#while he's still skittish and debating whether to cut me out entirely

[queerlyglittering]

Some of the losses that hurt the most are the ones you pushed away by being just a little too earnest at the wrong time

[peachywise]

night owls

stanley uris x reader

– one-shot

– synopsis: Your father has kicked you out, and you got no where to go. Stanley Uris might have an idea, however. 

– notes: this is a request from my sunshine anon!! “a Stan fic where this girl he finds cute (the reader) is unofficially part of the losers club and he’s out at night for whatever reason and finds her on a like a park bench and gets worried or smth (you decide why ;) )” i might make a part 2 of this, like the morning after?? if that interest any of you?? i’m not sure. let me know! 

A new town, a new park bench, the same old argument.

You guessed that no matter how much your father wanted to run away from his own problems, he would still drag them with him wherever he went, like a bad virus or an extra unwanted limb. Derry was supposed to be his solution to a better life. A fresh start where you and him would get along, and he could run from all his debts and toxic relationships. And for a month, it had worked. As much as you still fought and argued and yelled, everything would brush over in about an hour, and your father would have forgotten anything had ever happened.

Unfortunately, it appeared the clock had run out on your free trial to the decent dad subscription, because here you were again, kicked out in the middle of a cold autumn night, sitting on a park bench trying to figure out what to do.

You knew in the morning you could come back and not have him say a single word, but if you even tried to sneak back in tonight, it wasn’t going to end well for either side. Back in your old town, you would often just knock on your friend’s window and crash at their place, but since you had only been here a month and had thought all these troubles had gone away, you didn’t exactly have an emergency plan in place.

Not that you should ever have to plan anything like this at all.

It’s not like you didn’t have friends here or anything, but you had only just started to integrate yourself into their group. They called themselves The Losers’ Club. You thought it was a weird title to label themselves, but as you go to know them, it started to make sense. They were all outcasts, very different in their personalities, but seemed to mesh in such a close knit way that you couldn’t help but desire to be let in, to have those same people there for you as they were there for each other. 

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to even sit at their lunch table. The only reason you could now was because of Stan. He had been the first person you had met when you moved here. Your assigned counsellor had forced suggested you join an after school club to get into the Derry high school spirit. Everything but the math, dungeon and dragons, and bird watching club were closed for members, so you got a choice of three. You chose bird watching, thinking that at least that way you wouldn’t have to be cooped up inside all the time, and on cold days, it would most likely be cancelled. 

Stan was the president of the club.

He was also the only member.

Actually, there was this one girl Delia that would show up once in a blue moon for five minutes, but Stan said he had no idea who she was and that she wasn’t on the official club roster. You learned not to question it after awhile.

Since then, every Wednesday and Friday after school, you would meet Stan in the second floor Bio classroom and talk about birds or go outside to parks and try to see what ones you could find and identify. At first, you were really bored, but you really liked Stan and didn’t have the heart to quit. Then, eventually his bright passion grew infectious, and you found yourself enjoying it. Really, you found him to be the infectious one, but you wouldn’t ever admit it if he asked.

It’s why you chose this park bench, after all. This was the park you and Stan went to most often, and just being here made you feel a little safer. You just wished you’d had time to grab your damn coat so you didn’t feel so cold as well. 

“Y/N?�� A soft voice called from behind you, sounding a hell of a lot like the bird boy currently on your mind.

Wow, you really were in deep, huh?

“I really need to get my head out of the gutter,” you mumbled to yourself, as you tucked your hands between your legs in an attempt to stay warmer. You knew you couldn’t stay here all night. Maybe there was a 24-hour diner in town somewhere? 

“What?” the incredulous voice asked again, but this time close enough behind you that it startled you back into reality. Turning around, your cheeks heated up as soon as your gaze locked with the curly haired boy, Stanley Uris.

An awkward, “uh…” was all you could muster in reply.

Stanley gave you a confused look as he moved around to stand in front of you. “Why are you out so late? Especially without a coat?” he questioned, and all you could do was stare in shock at him. How the hell were you going to explain this? You needed a lie, and fast.

“Here, uhm, take my scarf,” he mumbled, as he unwrapped the fleece patterned-plaid from around his neck and slung it over your shoulders. You hoped it was dark enough that he couldn’t see your inevitably red face. “Thanks,” you replied quietly, as you wrapped it around a couple of times, trying not to breath in his scent that clung to the fabric too deeply.

You hoped that by not replying to his question, he’d forget he asked. “Why are you here?” you offered instead, uncrossing your legs and crossing them the other way anxiously. Stan’s face dropped for a second as he looked down at his feet, embarrassment crossing his features. “I live a block away from here, I’ll have you know. I heard an owl and thought I would walk around to see if it was still around.” A small smiled curved your lips as you asked, “is it?” Stan just sighed in return, moving to sit next to you on the cold metal bench. “No. I think I scared it away.” Nodding your head, you said a simple, “ah. He was a skittish bird.” 

Stan nodded as well, before both of you were cast into silence. 

“So are you really not going to tell me why you’re out here?” Stan softly spoke again, turning to give you a look that reflected… concern? Why was he worried about you? Looking back down to your lap, an inner debate raged on whether or not to tell him. In all honesty, you knew you couldn’t even give a convincing lie. “I just told you I snuck out of my house at eleven at night to try and find a bird. I’m sure whatever it is, it isn’t that bad,” he added. A snort escaped you before you could stop it. “You snuck out?” you laughed, as Stan rolled his eyes and gave you a knowing look that screamed ‘that’s not important, now fess up.’

Sighing, you slid down lower on the bench, averting your eyes to the starry sky. You didn’t want to look at him while you explained, more fearful of the pitying look that was no doubt going to follow your story. “I got kicked out, alright? My dad and I don’t get along too well. He was upset that I talked back to him about getting fired, so I got tossed out for the night. It’ll be fine to go back in the morning. He’ll forget it ever happened,” you muttered, as you felt your heart pound in your chest, an uncomfortable pressure building in the form of a lump in your throat. How come you never cried when it happened, but as soon as you talked about it, emotions started to well up? It was bullshit. 

Stan was silent for a moment, but you could feel his eyes on you. Soon enough, Stan stood up, and your heart dropped. Yep. This was it. He was going to leave, and never talk to you again. At least there was no pity. 

“Come on,” Stan said, holding out his hand towards you. “What?” you sputtered, staring wide eyed at his outstretched hand. 

A small blush rose to Stan’s cheeks, and you had to fight back against the urge to say how cute it was out loud. It was absolutely not the time for that. “You don’t have a place to go, right? So come on, we can go to my house,” he mumbled, as your heart sped up once more. You didn’t think you could deal with all these emotions bubbling up.

“Stan, it’s really fine,” you started to argue, but he easily cut you off by saying, “Y/N, you’re shivering. I won’t force you, but it’s safe and right over there,” he stated, adding an even softer, “please,” at the end after you didn't reply. No one had ever been this kind before.

Swallowing back your slight embarrassment, you took in a deep breath and clasped his hand. He easily hauled you up on your feet. Giving each other a tentative smile, Stan began leading you out of the park, but dropped your hand after a minute and giving you a sheepish look after realizing he had still been holding it. You thought you heard him mumble “stay cool, Stanley,” under his breath, but you couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just the sound of the soft wind around you. 

By the time you had reached his house, Stan turned and gave you a serious look. “We’re going to need to sneak in through my window,” he said sternly, as if admitting a long held secret. You blinked. “Okay,” you stated, waiting for him to show you exactly which window you had to squirm yourself through. An odd look crossed his face, like he had expected a different reaction entirely. “Alright,” he continued, as he made his way to the side of the house. You shrugged it off. 

For a bit, Stan struggled to get a proper grip sliding the window up, trying to push against the glass and get traction that way. After around a minute, you couldn’t stand idly by anymore.

“Here, I got it,” you laughed, bumping your hip into his to scoot him out of the way. Wiggling your fingers under the small crack at the base, you got it up an inch, and from there, it was easy enough. Turning towards Stan, you questioned, “have you never tried to break back into your house before?” Stan shook his head. “I’ve never even snuck out before tonight.” As you began to quietly step through the window frame, you offered, “next time, keep the window open a small crack,” Stan couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face. “Duly noted,” he replied, following in after you. 

Quickly, Stan moved over to switch the lamp on beside his bed, and you awkwardly stood in the middle of his bedroom, unsure. As many times as this exact situation had happened in your old town, this was different. You didn’t have a stupid little crush on all your other friend’s you’d spent the night with. In all honestly, you didn’t know what to do. By the looks of it, neither did he. 

Clearing your throat, you awkwardly gripped your forearm as your eyes wandered around. “No bird posters?” you asked, and immediately wanted to slam your head against the wall. Jesus, was that the only thing you could think of to say? Stan chuckled. “Can I tell you something?” he questioned, moving over to sit on the edge of his bed. You nodded your head. “The bird watching club was something I made up so I could have some alone time away from The Losers’ Club. It gave me an excuse to go home quickly.” 

You didn’t expect that. Looking a little wide eyed, you asked, “what?” positively shocked. Stan offered an embarrassed smile your way. “Yeah. I showed up when they said there was a new member, and you seemed to really like it so I kept coming…” he trailed off. Bringing your hands up to your face, you felt utter embarrassment wash through you. “No!” you whisper yelled, conscious of the fact his parents were asleep somewhere in the house. “Wait, are you serious?” you giggled, unable to stop. Sitting down next to him, Stan laughed as well, giving a small confirming, “yep.” 

“I only went because I was told I had to join a club. I was going to quit but you seemed so passionate about it and, I don’t know, I like hanging out with you,” you admitted, dropping your hands to see his reaction. He busted into laughter and you quickly joined in. 

“Shh!” he sputtered out, still unable to stop the laughter as he clapped his hand over your mouth, and you his. Eventually, both of you calmed down enough. And then awkward silence filled the space once more. 

“I’ll just sleep on the floor, if that’s okay?” you said, fiddling with your hands on your lap. Stan let out a very quick, “no! No, uh, I’ll sleep on the floor, and you take my bed,” he commented as he stood up and took one of the pillows, tossing it to the ground. “I don’t mind, honestly,” you continued, before Stan shook his head once more, already grabbing a blanket and nestling onto the floor. Argument settled then.

Kicking off your shoes and taking of his scarf, you crawled into bed carefully, a little tense and all too aware of your surroundings once again. You just laid staring there at the ceiling for a few beats, before Stan asked, “can you turn of the lamp?” 

Turning over, you quickly switched it off, feeling a little more comfortable now that it was dark. After around five minutes, however, you were still no closer to falling asleep, and memories of your fight with your father were creeping back into your mind once more. You had almost forgotten all about it in the presence of Stan. “This isn’t the first time this has happened before, is it?” Stan’s unsure voice spoke from below, and you felt your body grow cold. “No,” you whispered back, your voice slightly breaking, “it’s not.”

Unable to contain everything you had pushed back for the last couple of hours, silent tears started to slip from the corner of your eyes, and you quickly lifted your hand to wipe them away before they could stain his pillow. In a second, Stan was up off the ground, turning back on the light and shuffling to sit next to you, peering down at you with a concerned look over his face. “Please don’t cry,” he pleaded, his hands hovering over you like he wanted to comfort you, to wipe your tears away, but was just unsure if it was okay to do. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” he continued. 

Sliding up, you rested your head against the headboard and painfully rubbed your eyes. “It’s okay,” you sighed, letting your hands fall to your lap. “It’s been like this since I was fifteen. It’s always just been me and my dad, but he gets really angry sometimes. The only thing he knows to do is kick me out,” you laughed humourlessly, unable to meet his eyes. “I had places to stay in my old town, but I thought it was going to be different here. This is the first time since we’ve moved, and I’m just—“ you started, as tears fell again. God, would they ever stop? “I’m just alone here,” you finished. Shock registered through your thick emotions as you were brought into a quick unexpected hug. That made you cry even more. 

Stan’s hand stroked your hair softly, as he gently stated, “you’re not alone.”

Bringing your arms up to wrap around his neck, he continued to murmur in your ear, “I’m here, I’m always here.” Leaning back out of the hug, Stan’s hand moved to cup the side of your face as he brushed the left over tears. A small reassuring smile warming his face. In a moment of bravery, you leaned forward to place a small kiss on his cheek, but instead, he moved his face slightly to the side, and you fleetingly kissed his lips instead. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to!” he started to fumble out, but you cut him off by leaning foreword to give him another chaste kiss. The butterfly’s in your stomach were a welcome feeling. “I’m glad I met you, Stan,” you quietly said as you pulled away, face still only inches from his. His thumb brushed against your cheek one last time, and the shy look that crossed his features made you smile in return. “I’m glad I thought I heard an owl tonight, Y/N.” he replied, and soon enough, both of you were back to laughing again, foreheads pressed together, shh’ing each other in between snickers.

– general tags: @multi-parker @stan-the-losers-club-man @babylovereddie @ubertrashmouth @this-cute-shit-xo @hummingstan @derrysdenbrough @socially-awkward-nerd @emmaamalie @catching-fire-in-the-wind @mikoalabear

[black-wolf066]

Darling, I’ve Got The Cold Christmas Blues

[FF.Net Link]

((((A/N: Hey guys, so I’ve been really shipping Wish Hook with Regina this season, (Not to mention a few people I’ve been following within the OUAT fandom have totally gotten me hooked to the idea.... you all know who you are *stares pointedly*).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this piece, I’ve had a general idea of what I had wanted to do for a while, but then the ideas multiplied and escalated and wouldn’t leave me alone after watching the promo for 7x09 (and than finally watching said episode... i’m still screaming with how much these past episodes have given me life... seriously, still screaming). So I wanted to do my own little take on a few things even if it’s gonna be AUish.  

Tagging @killianmesmalls (to celebrate her 100 followers, you go girl!) and @killian-whump considering both of them asked me too for when I finally wrote this Hooked Queen piece. Also tagging @theonceoverthinker because YAY for new friends!))))))

Darling, I’ve Got The Cold Christmas Blues

“--When I don’t have you by my side.”

Words: 2814

rating: pg-13 to be safe (cause language...)

Summary: Everyone has a place to be for Christmas Eve, whether volunteering at the local soup kitchen (Tilly and Rogers) or spending it with family and friends. Everyone that is except Roni/Regina. Not when she can’t afford to have her bar closed for even a single night.

Warnings: Feels... hopefully… also for the sake of this one-shot, just pretend that Henry and Regina didn’t go on their road trip just yet and despite Regina’s meddling, Henry and Jacinda can’t stay away from each other, not to mention Lucy (and Sabine because she refuses to put up with Jacinda’s moping any longer) won’t allow them to remain apart. (Also warning for AUish ideas and my own head canon that Rogers’ first name is Logan... until it is stated otherwise, he will forever be named Logan to me lol)

~~Bells will be ringing,

The sad, sad news

Oh, what a Christmas

To have the blues

My baby’s gone,

I have no friends

To wish me greetings

Once again.~~

The Eagles’ somber tune stopped abruptly as Regina turned the radio off a little more forcibly than was probably necessary. Generally she would have allowed the music to play as they worked, but the song had struck a particularly sensitive cord that she didn’t want plucked any farther as she moved to wipe down the long counter (hell, even the band name dredged up unwanted thoughts of him).

Last call had been announced over an hour ago and the few lonely stragglers, still out and about past 2am, were gradually being ushered out to celebrate their Christmas Eve turned Christmas morning elsewhere. She was exhausted and cranky and not at all in the mood for the holiday spirit; not with everything weighing heavily on her soul. Like the pressure of finding a loop hole around Drizella’s clause. The forced solitude of her being the only one awake out of everyone she loved and cared about. The frustration at knowing Rumpelstiltskin was aware and always irksomely up to something. Or the whole fiasco between her and Rogers. All because of that infuriating bitch parading around as poor, victimized, Eloise Gardener.

“What is your problem Roni?!” Rogers seethed, his patience with the bartender starting to wear extremely thin as he stood from his stool and glared at her.

“My problem, detective?” Regina shot back with a mocking laugh. “Is you.”

“Me?!” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, you.” she threw the rag down into the bucket and leaned her hands onto the surface of her bar, matching his glare with equal fervor as she continued. “Are you truly that blind to see what’s right in front of you?”

“For the love of—” he cut himself off, his hand automatically going up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he took a second to collect himself. “Roni, she’s the victim here!”

She snorted in derision. “The victim, right.” He threw his hands up in exasperation and she cut him off before he could retaliate. “I’m telling you Rogers, something’s really off about her. I can’t prove it and I wish I could, but I just… know there’s something not right about Eloise.” She couldn’t help but spit the name out in repulsion, her face scrunching up and a spike of anger causing her spine to go ridged. “I can feel it, Rogers; and my gut is never wrong about these things.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?!” he asked. “The girl was kidnapped and held against her will all these years. She’s got no family to lean on. No friends to turn to. She’s just trying to integrate herself back into society and you think she’s got an agenda?!” the good hand went up to roughly run through and pull at his hair; while the gloved, modern, prosthetic swiped down his face in irritation. “God Roni, I thought you better than this!”

“Rogers I’m just concerned abo—”

“Shove off!” He all but roared, his patience completely gone as he slammed his fist against the counter in a moment of blind rage. He watched as she snapped her jaw shut with an audible click, and when she made no farther move to speak, he pulled back and continued—quieter, but with no less ire than his earlier outburst. “Maybe you’re right about me being blind because clearly I’ve had the wool over my eyes when it comes to my judgment with you.” his indignation dissolved into disappointment as he regarded her. “I thought you were a good person, Roni; truly I did. I thought I could trust you, call you a friend. But evidently I was wrong.”

“Logan—”

“Just—stop.” He shook his head and pivoted to leave with a final parting word. “Until you can be an adult about this, or your moral compass starts working again; we’re done here.”

That had been a little over a month ago, just before Thanksgiving. And true to the detective’s word, she hadn’t seen nor heard from him since their big pow-wow.

Her jaw clenched and she scrubbed vigorously at the bar top to vent out some of her frustration.

She was too prideful to let it show just how much their argument had bothered her, but it did bother her. It was on par with the pain and the stress that she had been feeling since being awoken. The fear of her loved ones getting hurt if the curse were to break before she could find a solution (of her loved ones getting hurt before then too).

It hurt more than Regina ever would have thought possible, for this had been a man she had come to feel a kinship with (even more so than his puppy dog twin back home); their similar dark back stories, their love for their children urging them to give up their revenge, the struggle of being a single parent. It all had been the starting foundation for forming an easy going friendship between them. He was a man she had spent almost eleven years fighting alongside with. A man who had always had her back as much as she had always had his. And a man who had caused a whole train of confusing thoughts and feelings to derail inside her mind and heart.

To have that thrown back in her face, even if he wasn’t truly aware of what he had done, it stung.

And of course, no matter how much she tried to hide it; Tilly and Henry saw right through her. Often times during their visits, they’d not so causally drop updates on how the detective was doing. She would pretend she didn’t care, throwing a snarky comment or two out with a roll of her eyes before conversation would veer elsewhere.

Tilly had also been coming around more during the last two weeks than Henry did (she tried not to let that hurt her either); often times with her jaw ticking, biting her lip or bouncing from foot to foot while debating her next course of action. It always reminded Regina of a skittish rabbit when she’d see it, and she’d even begun to stock up on a jar or two of orange marmalade the longer Tilly came to vent to her. She too had begun to grow wary of Eloise, but mostly she worried about Rogers himself. Tilly was afraid to ask or push him, not after the blow-up (and not after the guilt Tilly still felt), but he hadn’t been looking as good lately; paler skin and prominent bags under his eyes. The younger girl was worried for him and she didn’t know how to approach him about it.

Everything was just wrong, it was the curses doing of course, but it was still very much wrong. She felt utterly helpless, and she certainly did not like feeling helpless. But without proof, without magic, there was only so much Regina could do without getting herself arrested in the process.

It all just made her desire to clean up and head to bed that much stronger.

To hope for sleep to come and unburden her dreams for a change. To forget for a moment that everything wasn’t fine. To forget that she had spent the entire Christmas Eve holiday with nothing but her two workers and the patrons with nowhere else to go for company.

She wanted the comfort that bed offered, the solace it would hopefully bring her even for a few short hours. Support that would end the moment she would get up and have to do it all over again.

To act like it was just another ordinary day.

A very lonely day.

And whose fault is that? Part of her subconscious argued while the other part firmly and stubbornly squashed it for its insubordinance.

It wasn’t her fault that the curse made him so trusting and gullible.

Yet she still felt like it was.

“Boss, want me to start bringing the cases out to restock?”

Startled, she blinked up from the glossy counter and over at Adam; the reminder that she wasn’t working alone preventing her from getting lost in her irksome melancholy thoughts again.

“No,” she answered and with a sigh—realizing the counter had been clean for some time now—she bunched the rag up and tossed it down into the soap bucket at her feet. “You and Mia go home, I’ll finish up.”

“You sure?” Adam asked; pausing mid-stride to the keg room, while Mia glanced up from putting the last of the chairs on top of the tables.

“I’m sure,” Regina urged; forcing the small smile as she finished. “Merry Christmas you two; just lock up when you leave will ya?”

“Sure thing! Merry Christmas, Roni!” Mia chirped cheerily for someone who looked dead on their feet at this late an hour.

“Merry Christmas, boss.”

As the two moved to grab their things and brave the December chill, Regina moved toward her keg room with the list in order to restock the mini fridges underneath the bar. She was just pulling down the 32 count case of Bud Light when she heard the front door again. She didn’t think anything of it, knowing Mia had a tendency to leave things behind all the time, as she moved to pull a few Smirnoff flavors and Angry Orchard cases onto the handheld trolley.

The moment she had everything, she left the room; pulling the trolley behind her and rounding the corner only to freeze at the sight before her. Rogers stood by the bar top with his back to her position, elbows cocked out in a sign that his hands were shoved in pockets and shifting occasionally from foot to foot. She inwardly smiled at how similar father and daughter were, even when cursed, before everything came crashing back to attention.

Taking a deep breath and keeping her expression blank, she pushed forward.

“What are you doing out so late… and here of all places? The door should have been locked.” She asked.

She could see him turning to face her, but she didn’t directly look at him as she passed; sparing a glance toward the dead bolts on the door to find them facing the right way.

“Adam let me in.”

She snorted in derision as she parked the trolley and bent to pick up the first case to unload. Couldn’t people just mind their own business for a change?

“Yeah, well, what are you doing here?” she repeated, too tired and grumpy to care how harsh the question came out. “Thought you weren’t speaking to me?”

Hearing one of the stools scrap against the floor, she finally looked up to acknowledge him fully as he sat down; the slightly pale pallor of his skin and the dark blotches under his eyes that Tilly and Henry had warned her about, doing nothing to ease the shock. Her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding in her anger as she once more wished she had her magic to blast the bitch into next week. Wished she had proof that Gothel was slowly killing him too. Wished the man wasn’t so infuriatingly naïve and stubborn; that he would just freaking listen to everyone and go to the damn doctors already.

And damn it all she refused to lose someone else!

“About that,” he began, and Regina focused back on him, watching as his good hand went up to scratch behind his ear; the nervous tick causing an ache that was getting harder and harder to stomach. “I’m sorry.” He stated sincerely, his eyes, made even bluer by the dark patches underneath, boring into her own. “For yelling at you and,” he reached into his zipped jacket and pulled out a thick stack of rolled papers, setting them on the surface of the counter and pushing them toward her as he finished. “For not trusting your judgment.”

Pausing in her task, she unfolded the papers and regarded him with a bit of trepidation; almost afraid to know what happened, afraid to shed light on truths she already knew.

“What’s all this?”

“That,” he sighed and gestured for her to look at them. “Are my discharge papers from the hospital and proof that I should have listened to you and your gut sooner.”

She began to flip through the sheets, trying to decipher the chicken scratch scrawled in the doctor’s notes. She didn’t get much farther than ‘small traces of poison’ before she was glancing up at him with a scowl.

“And here I thought you were volunteering at the soup kitchen with Tilly.” She shook her head and leaned against the bar top. “If you were discharged on the 23rd, you should be home resting, Logan. What possessed you to come here?”

“Like I said, I wanted to apologize…” he shrugged; his fingers on his good hand tapping against the counter as he stared at the papers. “Wouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise.”

“Well, I’m just glad you finally listened to everyone and got yourself checked out.”

“Well…”

She glared. “It wasn’t your idea?”

“No,” he shook his head sheepishly. “It was Weaver to tell you the truth.”

“Weaver? Really?”

The expression on his face said he couldn’t believe it either. “Weaver did some digging; managed to find out that Eloise Gardner wasn’t her real name; from there he managed to find everything else. According to the birth certificate, her real name is Gloria Williams, sister to Victoria ‘Williams’ Belfrey.”

Regina could do nothing more than stare in astonishment, her eyebrows shooting up in her surprise and wondering just how in the hell Rumpelstiltskin managed to accomplish that; not that she wasn’t grateful. Nor should she be all that surprised either.

Always up to something that one.

“He found plenty of lawsuits and worker complaints for the William estate,” He continued. “Gloria had been kept a family secret after an incident with rat poisoning left a maid hospitalized when she was five.” He ruffled his hand through is hair and leaned farther against the counter, and Regina moved to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge for him while she listened. “There had been a few other incidents over the years—which explains the lawsuits and complaints—but the one when she was thirteen threatened to have her sent to a psychiatric hospital. Hence why she ran away.” He shook his head. “How she managed to go that long without anyone in the foster system questioning it, I’ll never know. My guess is someone in Victoria’s family found her eventually and forced her back home. I don’t like how it was all handled but I’m starting to wonder…”

“You did what you thought was right, Logan. You’re a good cop and a good man.”

“And blind evidently.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with that.” She teased before leaning over to touch his arm and get him to look back up at her. “You’re human, Logan, a human with a bleeding heart that I both admire and feel compelled to worry about. But that’s why you have friends to look out for you.”

“I’m so sorry Roni, for everything.” he told her remorsefully.

“I’m just glad you’re alright, but please tell me she’s locked up and not hiding out somewhere.”

“Weaver went and got her himself.”

“Good.” she nodded, patted his arm once, and leaned back to finish her earlier task.

A comfortable silence descended upon them and a weight on her shoulders lifted. It felt bizarre with how much she had come to rely on his presence, not knowing how much she truly did until she didn’t have him to turn to. She was just glad it was one less thing to worry about now, and she hoped it would allow her to focus on the important tasks ahead of them if they were to survive.

“You know,” she piped up as she emptied the last of the cases into the fridge. “You really ought to be home resting.”

“I should.” he made no move to stand. “But… I also don’t want to spend the rest of the holiday alone either.”

Breaking down the cardboard boxes, she regarded him carefully; seeing the open honesty on his face as she mulled over how to respond.

“I guess the floor can be mopped tomorrow.” She breathed out, her eyes clashing with his and causing a shiver to run down her spine. “Care to join me for a glass of Eggnog?”

The easy, almost shy smile he gave her as he responded with an “I’d like that,” mirrored itself on her own face as she led him up the spiral stairs to her apartment.

Maybe she had a little holiday spirit in her after all.