’s resorted on hitting on customers and giving them coupons. They’re grateful for the coupons, but… not as grateful for the rest of it.”

She laughs a little as she takes the rose, smelling it as her cheeks flush slightly. “Poor John.”

“I have something for you…”

Her eyes widen a little. “We agreed no gifts.”

“It’s… not really a gift, exactly,” Robin says as his smile brightens as he draws out a little red box. “It’s just… a little something I’ve been wanting to give you, and… today seemed like a perfect day to finally do it.”

“Robin…”

“It’s nothing…”

Her eyebrow arches as she lifts off the top—and a smile curls onto her lips. “It’s a key.”

“It is a key,” he says as her eyes cast up to meet his. “It’s a key to my house,” he tells her as he shifts his weight toward her. “I… also cleared out a drawer, but I… couldn’t exactly put that in a box.”

“Robin… you didn’t…”

“I just… figured we’ve been spending so much time with each other and…” He shifts again as a chuckle rises into his voice. “I thought this would make it a little easier. You and Henry could keep some things at my place and…”

His voice trails off and her breath hitches in her throat as she leans into the tips of her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she steps back. “It’s… very thoughtful and… practical.”

“Practical,” he repeats, chuckling again as he shakes his head. “Nothing screams romantic like a practical gift.” Rolling her eyes, she swats her hand at his chest and he catches it, tugging her to him before kissing her—kissing her long and deep until her head is dizzy. “So how about lunch…”

They walked together to Chop House—and for a while, she’d forgotten how tired she was—and after a heavy lunch of filet mignon and too much red wine—they found themselves back at her house. They’d barely made it up the stairs, standing at the very top. He had her pressed against the wall and fingers threaded through her hair; her heart was beating faster and faster as his hand to the back of her skirt in search of the zipper.

“Wait,” she murmurs against his lip, pushing her hand up between them as a wave of dizziness washes over her. “Just… a second.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…”

“Regina,” he murmurs, ducking down a bit to look her in the eye. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” she replies, blinking a couple of times as she rolls her shoulders. “I’m fine.” Taking a step back, his hand falls from her the nape of her neck to her hand, giving her a soft tug toward the bedroom. His arms slides around her waist as she and his lips flutter over her jaw and grin pulls onto her lips. “I am absolutely fine.”

“Are you?” Her eyebrow arches as and his grin warms. “When was the last time you got a decent night’s sleep?”

She sighs. “Robin, I’m…”

“Exhausted,” he interjects. “You looked like you were ready for a nap when I walked into your office and all through lunch, every time you blinked, your eyes stayed closed longer and longer.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, leaning in and dropping  a kiss to her forehead. “But honestly, when was the last time you slept through the night?” Shaking her head, she shrugs—she honestly doesn’t remember. “So, how about a little change of plans, hmm?”

“I want to keep the plans we have.”

“Another time,” he tells her. “In a few hours we’re going to have two very excited and candy-fueled little boys to entertain—and, speaking from personal experience, you’ll need all the energy you can get for that.”

“But I’m…”

“Fine, I know,” he says, shaking his head, he presses his finger to her lips. “But, let’s take a nap anyway.”

“Robin,” she says shaking her head—grimacing as she feels her jaw tightening as a yawn begins. “Okay…” Moving around her he reaches for her pajamas, handing them to her as he tugs off his shirt; and with a reluctant sigh, she takes them and pulls her shirt from her skirt, watching as he undoes his belt. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs as her skirt drops to her feet and she steps into the cotton pajama shorts. “I…”

“Will give me a rain check,” he cuts in with a wink, kicking his pants away. “A rain check I insist on cashing in.” A grin pulls onto her lips as she pulls on the tank top and before can say any more, he’s reaching for her.

Her guilt is short-lived—and as soon as she lowers herself onto the bed, her head sinks into the pillow and Robin slides in beside her, stretching his arm around her as she cuddles back to him and lets her eyes close,  her guilt is gone and she’s not sure she’s ever felt anything so satisfying.

_____

She couldn’t help but laugh as Roland struggled with the plastic packaging of the heart-shaped pasta—a thick, crunchy plastic with a glossy cardboard label stapled at the top—and with every tug, he grunted and grimaced and growled. Despite his struggles, he seemed determined, not asking for help—and judging by the way Robin was biting down on his bottom lip, the show Roland was putting on was far too entertaining to stop by the offering of assistance.  Henry giggled as stuck a tooth pick with a little heart topper through a cherry tomato and little ball of mozzarella and Roland dropped the back onto the counter, breathless and annoyed. His eyes turned to Robin, who only shrugged and continued cutting the baguette that would soon be garlic bread.

“Here, sweetie,” Regina says, turning away from the boiling pot of water and reaching for the jar of utensils by the stove. “Try this.” She hands him a pair of scissors and he grins shyly as he took them from her as he takes them, and she hovers as he cuts off the top of the packaging. His grin broadens and he looks at the label. “I’m going to keep this,” he decides.

“The label to the pasta?”

Roland nods as he hands her the bag of pasta and she watches as Robin’s eyebrow arches and Henry looks up. “We have to make a collage for school next week,” he tells him. “I’m going to put this on there.”

“The label to the pasta,” Robin says again.

“Yeah,” Roland tells them as his finger traces over the edge. “We have to put stuff on it that we like.”

“If I had to make one, I’d put superheroes and books on mine,” Henry says, as he pokes another toothpick through a tomato and mozzarella ball. “And I’d draw legos.”

“So, you’re putting the pasta label on yours,” Robin repeats as a slight chuckle rises into his voice. “Why?”

“Because,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “I like having dinners here.”

Regina looks back over her shoulder and her eyes shift quickly from Robin to Roland. “That’s sweet,” she tells him as she turns away from the stove, letting her hand slide around Roland’s shoulders. “We like having you here for dinner, too.” Leaning in, she presses a quick kiss to the top of his head—something that’s become an increasingly natural thing for her to do. “What else are you going to include?”

Roland goes onto tell them all the other things he’s collected—listing them carefully in a slow voice. Her eyes shift from Roland to Robin, whose listening with a little smirk and then to Henry, who reacts to everything with an ooh or nod or some other approving gesture as he continues to stab the toothpicks through the tomato and cheese.

It’s odd to her that half of a year before, they were all practically strangers living such separate lives; when she’d brought Henry to Storybrooke, she had certain expectations of what their life together would be like. The curse was an obvious obstacle, but in the back of her head, she’d always assumed it’d be just the two of them—that the rest of the world would go on around them. And then, suddenly, there were these two other people in her lives, people she couldn’t shut out—people she didn’t want to shut out—and it became difficult to even picture a life without them.

She never anticipated there’d ever be a time in her life she had someone to rely on—someone who was consistently there, someone who consistently wanted to be there—and she’d never anticipated looking toward the future. For so long, she’d been trapped, living a different variation of the same things over and over again—and this was like a breath of fresh air.

And that afternoon had been a reminder of that—as cliché as it was.

Robin woke up her with a trail of fluttering kisses. He started at her shoulder and traveled up her neck to her jaw, letting his lips tail over her cheek to her earlobe—and slowly she’d begun to stir. She felt his hand slide against her stomach, drawing her back against him. His fingers dipped just below the band of her shoulders and his foot rubbed against her ankle—and before she was even awake, she could feel his warmth as a smile tugged onto her lips. Sighing contently, she stretched out her legs and blinked open her eyes, rolling onto her other side to face him. Her smile brightened and the tip of her nose brushed against his—and she couldn’t help but laugh out as he pulled her tight against him and rolled them over, so that he could properly kiss her. They stayed in bed together for awhile, trading soft touches for lazy kisses, and everything felt so good and so unassuming; and had they not had to pick up the boys from school, it would have been so easy to spend the rest of the day like that, so relaxed and calm, unworried about all the uncertainty that laid ahead of them.

“Oh, and I made you something,” Roland says, his attention turning to her and bringing her back into the present moment. “I almost forgot.”

“But you didn’t,” she says as Robin moves to the stove to check the sauce and Roland hops off his stool, running toward his backpack.

Henry cranes his neck and smiles curiously as he tries to see whatever Roland is pulling from his back pack and her own smile, pulls onto her lips. Stretching an arm around Henry’s shoulders, she squeezes him and offers him a little wink as Roland runs back toward them, holding out a flower made from pipe cleaners.

Her breath catches in her throat as she reaches out to accept it, unable to think of anything other than a Valentine’s day long ago, a day that only she remembers, when he’d given her the exact same flower—and he’d given her a tiny flicker of hope as he unknowingly turned a terrible evening into one that was worth remembering.

“I made it in school today,” he tells her proudly as she nods, unable to find her voice as tears flood her eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he murmurs as smile fades. “I’m…”

“Oh, no,” she says, suddenly able to speak. “I’m not sad.”

“But you’re about to cry.”

“Yeah,” she nods, looking down at the flower as she sinks down in front of him. “But I’m not crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because… I…” she stops, shaking her head—Roland can’t possibly know what the flower means to her. He possibly can’t know that after she left the diner, she taken the flower home and put in a little vase on the corner of her desk, just as he can’t know that possibly know that day after day, long after he’d likely forgotten about it, she found herself looking at the flower and remember how happy that little moment at the diner had made her—and he can’t possibly know that it was his sweetness and thoughtfulness that made her wonder if the love of a child could save her. “I love this,” she tells him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Roland tells her with a satisfied smile—and then, only a second later, he becomes distracted by the gush of steam that rushes upward as Robin pour the noodles into a colander to be rinsed, indicating that dinner is almost ready.

And just like that, the little of moment of nostalgia is swept away.

Clearing her throat, she rises to her feet, watching as Henry carries his plate of carefully crafted caprese salad sticks into the dining room and Roland trails behind him. Her eyes shift to Robin as he shoves up his sleeves and almost instinctively, her eyes shift to the tattoo on his forearm. She can hear the boys laughing in the next room and Robin smiles back at her from over her shoulder—and she feels a tightening in her stomach—because for the first time in her life, she has something that would be devastating to lose.

“You okay?”

She looks up and nods, mustering a smile as she pushes toward him and reaches for the garlic bread. He drops a quick kiss on her cheek as he lifts the bowl of pasta—and she takes a breath, reminding herself that she has time and when things are meant to be, they happen when they’re supposed to.

Her family was proof of that.

_____

The rest of the night was spent baking, decorating and, of course, eating sugar cookies.

As she and Robin cleaned up the remnants of dinner—rinsing the dishes and putting leftovers into containers—the boys rolled out the cookie dough atop the counter. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride bubbling up inside of her as she watched Henry showing Roland how to flour the edges of the cutters so they easily lifted from the dough and kept the shape of the cookie—something she’d taught him the first time they’d baked cookies together—and how he gently pulled Roland back away from the oven before retrieving their tray of cookies, reminding him to let them cool before touching them. Roland nodded and he inhaled a deep breath, taking in the soft fresh-baked cookie scent as Henry arranged their toppings—and finally when they were cool enough to decorate, Henry carefully carried them over to the counter.

Robin’s arms wrapped around Regina and she leaned back into him, smiling a little as they watched the boys smear the frosting over the cookies and cover them with sprinkles—and once again she found it a struggle to stay in the moment…

Before she knew it, the cookies were done and the boys created a plate of their favorites. Robin corralled them into the living room and she followed behind them, once more wondering if this, like every other Valentine’s, would just fade away as though it never existed.

The boys settle quickly on a movie—an odd choice of Lady and the Tramp, which Roland insists is the perfect movie for Valentine’s while Henry shrugs his shoulders agreeably, murmuring something about never having seen it—as Robin fans a blanket down on the floor for them—and just like every other Friday night, the boys camp out in front of the TV while she and Robin settle on the couch.

Taking a shaky breath, she lets her head fall to his shoulder and he presses a kiss to her hair—and absently, her fingers trace over the tattoo on his forearm as she loses herself in thought.

There’s a part of her that feels like she’s losing her mind—and she’s been here before.

Despite the encouragement and support of Robin and her own determination, she’s made little progress in breaking the curse. And as February began to wind down and spring loomed in the no longer distant future, she knew that she was running out of time. In the weeks she’d been trying to break the curse, she’d made no progress; she didn’t even know if she was on the right path—if she was on a path at all.

When she made the decision to cast the curse all those years before, she’d learned as much as she could about it to prepare herself. It was complicated and nuanced with all sorts of intrinsic little details—and not only had she learned them all, she’d learned how to work them to her advantage. She learned how to use magical relics to create magic where there was none, learning and perfecting the science of potions and the power of energies; and she learned how to levy her power and persuasion in the new realm to which the curse had brought her.

But she’d never learned about breaking it; she hadn’t imagined there’d ever be a need.

She knew that there were a series of triggers in place—triggers that could set off a chain of events that led to the curse breaking, but she didn’t know how to manipulate them to her advantage. Her small victory in getting Henry to believe in something magical had been short-lived; and while the clock hands still ticked away, signaling the moving of time, that seemed to be very much symbolic. Every day she was reminded to the static world she lived in, and the ticking clock at the center of the town seemed more like a countdown to her inevitable failure.

“I think they’re asleep,” Robin whispers, nodding toward the boys sprawled out on a blanket.

“They’re in a sugar coma,” she says, following his gaze. “Maybe we should take them upstairs.”

“No,” Robin says as his hold on her loosens. “Leave them. They look content.”

“They do,” she agrees, as a smile tugs up onto her lips as she looks down at them. “I don’t know how they’re comfortable like that, but…” Her voice trails off and she reaches behind them, tugging a blanket off the back of the couch. She gets up and fans it out over them, kneeling down as she pushes the hair away from Henry’s forehead, leaning in to kiss him good night and whisper her love. Instinctively, she does the same to Roland, and when she looks up, Robin’s eyes are soft and warm and his hand is outstretched.

He tugs her up and nods towards the stairs, and she flicks on a dim lamp as they pass it, giving them a little bit of light, should either of them wake up. She leads him toward the kitchen, checking to make sure that Henry turned the oven off and the back door is locked—and then, she reaches for Roland’s flower. Robin grins as her arm slide around his back and she watches as he sneaks one more look at the boys as they go up the stairs.

“Wait,” she murmurs, stopping just in front of her office door. “I… want to put this on my desk.” Robin nods and followers her in, and when she turns on the light, she watches his eyes fall to the little vase at the corner of her desk that he’s seen before, but never noticed—a vase that holds the first pipe-cleaner flower that Roland gave her, all those years ago.

“When did…”

“A long time ago,” she answers, not needing to hear the question to know what he was about to ask. “I was having a rough night and… all of the sudden, there was Roland, giving me a Valentine.”

A confused smile edges onto Robin’s lips. “Why don’t I remember that?”

“You weren’t there,” she says simply. “John was with him and… up until tonight, that was the only Valentine’s Day worth remembering.” She shakes her head as she rounds her desk, opening the top drawer. “I know I said that we weren’t going to do gifts, but…”

“You didn’t,” he cuts in, his eyebrow arching. “And you yelled at me when…”

“I didn’t yell,” she interjects. “I… just reminded you.” She holds out a little red bag out to him and shakes it gently. “It’s nothing, really.”

His eyes narrow and she can’t help the quiet chuckle that escapes her as he pulls a sheet of pink tissue paper from the bag—and then, his eyebrows arch as he pulls a toothbrush from the bag. “I… don’t know what to say,” he murmurs as he looks up at her.

“I didn’t have time to make a copy of my key or clean out a drawer, and…” Her voice trails off and she shifts awkwardly as his eyes fall away from her and to the toothbrush. “I… just… it’s hard for me to look to the future right now. It’s hard for me to imagine that we even have a future because in a few months, if I don’t figure out how to break the curse, you’re going to forget all about me.”

“Regina, I won’t…”

“You will,” she interjects. “But, I just… I want you to know that when I do think about my future—or the possibility of one—you’re always there. You and me and Henry and Roland, we’re… all together and…” She shrugs as she releases a breath. “And as hard as it is to think that I might lose you—you and them—because of something I created, I… can’t regret doing it because we’re here now and that’s made it all worth it… regardless of how it turns out.”

Robin breathes out and he grins as he twirls the toothbrush between his fingers. “Some things are just… supposed to happen. You and I are one of those things.”

She nods as he drops the toothbrush back into the bag, setting it on the edge of her desk as he moves to the stereo, turning the dial until Elivs Presley’s softy and low voice fills the room. Robin laughs a little as he extends his hand—and with a sight, she rounds the desk and places her fingers in his palm.

Like a river flows, surely to the sea; darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be…

He pulls her close as his hand closes around hers and her head rests on his shoulder as they begin to sway to the music. She feels her throat tighten and tears brim in her eyes—and she presses them closed, willing herself to stay in the moment and enjoy it for what it is, not wanting to focus on the fragility of the little life they’ve started to create.

So, take my hand—take my whole life, too; for I can’t help falling in love with you…

[genevahale]

Paris, take deux...

...A short love story about a city

I am guilty. That’s right, I am confessing. I am occasionally an ugly American. Why isn’t the menu in English? Why is this city so hard to navigate? Why are all the people here so little? But this is my redemption story. 

I went to Paris nine years ago. I left with a bitter taste in my mouth and the very cliche “Paris would be nice if there weren’t so many Parisians here”. I will certainly take the onus here, but Paris did not really do us any favors. I couch-surfed with two girlfriends. We stayed with a nice, French guy in his very small apartment. He took us to meet is friends for dinner. We went to a Cambodian restaurant (yes!) but the menu was entirely in French (no!). We guessed on what to order and were disappointed. We did not try very hard to make connections with the friends of our host while at dinner. And they put in the same amount of effort. It was rough. 

Paris was expensive on a college budget. I did not have a single French meal while I was there except for chocolate croissants. Navigating the city and the Metro was challenging. These were the days before iPhones so getting around the city involved using a huge map and asking for help. No one wanted to help us. Which, in retrospect, I understand. We were clearly American and made zero attempt to blend in. Needless to say, we left Paris thinking “Parisians are rude” and “why does everyone love this city?”

 Some how, in the haze of time, my experience in Paris no longer looms as “terrible” in my memory. I have done a lot of growing up in nine years: traveled to nine additional countries, have two college degrees, and got married. And yet still, zero French. But remember, redemption. When my husband and I moved to Ireland, we began to discuss where to go for a trip for my thirty birthday. Once place came to mind: Paris. We booked our tickets, hotel, and off we went. Flying out of Dublin on St. Patrick’s Day. How perfect.

Thursday Night

Arrived late into CDG. Luckily, the Tourist Information Center was still open. I had done some prior research and decided that buying the Museum Pass (4 day for €64) was a good value. I was little nervous because some of those passes are a good deal if you play your cards right, but other times it’s a total waste. The lady at the TI was very helpful and gave us easy, clear directions to get to our hotel via the RER. We also purchased a return ticket to the airport, ten metro passes, and a boat tour. We ended saving  €4 a piece by purchasing the entire package. Not earth-shattering-savings, but still nice,

Before we left home, I downloaded that app Paris Metro (by Mx Data). This is a metro app that works offline. It was a lifesaver. We were at the Gaur du Nord station, standing on the platform, waiting for our last connection and the man on the PA system kept repeating the same message. But because we spoke zero French, we continued to stand there. After a few minutes, we realized that the only people still waiting for that train did not speak French. Luckily we were able to reroute ourselves thanks to the app and arrived at Holiday Inn Paris- Opera.

Thursday Food

Late Night: Ryan and I grabbed a late night snack at Le Brebant. We shared the foie gras. I had wine, and Ryan had a beer. The foie gras was light and buttery, and served with plenty of bread.

Steps: 10,101

Friday

Rodin Museum: The museum is housed in an old mansion that was formerly an artists commune. It was recently restored and is beautiful. If you do not enjoy the sculptures, the architecture of the museum may keep your interest alone. It is filled with the sculptures and paintings by Rodin (creator of The Thinker) along with painting and sculptures that he acquired via trading with his contemporaries. Museum pass ✓ - Metro Stop: Varenne

Hotel de Invalides: This is a military museum and the final resting place of Napoleon Bonaparte. This museum is a short walk from the Rodin museum so grouping them together made for an easy transition from one museum to the next. It covers medieval military (think knights) through more contemporary warfare (WWII). I am not a military, history buff but I really enjoyed this museum. We spent about two hours here and only saw half of it. Napoleon's tomb was amazing. He truly saw himself as an emperor with the divine right to rule. Interesting side note: there was a heavy armed guard presence here that then continued intermittently throughout the rest of our trip. Museum pass ✓  Metro Stop: La Tour de Marbourg

Champs de Mars: Grab some lunch to go and it was a short walk from Hotel de Invalides. This was our first full view of the Eiffel Tower! And it was breathtaking. This was the nicest day of our trip so it was nice to sit in the park, eat lunch, and people watch. There were a few groups of people with bottles of wine, and I was jealous. Something to remember for next time... Metro Stop: École Militaire Eiffel Tower: We had attempted to buy tickets to go to the top the day before but had no luck as it was booked solid. Although it would have been fun to see the city from the top of the Eiffel Tower, I don’t feel like I missed too much. Word to the wise, there are a ton of people selling selfie sticks, Eiffel Tower trinkets, and pedi-cabs. If you are not interested say “No” and keep moving. Also be aware, there is apparently a scam where a person will come up to you and ask if you lost a ring. They will hand it to you and then try and charge you for the ring. Again, say “no” and keep moving. We had several friends that had this attempted on them. Metro Stop: École Militaire

Trocadéro: The best place to view the Eiffel Tower. And a great place to watch people losing all of their euros playing the shell game. Ryan was transfixed and was far more interested in the shell game than the view at this point. People were betting €100 at a time. Again, lots of people selling trinkets and hats but much less aggressive on this side of the river. Metro Stop: Iéna

Arc de Triomphe- We walked from the Trocadéro to the Arc de Triopmhe. This was one of my favorite sites last time in Paris, and it is true again almost 10 years later. Thanks to our Museum Pass, we were able to bypass the line and head straight to the security check. A short 284 steps later, we were at the top, enjoying the view. We were able to the Eiffel Tower, and down the Champs de Elysees almost to the Louvre. Remember this view, if you are in India, you will we a very similar view at the India Gate. The top was not crowded and we were able to take in the view without being rushed. Museum pass ✓ Metro Stop: Argentine

Sacré-Cœur (Sacred Heart)- This was my favorite experience in Paris. It was the only time I felt like a local and I loved it. The cathedral itself is gorgeous. But the view of Paris was even more stunning. There was guys selling beers (€2 a piece) that were ice-cold. We sat on the steps, took in the view, listened to another group of guys who were singing reggae and just had a chance to relax. Here again we encountered the strong military presence as a result of the Paris attacks. Three soldiers made their way through the seated crowd with guns ready (something I’ll never get used to). After finishing our beers, we headed inside of the cathedral. It was awe-inspiring. Ryan and I make it a habit to donate a few euros (or whatever the local currency is) when we are at religious sites. Most of these places do not charge an entrance fee, so your small donation is important. Do it, it’s worth it. Metro Stop: Anvers

Friday Food

Breakfast- we went to a local cafe for breakfast. It was locals only for the most part and almost all men. We made the mistake of attempting to ask for a table and a menu. Our waiter, although very friendly, did not speak English. Ryan and I ended ordering a croissant a piece. I got a latte and Ryan ordered a hot chocolate. Although it was completely our fault for not speaking any French, it made us nervous about the remainder of our trip and the ensuing language barrier. It turned out, this was the only time where truly struggled to communicate. 

Lunch: grabbed quick sandwiches and drinks from a small shop and then enjoyed them at the Champs de Mars. The men at the shop spoke English and were very kind. The sandwiches were not amazing but we spent a total of  €10 on lunch. That is a hard deal to beat with a priceless view.

Dinner: Following our time at Sacré-Cœur, we ate an appetizer at a very touristy place. We had the charcuterie platter with beer. It was delicious and filling. We had the opportunity to see more armed soldiers, and even spied one having a caricature drawn for himself. We later wandered through the Red-light District (where the Mulon Rouge is located), and shared a kebab with fries on a bench.

Dessert: La Crème de Paris. Yum! The crepes were huge and delicious. Ryan ordered nutella, banana, and coconut (amazing). I order lemon and sugar. It was really good, but I liked Ryan’s better. This is a popular spot with locals and tourists. It was relatively cheap (€6ish a piece)  and the restaurant is very cute. 

Steps: 26,797 (20.3 kilometers)

Saturday

Louvre: We were able to walk from our hotel to the Louvre. It was a nice way to start the morning. We had heard that the entrance below the Louvre (Carousel du Louvre) was faster, but we did not listen. Later when we left, there was no line at that entrance. Learn from us, enter the museum here! We entered at the pass holder line by the pyramid. It took about a half an hour to get in, but was easily a quarter of the length of the general line. We downloaded the Rick Steves’ “Louvre Audio Guide” on our iPhones prior to heading to the museum. This was awesome! It was informative, kept our visit on track, and gave classic Rick Steves humor. We spent about two hours at the Louvre and easily could have spent another two hours. But, places to go and things to see! Museum pass ✓ Metro Stop: Carrousel du Louvre or Palais Royal - Musée du Louvre

Notre Dame: The line is long to get in but moves fast. Entry is free (don’t forget to donate, though!). The museum pass is for a tour and I think to the top of the belfry. We were able to get in just before the start of mass. We were “stuck” by what I affectionately called the “priest bullpen”. We were able to watch them line up, and even peak into the locker room as we walked by.

Notre Dame is of course amazing. The outside is pretty cool but the inside is even cooler. Check out that stained glass! In the square in front the cathedral is also the location of Point Zero. This is the official heart of Paris.  Museum pass ✓ Metro Stop: Saint-Michel - Notre-Dame or  Cité Pantheon: The Pantheon is gorgeous. Inside is a huge dome with amazing painting on the walls. This is Paris’s crypt. Famous French people (men and women) are buried here. The architecture is stunning and the crypt is interesting to see. It is not creepy at all! It’s dimly lit but immaculate with white stone. It’s worth a quick visit.  Museum pass ✓ Metro Stop: Cardinal Lemoine or Luxembourg

Saturday Food

Breakfast: Take two a local cafe. This attempt was much more successful. I ordered two pan au chocolat (chocolate croissants), hot chocolate, and a latte. The baker prompted me to order in French. She kindly had me repeat after her. It was a nice connection that helped to defy the American stereotypes of Parisians. 

Lunch: When searching for places to eat in Paris, one restaurant kept coming up over and over: L’as de Fallafel. It’s located in the Jewish quarter of the city. Have you ever seen the part of Elf when he walks into the coffee shop that says “world’s best cup of coffee”? Well trying to find L’as de Fallafel reminded me of that. We walked by at least five restaurants that were either “the first” or “the best” fallafel in Paris. Well we eventually found the correct one, and it was amazing! It’s busy so be prepared to eat your food standing and outside. You order inside at the cashier, hand your receipt to the guy assembling the flaffells outside. Don’t forget to grab your drinks before you go back outside! Listen carefully for your order because they are not in the mood to repeat it. IT’S ALL WORTH IT! Also, don’t forget to grab extra napkins.  After our lunch we decided to stop by another little bakery, still in the Jewish quarter. It was busy with locals. Initially the lady at the bakery was very impatient with us. She essentially asked if we were ready, in French, and when she could see we were not, quickly moved on the next people waiting. With a little more time, we decided on what we wanted to eat. She came back around and was much more patient this time. She spoke in French, we answered in English. Via gestures, smiles, and some understood French/English we ordered banana cake with chocolate sauce (warmed up in microwave at her suggestion). It was wonderful, and another great interaction with a local when both parties took the time to understand each other. 

Dinner: I wish  I could remember where we ate, but of course since I am writing this 9 months later, I cannot for life of me (or Google) come up with the name of the restaurant. It was recommended to us by the hotel we were staying in. Anyways, we arrive at the restaurant and it was very good! Not too touristy but did have an English menu. We were presented with champagne upon being seated and decided on appetizers. I had escargot and Ryan ordered foie gras. Both were amazing! Escargot reminded me of the consistency of calamari but it was covered in pesto and eaten with bread. The only way I could tell it was escargot: it certainly came in snail shells! Ryan foie gras was delicious and exactly what you would expect. Then came time to order our main courses. Everyone around us had gorgeous plates of food. I decided to order steak tartare. The waiter explained it was be “very rare” which I both knew, and was a complete understatement when the dish arrived, but it was tasty! Ryan decided to go off menu (rookie mistake) and asked for a steak. The waiter seemed confused but obliged. My steak tartare arrives and they first bring Ryan some condiments: mayonnaise and ketchup. We don’t think much of it, “perhaps this is how they eat steak in Paris” we both thought. Ryan’s plate arrives: french fries and thoroughly cooked hamburger patty. It bares a striking resemblance to my steak tartare but now cooked (which is what the receipt said when we paid of dinner). Ryan did say it was the best €17 hamburger he had ever had! Lesson learned: just order from the menu, even if you have to point at something.

Steps: 22,091 (16.37 kilometers)

Sunday

Versailles- Per Rick Steve’s recommendation, we were up early (ok...maybe 9am) and headed to Versailles. We had to ask for help at the metro station to decide which train to take, but the attendant smiled as she said “the one labeled Versailles”. She was right and we headed on our way. Luckily, we arrived before the crowds. In the last few years, even before the Paris attacks, they have increased security at Versailles. Make sure you build in more time because you must now go through metal detectors. Our wait time was about 5 minutes. We again downloaded an audio guide from Rick Steves: “Versailles Audio Guide” on our iPhones prior to heading to the palace. This was awesome! It was informative, kept our visit on track, and gave classic Rick Steves humor (aka dad jokes). The audio guide included a tour of the gardens. Although it was March, and the gardens were not in bloom, it was well worth walking down beyond the Latona Fountain, to the start of the Grand Canal. The view looking back towards the Chateau (remember it was once a small hunting lodge) is worth the extra strolling time. We grabbed a hot chocolate on our way back to the Palace. When we reached the entrance, there was now a long line, looping through the courtyard. Get there early!! We spent about two hours total there. If you have a few extra hours, add this to your trip. It is well worth it! Museum pass ✓ Metro Stop: Gare de Versailles Château / Rive Gauche (on RER C)

Muse de Orsay- My favorite museum in all of Paris. It is full of Monet’s and Manet’s works. As it turns out, I am a Manet fan. We again used an audio guide from Rick Steves to guide through the museum. We saw Van Gogh’s paintings and Rodin sculptures. It was fabulous, and that’s an understatement! Funny aside: we actually got sepearted at some point during our museum tour. Of course, the museum was closing soon and we both realized how much we truly rely on our cellhpones for everything (maps, enterainment, FINDING EACH OTHER). In the end, I backtracked to find Ryan sitting outside of an exhibit. Other than both being tired and a little frustrated, no worse for wear! Museum pass ✓ Metro Stop: Musee d’Orsay

Boat Tour- This was actually included when we bought our muesum pass frrom the Tourist Information booth at the airport. Although the boat tour was nice, by this point it felt like another thing we “just had to do”. The city of Paris is gorgeous but seeing it from the Seine was underwhelming because you are so far away from the monuments. The audio for the boat tour was pretty terrible, too. Overall, it was solidly OK but if you skipped it while you were on holiday, I don’t think you'd be mssing much at all. There are better boat tours out there in other cities. Museum pass NOPE Metro Stop: Pont de l’Alma

Sunday Food

Breakfast: Again, we went to the cafe down the street from our hotel. I was able to practice my non-existent French by repeating after the baker again. Same delicious result!

Lunch: Musee d’Orsay restaurant for lunch was actually a really good idea. The food was delicious and very reasonable for being at essentially a tourist trap. The restaurant is on the top floor of the former train station. You actually have a lovely view of the city when you gaze out of the GIANT clock. A neat architectural detail! Ryan and I both ordered the nicoise salad (lettuce, egg, green beans, tomato, olives, tuna, sardines, potatoes) along with the side order or bread, was filling and delicious. 

Dinner: One of Ryan’s friends from work was in Paris so we decided to meet him for dinner. We went to La Fine Mousse. This place had AMAZING beer. My favorite style, saission, was on tap. So of course I had more than a few! We ordered dishes to share including pigeon and a raw fish dish. Both were very good and we topped it off with a de-constructed lemon meringue pie. Although all the food we had in Paris, that might have been the best. We were the only tourists around so it was nice to see how the “locals live” while sipping some of the best beers we’ve had our entire time in Europe. 

Steps: 20,626 (16.93 kilometers)

Tips to Make Your Trip Easier

Investigate the Museum Pass. Do the research to see if it will be worth it for you. Remember, at a lot of places it will save you time, and some places it makes no difference (no line at Rodin, and everyone waits in the same line a Versailles). When you head to a museum that you can use your pass, look for the signs. They are usually pretty easy to find and will help you avoid long lines. Also, you can buy it multiple places around the city, we got our at CDG. You have the responsibility of dating it. Make sure you put the right date! It is valid from the date on the back, not when you purchase it. Technically you are supposed to show your ID to prove that this is your pass, but no one ever asked us for it. 

Group your sighseeing! Paris is a huge city with a lot of the tourist spots being sometimes miles from eachother. Figure out what you want to see and then group places together to help avoid back-tracking. Paris is very walkable so that helps. In three full days of sightseeing we walked 53.6 kilmoeters (or 33 miles). Pack comfortable and some what stylish shoes. Sorry fellow Americnas, leave the teniis shoes at home. I wore some knock-off Converse and Ryan wore some brown lace-up shoes.

On the subject of how to dress...we do not dress anywhere nearly as stylishly as the French. They know that, we know that. With that being said, try to find some of your trendier pieces of clothing to help you not stick out. We will never blend in, so I try to aim for not standing out. I wore a black wool jacket that kept me warm and looked pretty stylish. 

Be patient and allow extra time to exploring. You are on vacation! Enjoy it! If you don’t speak French (guilty), try your best to understand who you are communicating with. It’s amazing how much can be communicated via pointing and smiling. Paris is a lovely city, and the Parisians add to the loveliness of it, really!