#at worst people are trying to win over regina by being nice to her because her dads rich and owns the circus

[blackquill-inchains]

forever thinking about how good turnabout big top couldve been if the plot didnt hinge on three grown men wanting to marry a child

mentally rewriting it in my brain forever to remove that shit

ill make my own circus murder trial! with blackjack! and hookers!

[thestraggletag]

Ties of Blood, aka the Rumbelle cursed!faux!incest, Part Two

Summary: There’s nothing more tragic than ripping two lovers apart, except piecing the broken pieces together wrong. Never say the Evil Queen doesn’t know about revenge.

Rating: NC-17

Part One here.

Hey, it only took me FOUR YEARS to put up part Two! This fic will likely have four parts so I'll be finished before the decade's over.

Enjoy the big cliffhanger at the end of this chapter!

She figured it out seconds before Miss Swan blurted it out to the entire assembly, too late to make a hasty and discreet retreat. She forced herself to look relaxed and betray no emotion as Emma confessed the truth.

"The fire was a setup. Mr. Gold agreed to support me in this race, but I didn’t know that that meant he was going to set a fire. I don’t have definitive evidence, but I’m sure. And the worst part of all this was - the worst part of all this is - I let you all think it was real. And I can’t win that way. I’m sorry."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her brother stand up and slowly walk away, understanding that he'd avoided sitting next to her because he knew what would happen. Knew Emma Swan enough to predict exactly how she'd react, down to her spontaneous confession. It was terrifying, how he could do that. And it was terrifying, for a whole lot of different reasons, how much he seemed to already know Miss Swan. How he could get inside her head so easily.

Once he was gone she felt some people turn their attention towards her, and it took all she had not to acknowledge it, to pretend she didn't notice it. As soon as she could, however, she slipped out of the hall, hastening home. She felt a sad sort of relief to find the house dark and quiet, Rabbie having retired to his room early for the night, allowing her to do the same and be alone with her thoughts. And they centred around Emma Swan and Mayor Mills, the two women who seemed to hold her brother's interest. It was difficult to tell which one he seemed to favour, and she could see either as being his preference. On the one hand he seemed to be doing the impossible to try and keep Emma Swan in town, toying with her in a way that could easily be interpreted as flirting, but on the other his hatred of Regina bordered on obsession, and could have easily been hiding a deep attraction. She was certainly privy to a side of him Rabbie fought to hide from Belle herself. Besides, the mayor had a dangerous sort of beauty that she could understand would be attractive to someone like her brother. Things were getting out of control, were escalating. A fire was too much to ignore, to excuse.

The days after the fire and the election were filled with the tense silence of things unspoken, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Though neither mentioned it Belle heard about clandestine meetings in the woods with the mayor and unexpected acts of kindness towards the sheriff, including the exchange of information- something Rabbie priced highly- in exchange for "tolerance".

Though she had told herself that she would've been happy if his brother decided to pursue Emma Swan she wasn't sure of it now. But she should try to embrace it, try to see the positive side of it. It was good of Rabbie to take an interest in someone new, good for him to interact more with people. When she expressed a wish to invite either woman for dinner, however, he seemed set against it, as if he found the idea distasteful.

"It's just... you seem to have so many things in common with both women, Rabbie. I thought inviting either for dinner would make a nice change from lonely nights with the town lunatic."

Her brother banged a closed fist on the table, startling her into dropping her cutlery. He seemed contrite as soon as he saw the scared expression on her face, reaching out with that same hand to take one of hers.

"Do not refer to yourself as that. Please. You're not... you're not crazy."

She wished she could agree, but she knew there was something wrong with her. She had dreams sometimes, strange and elusive and unsettling, and often she'd be hit by a sense of wrongness in the middle of the day, as if the world around her... wasn't real. Certain people also made her feel strange, like Maurice French. There was something about him that made her strangely nostalgic and yearning. The mayor, on the other hand, terrified her, and she didn't very well know why. But it was a cold, visceral sort of fear, deep and inexplicable. And her brother... Well, of course she loved him, but sometimes that love felt... wrong. In ways she didn't really want to explore at all.

It was happening more and more, which in turn had her feeling more and more like the little girl trapped in the asylum she'd once been. And like she'd deserved to be there.

"I'm sorry. I know you worry. And I don't want you to, I want you to... enjoy yourself. Mingle a bit more. Perhaps take the new sheriff for a drink or two, now that things seem to be better between you."

He looked puzzled, as if it had never occurred to him to view Miss Swan in a romantic light. Then again her brother was good about lying to himself when the mood struck him, it was altogether very possible he was in denial.

"You're seeing things, dear."

Belle chuckled, a mirthless sort of sound.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Without Graham to go to for some peace when things got to be too much Belle got into the habit of visiting his grave to bring fresh flowers and sit awhile to enjoy the peace and quiet. Her brother had thoughtfully seen fit to install a wooden bench, Marco's handiwork judging by the simple elegance of the design. Unwilling to go visit her friend empty-handed she became a regular visitor of Game of Thorns. The flower shop was poorly kept and Moe French looked like a man who could barely keep things running or his life together, but there was a sort of dignity about the man, the shadow of something great that had faded away with time. His flower arrangements were certainly beautiful, and his merchandise well cared-for.

Though he was wary of her at first her sunny disposition soon had him warming up to her and once she expressed her interest in flowers he became a veritable chatterbox. Every time she stopped by he'd have a new flower arrangement for her, taking great pains to tell her interesting tidbits about the flowers. She got used to stopping by with something to share, muffins or cookies or anything else she might easily carry in a tupper, once she realised the florist seldom remembered to eat during the day. He spoke, sometimes, of his wife- Belle hadn't known he was a widower- and how she'd been the one with the business sense, a force of nature that had kept the house and the shop running smoothly and profitably. He'd tried to emulate her efforts after she passed away, but he'd quickly found himself overwhelmed by daily life.

"I'm just no good outside a greenhouse, it seems. Plants come easy to me... Everything else usually becomes too much."

For some reason, she felt the overwhelming need to fuss about his clothes and his eating habits, though she knew that would imply far too much familiarity. Moe French was a gruff sort of person, and she was nothing but a glorified customer. He did seem not to mind her intrusions on his time, cheering up when she entered the shop and not at all eager, it seemed, to send her away.

Once, after a particular rotten day- she'd woken in the middle of the night with the remnants of some sort of horrible dream about her and made her way to her brother's room only to find him gone, and nothing had quite gotten better after that- he'd offered to show her to his greenhouse, which was fascinating. A large portion of it was occupied by rows of hydrangeas.

"It was my wife's favourite flower. Funny, some days I can hardly remember her face, but I've never forgotten she loved hydrangeas."

For some reason it didn't surprise her to find the late Mrs French had also favoured hydrangeas. It certainly explained why the flower shop always kept them in stock and in such an array of colours. Belle had thought perhaps that the florist did it to curry favour, to try to appease her brother come rent day, give him a reason to be lenient. She rather liked the more romantic explanation, it made the flowers seem less mercenary. And it fit her newfound understanding of Moe French as a man who'd loved fiercely and lost, who was hopeless at anything remotely business-related- something her brother often commented on, in a far less diplomatic manner- but made the most beautiful flower arrangements imaginable and spent a lot of his time talking to his plants in his greenhouse, claiming it helped them grow.

Changes were definitely happening, and though Belle could have done without a lot of them she rather liked some others.

He hated it. Couldn't quite tell why, but he hated it. Somehow the florist had always rubbed him the wrong way, for no apparent reason. He was a snivelling, barely-functional excuse of a man, with the worst business sense he'd ever seen, who saw fit to blame all of his woes on others. Granted, he was not the only person in Storybrooke Gold was less than impressed with, but there was something about him, something special that pushed his dislike into outright, seething hate. Being in the florist's presence for long tended to make him violent, to fill him up with an inexplicable rage.

Belle's soft spot for the old man made him strangely apprehensive and anxious. It felt almost as if he thought Moe was dangerous for his sister, like he wished to do her harm, which he knew wasn't true. In the past, however, that awful feeling in the pit of his stomach had not been recurring, since Belle crossed paths with Mr French only seldomly. The flowers that decorated their home were picked up by him or, more often, by Dove, his only employee. The library and the flowershop were far enough away from each other and Moe French wasn't into reading anything longer than a magazine. Gold doubted he even had a library card.

But after Graham died Belle had acquired the habit of visiting his grave, often bringing with her a bouquet to place near the headstone. Which meant she was suddenly visiting the flower shop often and that set his teeth on edge. Especially when it became clear his sister was taking a genuine interest in the florist and he seemed to be responding in kind. Belle had never given him the impression of wanting a father figure. They had both tacitly agreed, once they'd been reunited, that each was all the family the other needed. He didn't like the notion that he wasn't enough, that he'd failed somehow, in some way he couldn't fathom. That he was lacking.

Moe was a lonely man, who likely found himself nearing retirement and dealing with the regrets of a life half-lived. He had a vague notion that he'd once been married, long ago, but there had been no kids, and later on his wife had passed away, leaving him all alone. A man with no family, with no friends, with very little in the way of a future. He could understand that someone like that might start to covet things that weren't his, things he desired. For some reason the idea that Moe might actually have... an unseemly interest in his sister had never crossed his mind. Man was no lecher, which might easily be his one and only virtue. But he did have some sort of interest in Belle, man lit up whenever she was around and became someone capable of carrying a conversation and not simply grunting. He'd tell her about plants as if they were a fascinating subject and, much to his chagrin, it led to botany books joining Belle's multiple book piles around the house. Books were how Belle best expressed herself, and so he'd learned to read the book piles. Victoria Holt novels when she was feeling down and needed a bit of romance with a twist, Agatha Christie when she was feeling bored with the quiet daily life of Storybrooke, Cortazar for when her mood was dark and strange and she needed stories to match and so on. Everything new that caught her eye would eventually end up in the piles and, over the years, he'd been their biggest influence. Law review books when he was handling a tricky case, art history books to learn more about whatever big project he was working on, even the odd medical journal whenever there was an interesting or relevant article about physical therapy for people with his sort of injury. To see a bit of Moe French in the piles set him on edge.

He tried to tell himself when rent day came along that he wasn't taking any sick pleasure from running the numbers and discovering that French was a whopping three hundred and fifty bucks short. Told himself that he was simply following protocol when he called Dove to provide muscle protection as he prepared to seize the florist's collateral, his van. So what if he'd perversively and carefully picked out what he was wearing that day, down to the paisley purple and silver tie? It simply meant he knew the power of appearances.

He told himself over and over he was in the right, preparing the arguments in his head to tell Belle once she, without a doubt, went off on him for it. He rehearsed them over and over and was in the process of reciting them in his head for the seventh time as he approached his house when he noticed the front door open. It was too soon for Belle to have closed the library and made her way home so his guard was immediately up. Once he made his way inside he reached for the Walter PPK he kept near the front door, removing the safety quickly as his eyes surveyed the living room, already noticing some valuables missing, as well as things strewn about, clear evidence of a robbery.

The appearance of Miss Swan a few seconds later, far from welcomed, put a damper on the plans already forming in his head. It was too much of a coincidence, being robbed the same day he'd moved against Moe French. This had all the markings of French's brand of sloppiness, down to the many expensive items he'd left behind because they weren't glittering baubles. He wouldn't have guessed anyone else was involved if he hadn't noticed a particular object missing. It was a small, insignificant thing, a bone china cup, dainty and chipped, that had once belonged to an expensive tea set his aunties had owned. Belle had chipped that cup as a baby, and so when the aunties were forced to sell it they had omitted the cup, which he had saved from the trash and kept in secret for years, the one thing Belle had touched that he could get his hands on. It was worthless except to him, nothing that could have possibly attracted the attention of someone ransacking the house for valuables.

No one knew where he kept the cup, though. Only Belle, of course, who might not remember breaking it as a toddler but had heard the story enough times to repeat it from memory at the drop of a hat. But no one else even knew the cup was of any significance.

‘Regina.’

He turned around, as if expecting someone to materialise behind him. He shook his head, wondering if there was something in the water. First Sheriff Graham seeing wolves in the woods and now he was hearing noises. And there was a nagging feeling, one he couldn’t explain, regarding the mayor. As if some part of him knew she was responsible for it, just like Belle had been sure she was responsible for the good sheriff’s death.

It didn’t matter how the florist knew anyway. Perhaps it was a coincidence. What mattered was getting the cup back intact. Everything else could wait.

He felt off kilter, in a way he could not explain away. Like he had spent half the day on autopilot, doing things without a conscious thought or a good reason. Kidnapping the florist had been a deliberate move, that one he could not excuse. After all the man had touched what was his and needed to know that such actions carried consequences. But what happened later… that he had no reasonable explanation for. The rage that overtook him when he heard Mr French’s pathetic pleas for leniency, his desperate attempts at reasoning with him, he could not explain. It felt like something foreign, something subconscious he could only scratch at, that was dying to push its way out of his body. A voice told him that Maurice had done something awful. Something beyond redemption. That he had taken Belle from him, in a way that was permanent, and that he needed to pay for it.

‘He hurt her,’ the voice told him, over and over until it was howling inside his head, drowning out the desperate cries from the florist and the sound of Sheriff Swan identifying herself on the other side of the door, demanding entry. It wasn’t until she barged in and cuffed him that he snapped out of it, as if awakening suddenly from a dream that felt too real until the last second.

“What the hell were you thinking, Gold? What did he do?”

“He stole.”

He thought about the cup, but somehow other images kept popping into his head instead. Of Belle, dressed in a blue dress he could not recall her ever owning, lounging around in an unfamiliar, palatial place. Of them dancing around each other, the air charged with something he could not describe. And then himself, alone. Devastated. Because Belle was… gone?

“That reaction was about more than taking a few trinkets. You said something about how he hurt "her", what happened to "her"? Who was that? What did he do? If someone needs help, maybe I can help. Unless this is about your sister, in which case I would remind you about the virtues of sharing. She’s a grown woman capable of choosing who she socialises with.”

“No. I'm sorry, Sheriff. I think you heard that wrong.”

He was in no mood to have whatever discussion this was turning into, not with the Sheriff or anyone else. He knew what people thought about him, and his relationship with his sister. But it wasn’t any of their fucking business. They weren’t family, not like-

Except he had called Maurice her father, hadn’t he? Why had he done that? At the moment he hadn’t thought about it. Words had just poured out of his mouth, as if he had always wanted to speak them. As if he had been dying to say them.

“You really don't wanna cooperate.”

He really, really didn’t.

“Look, we're done here.”

He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to have to explain to others what he could not even begin to make sense in his head. He just wanted to go home, to Belle’s relaxing company. Sheriff Swan slapping cuffs on him jarred him out of his little fantasy.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The cells back at the sheriff’s station were not known for their comfort, and his headache wasn’t helping matters. His mind felt scattered, as if it was difficult to concentrate. He struggled to make sense of things, to keep it together. Nonsensical images flitted about his mind, of places he had never seen, a life he had never lived. And that voice, that damnable sing-songy voice, kept whispering in his ear, taunting about how he did not remember, how he had forgotten something important.

When the mayor came, it took everything in him not to snap because he realised that whatever was going on wasn’t happening in his head. Regina knew. She knew and he was in the dark, yet for some inexplicable reason she thought the opposite. There was a power struggle happening, and he was on the losing end of it unless he figured out fast what the fuck was going on in his town.

The glee in the mayor’s face when she realised that he did not know what she was talking about was a bitter pill to swallow, but the return of his chipped cup softened the sting. He needed to be out to figure out what was going on and how it connected to everything else wrong around him.

A quick call later, which Sheriff Swan had allowed him only after he had rather mockingly reminded her of his rights, had him out of the station in little time at all. DA Spencer was nothing if not shady, after all, and though he had no expectations of loyalty- he was sure Spencer was dealing with him only because Regina had not come knocking with a better offer- it got him out of his more immediate and pressing problem. He would deal with the charges themselves later.

He hoped, rather foolishly perhaps, that his slightly-rumpled estate would put off whatever inevitable confrontation would eventually happen between himself and his sister but it was a testament to how angry Belle was that she seemed not to notice the way his limp was noticeably more pronounced once he was finally home.

“What the hell has gotten into you? Are you mad?”

He shrugged off his coat and hung it in the rack near the door, unable to help the way his eyes went up and down Belle, making sure she was alright, that no harm had come to her in the time he had been indisposed. She looked healthy. And absolutely furious. Worse than that. She looked betrayed.

“I was merely seeking justice. The good sheriff didn’t seem to be going anywhere with her investigation of the theft in our home, so I took matters into my own hands. Miss Swan clearly did not appreciate me showing her up, so to speak, by finding the culprit and making sure there wouldn’t be a repeat offence.”

So what the handle of his cane was covered in a bit of blood? Headwounds bled easily, everyone knew that. 

“Moe French is in the hospital! You should’ve seen him in the hospital bed, covered in bandages, practically unable to move!”

“You went to visit him?”

It felt like a betrayal, knowing that while he had been seething in prison, dealing with Regina and getting his precious cup back, his sister had been visiting the person who had violated their home and taken things of untold value to him. Hadn’t she thought about visiting him? About his comfort? He had done all he had to protect her, after all. To protect them.

“I had to! I had to see for myself, apologise on your behalf and make sure he knew we would cover all medical expenses.”

“Like hell we are.” He had never raised his voice to his sister before, not that he ever recalled, and yet something about their current dynamic felt so strangely familiar. “Not an ounce of my money is going to that snivelling little leech.”

“So it’s your money now? That’s how this is? Your money, your power, your reputation. That’s what you were protecting when you were beating a defenceless Moe French, wasn’t it?”

“He doesn’t deserve your fierce defence of him. He never has. He’s beneath your notice, and yet you’ve insisted on paying attention to him. Of spending time with him. Of course he was going to take advantage of it eventually, of your kindness and your bleeding heart.”

He stalked off towards the wet bar in the corner of their living-room, serving himself a generous three fingers of 30-year-old Macallan, trying not to remember it had been a gift of Belle’s for his last birthday. 

“I’m not some idiot that someone can easily take advantage of! And you don’t get to dictate who I spend time with! I keep quiet about your social life, don’t I? Meeting with the major in the woods at night, having questionable encounters with the sheriff. Things any other person might have questioned you about. But I kept silent, I’ve not complained about how much less time we spend together, how you’ve become more secretive, more cagey. You have no right to dictate to me in return.”

Rabbie scoffed, downing his drink and contemplating pouring himself another. It wasn’t the first time his sister implied he was paying too much attention to either the mayor or the sheriff, and he was sick of it. It wasn’t true, for one, and he disliked that his sister kept both pushing him towards the two women and then acting strange when she perceived he was spending too much time with either of them. He disliked how they had wormed their way into their home. For him, both women were… business connections, which he cultivated and utilised for his own benefit, to maintain and grow his hold over the town and make things go the way he wanted them to. But all that stopped mattering as soon as he crossed his front door. Their house was their private sanctuary, a world of their own. That’s why he had taken such a dislike to the mere idea of Moe French violating their space. And it rankled that she didn’t seem to hold the same sentiment.

“Stop it! Stop whatever weird little thing you’ve been imagining it’s happening between me and the sheriff or, God forbid, the mayor. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, you’ve completely lost-”

He stopped himself, the enormity of what he was about to say hitting him a second before he did. But he could see from the way that Belle’s eyes suddenly filled with tears that it was too little, too late.

“My mind? Say it. It’s what everyone thinks, after all. The truth is you’ve never cared about my social life before because I had none. Because everyone in this town keeps their distance from me, like I’m some sort of wild animal that’ll attack them unprovoked at any moment. And they’re not necessarily wrong, are there? I… I have these dreams, sometimes. So vivid they feel more real than my life here sometimes. And I have these inappropriate-”

This time she was the one that stopped herself, her eyes suddenly not meeting his as she side-stepped him to head towards the stairs. He knew her well enough to know she was planning to go up to the library to read herself to sleep. The library was her personal space, like the basement workshop was his, and they had a tacit agreement not to step into each other’s rooms without express permission, making them places where they could take a break from each other. He would have let her go, only he felt like she had been about to say something important. Monumental. As if she had been about to give voice to something that had, for the longest time, been unspoken between them. He grabbed her by the arm, gentle in spite of the tone and charged air in the room.

“What were you going to say?” 

“Nothing.”

He could see her folding into herself, escaping into that bit of her mind he could not touch and it infuriated him. She never did that with him, not on purpose. She was always an open book where he was concerned, the one person he didn’t have to worry would have ulterior motives.

“It’s not nothing. Why are you lying to me? You’ve never done that before.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that he only ever lied to her for her protection. There were things she was better off not knowing, things he was happier if she could safely deny having knowledge of. Things she might find unseemly or unpalatable and would struggle to reconcile with her values. Belle was a much better person than he was, than most people were. He didn’t want her to have to pit her love for him against her sense of right and wrong. 

But saying that suddenly sounded incredibly condescending.

“Don’t change the subject. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. And when it comes to us I’m always honest with you. And until now you’ve done the same. But there’s something you’re keeping from me.”

The way she wouldn’t meet his eyes told him that he was right.

“Can you really say that? You think I don’t realise you’ve been different these past few months? Ever since Emma Swan showed up, as a matter of fact.”

She was right, of course, but not in the way she seemed to be implying. Something had indeed changed the day Henry Mills had dragged his very reluctant biological mother across the townline months ago. He could not pinpoint what, or when he had first noticed it. When things he had kept mostly buried beneath layers of denial, started to surface. When he began to hear a niggling voice in the back of his head that told him there was something wrong with the way he felt about his sister. In the ways his eyes and hands lingered on her at times, in the way he felt when other people- other men- took her from him, even if it was only for a little while. It was the only part of what made beating Moe French make sense, this notion that this man was there to take Belle away from him and needed to be stopped. The other part of it, the blind, consuming rage, that remained a mystery to him.

 “Stop this obsession with the bloody sheriff. Who cares about her? Why do you insist on bringing her up between us? Acting like-” Like a jealous girlfriend. “-like you’re insecure. Like you’re afraid we’re drifting apart.”

“Aren’t we? When was the last time we had lunch together when I wasn’t the one taking the trouble of going to the pawnshop to make it happen. When was the last time we went a week without something making you skip dinner? The last time we sat down to watch a movie?” Belle’s eyes welled up, her face a mixture of anger and sadness that made him want to wrap his arms around her, even though he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. He still held on to her, both hands on her arms now, his cane dropped. He trusted her to keep him upright.

“Sometimes… sometimes I think I love you more than you love me.”

“No one could love anyone more than I love you.” He felt his hands tighten around her upper arms and though a part of him knew he must be hurting her he could not make himself pull away. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. It’s the only thing I’ve ever felt sure about in this world. The only thing that feels right.”

“Does it? Because it hasn’t felt right for me lately. Like I’ve woken up and realised that the way we are is not… It’s not good for us. It’s not healthy. It’s not normal.”

“Fuck normal. No part of our lives has been normal. What we have is not normal, it’s better. Better than what most people will ever have. It feels good, doesn’t it?” He let one of his hands wrap around the back of her neck, the other going around her waist to pull her closer to appease the blind panic welling up in him at the idea that Belle might pull away. “You feel this? Whatever this is, it can’t be bad. Not between us.”

They never knew what happened first, whether it was Belle looking up or Gold looking down. One moment they were simply close, foreheads touching, the air charged between them, and the next their lips grazed, tentatively at first, the pressure increasing as something sparked between them. Belle sighed, her hands pressing against his shoulders to be able to stand on her toes and lean into the kiss and it was all that was needed for Gold’s carefully-curated self-restraint to snap. Suddenly he was hauling her close, his mouth pressing insistently against hers, coaxing her lips to open so he could slip his tongue into the warm heaven that was her. He growled, feeling exhilaration course through him as he kissed her frantically, with a desperation he had never felt before. Something sizzled between them, something that felt a bit like electricity travelling all over his body but he pushed that feeling aside, concentrating instead on the feeling of his sister’s hands sliding to the back of his neck, one taking a lock of his hair and tugging on it, urging him closer. She was soft and warm and wonderful in his arms, and he could not shake the feeling that this was right. It was what they had always meant to be doing, what their entire lives had led to. Why he had always been resentful of men sniffing around Belle, why he had always compared women to her. The few women who he had dated had all closely reassembled her, but he had never noticed. All a pale imitation of her, he could see now as he fisted the back of her shirt, his hand seeking the warmth of her skin. She was perfect, and she was his. His beautiful little sister, his true love.

‘That means it’s true love!’

There was a bright flash of something and next thing he knew Gold was on the floor on the other side of the living-room, a searing pain in his forehead and a deluge of confusing memories hammering into his brain. A spinning wheel. A dagger.

Baelfire. His son.

A curse to become reunited with him. And just as he was about to accomplish it… a flicker of light. One that had been snuffed out.

Dead.

He looked across the room, at his sister sprawled next to the couch, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

“R-Rumple?”

“Belle.” He had said her name a thousand times as Mr Gold, but it felt different, like he was talking about a different person. And, in a way, he was. Not Belle French, but Lady Belle. Except she was supposed to be dead. Regina had told him-

Fuck. How could he have been so stupid?

“You’re real. You’re alive.”

[revchainsaw]

Bumblebee (2018)

Good Evening worshippers, and welcome! Today the Cult of Cult goes a little more mainstream than usual. It's been a while since i've tackled a big Hollywood superhero film. But I do believe that these sorts of films will be remembered fondly my small groups of people in the future, especially the smaller films that are being overshadowed by the big bad MCU, films like 2018s Bumblebee.

The Messsage

Bumblebee was originally released as a prequel to the Transformers franchise that had started all the way back in 2007. However, reboots had really hit the market as a way to breath new life into struggling franchises, and the Transformers series had already gone to just about every absurd extreme you could imagine. No changes were made to the movie as it was released, but with it's more childish and heartfelt tone, and a new aesthetic that was softer, smoother, and all around just generally more pleasing to the eye, I think it was a wise choice to rebrand Bumblebee as a new beginning.

Our story is of two friends from two very different worlds and how they came together. Our first character is Bumblebee, then known as B- number sign/it doesn't really matter. Not yet Bumblebee is a soldier set with securing a safe location for the Autobots to regroup and make their home as they suffer a pretty serious defeat on cybertron at the hands of the tyrannical Decepticons. Optimus Prime, here again voiced by Peter Cullen and looking so much more like himself, assigns this task to Bumblebee promising him that they will meet him there when the time comes. Then Optimus fucks off for the rest of the run time making way for our little hero.

Bumblebee lands on Earth and is immediately set upon by John Cena and his military goon squad. It probably would have been wise for Bumblebee to avoid John Cena but in his defense, he couldn't see him. Hardy har har. In his attempt to flee his voice box is damaged, he seeks sanctuary by taking the form of a run down little VW bug, and suffers from amnesia.

Then we have Charlie. Charlie is not like other girls. She likes cars, all the retro music, which wasn't retro when the movie takes place, so I'm supposed to just think she's a rocker but it kinda seems like she'll listen to just about anything. I think in 2018 liking Motorhead and The Smiths (who are used ad nauseum in this movie) is perfectly common, but I feel like in the 80s that was a much different and much older attitude to take.

Anyway Charlie's poor family lives in a super fucking nice house and are poor because the dialogue keeps insisting they are so it must be true despite all the shit they have that actually poor people would sell blood and teeth to attain, but hell, this is Hollywood and Hollywood poor is like regular people upper middle class. Charlies family is so poor that instead of giving her a one time graduation/birthday present to buy a part for a car she already has, they just give her a moped, She also spends all her time at a pull apart where the manager (who might be her uncle that wasn't super clear) is willing to just give her a Volkswagen so I don't understand why she didn't already have the project car up and running. Whatever, it's a plot contrivance. All you need to know is that Charlie is tenacious and hard around the edges cuz her dad is dead and she's not yet mature enough to process that in a healthy way. Maybe her character arch will teach her to let others in, we'll have to find out.

There's also a wacky nerd named Memo, and some bad guys, and John Cena. They are all also pretty archetypal and contrived and don't really do anything of note that isn't just filling a beat that this kind of movie needs to walk. Charlie starts Bumblebee up, discovers he's a robot and the two begin to bond. Charlie learns to make a friend, and bumblebee is learning about himself. They get into hijinks and get revenge on a bully girl who makes Regina George look like a saint, she pretty much only picks on Charlie exclusively for having a dead dad.

The moment Bumblebee is woken back up, some technology goof em up that both he and Charlie are unaware of brings two Decepticon baddies into the picture. I don't remember their names, but since I love The Venture Brothers let's say they can be "Jet Boy and Jet Girl". Jet Boy and Jet Girl are sometimes cars, sometimes various flying military vehicles, and they make friends with the deep state and plan to get all the adrenochrome from all the orphans, or just to go find Bumblebee and beat his ass good cuz their bad guys. Let me tell y'all though, Jet Boy and Jet Girl are so bad that they don't even care that the government is listening when they reveal that they are planning on bringing a Decepticon Invasion and after they rough up Bumblebee real good they are going to destroy all life on this planet. So they start by killing a military scientist.

John Cena is after Bumblebee and he's homies with Jet Boy and Jet Girl until the military scientist butt dials him and he hears the evil plan. John Cena goes from heel to face and helps Bumblebee and Charlie save the day. It's a giant CG clusterfuck climax a la any superhero film in the last 10 years and I basically stopped watching. BumbleBee pulls a Hellraiser on Jet Boy, and then he hits Jet Girl with a freaking boat. Charlie uses her diving skills do dive down and save him, but he's a Giant Robot and he was okay and it was literally pointless for her to to except as a way to show that her character has completed her arch by doing the thing that was representative of her connection with her lost father.

Bumblebee turns into the Camaro from the first movie, meets up with Optimus prime, and the stage is set for this prequel to squeeze more prequels out. So it wasn't very creative, but was it bad? Let's find out.

Please Stand to receive the Benediction.

Best Aspect: Transform the Franchise

Bumblebee was directed by Travis Knight of Laika fame and it shows. This movie marks a stylistic change in the transformers franchise, as in it doesn't look like utter dog shit, but it also represents in many ways a tonal shift. It does hold on to a lot of gross sleaze that has unfortunately been forcibly jammed into the DNA of the franchise but it also attempts to be a more heartfelt entry. The characters of Bumblebee might all be sort of a waste of time, but at least they are doing something with emotions, even if the emotions of the characters are only explored as deeply as a children's cartoon I'm glad they are there. In the previous installments the only thing the characters did between running from action piece to seizure inducing action piece was drool over underage girls like a bunch of chimpanzees at the facility where they test experimental E.D. meds. It was nice to see that at least somewhat tampered. This transformers movie feels more like it's for kids and young teenagers, and strangely that more friendly tone makes for a much less juvenile product.

Worst Aspect: Remember I Love the 80s from the 2000s

I hope you really like Stranger Things. I do, but because Stranger Things was so successful it' s going to be everywhere. Not true Stranger Things just 80s nostalgia porn. This 80s nostalgia is going to be forced on you whether you like it or not, and it's not going to be fun. It's gonna be in your shows, in your music, in your Sunday like Bacon in 2010. It's that or Marvel Franchise Brand Whedonisms. Bumblebee is that brave movie that says, "Why not both?" It would seem fitting that a property as quintessentially 80s as Transformers should feel completely comfortable doing a period piece set in the 80's but it's so fucking half hearted it's depressing. It wasn't done to appreciate the roots of the IP, it was done to cash in on a trend and it feels it. All they did was throw up a date and insufferably force an 80s soundtrack down your throat as if that was enough to convince you that this movie needed to be set during this time. Other than that you could have told me this film was set in 2007 and I couldn't tell you any different.

Best Character: Charlie's an Angel

I liked Charlie. Sure her Arc is predictable, her taste is dumb, and she isn't exactly a master of her own destiny to any degree. But at least she is a woman in a transformers movie who's got something going on. Sure she's defined entirely by grief, but that sure is better than pretending that being able to work on cars is a feminist character trait instead of a weird fetish thing. They certainly do that thing with Charlie, but at least it's not the only thing they throw at the wall. Bumblebee is by no means out of the woods in this department, but it garners a lot of goodwill for trying. Like a racist uncle who just started his journey out of ignorance, but hasn't yet realized he has to stop asking mortifying questions to the barista at Starbucks. Okay, maybe that's an extreme metaphor. I'm saying that perhaps Charlie is not a great character but she's a great character for a Transfomers movie.

Worst Character: It's JOOOOHHHNNNN CEEEENA!!!!

Why is John Cena in this movie? I don't hate the guy, but his character seems pointless. You could remove him from the movie completely and replace him with any one of the random military goons at any point and it changes nothing. What was with that dumb salute at the end? It seems like they put him in this movie in post and it was just to pump up cast list. I wish he was given anything to work with. I can't remember his characters name, and it's not like John Cena did a bad job, I was just annoyed every time they kept giving him hero shots. I felt like I was watching a trailer for a different movie.

Best Actor: Optimal Primo!

Every time Peter Cullen speaks I want to listen. There's a reason they haven't had Chris Pratt or somebody with a bigger name come in and take over the role at this point. He's why the audience keep coming back. Peter Cullen IS Optimus Prime, and there's no changing that. He also wins twice. He's the best actor in the movie AND he's barely in the movie. Good call Peter.

Worst Actor: Mean Girls 2, Meaner and Girlier

I don't want to be cruel so I'm not going to go into to much detail, but there's an actress in this film who's performance is so mustache twirlingly evil and stupid that it ruined my suspension of disbelief when i knew going in that i was about to endure a 2 hour toy commercial about robots that turn into cars. Beldar Conehead was a more convincing human being than Tina.

Best Effect: Goo Be Gone

I really appreciated when the bad guys shot the government nerd into a blast of snot. That was pretty fun for me. Best part of the movie hands down.

Worst Effect: Live Action?

Bumblebee is a cartoon. It's a great looking cartoon but it doesn't sell itself that way. If we were doing a Roger Rabbit thing I'd have no gripes. However, I think CG is just getting worse. I'm criticizing this and it's still lightyears better than the previous entry's on the franchise. No transformation or fight sequence in Bumble Bee had me straining to make sense of what I was looking at. I think it was a great idea to start using some basic shapes and outlines to these characters, and return somewhat to their 80s designs. But at certain points, especially when there were no humans in the shot, i was pretty convinced I was watching Clone Wars. There may not be anyway around this, as the Transformers concept might not be able to be pulled off in any more effective manner. It's a minor gripe, but I just didn't think it looked like anything other than a very expensive cartoon, and in this franchise that's a compliment, because it least it looked like SOMETHING!

Best Scene: Space Opera

I am not a Transformers fan. I missed the boat on the cartoon as a kid. I would sometimes catch it at friends houses but I was more into Batman, Star Wars, and Ninja Turtles. By the time I came onto the scene the world had moved on to Beast Wars. I did one day arbitrarily decide that my favorite Transformer was Sound Wave. He looked great in this. I am a big fan of the return to form with a lot of the character designs in this. They really did keep the things that worked from the other adaptations, and they are steadily removing the things that didn't. For this reason, the scenes on Cybertron, particularly the battle with Soundwave (i prefer for personal reasons) looked great and were exciting to watch. I remember thinking Cybertron used to look like a Marilyn Manson shot a music video from inside to dumpster. This is so much better.

Worst Scene: Blocking the Box

There's a scene in Bumblebee where Charlie's family decides the best way to save their daughter was to cause a pile up of vehicles in an intersection, and it's pure contrived writing that saved any character in that sequence from being killed in a horrific traffic accident. It was stupid, played for laughs, and it wasn't exciting as much as it was anxiety inducing. I also thought that there was no reason the covert military group covering up extraterrestrial life wouldn't just disappear this family of fucking morons in their little piece of shit car. The logic of the scene was just so childish like, "No they won't hit me, I'm a good person."

Summary

Bumblebee may be remembered fondly in a decade. I think especially if the Transformers franchise were to end here. It didn't get the publicity of the other films, and that really is a shame. For my money, this was the best Transformers movie so far. I was very tempted to give Bumblebee a C, it does just enough to right what was wrong from the other movies to make me appreciate all that work. This movie has heart, and if you are at all into Transformers then l think you should see it. It's still pretty stupid, and pretty basic. It's not offering anything new to the genre, and it feels like a commercial for more movies. I really wish we could just get movies that want to tell a story. I thought it over and decided that it wasn't fair not to grade Bumblebee on it's own merits. Bumblebee is substantially better than the films that preceded it, but that's not saying a lot, when the films that preceded it are joyless exercises in self abuse.

Overall Grade: D

[let-it-raines]

I’ve been in such a Neverland/3a kinda mood with fic reading lately, so I figured I’d send my fave CS fic writer a prompt! Or not really a prompt... I’m giving you free reign of everything, I just want to read something from you set in that time period ❤️

@dorisquinn you flatter me so because I am the worst at writing canon and/or canon divergence, but I figured why not? I 100% went down the road of neverland smut because, well, I’ve never done that before, and I feel like that’s a right of passage here. lol. If you want something different, shoot me a message and I’ll try to figure something else out! 💕 

thanks to @shireness-says for making me sprint so that I actually wrote for once

found on ao3 | here | 

-/-

She’s quiet tonight, but really, he would never expect otherwise, especially after everything that’s managed to transpire today.

Rarely is Emma Swan a woman of many words, but now? Now when they are in the most dreaded place in all of the realms, at least to him, and she is constantly working to try to save her boy? Now she is more silent and pensive than ever, but the fire behind her emerald eyes burns just as brightly as always.

As someone often on the receiving end of her rage, he knows that look and that flame better than most.

He knows that look because he feels it too.

Or, well, he felt it, long ago, and on occasion, sparks flicker back to life, the fire igniting and burning so brightly that he thinks the inferno will begin again with no chance of being extinguished.

Yet, as he sits with his back against a hardened tree and watches Emma ignore her parents fervently talking, he knows that what he feels is not the same.

He knows that he does not have a child, no matter how much he felt like Bae was his, and while his loss stings far more than Killian is willing to admit to himself, it is not the same. It is not Emma missing Henry, constantly worried over his well-being as she keeps their little group from killing each other, and while he is not particularly fond of any of their partners in this adventure, at least he is not counting on a woman he despises and parents who blatantly do not understand him to save the one person in the world who matters most to him.

Oh, and a dastardly pirate who not a soul trusts even though his intentions are good. He swears of it, but it has been a long damn time since someone believed in him like that.

The Charmings do not seem to find him capable of living up to their namesake, but he can’t blame them. His first impression was not one he would call particularly good.

Lies, deceit, violence and the works, but he was in a different mindset then. He didn’t know these people, didn’t have any inkling as to who they were, and he had an end goal in mind that he would have done anything to accomplish.

Still would, most likely, but there’s decidedly something different now. When he wakes up, his first thought is not of vengeance. Those thoughts creep in often, but they are not everything.

He’s been given a reminder that he might be capable of more than the evil he’s been for longer than he’d care to admit.

Killian has done horrible things, has ruined lives, and he won’t pretend he has not. If Snow White can forgive the woman who ruined her life in more ways than one can count despite the Queen showing little remorse, maybe Killian can be worthy of the same kind of forgiveness.

Though, he cares little for the forgiveness of Snow or trying to get on her good side.

But he is here and helping to save Emma’s lad, and he knows this devilish island better than anyone else here.

Well, the Crocodile is wandering around here somewhere and tends to know more than he should, but Killian prefers to think of him as little as possible lest he get caught up thinking of his own vengeance and not the goal here.

Henry.

Bae’s son, which Killian still can’t quite believe.

Emma’s son.

That’s why he’s here. That is all, even if David keeps telling Killian that he is only here to seduce Emma. Killian chuckles to himself. That might be nice, but that is not his goal.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be out of any trickery or misdeeds.

If he is to win her heart, it will not be dishonestly. That hasn’t been important to him in centuries, but there she goes again, reminding him of things he has forgotten.

There’s a rustle of leaves, and Killian stops sketching words into the dirt with his hook and prepares himself for battle with one of the Lost Boys before realizing that it’s simply Emma standing from her spot.

And walking toward him.

Well, maybe he’ll be preparing for a battle of another kind then.

She settles down next to him, the tree’s width large enough for them both to have a place to rest their backs, and he can feel the heat of her skin flicker across his as her hand accidentally brushes against his own. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain her presence, and he silently reaches for his flask and hands it over to her. She takes it and then downs a healthy amount of rum. His preferred kind is strong, likes to burn down his throat despite his tolerance, and there’s a part of him that is always impressed by how easily Emma can handle it.

As those words flicker through his mind, he’s immediately brought back to earlier today, to his taunting and teasing. All he wanted to do was get a rise out of her. It’s simply so bloody fun to see her nose scrunch and her eyes roll, and while he’s wanted to kiss Emma for weeks now, to feel how soft her pretty pink lips are, he was not expecting her to take him up on his offer.

Then again, Emma is always surprising him.

The way she grabbed his coat and pulled him to her sent heat to his groin almost immediately, and there was a hunger in her kiss that he felt in his own. It’s been decades since he felt a fire like that deep in his belly, and Killian was reminded of just how much he likes when a woman takes charge of her own desires.

(Another reminder, another reminder, another reminder.)

He simply did not expect for his desires to turn into a want that he’s dared not hope for again.

It was a reminder that he didn’t want, that good things could happen to him, but he knows who he is to this woman and these people. He’s an outsider, and if David’s words earlier weren’t clear enough, he is not welcome amongst them.

And yet, here is this fierce woman who has been like a siren to him, calling him back when he wants to stray, sitting so close to him that her thigh keeps brushing against his own.

The jungle is quiet tonight outside of their camp. He hears no birds or other creatures, only the crackle of the fire and the words being shared between Charming and Snow White. They’ve been huddled close together ever since Snow was informed of her husband’s condition, and while it is obnoxious to have to view, Killian so wishes he’d had time like that with Liam. It’s not a happy future for the two of them, especially having to be separated from their daughter and grandson should they chose to stay here to be together, but it is a future.

There is a possibility of one, and that’s more than most people get.

It’s more than he got.  

The Queen is hidden behind a tree across camp, avoiding everyone, and truly, it should be the other way around. He’s no saint, but that woman ruined this family. He understands that a young Snow shared a secret that had horrible consequences, and while Regina was certainly a victim there, she is not one now. At least when it comes to this family. Her son is in trouble, but no one in this camp is at fault for that.

He needs to get off this damn island. It’s giving him too much time to think about people he should not be giving a second thought to.

“How does this rum never run out?” Emma suddenly asks.

She hands him the flask back, and he takes his own sip. “It’s enchanted.” “How’d you manage that?”

“I’ve gotten around.” Emma snickers, and he arches his brow. “Something funny, Swan?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

Killian hums and tucks the flask back into his pocket. “I’m aware of what the phrase ‘getting around’ means, love. I was in your world long enough to pick up on a few things.”

“Of course you would pick up on innuendos.”

He winks, and there’s that eye roll he so fancies. “I do my best to make sure I’m well versed in things that I need to be well versed in. Makes life easier.”

“Innuendos make your life easier?”

“When it comes to beautiful women such as you, aye.”

“Do you always flirt to get what you want?” “Why, darling, are you admitting that I’m flirting with you? Are you going to return my affections?”

She kicks at the dirt and turns away from him.

Push and pull.

Push harder. Pull further away.

That’s Emma.

“No matter,” Killian continues, waving his hand in the air in front of them. “Did you come to sit with me for any particular reason? Perhaps to get away from your parents?”

She groans next to him. “I can’t listen to it anymore. I mean, I can’t imagine how they feel, but I – you know what, never mind.”

“Pan got your tongue?”

His lips curl up at the same time that hers pull down into a frown. She is obviously not amused by him tonight.

“My apologies, milady,” he sighs before standing from his spot. The leaves rustle underneath him, but no one from the other side of the camp notices his movement. They’re all too wrapped up in their own lives.

Emma cranes her neck up to look at him, and he’s never seen someone so swan-like. She lives up to her name, but with Emma, he thinks it must be the other way around.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I, too, would like to have some time away from the doting lovers and the moaning queen, so I thought I’d take a walk. I know this area well enough to know that we’re near the beach. Would you like to join me?”

Her eyes narrow and dart over to her parents and then back to him. “Is that safe?”

Killian pats his sword with his hook. “I’ve got weapons, as do you. I think we’ll be fine. C’mon, love. I know you need to have your mind taken off of things. This island will drive you insane if you don’t find something that calms you.”

Emma’s shoulders sag before she stands and steps up to him. “What was that for you?”

He swaggers closer, the magnetic field around her always pulling him those few inches forward, and then dips his head so she has a direct view of his wink. “A man likes to keep his secrets, love, but if you play your cards right, I might let you in on it.”

“Can’t you ever be straightforward about anything?”

“I find that I’m straightforward about many things. You simply never pay attention because it’s not what you want to hear.”

Killian doesn’t bother to wait for her reaction. Instead, he turns on his feels, grabs a lit lantern, and starts heading down the path they made earlier to make his way to the beach. He can hear the ocean waves already. It’s a sound that usually calms him, one that he’s nearly always searching for, but here, the echo is different. It’s loud and brash even when the waves are gentle, and he aches for the sound of the waves in the Enchanted Forest or even those of the ones in Storybrooke.

Anything other than this.

Anything.

Emma’s boots crunch behind him, and he lifts an overgrown branch until she steps underneath it and begins walking at his side. A part of him doubted that she would actually follow, but deep down, he knew the odds were more in his favor than disfavor. She’s silent as they walk, but occasionally her hand will brush against his arm, and he feels the heat of her touch spread over him.

There are no truly nefarious plans in his mind as to what they are to do on the beach once they get there, and he wouldn’t be opposed to simply watching the moonlight glint off the water. However, he knows what he was implying when he suggested them leaving the campsite, and he knows that Emma does, too.

A one-time thing, she’d said. Emma may possess a superpower for telling when others are lying, but she’s not the only one who is good at reading people.

The beach comes into view past a few vines and bushes, and Killian slashes through them with his sword before putting it back in its holster and stepping over the newly slain foliage. Emma steps behind him, following exactly in his footsteps, and then all of the sudden the sound of footsteps stop when they step onto the sand.

That was the one good thing about these beaches. It’s soft sand instead of hard pebbles.

There’s a scratch of nails down his back, a faint feeling through the thick material of his leather, and Killian twists his head to see Emma standing so close that he can see all of the freckles on her face, counting them one by one until he knows them as he knows the constellations in the sky.

He’s rather more interested in them than the constellations here.

“You were saying something about getting my mind off things?”

Killian nods and reaches his hand up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, and his fingers ghost across her cheek, feeling the soft, velvet skin. He’s seen many a beautiful woman in his few hundred years, but there’s something different about this one that he believes might not be physical after all.

Though, she certainly is beautiful in that way.

“Aye, love, I believe I was.”

And then he dips his head and slants his mouth over hers. The initial shock is much the same as it was earlier today, but this time, it’s his turn to take charge. He gets to thread his hand into her hair first and pull her into him before she can grab onto the lapels of his coat, and he gets to control the pace. It’s fast and heady, her tongue already swiping across his bottom lip, and while he wouldn’t mind slowing it down to savor the feeling of her, that’s not what either of them need.

That’s especially not what Emma needs.

It’s been awhile since he’s done this, his taste for bar wenches fading away a long time ago, but the movements haven’t been lost on him. The push and pull, the teasing and tasting, it’s all second nature, but right now, it feels new.

Everything about this is refreshing, but he has to push those thoughts down. He’s had too many sentimental ones about Emma today, too many realizations and questions since their dalliance, and this isn’t a time to think of him yet again not getting something he craves because he isn’t good enough. This is the time to let his body take over and to forget.

That’s why they came here after all.

Emma’s hands tug on his lapels before moving to the inside of his jacket. She runs them over his chest and over the chains hanging from his neck before they settle on his shoulders. He can feel her nails much more clearly with only the thin layer of his shirt keeping her from his skin, and his eyes shut even more tightly at the feel of it all as his tongue tangles with Emma’s in slide so perfectly in sync that he doesn’t believe it’s real.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

“You tell no one of this,” Emma grunts against his lips as she works to remove his coat from his shoulders.

“Aye, I understand.” His hook tugs against her backside, and he releases his hand from her locks to help her take off his coat. It’s heavier than he would like, but it’s what he’s needed to keep warm in ports and on the deck of the Jolly over the years. Now, it will be a nice barrier between the two of them in the sand. “It will be a private dalliance between us.”

“Do you always have to talk like that?” “Like what?”

“Like you’re from a Jane Austen novel?”

“What’s that?”

That gets a smile from Emma, and maybe he’ll be destined to only make her smile when she’s teasing or feeling superior over him not knowing something about her world. For now, he’ll take it.

“She’s a writer. She writes romance.”

“Oh? You read those? I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Shut up,” she groans, pushing him down until he gets the idea and settles down on the ground. Emma sinks down onto her knees and settles on his hips before she dips her head and rejoins her lips to his. “Just be quiet, okay?”

“As you wish.”

Her mouth stills at the words, the same ones he used earlier, but then she’s continuing the kiss, and Killian can feel her over every inch of her. His skin is prickling and beginning to become sweat-soaked once more, but now that he’s without his coat, he can feel the cool breeze of the ocean wafting up onto his skin. He doesn’t know how long they lay in the sand with their mouths moving together with no destination in mind until he feels Emma’s hands near his trousers. She’s pulling apart the laces, and as her mouth breaks away for her to get more access to it, he takes the opportunity to pull at her blouse with his hook. She gasps at the touch, but she doesn’t push him away. Her skin is sun-kissed and glistening with sweat, and her chest is heaving, heart obviously beating as quickly as his is. He swears that he can feel it, but he knows that’s not true.

She’s glowing underneath the moonlight and the flickering of the lantern, and this may be the first time he’s been truly fond of the moon here in a lifetime.

There he goes thinking those thoughts again, and he swore to himself that he would not do that.

Ever tried, ever failed.

Finally, he gets her blouse down enough that he can see the roundness of her breast, and Killian groans at the sight. He’s spent more nights than he’s willing to admit dreaming about something like this, but the reality is much better.

Bloody hell.

Her hand brushes over him through his leathers, and he hisses. But the pain is good, a pleasant burn, and Killian lifts himself to lick away sweat that is gather on Emma’s collarbone. Her skin is salty on his tongue, and he savors it.

“Why the hell are your pants so frustrating?”

“I believe it takes a more patient hand.”

“I don’t have any time for patience,” she huffs, and he notices that her hands are shaking and that she really is struggling to get his leathers down. Killian takes the opportunity to lift his hips to help her, and she finally gets them tugged down, smiling as his cock juts out.

Well, maybe that’s another way he can get an elusive smile out of her.

“Aha,” she laughs, almost giddily.

“I don’t believe that’s a reaction I’ve ever had before.”

She shrugs and starts working with her own bottoms. She handles them much better than she handled his, the zipper easily tugging down and the material peeled off of her so that he can see the toned legs she possesses, all of her muscles defined.

Beautiful.

His mind simply can’t get past that.

“Yeah, well, I’m always one for new things.”

Emma kicks her trousers off until they’re resting on the sand, and she settles back on top of his hips, her softness brushing over his hardness. She’s more ready than he thought she would be, but he’s certainly not going to complain, not when he so desperately needs to be inside of her. Maybe if he’s allowed to do this again, which he doubts, he’ll be able to take the time he usually would with someone like her.

Someone who is more than a conquest.

Someone who should be treasured.

“Really, now?” he questions. “In that case – ”

She slaps his chest, and he grabs onto her hand, holding it to his chest as he chuckles.

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

“Aye, and while I do so love a woman who takes charge, you have to let a man have a little fun.”

Her groan is frustrated as she tilts his head back, making her neck swan-like again, and all he can think is how much he wants to bite the delicate skin. But that thought is quickly dissipated when Emma takes him in hand, stroking him a few times, before guiding him into her.

Bloody fuck.

It’s better than he could ever imagine to feel her warmth stretching around him and to hear the groan straining in the back of her throat. She’s a vision like this, still half-dressed but entirely indecent, and he almost tells her so before her hands clutch at his shoulders and grab onto the chains around his neck. They’re the only cool thing about this moment, the Neverland heat and heat of their activities consuming him, and it’s a nice touch to feel the mementos he’s collected over the years.

He wishes that he had a way to collect this moment.

“Fuck,” she hisses as she begins a gentle rocking, adjusting a testing out this new position they’re now in. “Fuck.”

“At a loss for words there, Swan?” “Don’t be cocky.”

He juts his hips up at her words, and she moans, and digs her nails into his skin so hard he may bleed.

“Apologies, love,” he says, not meaning it.

In fact, he can’t keep the smile off his face. He’s sure she despises it, but Killian doesn’t care to stop himself when he hasn’t felt this good in ages.

But they’re doing this to forget, he reminds himself, not to remember.

They quickly find a rhythm that works for the both of them. Emma takes control, like he knew she would, and continually changes up how deep he enters her over and over again. It’s like she can’t figure out if she wants shallow or deep, fast or slow, and eventually he tires of it and wraps his arms around her to flip them over, careful not to hurt her with his hook. She gasps at the movement and opens her mouth to say something, but then he’s pushing into her as his mouth deliciously slants over hers.

Emma hooks her foot against his backside, pushing him further inside of her, and he can feel his heart between his ears as he finds the pace that he wants. Her nails keep scratching into his back, and Killian groans before trailing his mouth away from Emma’s to find her ear. He begins whispering to her, working around her rule of him not being loud, and when she complains, he tells her that he’s very much being quiet. Besides, he thinks that words he whispers to her keep her from protesting anymore.

He’s getting close, his high nearing the edge, and he props himself up on his left arm so he can reach between them and rub his thumb over where they’re joined. Emma lets out a long moan that he hasn’t heard before, and then he feels her fluttering, feels her falling around him.

Fuck.

The feeling nearly causes him to fall right there, but he has enough mind to pull out and take himself in hand to finish himself off since he doesn’t believe Emma has any of the potions that prevent pregnancy with her.

This was never really in either of their plans.

Going off of plan is quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him on this damned island.

He’s almost there, teetering on the edge with shaky limbs, and as soon as he feels Emma’s soft hands on him, he’s gone.

Afterward, they don’t spend time lingering on the sand. Before they can catch their breaths, Emma is standing and straightening herself up, tugging her clothes down and back on, and he does the same. Though, he’s much slower than her, partially due to his hand but mostly due to the fact that he doesn’t seem to be fighting the internal war Emma is.

He knows that he just slept with a woman he fancies from time to time, while she just slept with a man she most likely still finds despicable despite them getting along rather well lately.

Nothing like a crisis to bond people.

“Thanks for that,” she finally mutters as she twists her locks back to remove them from her face. She’s flushed, the heat still lingering, and he can see the slightest bit of redness on her chest from where his beard rubbed against her. “It was…”

“Bloody satisfying.”

“Yeah,” she huffs, her lips turning up even as she looks away from him. “But also, a one-time thing. I mean that this time. Today has been complicated.”

“Aye, Swan,” Killian sighs, “whatever you say.”

He’ll respect her wishes with no hesitation, but like he thought earlier, Emma isn’t the only one who knows when someone is telling a lie.

[mobius-prime]

296. Sonic the Hedgehog #211

Home Invasion (Part Two): Security Measures

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Matt Herms

After a brief recap of prior events, we launch right into the action as Sonic, Sally, Tails, and Khan burst back into New Mobotropolis to save the day. The Iron Queen is unconcerned when Geoffrey taunts her about her defeat being imminent, certain that with Iron Nicole under her control, she'll have no problem winning anyway.

You know, you'd think she'd have seen this coming, considering that right after Sally cut Nicole off from the Iron Queen's control for like five whole minutes, her plans started being thwarted left and right. The Iron Queen is furious and begins to use the nanites to fight Nicole, and Nicole likewise fights back with her own set of nanites, each conjuring up machines, shields, walls, and so on to battle it out. Sonic heads straight for Amy and the Iron King to help out, while Snively crawls around in a panic seeing everything he's worked so hard for fall apart around him in an instant.

You know, as much as I realize Snively is a self-serving traitor and thus obviously doesn't want to be captured by the very people he's screwed over so many times, what is he really so terrified of? Sure, Sally's angry with him, but A. she has every right to be and B. this is Sally we're talking about. It's not like she's about to sentence him to be publicly burnt at the stake or something. Even the worst of the worst get fair treatment in New Mobotropolis' prison system - three square meals a day, humane living conditions, and so on. At worst, Snively would spend a very boring few years in prison until he found a way to break out or otherwise reformed his behavior or something. Snively tries to remain confident in the face of Sally's accusations, reminding her that they still have three other clans to call on in the Dragon Kingdom, but, well, clearly he hasn't read the latest arc of SU. Khan descends on his cloud from above and calls out to the Yagyu that on his word of honor they’re free of the Iron Dominion, and to Lien-Da's shock and anger, the Yagyu on the field immediately pack up and leave, uncaring what happens to the Legion without them. However, Lien-Da suddenly realizes this could be a blessing in disguise for her, as with the Iron King and Queen tied up in their own fights and the Iron Dominion's support base crumbling, this is her chance to seize power of the Eggman Empire for herself. The Iron Queen overhears her announcement of the change in management to her troops, and tries to take control of the Legion's cybernetics to force them to continue fighting for her, but Lien-Da's already got that one covered.

…okay, yikes, definitely didn't see that one coming. The legionnaires panic upon seeing their Grandmaster basically explode in front of them, and look to Snively for guidance, but at this point Snively completely breaks and goes running off screaming, leaving the legionnaires to gather up Lien-Da's limp form and retreat to the Eggdome, leaving the Iron King and Queen to fend for themselves. The Iron King is doing a good job of holding his own on account of his invulnerability, but luckily, the heroes have access to just the macguffin they need!

It's actually never clearly stated, but the implication here is supposed to be that when the Iron King stole the fan, he hid it in the Iron Fortress, and when the Raiju occupied said fortress, Espio was able to go there and retrieve the fan with their blessing. Khan blows the Iron King straight out of the comic with the encouragement of Sonic's trash talk by his side (I mean it, too - this is the last time we ever see the Iron King), leaving the Iron Queen to fight alone. Snively sees the Iron King fly straight through the metal dome over the city and panics to the point of incoherence, heading straight for the prison and shakily typing in the code to open Eggman's cell.

Hey, look, it's exactly what I was talking about last issue. Snively, given the choice between surrendering peacefully to Sally and receiving fair treatment in prison, or going back to his abusive, controlling uncle, chooses the latter, simply because it's all he knows anymore. And even worse, Eggman totally called it. He knows just how much influence he has over Snively, and relishes it, using it to his fullest advantage to make sure he always has a loyal lackey in the end. The heroes back in the coliseum offer the Iron Queen a fair chance to surrender, but unwilling to give up, she uses the nanites to encase herself in a giant mechanical Chinese dragon in one last-ditch effort to win. Tails fires on the dragon from the Tornado, while Khan and Amy chime in with lightning powers and heavy hammering respectively, and the Iron Queen makes a break for the hole in the city's dome, trying to escape so she can come back and win another day. However, Sonic simply isn't having it, and runs all the way up the length of the dragon to ensure she can't get away.

Nice job using a catchphrase that isn't even yours, Regina. Antoine handcuffs the defeated queen while the rest of the heroes celebrate winning the day, none of them yet realizing the renewed storm brewing on the horizon now that Eggman has escaped and is sane once more. Snively tentatively suggests doubling back to rescue Regina, but Eggman refuses, saying that he's already got new plans and now that he's had time to "rest and recharge," he's more ready than ever to complete his world conquest…

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (6/?)

AO3

Janis ditches the tights and jean shorts by Wednesday. There’s a slight look of ‘I told you so’ on her mother’s face, but she spares Janis the lecture out of politeness. Janis never thought she’d miss them, but here she is.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she scribbles another flower on the page, a twin for the one next to it. Not an exact twin, it’s thinner and its petals are more spiked and sharp than the one she drew before it. It’s less inviting, more dangerous. Angry, even. Like if she picked it up she’d cut her finger on it. She hadn’t intended for it to happen; in fact, she’d set out to doodle some pretty little flowers in an attempt to brighten up her sketchbook. But the pencil, as it often does, did what it wanted. She turns it on the side, trying to find a way to like it. It’s not bad work, not her best but certainly not her worst. Maybe she could like it if she had drawn it earlier, but she had really been hoping to get something nice into her book today.

With a sigh, she sets the book on her lap and swings her body around so that her feet dangle over the edge of her bed. Her next round of chemo isn’t due for a few hours, a long stretch of time to attempt to fill with activity. While she’s only been in the hospital for two full days, she’s decided that the worst part is the waiting around for the next thing to happen. Granted, much of that can be put on her as she’s spent more time in her room than she has anywhere else, distracting herself with TV and art and her parents and texting her friends every chance she can get. It all comes together and forms some kind of routine for her, one that’s built with as much familiarity and comfort as possible woven through it. The only downside to it is that the room’s been getting progressively smaller since two days ago and it wasn’t long before it started choking her.  

She left the door slightly open and peers into the hallway, the brightness of the walls striking against the cool tones of her room. She can hear the faint sounds of half-conversations that overlap with each other; nurses gossiping with each other while fiddling with IVs, the inhabitants of the longue talking and laughing about who knows what, doctors prescribing new rounds of medicine. The ward is much more alive than she had Janis ever thought it could be, a constant hum in the background of the day to day life keeps the place awake.

She taps her nails on the cover of her book, her swinging legs gaining momentum as she debates following the pull in her chest, compelling her to maybe leave her room for more than five minutes at a time and follow the sounds of conversation. Maybe talk to people who aren’t her medical team or her parents. Make some friends, because as everyone knows, cancer wards are prime social hotspots. She may not be here forever, but she’ll be here long enough to justify getting comfortable.

What’s the worst that can happen, logic had asked her that first night.

Literally so freaking much, she responded. Friends aren’t exactly her strong suit. Regina was a mistake, Damian was luck, and Cady was a gift. She could indulge her inner loser and tell herself it’s because she’s special and tailor made to a few specific people, but the thought of that makes her roll her eyes. So she faces up to the truth and all it entails; that she’s merely been unlucky in the friendship department, something that can be boiled down to one terrible experience and everything that came after it and lingers long after the smoke has cleared.

You’re being ridiculous she tells herself. If there’s a Regina George clone here, she’ll be thoroughly impressed. So she pulls her boots on and pushes herself off the bed, quickly explaining to her mom that she’s going to hang out in the longue for a bit.

“You need me to come with you?”

“I’m fine,” she says, a small smile on her face as she pulls on a cardigan. She nods at the intense competitive cooking show her mom has on the TV. “Tell me who wins. And don’t leave out any details.”

“Well we both know it’s not going to be Leticia judging by the look of that beef,” she says seriously. Janis clicks her tongue before turning and heading down, her steps smaller than normal and her sketchbook held against her chest like a shield. Her stomach twists uneasily, not from the chemo or anything like that, just from good old-fashioned anxiety. In an odd way, it’s a relief to feel ill in that way.

When she pushes herself past the open doors, all eyes turn to her and only look away to talk with other people. It’s far more populated than the last time she was here, people sitting in groups of two and three, most in pyjamas and some with hats. But all of them in groups, belonging with each other. Is this how Cady felt all those months ago, when she and Damian spotted her heading to the bathroom? Maybe her girlfriend had the right idea that day. A bathroom stall is a way better alternative to a room full of strangers.

Unfortunately, she knows better by now, and so she settles in an armchair as gracefully as she can, her legs tucked beneath her, and tries to shake off the discomfort she feels by opening her book and giving her hands something to do.

“You’re new,” a girl sitting on the floor states. She’s one of the few that actually has hair, dark brown and curly, and it makes Janis feel a little more at ease. Is that bad, she has to ask.

“Third day,” she explains, offering her a small wave. “I’m Janis.”

“Melissa,” she says. She leans back on her arms and exposes a little bandage inside her elbow. Janis pulls her own arm a little closer. Melissa doesn’t seem to notice, instead gesturing to her with her chin.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” she asks, her cheeks growing warm. “Oh, just some drawings I do.”

“Cool,” she says. “So you do art?”

“Sometimes it’s like the art does me," she says dryly, earning a chuckle. “But you know how it is.”

“My best friend says that all the time,” Melissa sighs. “She says she wants to go to art college but I’ve watched her cry over trying to hand in assignments.”

“You sound like my mom,” Janis replies. “Literally every time I bring up doing art in college she tells me how stressful it is.” She shrugs lightly. “She’s not wrong, but it’s the only thing I want to do.”

“Is your mom here?”

“Yeah, she’s back in my room,” she explains. “I left her watching some cooking show on TV.”

“Wow, and you’ve only just here. I’ve been here for a month and I only just got my mom to let me out of her sight,” she sighs, a resigned smile on her face and her eyebrow raised in a silent ‘you know how it is’. “Want to play some Scrabble? We’ve started keeping a scoreboard so we can add you in. We have a whole tournament going.”

“Sounds fun,” Janis says, pushing herself off the chair. “Although I should give you warning, I’m dyslexic, so I kind of suck at it.”

Janis follows her across the longue, slipping her hand into her pocket when she thinks she sees the other girl reach out to her. There’s a pang of guilt in Janis’ chest even though Melissa doesn’t seem to care, and she does her best to work through it. She exchanges names and smiles with other kids, all introduced by Melissa. It’s an odd feeling; she’s not used to being the one who’s introduced. She’s either known people so long she doesn’t need to or she’s the one making the introduction, but today her mouth feels dry and her tongue tied so much that all she can do is say ‘hi’ and try to keep up with the rest of the little group. But despite this, and despite the fact that she does supremely suck at Scrabble, they aren’t half bad. They welcome her in with no problem at all, asking her about school and life and art as they set up tiles and she knows the right questions to ask them. She laughs at their jokes and nods along to the conversation, even adding in her own take now and again as it builds into a steady flow.

It’s not entirely perfect; she can’t help but feel slightly on the outside when they bring up a nurse or a patient she doesn’t know and she’s much more quiet than she’s used to being, unsure which, if any, topics are off-limits, where the lines are. But she’s enjoying herself enough to drown out her earlier worries even if it can’t make them fade entirely, and her mood only picks up when she hears someone behind her say (squeal) her name, followed a flash of pink and rainbow appearing in her vision. How times change when a pink sweater can make her smile instead of grimace.

“Maddie!” The younger girl leans into her side, eyes bright and sparkling, and Janis puts an arm around her shoulders. “Hey kid, where have you been?”

“Where have you been more like,” she replies. “I haven’t seen you since Monday.”

“Been busy,” she says. No one presses, likely because they all understand.  They’ve all been where she is before. “And now I’m busy losing at Scrabble. Badly.” Maddie chuckles and when her arms wrap around Janis and chin rests on her shoulder, she can’t say no to it. There’s nothing uncomfortable about such a gesture and it almost feels as natural as hugging Damian or when Karen rests her head on her shoulder, despite her only knowing the girl for two days.

“Oh hey, did they tell you about the photography thing yet?” she asks.

“That what now?”

“Oh it’s this thing the cancer centre started,” Melissa explains. “Basically they want us to take pictures of stuff that matters to us. Us doing hobbies, us with our friends, the whole shebang. It’s meant to be about our cancer not defining us or whatever.” She gives a casual shrug. “It’s fun anyway. You should do it. Especially since you have your art thing.”

“Sounds like fun,” she says before poking Maddie in the ribs. “Now come on, kid. Help me make a word out of these.”  

And maybe it’s Maddie’s presence or just time passing, but Janis suddenly finds herself a lot less anxious. She even gets to the point where she trades playful insults with another kid, a boy around her age, and form a team up of sorts against him with one of the other girls. They can’t replace her real friends and she wouldn’t try to, the bonds she’s formed with Damian and Cady are too important and were put through too much to be replicated, but she suspects that they could quickly become new friends.

What’s more, treatments and diagnosis come in and out of the conversation with unexpected ease, and when Janis talks about her own, it’s the same. She hadn’t realised how much of this she’d held back, even in her texts and calls with Damian and talks with her mom. And while she feels bad for it, it also feels so, so good to talk to people like this. People who aren’t her parents or her doctors. People who are, well… like her.

And as it turns out, her next round is scheduled the same time as Melissa’s, and so they head down the hallway together. While Melissa continues to make conversation, Janis’ responses dwindle the closer she gets to her room. It doesn’t take long for the good feeling from the longue to fade, and the image of the needle in her vein becomes sharper in her mind.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Janis asks suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Does it…” She swallows past the lump in her throat. She finds a loose thread on her cardigan and toys with it until the question comes out. “Does it ever get easier? All this?”

“Well…” Melissa stops in their tracks and Janis almost trips as she does the same, immediately regretting asking. The other girl bites her lip, searching for the right answer. It feels like hours before she says “I don’t really know. I can’t speak for you. We’re all different here.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I guess you get used to it. So it starts getting less scary, I guess.”

Janis only nods and then Melissa reaches out and taps her arm.

“It doesn’t stop sucking,” she sighs. “You just get used to it sucking.”

“And then we all bond over it sucking?” she asks, smirking.

“You get it,” she replies with a laugh. “See you later, Janis.”

“Bye.”

After Melissa leaves, she lingers in the hallway for a minute, pressing her finger into the spot where her IV goes. The problem is exactly what Melissa said-you get used to it. And she really, really doesn’t want to get used to it. Getting used it to means that she’ll be here for a while, that something else replaces her old life. Especially now, after the year she had last year, she wants to get used to good stuff, not stuff that ‘sucks’. The idea of this, medicines and hospitals and doctors, becoming normal to her sends a shiver down her back.

But she learned a while ago how to live in reality, even when it’s not what she wants. And it’s with that attitude she walks into her room, where she finds not only her IV set up, but a text from Cady detailing something funny from her math class and how much she misses her.

Even if she gets used to everything else, she knows she’ll never, ever get used to missing Cady.

                                                                                               *****

Friday morning, she wakes later than she normally does. It’s a slow process at the start, sleep pulling her in and begging her to stay, the hospital-issue sheets softer than soft around her and forming a cosy cocoon that she’s so tempted to remain in.

That is, until she remembers what day it is, and then she’s jolted awake.

Friday. Or as she’s called it, Damian-and-Cady day.

It was an unspoken agreement that the two of them were visiting her in here. Just like her father, they were insistent on coming over every moment they could, with Damian jokingly suggesting he could hide under her bed and they could have a sleep over (which they had considered in seriousness and attempted to plan). But thanks to a little thing called school, and another thing called distance, today was the first day she could see them, which is why now she’s wide awake, bright eyed, bushy tailed, everything. Because she’s finally seeing them again and filling the hole in her soul being away from them had carved.

“Morning, kid,” her mom says cheerily, entering the room with a cup of coffee in one hand. “They’re still serving breakfast downstairs, or if you want it brought up to you-”

“Sounds great, Mom,” she replies, only half paying attention. She turns on her phone, her leg bouncing anxiously as she waits for it to load. Has it always been this slow at turning on? She swears it hasn’t been. It takes an eternity for her lockscreen to come up, the time written across it in thin white numbers.

“Ten thirty?” she reads out loud before her head snaps up. “Mom, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Why would I?” she asks. “You need all the rest you can get, and you’ve still got time before you’re due a round.”

“I know,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “But Cady and I text good morning to each other and it was my turn this morning. I don’t want her to think I forgot.”

“Well, I’m sure Cady understands. You know, with all that’s going on, maybe she’s not expecting good mornings right now.”

“Course she is,” she replies quickly. In what universe would Cady not wait for a good morning from her? “It’s our thing. Didn’t you and Dad have a thing?” She types out the message and sends it quickly, although Cady probably won’t see it for at least another two hours.

“Oh, you think we did good morning e-mails back in those days?” she says, laughing a little. She sits on the bed next to her on the bed. “So are you getting some breakfast? Someone can bring it up if you don’t feel up to going down, I’ll just tell them what you want-”

“It’s fine, Mom.” She reaches under the bed and pulls on a sweater before slipping into her boots and raking a brush through her hair. “I might as well go down. Someone might take the last yogurt while I’m down there.”

Truthfully, she doesn’t really feel like eating. Not anything bad, she’s just not hungry, but it’ll put her mom’s mind at ease. Just as she thought, the tension fades from her mom’s shoulders, and when she pats her shoulder, there’s more relief in her smile than just breakfast warrants.

She eats in her room, with the TV on, like she does when she’s sick at home. She could eat in the dining room, but despite the new friends she’s made she prefers eating in private, especially away from the buzzing nurses. As she flips around the channels, her phone buzzes on the plastic table, the screen lighting up to show her a new text that makes her smile and roll her eyes at once.

‘Good morning, babe. Can’t wait to see you today. Also, ik I can’t really change it now, but what do we think of the outfit?’

Beneath the message is a picture of Cady in her bedroom mirror, clad in a black vest and blue flannel shirt with white skinny jeans, her hair held back in a high, loose ponytail, soft curls framing her round face, her eyes looking up at the mirror as she gives an open, toothy grin. And Janis can’t help it, she squeals. God damn it, her girlfriend is cute.

‘Love it, love it, love it. You’re the queen of cuteness. And apparently, texting during class. Stop doing that. If I get a text from you between now and lunch I will not cuddle you later.’

‘I’m not texting during class, it’s study hall.’ Wow, what on Earth has happened to the ever-studious, rule following Cady Heron? Not even Plastic Cady texted during study hall. ‘Besides, you have to cuddle with me. It’s legally required and I’m deprived of Janis cuddles.’

‘Only if you be good and don’t text during school hours.’ She fires back, chuckling under her breath. ‘And you remain that freaking adorable.’

“Well someone’s in a good mood.” She looks up and sees Doctor Wiley standing in the doorway, and her smile dips a little, the perfect bubble she was sitting in with Cady ruined. Not enough to ruin her mood, nothing could do that, but it shakes it.

“It’s her girlfriend,” her mom explains.

“How do you know that?”

“Your smile,” she says. “It’s your ‘Cady smile’.”

“I don’t…” Her voice trails off and her mom simply shrugs. Well look at that. She’s that girlfriend now.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Wiley says, striding towards her. Under the table, Janis crosses her fingers that this is a normal good morning visit. She’ll take bad news on any day that’s not Damian-and-Cady day. “So, Janis, a lot of us on your team have been talking and we’ve decided to ask if you might want to get a port inserted.”

“A what?” she asks.

“Think of it like a little reservoir put underneath your skin,” he explains. “Just to make receiving the chemo easier on you. A lot of patients have one put in.”

“Oh, wow.” Way to bring the mood down, Doc, she thinks. Sometimes she envies the younger patients who have their parents making all the hard decisions. Still, one word sticks out in all that. “It makes it easier?”

“Quite a bit easier,” he agrees. “For one thing, it’s a lot more comfortable than an IV.” There’s a plus. “And a lower risk of your medicine leaking out-”

“Sounds cool,” she interrupts quickly before he can bring up an image she doesn’t want. “Um, can I think about it? I mean, is it urgent?”

“No, of course not,” Wiley replies with a stiff smile. “I’ll let you and your mom discuss it.”

He leaves them after an uncomfortable silence, nodding to her and her mom and reminding her that he’s around if she has any questions.

“So what do you think?” her mom asks.

“I don’t think.” She picks her phone back up and jumps off the bed. “Where did you put my clothes?”

“I put everything in your bag, it’s under the bed,” she replies. Janis pulls out her bag, sorting through the mass of denim, cotton, plaid and leather, all while her mom hovers behind her with anxious eyes that drill into her back. "Janis, you should consider this.”

“And I will,” she sighs. She pulls out a shirt she’s always liked and throws it on the bed. “Just not right now.” She shakes her head, trying to clear some of the smoke in her brain. Still sitting on the ground, she looks up at her mom and sighs. “Mom, I just want to not think about cancer stuff right now. I just want to see my friends and think about that.” She toys with the shirt in her hands and bunches it into a tight ball, her arms tense and shaking and her grip tight. “Is that okay?”

Her voice sounds impossibly broken on that question. And while it wasn’t intentional, it works on her mom, who nods and comes over to pat her hair.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, and that’s the temporary end of it.

The day passes even slower than it normally does in hospital-time. Hours stretch on and on with no end in sight and she can’t distract herself no matter what she tries to do. She can’t focus long enough to read or settle on one TV show and even games in the longue can only get her so far. She tries checking her social media when on her IV, but she’s hardly there a minute before her anxiety peaks again after seeing pictures of her friends. Besides, it’s mostly dry now, everyone else is in class.

Finally, finally, it comes to the afternoon and it’s close enough that she can justify beginning to get ready. She stretches, grateful for the little power nap she took earlier, and fishes her make-up out of her bag. It’s not everything, but it’ll have to work, as will the tiny mirror in her bathroom.

“What’s going on in here?” The voice makes Janis jump six feet, even though it’s the honey-toned voice of one of the older nurses. “Little makeover.”

“Just wanted to look nice today,” she explains as she unscrews the foundation. She’s a little bit surprised to see that she’s not out of practice since she’s been bare-faced for well over a week now. Bigger priorities and all that.

“Her girlfriend’s coming over today,” her mom says in a low voice.

“It’s not just that,” she says, even though it might be. “Damian will also be here.”

“Oh you kids and your relationships,” the nurse chuckles as she takes the empty bags out. In the mirror, Janis sees her point sternly in her direction as though she were her mother. “Just remember Janis, if she really cares about you, she won’t care how much muck you have on your face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says as she applies a coat of eyeshadow, deep indigo and sparkling under the low lights. She adds a generous amount of purple lipstick next, a shade that’s always been a favourite of hers, and four coats of mascara. Some say that’s overkill, she disagrees. Bigger, bolder, better after all.

She takes a second before looking at herself properly, and when she does it makes her happier than it has any right to be. She looks like herself again. Not a girl with cancer. A girl who is perfectly healthy and happy, the dark circles around her eyes and the pale tint to her face deliberate. Not only that, she feels stronger, even though she hadn’t been aware of any weakness before. She can breathe easier now. She’s herself again. A little winded but it was worth it.

When she’s done, Cady and Damian should get out of school in about ten minutes. They worked it all out; they’ll get the first bus from school up to the hospital, which should take about twenty-five minutes. She offered to pay their bus tickets and her mom had offered to pick them up, but neither one of them would hear any of it. Damian in particular would die before accepting money from anyone.

So she has just over half an hour. Maybe closer to forty minutes when factoring in waiting for the bus and various stops…

She probably should have left the make-up to later just to give herself something to do.

No, it’s fine. The last thing she wants is them walking in on her doing her make-up. Besides, there’s plenty to do for half an hour. She’s waited this long after all. She checks her outfit again, first in the bathroom mirror, by bouncing repeatedly, and then by using the camera on her phone. This morning she was sure about this outfit. Now she’s not sure about this skirt. Maybe if her mom had woken her up earlier she’d have had more time to plan it. The shirt is fine, it’s something Cady loves, so she won’t trade it, but the skirt… it’s not working. She grabs more stuff from her bag and lays it out on the bed, debating each one carefully. There’s a pair of studded shorts that she doesn’t think looks right with the shirt, a pair of jeans that would be far too uncomfortable, and a dark grey skirt that she’s not worn that much and is a little short-

“Holy crap,” she sighs. She shakes her head at herself. She hasn’t obsessed this much over her looks since middle school. “You’re insane, Sarkisian. You’re fine.”

They’ve both seen her look worse, surely.

She forces herself to sit on the bed and just watch some freaking YouTube like a normal person. She gets a text from Damian telling her they’re on their way, and she takes a deep breath and sends a response. She then has one eye on the phone and one eye on the window, all the while counting the minutes until they should be here.

Twenty five minutes. One video later, it’s twenty one. Another video, eighteen. Another video, plus a sip of the coffee her mom got her, fourteen. Another video, plus re-checking her make-up, ten. Another video, six. Another video, three.

And now they should be here. They probably are; they’re probably walking through the lobby. Maybe the elevator’s a little slow, maybe they got lost. This is a big place and they don’t even know where they ward is. Do they? Did she tell them? She grabs her phone and checks their groupchat, scrolling through the week-

“Janis?” Her name is accompanied by a soft knock on the door, and when she looks up, Cady is standing in the doorway, looking even more beautiful than she did that morning with a breathless smile and dimples in her cheeks. And everything else she was feeling melts away.

Janis doesn’t care about dignity, she runs over and throws her arms around her. As Cady hugs her back just as fiercely, Janis fights the urge to pick her up off the floor.

“I missed you,” Cady whispers into her shoulder.

“I missed you more,” she replies, certain that she’s correct.

“Well I’ll just go then,” Damian jokes. “If you two need a moment alone.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she tells him seriously, jumping into his embrace. He runs his hand through her hair and even rocks her and everything about his embrace feels right.

“Got you these,” he says when they eventually pull apart. He presents her with a bunch of white flowers wrapped in silver paper. The scent is just like the gesture; so sweet it makes her well up.

“Oh you losers,” she says. “I love them.”

“Hi kids,” her mom greets from her chair in the corner. To be honest, Janis had actually forgotten her mom was there. So her mom has watched her run across the room and tackle-hug Cady. Nice. “How was school?”

“It’s fine,” Cady replies. “You know… senior year….”

“Oh I’m sure it is,” she says fondly. “I’ll give you kids some alone time.” She gives Janis’ shoulder a squeeze before heading out, and then Janis can hold Cady’s hand as tightly as she wants and pulls the two of them to the bed, utterly giddy at having them at her side again.

Even if it won’t last a voice in her head whispers.

“So come on, what have I missed?” she asks. “Other than you two, I mean. Tell me everything. Spill all the tea. I crave gossip!”

“It’s been a week, Jan,” Cady tells her, grinning and swinging her legs as her feet don’t touch the floor. “But, you do know that you’re talking to the newest captain of the North Shore Mathletes.”

“Come on then.” Janis digs her elbow in her girlfriend’s ribs. “Tell me everything.”

That’s all the incentive Cady needs.

She babbles on about her plans for the new year as Captain, how she’s already getting new recruits and she’s even allowed to invite freshmen and create Junior Mathletes, how she’s sure that membership is going to be double what it was last year (at which point Damian reminds her that there were only three people on the team last year), and about how they’re already starting to put together teams for a few contests, more than last year, and of course, how she’s ready to defend their state champion title. With each word, Janis’ heart grows warmer, the sense of security she’s craved all week settling and wrapping around her like her favourite blanket, and their hands lie intertwined on the bed a though they’d never been apart.

“So that’s my life…” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She shakes her head and covers Janis’ hand with hers. “But what about you, what’s it like in here?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she scoffs. “I’m always fine.” Cady’s smile dips, not enough, but Janis notice and let out a sigh. “I mean it’s not the ideal situation. But I’m… coping?”

“I do not like that inflection,” Damian adds, leaning back on the bed and raising an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t,” she says. “Like, it’s not too bad. You know… the food is actually pretty good, we have some cool stuff in the longue, they know how to keep us occupied. The doctors are all great. Including one hot med student I’m considering setting Damian up with.”

“Consider my attention grabbed,” he says. “How hot are we talking here?”

“Like… Okay I’m not into dudes, so I’m not that great at guessing, but he’s a solid 7.5,” she explains. “Would be a 9 but he stabbed me several times while trying to find a vein.”

“He did what?” Cady squeals, making the two of them jump. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “He stabbed you?”

“Woah, yeah.” She grasps Cady’s shoulder and silently bites her tongue. She rubs it in circles, bringing her back down. “And it hurt for a few seconds and I was slightly annoyed by it. And then we laughed about it.” She strokes Cady’s cheek carefully. “Nothing bad, Caddy.”

“Okay.” Cady lets out a breath and shakes out her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love.” She plays a kiss on her cheekbone, the tension fleeing Cady’s body as she does so. She tangles her fingers in her hair. She even missed her hair. “It’s cute that you worry so much.”

“I always worry about you.” At that moment, Damian turns his attention to the window, and Cady rests her head on Janis’ shoulder and Janis wraps her arms around her. This, the fearful looks and causing anxiety to her, this is what Janis wanted to avoid in the first place.

Damn Cady Heron and her unflinching loyalty.

“You’re feeling okay though?” she asks quietly. “Right?”

“Okay’s a bit of a relative term these days,” she says. “I’m feeling a bit bleh. But it’s fine.” Cady murmurs something she guesses is an agreement and nestles closer to her. Janis rubs her hand up and down her arm. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” She presses her cheek into her head and closes her eyes, only for a moment.

“Anyway, enough of that stuff,” she says, bouncing and turning to Damian, beckoning him back over. “There’s got to be more that I’ve missed. Come on, spill.”

“Well…” Damian begins, spinning around to face them with a grin stretched across his face. He’s been waiting to tell her this, she can tell. “They’ve announced that the musical this year will be… drum roll.”

She can Cady drum their hands on their legs, the sound bouncing off the walls and making the room tremble with anticipation as it gets higher and faster until-.

“Cabaret!”

“No way!” she gasps. Damian nods excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands together. “Stars have aligned, mon amie. Stars have aligned.”

“Which means,” he goes on, throwing himself down on the bed with such gusto that it bounces. “I am going to be the greatest Emcee that North Shore High would ever wish to have.”

“Damn right!” The two high five, their glee double that of the slightly out of the loop Cady. “Emcee has been one of Damian’s dream roles ever since middle school.”

“Ever since I came out of the damn womb!” he exclaims. “I cannot tell you how much I screamed when the drama club announced it.”

“I can,” Cady adds. “It was loud and long and he got several death glares from everyone else.”

“That’s the only appropriate way to react,” Janis chuckles. “We watched the movie way back when and that’s when he decided he was going to play the Emcee or die trying.”

“It’s also when Janis became gay for Liza Minelli.”

“I’m gay for myself,” she corrects. “Liza was just the object of young Janis’ affections.” She rests her chin on Cady’s shoulder and smiles at him. “I’m helping you prep for this. I don’t care if I have to break out of here with an IV in my arm, I’m helping you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he replies. “Also the drama club is devastated you can’t do the set this year.”

“Who the heck says I can’t?” she says indignantly. “Those morons they have won’t last five minutes without my guidance. And I will not have your shining moment ruined by a subpar set.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “We all know who really runs that drama club.”

“Oh really, madame,” Damian scoffs, turning so his leg is folded beneath him. Janis keeps smiling, despite the feeling that its being tugged down and the weight settling in her stomach. Of all the times he had to do Cabaret, why did it have to be now?

“Everyone really missed you at school,” Cady tells her.

“Bet it’s not everyone,” she says, half joking. “Not one person in particular.”

“Hey!” Cady slaps her arm. “Be nice.”

“I promised to play nice to her face,” Janis reminds her. “Not behind her back.” Cady huffs out a laugh, her face slightly scrunched up. “But how’s the most important thing; LGBT+ society?”

“Well, we’re having our first welcome back meeting on Wednesday,” Damian says. “And Gretchen is taking over your stall at the fair. Sonja’s going to help her out though,” he adds. “And Sonja’s taking over your spot on the committee too.”

“Good choice,” she says. Lovely as Gretchen is most of the time, Janis isn’t sure she could handle the pressure of running her stall. And Sonja’s the perfect choice to take over her committee spot, smart as a whip, decisive and funny as hell.

So why does the idea make Janis so uneasy?

“Yeah, why don’t we turn this TV on?” she says, grabbing the remote. “It apparently has Netflix, although I’m not entirely sure how to operate it. There’s a load of DVDs in the longue as well.”

“A DVD. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Damian says.

“I don’t think they have Cabaret though,” she sighs. “Which would be perfect for us right now.” She’s telling half-truths, because there’s a substantial collection of old movies, including musicals, but she doesn’t really want to brave the longue now, or to take them in there. The longue is probably her favourite place in the hospital, but it’s bound to be full right now. And for now, she wants to keep her cancer world and the real world separate.

So with some fussing, they manage to find Netflix and learn how to work it. Cady is insistent that Janis pick the movie, since it’s her room and she doesn’t know half of them and has already watched the other half. At the start of the summer, Janis had made Cady a list of every movie she needed to watch, and by the end of August they’d almost made it to the halfway mark. The best part wasn’t the movies themselves; it was the movie nights. Huddled under a comforter and surrounded by pillows, Cady’s body pressed against hers and the lights down low, buttery popcorn and sugar-covered candies keeping them going until one (usually Cady) fell asleep.

Now they make do with the thin hospital bed and the near-plastic sheets. At least they can adjust the height of it, and Janis positions Cady against her and Damian sits in the comfiest chair to watch The Parent Trap. It’s none of their favourites, but it’s familiar and good enough and while it wasn’t on the list, Cady hasn’t seen it yet. Besides, Damian can make any more fun.

And really, Janis can’t take any more of the back and forth debate.

The more the movie goes on, the more normal Janis feels. She runs her fingers up and down Cady’s bare arms, her girlfriend’s jacket discarded across a chair like she would in her house. The conversation is light and easy and full of giggles even at the stupidest, silliest thing, Damian quoting along with the movie and Cady hopelessly lost, especially at around halfway through when Janis decides to tell her that Annie and Hallie were played by the same person.

“No way!” she declares. “I’m not believing you until I see proof.”

“Google it,” she says. “Damian?”

“Way ahead of you.” He pulls up the page and shows her the cast list, with one little Lohan billed as the two twins. Cady’s mouth falls on the floor, her shoulders shaking in a silent, disbelieving laugh.

“Jesus Christ!” she says. “How did they do that all the way back then?”

“Movie magic,” Janis replies, wiggling her fingers for effect. “It’s okay, Caddy, we all felt betrayed when we first found out.”

“Didn’t she go off her rocker a bit?” she asks, pointing to the screen. “I know that much. Regina told me.”

“A little,” Janis agrees. “But I kind of feel bad for her, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Oh. Oh!” The camera pans up, revealing the striking and scary figure of Meredith Blake, and Janis squeezes Cady’s arms. “I hated this bitch.”

“I hated her more,” Damian adds, his tone not 100% light. “When I first watched this I had this soon-to-be stepmom, because my dad was back in the dating game, and she was…” He gags and points down his throat.

“Real mature, Damian,” Janis jokes. “I mean she absolutely was, but still. Mature.”

“Okay, missy,” he laughs. “Nah but I used to try to get inspiration from how to deal with her from this movie.”

“Shh!” she hisses sharply, covering Cady’s ears. “Spoilers!”

“I can still hear you,” Cady tells her. “And I could sort of guess. All the movies about step parents do that kind of thing, don’t they? Bratty kid gets wreaks havoc on the step parent?”

“Are you saying thirteen year old me was a brat?” Damian asks.

“Seventeen year old you is also a brat,” Janis teases. Damian gasps and grabs the cushion from the chair, aiming it at her head. Part of her is completely sure he wouldn’t, not in a hospital, part of her is completely sure he would because of course he would.

She doesn’t find out either way, because their gathering is interrupted by her medical team, and the weight in her stomach comes back with a vengeance.

“Not getting in the way are we?” Nurse Lucy asks.

“Not at all,” she says. Before she stops herself, she’s already pushing Cady off her. Heat rises in her cheeks. “That time again?”

“Unfortunately so,” she replies as Cady slides off the bed. “Is it okay if Jackson does it this time?”

“Yeah, sure.” As she rolls up her sleeve, her friends catch on to what’s happening, and Damian rushes to Cady’s side.

“I promise I’ll find the vein this time,” Jackson jokes.

“Oh this is the one you said-” Cady is cut off by Janis making a small ‘cut it out’ gesture with her hand. She then raises an eyebrow at Damian, whose small smirk tells her everything she needs to know.

She takes a look at her IV and her bare arm before turning back to them. She still hates this; shockingly, she hasn’t gotten used to it in under a week. Her stomach still drops a hundred feet when she looks at the needle and her chest tightens even if she’s only thinking about it.

“You guys don’t need to watch this,” she tells them. “It doesn’t hurt. But if you need to look away, it’s fine.”

“I’m fine,” Cady tells her. When Janis looks down though, she sees how tightly she’s holding Damian’s hand.

“Okay,” she says.

This time around it only takes Jackson three tries to find her vein before securing it with the bandage. Good for him. He’s learning.

“You know the drill by now?” Lucy asks.

“Two hours, stay hydrated.” She gives her a two-fingered salute.

“Two hours?” Cady echoes, and Janis has to chuckle at it. “This takes two hours?”

“That’s what she said the first time she found out,” Lucy says, gesturing to Janis. “I can see why you two like each other so much.”

“No but… two hours,” she says again as they leave. “What do you do for two hours?”

“I just… sit here I guess,” she answers, looking up at the medicine. “You know, there’s TV. I have books. I draw. Sometimes it knocks me out and I get a little surprise nap, so that’s fun.”

“Is that… should we go?” Cady asks. “If you’re going to-”

“Oh no.” She shakes her head firmly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.” She’s such a liar it’s a wonder her tongue hasn’t turned black and crumbled. “Come on. Let’s finish the movie at least.”

Cady lays beside her rather than on her, and Damian stays on the other side of the bed, away from her IV. She catches him once or twice, watching the drip instead of the movie. His gaze is unreadable, and since she’s always been able to know his thoughts without him speaking, it unsettles her.

It’s not long before that familiar tiredness descends on her, clouding her mind and pulling her downwards. And she fights it; she keeps her eyes open despite how they itch and shifts her body when she finds herself too comfortable lest she start drifting off. It’s a challenge, not just because of the medicine’s effect on her, but because of Cady’s warmth next to her, promising security and comfort and being there when she wakes up.

And she must have given into it at one point, because she opens her eyes after a blink and the movie is over; Nick and Elizabeth are together again, Annie and Hallie stay with each other forever, happy endings all around.

“What time is it?” Janis asks.

“Nearly five,” Damian explains. Visiting hours don’t end for another two hours. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she asks. “I’m fantastic.”

“You sure?” Cady’s hand is on hers, slowly linking their fingers together. Janis squeezes her hand, clarity coming into her mind by her own will.

“Of course I’m sure.”

They don’t have to be home for another hour. Home for dinner, that’s the rule. That doesn’t really change. Damian tells her that his mom is thinking about her every day and was beside herself when she heard the news.

“She’s started following more baking blogs,” he tells her. “So prep yourself for a lot of baked goods on your doorstep.”

“I can’t object to that,” she says. “Especially since Val always bakes with love.”

At some point during the hour, Janis pulls Cady into her lap again, or Cady crawls into it, or both. Her head is under her chin and her back against her chest, slotting into place perfectly. Like if she holds her this close, she won’t have to leave.

Wishful thinking, she knows, because when it gets close to six, Cady picks up her jacket and her backpack and there’s nothing but empty air against Janis’ body.

She wishes she could lead them to the door, but her IV catches on everything, so they say their goodbyes where they are.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she warns them teasingly.

“I hardly ever think about you,” Damian replies, his voice thick.

“And you,” she tells him. “Better run lines with me. When’s auditions?”

“Next Thursday,” he tells her. “So I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Perfect,” she says. “I have treatments at 11, at 2… You know what? I’ll text you them.”

“Okay. And you were right by the way. That med student is a snack.” They laugh, and then there’s a moment of silence before he folds her in his arms, her face burying itself in the crook of his neck and his hand cupping the back of her head. “Take of yourself, okay?” His voice is so soft, so desperate, that it sounds like a plea.

“I will,” she says. “I always do.” Knowledgeable as always, he gives her and Cady space to say goodbye themselves. She rubs her hand on her shorts, nervousness gripping her body in a way she hasn’t felt in a while and she thoroughly dislikes.

“I’ll text you the second I get home,” Cady says. “And can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course you can,” she says. “As long as you get some homework done tonight, kid.”

“I will,” she says. “I didn’t get the top grade in Norbury’s class for nothing.” Cady takes in a deep breath, her hand fidgeting around her backpack strap and her hair half-hiding her face. Janis reaches out and pushes it back and if she notices her shaking hand, she doesn’t say anything.

“Caddy-”

Janis actually wasn’t sure what she was going to say there, but it doesn’t matter, because Cady steps up and kisses her. It’s not perfect; it feels clumsy and awkward and they bump against each other, but it’s everything Janis needs. So much so that when they pull away, she doesn’t even attempt to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispers, grinning. “I’ll see you soon.” She steals another peck.

“See you later, Janis,” she whispers. They don’t stop holding hands for as long as they can and Janis is still looking at her until she’s out of view, walking back down the hall with Damian, maybe getting lost again. Down the hall, to the right, into the elevator and out the double doors. Bus stop down the street, next stop home. They ride together until Damian gets off and Cady stays on. All the while she stays here, IV in arm and her phone buzzing, talking to them until she falls asleep.

[portiaphan]

DV Characters as Things Hannibal Buress Has Said

Alex: "I'm a gangsta, and gangstas don't ask questions." Yes they do ask questions! I thought that was a main point of being a gangster. "Hey, mothafucka, where's my money?" That's a question. "Do you want to die tonight?" That's a question too. "What? What?" That's two questions.

Alva: Gibberish rap is - I freestyle all the time, just hangin' out with friends. And sometimes when I'm freestyling, I'll lose my flow, you know, but I'll still wanna - I don't wanna just stop rapping because I lose my flow. So I'll just put in nonsense words till I can bring in regular words again.

Brielle: I couldn't imagine only being an actor or a writer. Because what the hell do I do when I'm not working? Mope?

Battista: I’m a dumb guy. My point of view is limited.

Bellamy: Why are you booing me? I'm right!

Beau: SIX PACK ABS! TEN PACK ABS! TWELVE PACK! What if I want an odd number of abs? What if I want a five pack to show people I'm still humble?

Bernadette: My other airport nemesis is airport security. I don't like them at all. They seem so dedicated to keeping bottled water out of the sky.

Calina: I acknowledge that I jaywalked, I apologize not for the act of jaywalking but how my jaywalking made you feel. I'll try not to jaywalk in the future while you're watching but trust that I'll do it for the rest of my life - it's the best way to go about being a pedestrian.

Castora: There's a lot of dudes in my neighborhood that have handlebar mustaches. Which is cool if you want to have a handlebar mustache but don't try to have a conversation with me like you don't have a handlebar mustache.

Catherine: He said, "Man, we are right by the Adige River. These buildings are 200-300 years old, they have rats everywhere. Even the five-star restaurants have rats!" Somehow he made me feel like the asshole for bringing up rats! I don't know what kind of jedi mind trick that was - it confused the hell out of me because I still ended up ordering food then.

Cyrus: So we talk for a little bit. She says stuff, I say stuff, she says stuff, I say stuff. You know how a conversation works.

Celeste: I get upset easily by people. I saw this guy- he was on the phone. He had the phone between the ear and shoulder like that, but he didn't have anything in his hands. Which is really upsetting! Who the hell do you think you are? This action for people that are multitasking. Where's your other task? You're not doing anything else.

Daphne: He'd be the worst real estate agent ever. "Right here we have a 34 bedroom house. Let me show you around the property. Great features to this place, some of the rooms have extra, smaller rooms in them."

Delilah: I was in Scotland for all of August and it was the darkest time of my life. Mostly 'cause they call cookies biscuits. I don't like that at all. It was an incredible culture shock for me, tough to adjust but I tried for a few weeks. Pass me the chocolate chip BISCUITS. Let's have biscuits and milk, everybody. I love Oreo biscuits. But, in the fourth week, I couldn't handle it no more. THOSE ARE COOKIES THOSE AREN'T BISCUITS. Those are cookies. Cookies are cookies and biscuits are biscuits. If you call cookies biscuits, what do you call biscuits 'cause I'm not saying scones.

Everett: I did not move to Verona with a plan. The first time I moved to Verona, I just popped up. My sister was living here in Verona. I just popped up. She had her baby and a husband, and I just popped up. "Hey, what's up? I got $200 and dreams. Let's do this."

Genevieve: I can't just look at a status and move along. I see a status got 36 'likes' — can't accept it got 36 'likes' and move along. I got to click on it and start reading the names of the people that liked it. "Oh, yeah. Jim would 'like' some shit like that."

Grace: Yo ma, money over everything.

Halcyon: Awe man, I gotta get a team. I don't have a team, I just have friends. I call up my friend, "Hey man, I know you're my friend but I need you on my team right now."

Hazel: You have a regular-sized tub and a miniature tub, the sink.

Henry: You never know what could happen when you go into a store - somebody might pull a Tonya Harding on you and break your knee cap. And now you got your knees all fucked up just ‘cause you wanted to get that vinyl.

Hugo: It sounds like God owed someone some money and they couldn’t get to him, so they murked his son. That’s what I really think happened. Jesus got stabbed up in an alley… but it’s easier to sell crucifixes. You can’t sell a pendant of someone getting shanked up in the alley. It’s a marketing scheme.

Ivan: Come to your place at 5:00 in the morning, eat your food, drink your drinks, leave at 6:30 without fucking like it’s cool. That’s a passive burglary.

Isabelle: Two separate charges $400 at Barnes and Noble. Who balls out of control at Barnes and Noble?

Juliana: Believe in yourself like one of those weird-ass clothing stores that only have six shirts in them. So many questions. How much do these shirts cost? How long have y'all been here? Why is there a DJ?

Katarina: Kill people, burn shit, fuck school, I hate spam emails! That's annoying! You think you have an email from a friend but it's spam.

Lucien: I believe in my ability to not spill food in my pants 'cause I'm a goddamn adult. And I've mastered the art of getting food from my plate to my mouth without messing up my jeans. You need to believe in yourself, too and get your life together, that's for babies. Have some confidence in your eating abilities and hand/eye coordination.

Lucrezia: I'VE ALREADY SEEN LIMITLESS.

Lillian: I'm not a club person, I'm more of a bar/lounge type of person. But, I'll go anywhere if you give me a free bottle of alcohol.

Mikael: I have weird aspirations. Like, I really want to kick a pigeon.

Matthias: It's a weird emotion when you're flattered and cynical at the same time. "Oh, that's nice that you would say that, but what the fuck are you up to?"

Marcelo: I just wear black and gray all the time. If you Google Image me, you'll just see a bunch of black and gray. It's simple. If I like a shirt, I'll buy six or eight of them, wear them back-to-back, and just wait for somebody to say something. "That's the same shirt you wore yesterday." "Yeah, but this one is fresh."

Maeve: When people go through something rough in life, they say, "I'm taking it one day at a time." Yes, so is everybody. Because that's how time works.

Nikolai: But this time, it was me and this old lady we were jaywalking together. We weren't together like that. But if we were, so what? Mind your business.

Odessa: It was a phone interview and sometimes when I do phone interviews and the journalist is boring, I just start saying crazy stuff to make it fun for me.

Olivio: There have been times I’ve been out, and my phone battery is at nine percent, and I was like, "Time to go home."

Orion: Don’t thank the lord. I gave you that compliment, thank me.

Priam: I lost my debit card recently, had five charges on it before I caught it. First charge, $30 Chuckee Cheese. Who goes to Chuckee Cheese as soon as they find a debit card? Are you serious?

Paola: I applied for a job at Starbucks. One of the questions was, 'Why do you want to work at Starbucks?' Uh, because my life is in shambles.

Pandora: I don't even know how to use a semicolon to this day, I use a comma every time. And you know what? If I email somebody and they get upset about me using a comma instead of a semicolon, that's not a person I want to work with anyway. And that's how you weed people out of your life.

Ramona: I went into this restaurant in Verona called The Two Gentlemen. Went into the bathroom at The Two Gentlemen, huuuuge rat in the bathroom at The Two Gentlemen and the rat looked at me like "the fuck you doing here?" That was his vibe, very negative vibe.

Rafaella: Sometimes I get drunk and I get into arguments with taxi drivers. And I get out the cab and I slam the door. That's not the way to win an argument with a taxi driver. The way to win is you get out of the cab and you leave the door open.

Regina: And that was the first time in my life, without any sarcasm, I could say, "What? You want a cookie or something?" Because any other time you say that, you being mean, but I meant it from my heart. "How many cookies you want, man? You want seven cookies? That's way too many cookies. You're being ridiculous right now. You can take, like, three or four cookies and get out of my face. Otherwise, you're taking advantage of my generosity."

Ronan: Wack.

Roman: In my hometown of Verona, I'm kind of a medium deal.

Theodora: We got interns at the job. You can just tell them to do stuff. You gotta be nice, though. I had this cat fax something. I handed him a couple of pages, and I handed him another page. I said, "Hey, man, fax something for yourself, too."

Tomas: Rap videos confuse me cause they have to be continued at the end but the never make a sequel. Where’s the second video? There’s so much suspense!

Trinity: I was at the airport and there was this kid, four or five years old walking with his mommy, fixed his fingers in a fake gun, and then took a shot at me. And I'm looking at the wall to see if there's something on the wall he could've been shooting at 'cause I'm in denial. I look back at him, he looks me in the eyes and takes too more shots. Now I'm hit three times, that's an act of aggression. I need to defend myself.

Valentina: Morpheus, Dorpheus, Orpheus, go eat some walruses. Orifices, porridges. Morpheus, Morpheus. Going to the Buffet and Walruses. Confidence, corpseses. Worcestershire sauce. Go into your orifices. Red pill, blue pill. Morpheus, walruses. Seashells by the seashorpheus. MORPHEUS DRINKING A FORTY IN THE DEATH BASKET.

Vivianne: "We'll keep you in our thoughts" With the other bullshit in your heads? No, keep me out of your thoughts, because I hear some of the stuff you talk about and if that's close to what you're thinking about, I don't want to be around that, so keep me and my family out of your thoughts, unless you're thinking of making me a sandwich.

[slow-smiles]

The plan to tell Emma’s parents about her relationship with Killian gets derailed when she is kidnapped by the Dark One. Captain Duckling. Revelations, reunions, adventures, and smut ensues. ~8.7k

The grand finale to the My Princess, My Pirate series. This is part two of four. Also just… ya know, screw the canon timeline, use your imagination.

Read on AO3. Read on tumblr Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

The Swan of Misthaven. Part Two.

Emma awakens with a sharp gasp on the floor of a massive chamber with no windows. The stones are cool under her back, but her skin feels hot, her heart racing. She sits up slowly with a groan. She feels hungover, but multiplied by seventy. A sharp headache makes her feel like her skull is being split in two, oppressive fogginess makes focusing on anything nearly impossible, and a pressing, cloying nausea pushes insistently against her gag reflex. How did she—

The last thing she remembers is the clearing, making the deal with Rumplestiltskin to keep Killian alive, and now here she is. Wherever here is.

The empty chamber is massive, even bigger than the ballroom at the palace, with several support columns evenly dotting the floor in fifteen foot intervals. The air feels dank and heavy, and Emma wonders if this is an underground dungeon of some kind. The stone making up the walls and floor is dark, rough like limestone, and the space is dimly lit by sparse torches along the walls. She doesn’t notice any doors.

She rolls herself to her knees, and at that point the nausea wins the fight and Emma throws up. As she heaves against the floor, her mind is spinning, barely able to pick up a thread of thought aside from where am I and how did I get here.

“There’s no way to avoid the physical aftereffects of having a suppression hex removed, I’m afraid.”

She wishes she could say that when she heard Rumplestiltskin’s voice behind her, she leapt to her feet and demanded to know where she was being held. She does try, but as soon as she gets to her feet and turns, a wave of dizziness and nausea knocks her back to her knees, her hands bracing on the floor. She can’t help the miserable whine that escapes her at the feeling of illness and discomfort running through her.

“And unfortunately for you,” he continues, the click of his boots against the stone ominous in the quiet of the chamber, “the more powerful you are, the more severe the side effects.”

She wrangles enough clarity of mind to say, “What are you talking about?” before her body starts to heave again.

The ringing in her ears doesn’t drown out the sound of him saying, “I must admit, I was surprised to find one on you. The fairies have never dabbled in hexes before to my knowledge, and it was surprisingly well-crafted.”

“What?” Emma chokes out again. Gods, she feels awful. (Even worse than the last time she’d drunk whiskey and blacked out for the entire night. To this day, she doesn’t remember going to sleep or waking up; she had come to, still drunk and vomiting with her pants laying nearby, behind a blacksmith’s forge. Thankfully, Killian had awoken behind the shop next door, doing only mildly better than she, and found her in her sorry state, and they mutually assured their hungover partner got home. This had been relatively early in their courtship, and it was strangely freeing in a way, to see each other essentially at their worst and most stupid.)

“Ding-ding-ding, dearie,” he chirps, so close to her ear, she nearly falls sideways in surprise. How did she not hear him get closer? “You’re a lucky winner.”

“Of what?” she asks, hopelessly confused and desperate for someone to just explain what the hell is going on.

She turns her head to finally look at him directly. His smile is predatory. “Magic.”

Emma barely hears him, or registers his meaning exactly, because her body has quite suddenly decided it’s had enough. Her head drops, she sees white sparkling at the edges of her vision, then sparking across her hands, and before she can say anything in response, she passes out.

***

It’s just over a day’s-worth of hard riding from the palace in Misthaven to the village just across the border where the former Queen Regina lives, and given that they set out in late afternoon, the time comes to set up camp sooner rather than later.

The quiet cooperation between the three of them is not as awkward as Killian imagined it might be. The King and Queen move around each other like a well-choreographed ballet. He’s quietly amused by the two royals in travelling gear (that is far too nice to truly blend in) who are extremely well-versed in camp craft. He fills in where necessary, and by the time the darkness settles, when the light from the moon and stars are barely enough to see by, David volunteers to take first watch. Snow thanks him, collapses into her bedroll, and is asleep in minutes.

Killian finds himself staring at the orange flames next to Emma’s father in silence.

Emma is supposed to be with him for this part, he thinks. Emma is supposed to be here to guide him. And he--

He’s not supposed to be this person anymore. This person whose every waking moment is consumed with thoughts of how he wants to watch the life drain from a man’s eyes. With Emma, he likes to think he’s become someone worthwhile. Someone who is a part of something. Someone who he’s proud to say he will be for the rest of his life.

When they decided that it was finally time to tell her parents, come out of the shadows, he thought he’d be able to be that person. That honorable man worthy of care, worthy of note, worthy of their daughter’s hand in marriage, someday.

“You should get some sleep,” David says, startling Killian out of his reverie.

He looks over at the King, the details of his face made sharper in the shadows cast by the flame. He looks every inch a man of royalty--classically handsome, even in his age. A regal bearing, even when seated on a log in the woods. The crow’s feet around his eyes and the smile lines around his mouth only serve to make him look sage and wise, perhaps even kindly.

Killian answers him honestly, “I’m not certain I could if I tried.”

David looks away into the flames, and a heavy beat passes before he says, “You are the absolute last person I ever pictured Emma with.”

“Pardon?”

David chuckles lightly. “I know Snow doesn’t want to acknowledge anything is real until we have Emma back, but I don’t have the same restraint.” Another chuckle, this time deprecating. “Of all the people in the world, of all the potential romantic suitors she’s met, and it’s you.”

Killian doesn’t appreciate the direction this conversation is going. “What we became was up to her as much as me.”

“Sure,” David says, but it doesn’t sound precisely like agreement.

Despite knowing ( hoping ) that he’s a better man now than he was, he can’t change the fact that he can be a bit of a snarky asshole. “There’s clearly something you’d like to yell at me for,” he says, fully prepared to regret his words but unable to stop them from spilling out, “so why don’t you get it out of your system now.”

The King snorts softly. “Which part do I yell at you for? You’re a murdering thief who is apparently over a century old--yeah, I didn’t forget about that--and somehow you’ve managed to capture my only child’s affection.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

There’s a part of him that says I don’t know how I did it either (which is only true in spirit, as he still doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her love, but knows that Emma’s heart was only won when he consistently proved that he was in this for the long haul.) The part of him that speaks isn’t so keen on sharing that vulnerability, so he replies, “Well, give me time, I might just grow on you.”

David grunts. “Like a wart. Or an infection.”

Killian grits his teeth before giving the King his most winning smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing Emma’s feelings for me aren’t up to you then, isn’t it?”

Emma’s father grimaces, and there’s that honest voice deep down, the one beneath the arrogant, brash exterior, telling him that Emma is going to be quite cross with him for trying to get under David’s skin like this.

“Were you ever in the military?” asks David then, the segue so unexpected Killian is momentarily disarmed.

“Yes,” he answers, surprised, but quickly buckles down again. “Can you instinctively sense when someone’s had a stick thrust firmly up their arse?”

David barks out a laugh and steals a glance over at his sleeping wife to ensure he didn’t wake her. “You sometimes stand like someone who was military. And you certainly commanded attention in the Council room.”

“Be careful, Majesty, that almost sounded like a compliment. Might give the wrong impression.”

“Just an observation,” David says. A beat passes before he asks, “So what made you turn pirate?”

Killian doesn’t miss a beat and answers, “The dismal pay of a Navy man can’t hold a candle to looting a ship for treasure.” He winces at the automatic defense mechanism. This is the father of the woman he loves, his future father-in-law if he has his way.

David doesn’t miss the wince, and a thoughtful expression crosses his face. “You’re a piss poor liar for a pirate.”

“On the contrary, I’m actually quite good,” Killian answers.

“Is it really such a bane for you to tell the truth?”

Killian sighs, trying to quell the urge to deflect with a lie or a glib jibe. “It’s not a time of my life I care to revisit often, even in memory.” He looks over at Emma’s father, whose silent, probing gaze prompts him to continue. “Fighting for king and country means nothing when your king is a corrupt, underhanded, immoral man who’d sooner throw his loyal men into a meat grinder than even sniff something honorable.” Killian looks down at his hook, idly dabbing the point with a finger. “My brother trusted him. It was the last mistake he ever made.”

“I’m sorry,” David offers.

Killian smiles tightly. “My brother was the best man I knew. A good captain, honorable to a fault, as stubborn as the day is long. The king didn’t care that he’d died. Probably didn’t even remember Liam at all. I refused to serve any monarchy from that day forward. They took everything from me,” he says, voice hazy with memory, “so I was going to take everything from them. At least among thieves, there was honor.” He turns to David again, “No offense, mate.”

“None taken,” David replies, then chuckles a bit. “Kind of ironic that you went and fell in love with a princess, then.”

“No one is more aware of that than me,” Killian says. “I suppose that gives us something in common--falling in love with women far above our stations.”

David huffs a laugh, but doesn’t respond for a long while; the only sound is the crackle of wood in their fire, and the distant song of crickets. Killian almost wonders if the King had fallen asleep when he speaks again. “Emma must mean a lot to you, if you’d go through the trouble to rescue her.”

“She means everything to me,” Killian gently corrects. “I’d go to the end of the world or time for her. Anything if it means she’s safe.”

“And she for you, I take it?”

Killian smiles. “Yes.” He looks back over at David. “I know that I’m not the ideal you envisioned—”

David waves a hand and interrupts, “No, you’re not. And I’m—” he sighs and tips his face skyward. “Given the lengths that you’re going through to save her—coming to us, getting arrested, potentially almost getting executed, throwing yourself back into this feud with the Dark One—” David looks back at Killian. “Looking at it from that perspective, it’s crazy for me to not approve. Snow and I married for love in spite of the circumstances, and I always hoped for the same for Emma.”

Killian feels like his chest is about to burst. Despite everything, could it be that Emma’s father really can forgive his past mistakes?

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” David quickly says, but it’s without heat.

Killian laughs.

David continues, “If you really want to earn my approval,” he points across the fire to the empty bedroll, “you’ll go to sleep.”

Killian rolls his eyes and replies, “If me having a lie down means that much to you—” Killian mock bows from his seat and then makes his way over to his bedroll. “Then I’m much obliged, Dave.”

“Do not call me Dave.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the sound of all the sleep I’m getting.”

David grumbles, but doesn’t say anything further.

Killian stares up at the stars, his thoughts a barely cohesive mess. He wishes Emma were next to him so he could tell her about them, try to make sense of everything that’s happened today. Gods, and it really has all been today. He started off this morning with Emma on his ship, not a care in the world and a tremendous weight removed from their shoulders.

Now, here he is, sharing a campsite with the King and Queen of Misthaven, trying to find his footing with his love’s royal parents, and hoping dearly that he doesn’t make a mess of things.

But that itself seems so trivial in the face of Emma being in the clutches of the realm’s greatest evil, and them having no idea why he’s taken her.

Killian’s never been much for spirituality or worshipping deities. He’s been on the sea long enough to know the superstitions, to know about Poseidon and Ursula and Calypso, and all the other gods and goddesses of the sea to whom many crewmen give offerings and pray in hopes for a safe voyage.

But Killian has seen too much, lived through too many years and too many crews to believe their feeble oils and branches, foodstuffs and whispered words make any difference. A strong wind may fall upon murderers or travelers, a storm may wreck a peacekeeping mission or slavers. The sea is nothing if not fair.

But in the darkness, he prays to any deity that might listen that the world might be unfair in Emma’s favor.

***

Killian awakens with a jolt, the taste of a bitten off shout in his throat and he sits up. The sky has lightened from pitch black and lit with stars to a deep purple, lightening slightly toward the eastern horizon. Early, and not late enough to say that it is yet dawn. He hadn’t been planning on falling asleep, didn’t think it would be possible with the unrest in his mind, but after a few hours of silence, it appears his body made the choice for him.

His heart is racing in his chest, the lingering images from the nightmare scattering but leaving the fear as a gaping maw in his chest. He runs a hand across his face, trying to gather his wits, but he still feels strung out and uncomfortable. Like all of his defenses have been stripped away.

Perhaps he should take a walk. There was a small creek nearby, and perhaps splashing some water on his face will remind him that the nightmare was just that—a nightmare. A garish, twisted vision from his mind that has been stuck on a fear-anger cycle for far too long.

He wishes again for Emma, to speak to her, to have her set his mind at ease, but she’s—

A shudder goes through him as one of the nightmare’s scenes comes to the forefront of his mind again, Emma without a heart, Emma lying on the deck of his ship, Emma crying and begging for him to save her—

With a frustrated, flustered huff, he sits up to find Snow White staring at him. The former bandit princess turned conquering queen has a thoughtful expression on her face, as if he were a particularly interested puzzle.

His breath is still coming in pants, and his heart is still racing in his chest, but Killian is still able to manage a realization. “I missed my watch.”

“You didn’t miss it,” Snow says. “I didn’t wake you. I figured it was the least I could do after I had you thrown in prison and then threatened to have you executed.”

Trying vehemently to turn his manner to conversation rather than lingering on the dream, Killian shakes his head and says, “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Were I in your position, I’d’ve done the same thing.”

Snow smiles. “I appreciate that. You seemed like you needed the rest, at least—” she shifts a bit before she can meet his eye again. “For the last few minutes, it sounded like you were having a pretty bad nightmare.”

Killian stiffens. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he replies, and moves to stand, do something with his body that could help alleviate the intense feeling of vulnerability under scrutiny now skittering across his skin.

“You didn’t,” Snow says, a kind warmth in her voice and manner that seems like it should calm him rather than rile him.

“That hasn’t happened in a long time,” he says, as if that explanation should be some sort of comfort. To her, to him, he doesn’t know. His heart still races. He refocuses, remembers how to calm himself. Just because he hasn’t had one in a long time, doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to get over a particularly intense nightmare.

He shifts on the bedroll so that he faces the flames of the fire. A bit burned down from what they were the night before, it’s mostly charcoal now, but it functions well enough. The slow, steady motion of the flames makes his breathing wind down, and he focuses on the beat of his heart. Draws a breath in deeply, and then lets it out slowly. He repeats this until his body doesn’t feel like it’s about to leap out of his skin.

“If I may ask,” Snow says after the long silence, “who is Milah?”

Killian immediately tenses, his jaw subconsciously clenching; this isn’t the same kind of stress he felt when he awoke. It’s the same kind that came along with David asking him questions about his past last night—and Killian’s about tapped out of defense mechanisms at the moment.

Snow says, “You said her name and Emma’s name a few times before you awoke.”

Perhaps it’s not so much that he’s exhausted his energy to defend his vulnerabilities after the nightmare, perhaps it’s just them. Snow and David, Emma’s parents. They’re the ones who made her, after all, so everything that Emma is came from them. He’s not good at refusing Emma, and her mother seems to hold the same sway over him.

“A long time ago, before Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, he was just a man. A man with a wife named Milah.”

Gods, but centuries have passed, and it still feels like someone’s pulling his heart out every time he says her name.

Killian continues, “She and her husband had a son, who she loved very much, but couldn’t fix the deep sadness she carried with her. She used to tell me that sometimes it felt as though she were born during a long night, and that darkness lingered with her no matter how often she bathed in the sun.

“And she decided to leave her husband and her son and come away with me.” A knife of grief goes through his abdomen. “We loved each other, and she didn’t see another way out of her unhappiness. So when I left port, she came with me.”

“And her son?” Snow asks.

“We made plans to go back for him that never came to pass.” She’d often confided her insecurity about her motherhood, but had gone no further than that. Privately, he thinks that Milah had been afraid to see her son again, to admit to him that he hadn’t been enough to make her happy where she was.

But that is too intimate a memory to share.

“Later, when he was the Dark One, he found us; accused me of stealing her, as though she were some bauble to be passed around.” He shakes his head, and has to blink a few times to control the wetness at the corners of his eyes. “Milah was brilliant, but she had a bit of a temper. And she just… let the Dark One have it on the deck of my ship. Her words were sharp, and she knew exactly how to hurt him. He didn’t really care for that.”

He tries to be as clinical as possible with the next bit, “So he lashed me to the mast, pulled her heart out, and crushed it. He cut my hand off that day, too, but the pain of that was nothing compared to losing her.”

Snow silently stands and comes to sit next to him, and reaches out to take his hand. Killian doesn’t remember his mother much, but he imagines that being comforted by her might have felt like this.

He blinks harder against the moisture in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I understand now, why you were so afraid.”

“Oh, I’m still afraid, believe me.”

“Not like that. We’re all afraid for her, but for you… You’ve already seen this story play out once, and it ended horribly for you.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to have hope that it will end well?”

Snow laughs a little at that. “Yes, because if we don’t have hope that something will work out well, then what’s our motivation to do it in the first place? But beyond the hope, you should hold onto that fear too. The most insane, amazing acts of courage happen when someone is the most afraid,” Snow looks into his eyes with a startling intensity, “and we’re probably going to need some really insane, amazing acts of courage to get Emma out of there.”

As soon as dawn breaks, the trio are on their way. They ride until early afternoon, when they slow their horses to a walk and enter the small village. It’s along a bustling trade route, located between the sea and the next nearest inland city, so it’s well on its way to becoming a full-fledged town.

Snow leads them to a small estate just at the edge of the village. A modest home sits to the left of the front gate, and beyond that is a truly impressive equine complex consisting of several pastures that are clearly well-kept, a large A-Frame barn that could likely house dozens of horses based on the size, and a few dirt and grass arenas for competitive riding purposes. It is a spread that is certainly only rivaled by the royal stables, and those might be found wanting compared to this place.

A youth of possibly fifteen or sixteen years is leading a stocky gray mare out of one of the pastures when he spots them. “Greetings!” he calls out. The mare he is leading seems to protest the quickened pace as the boy strides toward them, but he does not slow. “My name is Henry Locksley. Welcome to Riverside Farm.” The lad seems to have a practiced gaze for horses as he takes stock of their three mounts. “If you’re looking for nightly board, we are happy to accommodate.”

Snow dismounts and turns to the young man. “No, we’re actually looking for your stablemaster.”

Henry looks a little surprised. “Oh, okay. She was in the stable with Roland last I saw her. If you’ll follow me, I’m heading there now.”

“Thank you,” Snow says. Killian and David dismount as well and the trio begins following the young Henry towards the stable.

David asks, “So, Henry, does your family live in the village?”

“My family owns the farm, so we live right there,” Henry answers, pointing towards the home at the front of the property.

Snow’s small “oh” of surprise is almost unnoticeable, but Killian glances over to find her face the picture of shock. She quickly schools her features to neutrality once more. “So your family—they work the whole farm by themselves?” she asks, the epitome of polite interest.

Henry nods, an eager tour guide. “My mother is the stablemaster, my father mostly does maintenance and sales and then whatever else my mother tells him to,” he says with a laugh. “My older brother Roland is a whiz with numbers, so he does our bookkeeping. My little sister Eliza is a hand just like me, but she’s also studying to become a blacksmith, so she’s at the forge in town right now.”

“It’s nice that your family is so tightly-knit,” Snow says, her tone changing to barely-constrained curiosity.

Nodding and smiling, Henry doesn’t seem to sense any odd mood from the group before him. “My mom says that love creates happiness, so keeping those you love close to you is the best way to make yourself happy.”

Killian can’t read the expression that crosses Snow’s face then. “Wise advice,” she replies.

They reach the stable doors, and Henry swings them open. Inside, it looks as tidy and clean as the rest of the farm. The center aisle is made of brick, an exorbitant expense that gives the barn a high class sensibility. The brick is flanked by wood-planked stalls, and the low ceiling plays host to a few small swallows in the support beams. A pair of mangy barn cats roam around, but the central focal point at the moment is the woman with her back turned to them.

She stands bent over next to a mid-sized black gelding, his front left hoof propped up between her legs. She’s softly muttering to herself when Henry calls out, “Hey, Mom, there are some people who want to see you.” Killian, Snow, and David all halt by the entrance, but Henry keeps walking, placing the gray mare into an open stall on the right hand side.

She doesn’t turn yet, still bent over the hoof. “Henry, you’re going to have to ride into town and get Eliza home, because Lady Gerhardt’s horse is going to need a new set of shoes.”

Henry groans. “But I was going to take Blizzard on a training run!”

The woman drops the hoof and straightens, and begins to turn. “You can still do that later this aftern—” Her words abruptly drop off when she sees just who her visitors are. The former Evil Queen quickly composes herself and finishes, “This afternoon. Before you go, can you run and get your father? Tell him to meet me at the house.” And with a quick nod of her head, “And make sure their horses get properly hitched and watered.”

The sorceress who once terrorized thousands of people over a dozen kingdoms is dressed in riding breeches and lace-up paddock boots, with a thin, brown leather vest over a red button-up shirt. Her long hair is pulled back in a simple braid. The raven-black locks that once held crowns, and had been so famously, elaborately styled, is shot through with gray streaks. She looks like any other stablemaster across any of the dozen kingdoms where she’d left heartless bodies strewn across the lands.

Henry glances between Regina and their visitors with poorly-disguised confusion, but Regina gives him a look that quickly has him agreeing and scurrying off to do what she asked.

As the stable door closes behind Henry, Snow steps forward. “Regina.”

“Snow. You’ve aged.”

Not rising to the bait, Snow observes with a noticeable amount of strain in her voice, “You have children.”

“I do.”

Killian meets David’s gaze behind Snow’s back, trying to convey confusion. What should we do?

David just shakes his head imperceptibly.

Snow continues, “And a husband.”

“Yes. I noticed you brought yours along. Hello, David.”

“Hello, Regina,” he replies, managing a polite tone the just verges on chilly. A shepherd David may have been once, but Killian knows that’s a politician’s voice right there.

Regina’s dark eyes then flit over to Killian, taking him in with a detached air. “This would be a lovely family reunion if you hadn’t decided to bring the Handless Wonder along.”

“Good to see you again, Majesty,” Killian replies, acidic.

Both Snow and David look over at him. “How do you know her?” David asks.

“Former villains support group,” he answers without missing a beat, not wanting to delve into the thorny history he has with the old queen.

“Not important right now,” Snow mutters, and strides forward so that she’s only a few paces from Regina’s side. “We need your help.”

Regina’s mouth purses. “I could hardly be your first choice, unless we're already scraping the bottom of the barrel for help,” she says with a pointed look at Killian before she reaches for a bristled brush in a box next to her. “Why come to me?” She begins to brush the black gelding.

A heavy beat passes before Snow answers, “Rumplestiltskin took our daughter.”

The brush pauses on the horse’s flank.

“How long ago?” Regina asks quietly, then resumes brushing the horse.

“Yesterday,” Killian answers. “We won’t be able to get near him without you.”

Regina snickers, “All those years hunting the Dark One and still can’t perform under pressure?”

“Oh darling, I perform under pressure just fine.”

Regina turns an acerbic eye on him. “Not when I asked you to kill my mother.”

“What?” David exclaims, looking between the two of them, but Killian rolls his eyes.

“Still on about that, are we?”

“This isn’t helpful,” Snow snaps. “He knows what can kill Rumplestiltsken,” she points a finger in Killian’s direction. “and you can get us into the vault where he keeps all of it.”

Regina looks mildly surprised at Snow’s outburst, but ultimately settles on impressed. “Why did he take her?”

“We don’t know,” David says.

“He said that he had use for her,” Killian says. “But that was all.”

Regina looks contemplative for a moment. “Product of true love could be useful,” she murmurs. She turns fully to Snow, seeming to warm to her topic, “When did Emma start manifesting magic?”

“Manifest—Emma doesn’t have magic.”

Regina snorts. “Believe me, she does. I could literally feel her magical signature exploding across the land when she was born.” She begins brushing the horse again, but it looks more like a reflexive movement than with any real purpose. “Either she’s a very late bloomer or there’s—” Regina freezes a moment, her lips parted. A furrow appears between her brows.

“There’s what?” Killian prompts.

Regina gives up on the futility of brushing the horse and drops the brush back in the box and steps fully into their conversation with her arms crossed over her chest. “A suppression hex.” Regina laughs, acidic. “Oh, classic Blue. Didn’t want to get her hands dirty herself.”

“Regina, what are you talking about?” Snow asks.

“After I gave up on casting the Dark Curse, but before I was banished,” Regina explains, “Blue came to me while I was imprisoned. I was—” she clears her throat before she continues, “—I was under the impression that I’d used up the last of your mercy, even if you believed me about stopping Rumplestiltskin’s plans. She asked me for a favor, and if I did it, she would counsel you to grant me clemency.”

“But Regina, you—” Snow tries, but Regina holds up a hand.

“It doesn’t matter. She asked me to create a suppression hex. Easy enough, so I did it. I just had no idea who she wanted it for. I’d always thought it was for an unruly fairy she wanted out of her ranks.”

“But she used it on Emma,” David concludes.

“So it would seem,” Regina says. “Maybe to hide her potential from Rumplestiltskin, or even from me. I doubt she ever really bought my change of heart,” she finishes with a scoff.

“Is he going to ask Emma to finish what you started, then?” Snow asks quietly.

Regina purses her lips. “Hard to say. Maybe he’s found a different avenue.”

“How do we get her back?” Killian asks impatiently. His mind has been conjuring worst case scenarios since Rumplestiltskin appeared in the clearing, and as salacious and shallowly entertaining as it might be to watch Regina snipe at the King and Queen, he’d much rather get on with finding Emma.

Regina examines him a little more closely this time, head tilting in a way that, unsettlingly, reminds him of the Crocodile. “You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers plainly.

Regina seems to take it in as information, categorizing it in some list in her head before nodding. “We should take this to the house.”

***

When Emma awakens again, the hangover-like symptoms have mostly faded and left behind a strange feeling of sensitivity. Everything is too bright, too loud, too sharp. Like scratching a sunburn, it’s raw and a bit painful. She’d been in and out of consciousness since that first time she’d awoken, but she has no concept of how much time has passed.

At least she feels a little less scattered, the fog she’d felt hanging over her completely gone.

She’s still in the same chamber, but she’s alone this time. Her ability to stand has returned, but she takes it slow. Thankfully, no strange symptoms make a reappearance.

She looks down at her hands, and turns over Rumplestiltskin’s words in her head. He said that she has magic.

There’s not—there’s no way.

There’s absolutely no way he can be right, and yet—

“Deep down, you know I’m right.”

She whirls around, hand flying to where her sword would normally rest before cursing.

“No weapons for you, dearie. Not after last time.”

Now that she can properly focus on his face, Emma can’t find any evidence that she’d put out his left eye with her knife. “What, you looking for an apology?”

Rumplestiltskin’s answering smile is chilling. “Of course not. Apologies are fool’s sentiment. No, no, I usually prefer something more concrete.”

Emma grits her teeth. “Like what?”

He tuts lightly. “Not just yet. We need to wake you up first.”

Before she can ask what he means by that, he makes a few quick gestures with his hands, and she notices the red, filmy mist that she knows is his magic rising around him. With another quick gesture outwards, the magic explodes from him, whooshing around Emma like a sharp gust of wind off the sea, but ripping through every support column in the chamber.

Several of the ones closest to them immediately collapse, the sound like a dozen cannons going off at once. The rest are evenly cracked through at the base and begin to shake perilously, the entire structure around them trembling. Emma braces her knees through the shaking, and looks furiously at Rumplestiltskin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Fix the columns, Emma,” he says.

“Are you fucking crazy?” she exclaims, eyes darting upwards. The shaking has increased, and visible fissures are appearing on the ceiling where the columns are starting to crumble away. “You’ll kill us both!”

He giggles. “Oh, it won’t kill me. Just you.”

“I don’t have magic! I can’t do this.” Rubble is starting to fall from the ceiling, massive chunks of stone plating crashing to the floor. Emma yelps and jumps to the side when a sizeable piece crashes to the floor not three feet from her.

“Oh, but you can!” he says. “This should be child’s play for how much power you have.”

“This is insane,” Emma says, quieter this time, frantically trying to find an exit. True to her first observation, there are no doors to this chamber. She’s stuck.

Fear burns in her throat, I can’t die, not now, I can’t die, Killian is waiting for me, I can’t die now, we have plans, not now, not when everything is starting to fall into place—

It happens between one heartbeat and the next—another column collapses, this time falling straight in her direction. She dives away from it, tucking and rolling to stand again. The column hits the floor right behind her, the concussion rattling her teeth and throwing her forward.

She falls.

She rolls, tries to get up as quickly as she can, but then there’s a stone from the ceiling falling straight at her.

No time to dodge. No time to run.

Either Rumplestiltskin is right, or she dies.

She thrusts her hands out in front of her, hoping for magic but all she can think of is how badly she wants to get out of here, of how badly she wants to see her parents again, see Killian again, by any and every god, she does not want to die today—

She closes her eyes.

She takes a breath, thinking that this could quite likely be her last.

And then she takes another.

And another.

She opens her eyes.

The stone hangs above her, suspended by a white mist that flows like liquid from her hands. She spares a look around her. Everything is frozen by the white mist, the columns held up, the falling debris stuck midair.

It’s unlike anything Emma has ever seen before, and it’s all coming from her. She can feel it, a strange pull against her heart, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s more like the excitement she felt as a child on the morning of Yule, the anticipation she feels when she hasn’t seen Killian in a month, the physical reaction of joy and love made manifest.

Emma laughs, and with a snap of her fingers, everything is fixed. Like time flowing backwards, the damage is swiftly undone. The stone effortlessly knits back together, leaving no trace of the damage that was done to it. The plating from the ceiling that fell and shattered against the floor pushes back together and floats easily upwards, slotting back into the architecture.

When the last column is standing once more, Emma finally drops her hands.

“What did I tell you, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin says. “Child’s play.”

***

Snow isn’t sure what to expect when Regina says they’ll meet her husband at the house. She only has vague recollections of what Daniel looked like, and even less of an idea of what he’d been like as a person, so to say she doesn’t know what Regina’s romantic tastes are like is a severe understatement. She imagines that Regina’s partner would be a high-born person like herself, a bit prim and classist, maybe abrasively rude in that way rich, egotistical men can sometimes be.

To say that she is shocked to find that Regina’s husband is the one and only Robin Hood of Locksley would be an even more severe understatement than the first.

He is surprisingly warm and welcoming, the friendly dog to Regina’s aloof cat, and something in Snow feels settled, satisfied, happy even. She’d always hoped Regina would find happiness, would find forgiveness and redemption in her own way, and it would seem that she’s found it; more than that, she’s also found someone to share it with who seems to be her perfect complement.

Robin invites them to sit, and offers to put a kettle on so that they can have some tea. While it warms, they all take a seat in the dining room.

It’s hardly the expensive setting Regina grew up with, but it’s certainly nicer than most homes in the village. Solid construction, a fine, tile floor covered in warm rugs, and furniture that runs more along the function line than the style.

They fill Regina in on the particulars of their plan--in as much as their plan has particulars--and Snow takes it as a positive sign that she doesn’t dismiss it outright. “As long as Hook knows what we need to grab, I should be able to get us in,” she says. “But there’s the possibility he’ll see us coming.”

“His visions have never been precise,” Hook points out, but Regina shakes her head.

“When it comes to his own death, I’ve found he has uncanny accuracy.”

“So we split up,” Hook suggests. “He knows I’m coming. If we can manipulate his visions so that he doesn’t know you three are coming with me, we’ll have the element of surprise.”

“Not to barge in,” Robin says, “but as someone with experience breaking into the Dark One’s palace, I may have a solution for you.”

“Experience breaking into his palace,” David repeats.

Robin nods. “I still have the glamour.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small green clover. “When Regina told me what was going on, I figured this might come in handy.”

“Oh good, a plant. Emma is good as rescued,” Hook says.

Robin doesn’t seem annoyed by the sarcasm. “It’s a six leaf clover, mate. Not only capable of casting a powerful glamour spell, but hides one from magical sight, including--”

“From seers,” Hook realizes.

“It was how I managed to sneak in last time,” Robin explains. “Would’ve worked like a charm had I not been captured. But,” he pauses to wave a hand, “that’s neither here nor there. The magic is still good. It could hide all of us.”

“Us?” This comes from Regina, who is looking at her husband like he has two heads.

Robin just smiles at her. “For better or worse, my dear.”

“How did you escape?” asks Hook, who is leaning forward, gaze intense on Robin. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Admittedly, it was luck. I would have died painfully had it not been for Belle.”

“The heir to the Southern Reach, correct?” Hook asks.

“Yes,” Robin answers. “Both fortunately and unfortunately, she left him many years ago. I helped her get to DunBroch, and last I’d heard, she happily married the queen there.”

Hook sighs deeply. “So she is no exit strategy.”

“No, she isn’t. She’s been out of his grasp for decades now, and I’m not eager to ask her to throw herself back in.”

“Not suggesting she does,” Hook replies. “We’ll just need to be careful with how we plan to get out.”

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, and Robin excuses himself to go fetch it.

“What about Emma?” Regina asks, standing; by some wordless agreement with her husband, she goes to the cabinet near the wall and removes several teacups, saucers, and collections of tea leaves. As she places them in front of her guests, she says, “If Rumple wants her for her magic, then she’s probably strong enough to hurt him.”

“She already did,” Hook says, and that draws their attention.

“How?” David asks.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says. Robin renters with the kettle and pours each of them a serving as Hook explains, “We were in a meadow, where you used to teach her to shoot,” he says to Snow, and she feels her breath catch.

Despite accepting Hook’s story as truth, the fact that her daughter loves him doesn’t feel real. It seems more like a story, a fiction recorded in pages for entertainment’s sake. But small things like that—that Emma showed him that field, an intensely personal and special place for their family—say that this is an undeniable reality. Something real that Emma kept perfectly secret all these years.

“Neither of us were armed. Why would we be, it was just—” Hook stares down at his tea, tipping the cup and watching the liquid move. “It was just supposed to be a nice day out. He appeared in the clearing and froze me as soon as I tried to charge at him, but Emma had a knife in her boot.”

“That’s my girl,” Snow says softly.

He looks up at her words, and his answering smile is wistful. “She’s a marvel.” It’s said with such softness, such tenderness, that Snow feels an ache rattle in her chest. It might not feel real in a lot of ways, but with each passing time she hears him speak, she starts to understand a bit more how Hook feels about Emma. She knows David doesn’t quite approve, and she wouldn’t say that she does, yet, but she can’t say in moments like this that she disapproves either.

Hook continues, “Now, this is just a regular knife, right? But Emma threw it and put out his eye. He bled. I’ve hunted the Dark One for nearly three hundred years and never have I seen him bleed. No legend or story or recounting has ever said anything about him bleeding either.”

“He’s vulnerable to her,” Regina concludes.

“He won’t tolerate having a weakness,” Killian says.

“No,” Regina agrees, “but he isn’t so short-sighted that he won’t try to make use of her before he kills her or traps her or permanently imprisons her or takes her heart or—”

“Enough, Regina,” David says. “We get it.”

“And she’s shown no signs of magic at all?”

“Not that I can remember,” Snow says.

“They might not be obvious,” Regina replies. “Maybe when she was a child, she leapt out of a tree and landed poorly, but came away unscathed. Perhaps she was exceptionally good at getting her way, past the point of reason. She likely wasn’t doing it on purpose, or with any sort of finesse.”

“She always had an affinity for injured animals,” Snow says, remembering. “There were no miraculous recoveries or regrown limbs or anything, but even the wild animals seemed calm around her and were willing to let her handle them while injured.”

Regina nods. “Could be a sign of strong light magic. Was there possibly a time when she accidentally set fire to anything? Not like that,” she says at the alarmed look that crosses Snow’s face, “but just a candle lit while she was particularly emotional? Happy or excited or perhaps angry?”

Hook shifts in his seat, a contemplative look crossing his face at that. “I think--” he starts, but he cuts himself off.

“What is it?” Regina prods.

“Nothing,” he says, and Snow can’t help but notice the tips of his ears going red.

Regina doesn’t look amused. “Save me the trouble of deducing and just tell me what you think you saw.”

Hook clears his throat, looking pointedly anywhere but at the current company at the table. “I might have—uh—noticed a lamp lit that I thought I’d put out. After an—” he reaches up to scratch behind his ear, the blush spreading from his ears down his neck and to his cheeks, “intimate moment.”

David makes a choked noise beside her, and Snow elbows him. “Not now, Charming,” she whispers.

Regina blessedly doesn’t press or make any quips. “Strong light magic,” she repeats.

“What does that mean for Emma?” Snow asks, happy to move on from dwelling on her daughter’s sex life.

“It’s the safest kind of magic--drawn from positive emotions, has never caused any recorded emotional spirals, with no known physical detriments. Acts of True Love are made from it. Not much is known about it because of its rarity, but from what I do know,” Regina looks directly at Snow, assurance in her posture and tone, “Emma isn’t like me.”

Snow lets out a breath. It’s a startling statement of personal clarity from Regina—something that Snow never knew her former step-mother would be able to have. To know the damage her own actions caused, to be able to tacitly admit that those actions weren’t something to aspire to, were something to be feared, even… it’s more than Snow ever expected or hoped for.

“So what can Rumplestiltskin do with her power?”

Here, Regina’s expression sours. “If she’s as strong as I think she is? Anything.”

***

“Focus, dearie. Make the mirror show you what you want it to.”

The image wobbles for a moment, and Emma feels like she might snap her jaw with how hard she’d clenching her teeth to just get the goddamn mirror to cooperate. A second later, the image solidifies, showing the Emerald City of Oz. Once she finds it, she lets out a breath and relaxes a bit, the magic holding.

“Impressive,” Rumplestiltskin says. “You are a quick study. Quicker than any I’ve ever taught.”

“Still doesn’t tell me what you brought me here for.”

His answer is acidic, “I promised I wouldn’t kill the pirate; that was the extent of our deal. I am perfectly happy to remedy that if you’re keen to continue prying.”

Emma suppresses a growl. “Fine, but you’re going to have to tell me eventually.”

“And why is that?”

“A lot of this magic is about visualizing, right?” she waves a hand at the magic mirror, still displaying the Emerald City. “I wouldn’t have been able to conjure that if I didn’t know what I was trying to conjure. So whatever it is you clearly want me to do, I’m not going to be able to do it unless you tell me.”

He stares at her silently for a beat, and Emma knows she’s right, but she really, really hopes she hasn’t offended him. She’s heard horrific stories of what the Dark One has done to his enemies, and she doesn’t care to find out if those were true.

Instead of replying to her, he turns, grabs a book off the table behind him, and slaps it down next to her.

This book looks strange--the binding foreign, the printing unlike anything she’s seen in the Enchanted Forest, the paper perfectly white and evenly toned. There’s an illustration in the book, unbelievably detailed and inked across a whole page. “This is--” she says, running her fingers across it, “This is incredible.”

“It’s from another realm,” Rumple says dismissively. He nods at the mirror across from her. “Conjure an image of it.”

The illustration is of a structure unlike anything she’s seen before. It’s like a massive spire, flared at the base and climbing impossible heights into the sky. It’s not stone or brick, but crafted of what looks like crossing iron bars.

Underneath the image is a caption. Tour Eiffel, 1890.

“What realm is this from?” she can’t help but ask.

“The Land Without Magic.”

Emma raises a brow. They built this thing without magic? Interesting. “If there’s no magic there, how can I use magic to see into it?”

“Child’s play,” he says again, like a reminder.

Emma rolls her eyes. Right, because she’s apparently so powerful. Emma was never the greatest at her studies, but at least her tutors were more specific than this.

She focuses her attention on the mirror again. Despite the lackluster instruction, it seems easier this time than it had the first few. Reaching for images from other realms is still a bit dicey, the one from Oz being the hardest so far, and she feels a similar stretch in trying to see this spire, this Tour Eiffel. In her mind, she focuses on the illustration, wonders what would be around it, imagines the people that might walk past it.

This image doesn’t even flicker. It just springs to life on the mirror after a few moments of concentration.

It looks taller than it did in the illustration, she notes, but then she catches a look of Rumple out of the corner of her eye. He looks absolutely astonished, and she realizes he wasn’t expecting her to get it.

She feels a bit of savage satisfaction at that. Serves him right for underestimating her.

His astonished look doesn’t last long, as he stands at attention like an army commander and gestures for her to follow him.

“Come now, Emma,” he says. “I have a task for you.”

[sieben9]

“wake up call” impressions

{Quick request to anyone reading: I’m watching OUaT for the first time, and I want to avoid spoilers. So, if you want to discuss something spoilery, I’d be grateful if you could start a new post for that. Thank you!}

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

…ahem. So, uh, Ivy cast the curse, huh? I don’t know if it counts as a surprise as such, but that reveal still hit like a freight train. Just… damn, Drizella. I would ask “who hurt you”, but we already got a 5-episode essay on the subject. We know who hurt you.

Yeah, no, you’re still The Worst. Planning to use your child’s heart to revive you other child is still at the top of my shitlist for this particular season, thank you very much.

…murdering people and putting them under a curse designed to make them miserable is definitely among the top 3, but I’m just saying. Priorities.

More under the cut.

Before we get to that disaster, though, I just wanted a quick look at the Hyperion Heights plot. First, because seeing that very-nearly-fight between Henry and Jacinda was really interesting. Maybe because it shows where their personal “lines” are, and that’s always a good way to define a character.

speaking of defining character moments…

I also really like how this shows compatibility between the two. After all, the best friends/romantic partners aren’t the ones who never have a fight. It’s those who can fight and get angry at each other and still be together afterwards. It’s also nice to be reminded that no curse will get the amicable dorkiness out of Henry.

And all that parallels nicely with the budding relationship in the flashback. Well, I say “budding”, even though it’s pretty clear that Henry is already head-over-heels in love with Ella. Still, he’s being remarkably cool about it.

bonus running!Regina not intended but highly appreciated

Another bit I liked, because 1) it showed off how much Henry has grown in the past years (and that he’s learned to cope on his own) and 2) that Ella can also, in fact, take care of herself in a physical confrontation. I mean, she was going to assassinate a prince; maybe she practiced.

Regina’s dejection at “not being needed anymore” also set up the other flashback story quite nicely. Though I will say: Regina, I love you dearly, but if you think the reason Henry wanted you around was so could light bad guys on fire you are an idiot.

See?

And while the Regal Believer stuff was excellent (as it nearly always is, because I am a sucker for that relationship), I think the real heart of the episode lay elsewhere.

::sigh:: You know that Star Trek quote (if you don't, just pretend) about how you can do everything right to the best of your abilities and still not succeed? Because I really think Regina did the best she could here. She saw someone in pain, someone with different yet familiar problems to hers, and she did everything she could to help Drizella not to repeat her mistakes.

As an aside, I loved the similarities to her first “magic lessons” with Emma; only she didn’t throw Drizella off a bridge, she pulled a tower down on herself to make her pupil react. That… takes some confidence in her ability to judge people, I’d say. (I mean, she could probably have poof-ed away at the last moment, but still. Risky and extremely awesome)

And thennnn it all went to hell.

I love this expression a lot and I’m not 100% on why

OK, one thing: I know Drizella (and, to an extent, the narrative of the episode) presents Regina’s role in this as “if she hadn’t mentioned the curse, none of this would have happened”, but I really, really doubt it. Not only that, I also believe that “let me relate to you to help you understand that you don’t have to wreck your life to be happy” should never be a bad thing to say. Regina did everything she could, and Drizella… did the same, in her own way. Because tragic as this moment is, can we just appreciate the dark brilliance of her move for a second?

Because not only is Drizella freeing herself from the threat of her mother killing her to resurrect her sister (which is some dark shit, I just want to say), she’s also ruining her mother’s attempts at social advancement (no status and riches from being this prince’s mother-in-law…) and getting back at Regina. Nevermind that Regina only wanted to help her, it’s pretty clear that Drizella saw her not giving up details of the curse as a betrayal through inaction.

And she did it all with one single murder. That’s some frightening efficiency right there.

While I’m on the subject: her actress is just doing a fantastic job in this scene. You really get the sense that Drizella did not expect this to affect her as much as it did. And you can see her go past that and straight into “look at that—I win” territory. She’s communicating a lot about her character with expressions only, and I’m enjoying it immensely.

Actually, now that I think about it, that whole plot contrasts with Roni bonding with Lucy in the Hyperion Heights storyline. Yes, that one didn’t go quite as expected, either, but the two obviously like each other a lot. Personal highlights: Roni’s expression of “well… shit” when she found out about Henry’s adoption and the fact that they went to “Weaver” for help.

Rumple is having a very bizarre couple of days, I suspect.

By the way, I loved the little interlude between him and Regina in the flashback.

It’s so nice when they’re not trying to outmanoeuvre each other and can just be improbably old friends together. It’s still one of my low-key favourite relationships on the show, and I don’t see that changing in the near future. Assuming they spill the proverbial beans sometime soon.

Because as I see it, there’s two ways this can go. Well, three. Either a) one of them (my money is on Regina, because Rumple is still the most closed-off little shit there ever was) just goes right ahead and says “OK, I’m awake, how about you?” or b) they spend the next three episode in an increasingly hilarious dance of dropping increasingly large hints to each other and being generally unsure if the other is actually awake or just weird. Third option would be c) one of them (still voting Regina) goes right for it and the other goes “whomst?” Which would also be oddly hilarious, because of the potential “I know that you know that I know that you know that I know… but I will rather drop dead than admit that.”

…look, I am easily entertained, alright?

Anyway… the end-of-episode reveal. They do like to punch me in the face with these, don’t they? Just putting it out there: whatever Drizella is alluding to in that last scene, it’s 100% about Henry. Because… I mean just look at Regina.

Even if she’d kept her pokerface, Drizella’s absolute certainty that Regina is going to help her, despite them clearly not being allies anymore, should tell you everything.

By the way, I just want to say, Drizella, if you want help keeping this curse going, maybe Regina is maybe not the one you should talk to. She has a 0% success rate at keeping Dark Curses going. Hell, she even broke one herself!

Oh, and speaking of Henry…

…this is going to hurt a lot, isn’t it?

And there’s a theme! (At least they both don’t remember…?)

So, uh, yeah. Lots of happiness and joy in this episode! …please, just let them be OK in the end, will you?

[swanqueeneverafter]

What Dreams May Come, Pt.27

Henry's Dreamscape. Kingdom of Valencia. The Bottle Yard. (Queen Madelena and Gareth enter the tavern in the middle of a brawl. Upon spotting their king and queen however, the patrons settle themselves.) Bearded Man: "Crown!" Queen Madelena: “So, how does this whole bar-fight thing work?” Gareth: “Well, usually, we have a pint or two. And then I catch someone looking at me, I insult his mother, and then away we go.” Queen Madelena: “Oh, good. Let's start. (Looks around:) Oh. What about him? He gave you a momentary glance.” Gareth: “Mm. Did he? (Walks over and shoves the man:) Oi! You got a problem?” Bald Man: “Uh, none at all, uh, Your Highness.” Queen Madelena: “Well, you should. King Gareth just called your mother a two-bit hussy.” Bald Man: “Oh, uh, right you are, My King! My mother is a hussy. In fact, she's the biggest hussy in the land.” Bald Man’s Mother: “Indeed, I am, your grace!” Man 2: (Stands:) “My mother sells herself, as well, Your Majesty.” Man 3: “Mine too! Filthiest woman in the whole red-candle district.” Man 4: “My father's a hussy!” (Soon all the patrons are shouting indistinctly. Annoyed, Gareth turns and leaves, Madelena following him out of the tavern.) Enchanted Forest. Past. (David and his faithful dog, Wilby, are walking through the woods on their way to Longbourn.) David: (Notices something in the dog’s mouth:) “What did you find, Wilby? A cup. Why don't you let me hold your treasure? Come on. We got to get to Longbourn before dark. (The dog whimpers and returns the way it came:) Wilby! Wilby! (Follows:) Wilby! Wilby! (Barking:) Wilby!” (The dog leads him to a wagon, standing alone in the forest.) Peddler: (Stepping out from behind a tree:) “Can I help you?” David: (Turns to face him:) “Oh, sorry to intrude. My dog got something into his head.” Peddler: “Say, that's my cup you have there. Went over a bump a while back and dropped it. I thought it was lost. Not good for a traveling merchant to be so careless with his goods.” David: “Well, that explains it then. Wilby must've gotten the scent of it. My mother says he's a bloodhound in a sweater. (Hands over the cup:) Sorry it's a little battered.”

Peddler: “Oh, that's all right. Worth it to see such a fine animal like this. (Crouches down to pet the dog:) You are a fine little fella, aren't you? (Chuckles:) Made camp here last night so no brigands would find me.” David: “Brigands?” Peddler: (Stands:) “Oh, yes. I usually never travel this road alone. Say, which way are you headed?” David: “To Longbourn.” Peddler: “Fate has smiled upon our heads. That's exactly where I'm headed. Perhaps we can travel together? My name’s Gabriel.” David: “David. (They shake hands:) That sounds fine.” Gabriel: “Hop on up. I'm eager to get started for the day.” (While David heads to the front of the wagon, Gabriel opens the back, revealing several large chains, armour and axes.) Elsewhere In The Forest. (Blue, still in her human form, walks alongside Snow White.) Blue Fairy: “Do you really have to go, Princess Snow? The fairies can help you. Surely there is a way other than leaving your home.” Snow White: “Home is where your family is, and by now, that's pretty much just the woman who's trying to kill me.” Blue Fairy: “There's an old fairy saying. If someone believes in you, you are never alone. All the people love you.” Snow White: (Scoffs:) “Love.” Blue Fairy: “Love is the most powerful magic in the world.” Snow White: “Really? You know that brooch I sold? My father gave that to my mother because he loved her. She treasured it because it was from him. After she died, you know what he did? He gave it to Regina because he loved her, too. She treated it like trash. His love meant everything to my mother and nothing to my step-mother. See, love doesn't hold its value. The only thing that's maintained its value this entire time is the brooch, and I can't afford to invest in anything less. (Holds up a pouch:) This? This can buy me something that can actually change my life... a ticket out of here. (They hug:) Goodbye, Blue.” Blue Fairy: “Be careful. Danger can look harmless at first.” Henry's Dreamscape. (Ella, Richard & Roberta ride upon their one remaining horse when it stops walking.) Richard: “It stopped. This is what happened to the last one.” Ella: “Okay, okay. Let's just try giving it a kick. It worked before. One, two, three. Kick.” (They all attempt to prod the horse into walking, but the animal does not want to move:) Great.” Richard: “It's useless. (They all climb off the horse:) How could things have gone so bad so quickly? Those stupid bats ate all our food. We all got the same cold. Worst of all...” Ella: “Please don't say it again.” Richard: “We had to eat that family of hobbits.” Roberta: “Ugh. Richard, look, I'm sorry we had to eat hobbits. But we didn't have a choice. We're starving.”

Richard: (Notices a signpost up ahead:) “Hold on a minute. ‘Sir Arnold Galavant’s Swordsmanship School.’ Huh. This sounds promising.” Ella: “Uh... No. (They turn to face her:) We don’t have time to enroll you in some sword fighting class, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Richard: “Why ever not? Neither of you two have managed to train me.” Ella: “That’s because we’re always too busy fighting off bandits who want to rob and kill us while you scream like a little girl.” Richard: “That is not- (Glances at Roberta:) Okay, fine. But it’s a school. At the very least they’ll have food.” Roberta: (Pleading:) “We ate hobbits.” Ella: “No, we have to keep moving. Look, I'm sure we could find a warm bed and a nice meal in literally any other direction. (They turn to look at other signposts. One reads ‘Nothing for 20 miles’. Another reads ‘Nothing for 50 miles’ and the last simply says ‘This way to certain death’:) Oh, fiddlesticks.” The Land Without Magic. (Emma and Regina are driving back to Storybrooke.) Regina: "So, do you want to talk about what happened back there?" Emma: "What part in particular? The fact that Henry is now trapped in the dreamworld, or the part where we have to ask our friends and family to form an army to save him because we can't?" Regina: "Then you agree, we should stay behind?" Emma: "What? No, I just meant that-" Regina: "Because I think you should seriously consider sitting this one out." Emma: "Me? You're the one who's pregnant here." Regina: "Yes, I'm pregnant, not disabled." Emma: (Winces:) "Look, I'm sorry, but I know what you were gonna say. You think it's a bad idea for me to go through the curse again." Regina: "I saw how you were with Facilier." Emma: "Hey, I did fine with Facilier." Regina: "Only after you realised it wasn't him. I think that speaks volumes." Emma: "I'm not talking about this. I'm going, end of discussion." Regina: (Glares at her, coolly:) "Pull over at the next stop. (At Emma's look:) I have to pee. I’m pregnant, remember?" (Emma nods but says nothing, clearly aware that the discussion is far from over.)

Storybrooke. Outside Granny’s Diner. (David sits across from Jefferson, a destroyed hat between them.) David: “Can you get me through?” Jefferson: “No.” David: “Can you get them back? Can you get it to work?” Jefferson: (Laughs:) “If you only knew.” David: “Okay, I know you have others so use one of them and take me to wherever Henry and Hook are being held.” Jefferson: “They're in Morpheus’ realm, that's for sure. I just can't go there.” David: “Can’t or won’t?” Jefferson: “I already meddled in Morpheus’ affairs once and it cost me dearly. You can’t win in his world.” David: “So you won't help me?” Jefferson: “My days as a portal jumper are over. I tried to warn you people this would happen and now it has. It’s out of my hands.” David: (Grabbing Jefferson by the scarf:) “I’m not letting you off that easy. How about I just throw you in a cell until you agree to help me?” Jefferson: “Then all we'll do is both sit, thinking of those we’ve lost... Double the pain. Double the suffering.” (Jefferson tips over the table and flees. David chases after him, but is stopped by Lily.) Lily: “David, stop!” David: “Get out of my way!” Lily: “No, what is going on?” David: “He has the way!” Lily: “The way? The way to what?” David: “To saving Henry... (Realising:) And your father.” Lily: “My father? What’s this about?” David: (Sighs:) “Henry and Killian are trapped in the Dream World, and I’m trying to find a way to get to them.” Lily: “And you think the best way to do that is by threatening everyone?” David: “Jefferson’s been there before, he could easily take me there if he wanted to, but he refuses.” Lily: “You want to put your trust in the Mad Hatter’s hat? The rules of that thing change with the wind, it’s far too unstable.” David: “Then what’s your big idea, sheriff?” (Without waiting for an answer, David storms away. Watching him leave, Lily thinks for a moment before getting an idea.)

Henry's Dreamscape. (The trio arrive outside the swordsmanship school and Ella is still not convinced.) Ella: "Listen, we don't have time for this. I promise to train you myself while we continue our search for an army." Richard: "Unless you can train me while we eat, I'm not interested. (To Roberta:) So hungry." Roberta: "Yeah. (They walk through the gates together:) I wonder if dinner is steak?" Richard: "Hear, hear." (Up ahead, the sound of children can be heard.) Arnold: (Carrying several children:) "Ha ha ha! Ah, greetings! Come in. Boys, make way, make way, make way. Welcome, welcome. (Beckoning them inside:) Come, come, come.” Roberta: “You have a lovely home, sir.” Arnold: “Thank you.” Richard: “You have a lot of children. Your wife must be so sore.” (Roberta hits Richard in the chest chidingly.) Arnold: (Chuckles:) “They're not mine. I run a swordsmanship school for at-risk youth. Have been ever since I retired from the heroics game.” Ella: “A school for children?” Roberta: “Should’ve seen that coming.” (They enter the practice area and are swarmed by more boys.) Arnold: “Hey, boys! Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! One at a time.” The Land Without Magic. Roadside Cafe. (Returning from the bathroom together, Emma walks ahead as Regina takes a seat at a table.) Emma: “David said Jefferson won’t help us, so we’ve got- (Notices Regina isn’t behind her, turns and walks to the table:) What are you doing? We can get a drink to-go.” Regina: “I’m not going anywhere until we talk about this.” Emma: (Pulls out a chair and takes a seat:) “All right, let’s talk.” Regina: “Even if you were willing to relive the curse, you still wouldn’t be able to save Henry.” Emma: “We’ll figure something out. We always do.” Regina: “But that’s just it. Morpheus isn’t going to allow us to share a dreamscape. You’ll be reliving the Black Fairy’s curse and I’ll be god knows where.” Emma: “Then what, Regina? We just give in, let Morpheus rule over us all?” Regina: “At least there’s a chance we’ll still be together.” Emma: “Yeah and there was a chance Hades would’ve lived among us in peace, right up until he killed Robin Hood and almost killed you.”

Regina: “Fine, then what do you suggest? That we walk blindly into the Dream World and fight Morpheus on his terms?” Emma: “I don’t know what we’re going to do, but I do know that sitting here won’t accomplish anything. (Stands:) So, you coming?” (Regina watches Emma closely, troubled by what lies ahead for them, and for her wife especially.) Henry's Dreamscape. Swordsmanship School. (Richard stands in front of the other students, sword in hand.) Richard: “All right, boys, who's gonna train me? (The boys stand in a line and all draw their own swords:) Oh. (One boy steps forward, twirling his sword menacingly:) Oh! Watch the face! What's wrong with you? (They begin to train:) Good Lord.” (Watching from above are Ella and Roberta.) Ella: “You know, there was a time when I would've paid good money to see this.” Roberta: “It's nice that he's good with kids, though.” Richard: (From below:) “Why, you little... Come here, come here! Ow! Ow! Ow!” Roberta: “Ella, I'm starting to worry that Richard won't be ready when the real battle comes.” Ella: “Careful, Roberta. You're starting to sound like someone who cares for the guy.” Roberta: “In love with him? Me? (Scoffs:) What? I'm not in love with him.” Richard: (From below as the children attack him:) “What's wrong with you people?!” Roberta: “At all.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (David and Gabriel continue travelling together through the woods.) David: “I didn't think we'd break so soon.” Gabriel: “Oh, my poor old horse needs a good many breaks. And I like to take a look at the local scenery. Don't think Wilby's complaining, either. (David Chuckles:) Drink up. No more breaks after this. We can make it all the way to Longbourn in one leg.” David: (Takes a drink:) “Thanks.” (David immediately feels woozy, falling to his knees.) Gabriel: “You all right, mate? Oh, mate, you shouldn't take drinks from strangers. (David collapses to the ground, panting. Wilby whimpers:) He's just sleeping. And I have a fun game for you and me to play in the meantime.” Elsewhere In The Forest. (Snow White is walking alone, when she hears a branch snap. Turning quickly, arming herself with a heavy rock, Snow is relieved to see Wilby walking towards her.) Snow White: (Crouching down to greet him:) “Oh, hey. Where did you come from?” (She gasps as an axe lands beside her.) Woodcutter: “I see you met my friend.” Snow White: “The Woodcutter. How did you find me?” Gabriel: (Removing his hood to reveal his face:) “You're nothing but a lost princess. And I came across an excellent sheep dog. They're great at finding strays. They just need to get a scent. (Wilby whimpers and runs off. Snow spits in the Woodcutter’s face, who laughs:) Oh, come on. I'm not gonna kill you. (Grabs her face:) I'm just gonna take you to the queen and get a reward. She'll kill you.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Kiss Her Once [For Me]

To say that the last year has been hectic would be the greatest understatement in the history of the modern world. Or, like, libel. In print, it’s libel. 

Because the last year has been filled with political promises and campaigns and far more press conferences than Emma realized were possible. And now, with Washington D.C. ahead of them, the only thing Emma really wants is to figure out how many boxes she’ll need to move all her stuff. 

That is, of course, until Killian finds her sitting in the middle of Regina’s hallway, a distinct lack of alcohol in her system, and the guarantee that he’s got a plan. For fun. Of the festive variety. It includes mistletoe. 

Oh hai there @distant-rose​ I am not your secret anything at all because you totally knew I was writing this and maybe unwittingly provided the setting and I’m sure Kristen Gillibrand would be proud of this. Probably. Anyway, here are a lot of words and alcohol jokes and some kissing because of who I am as a human being. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you guys roll. 

“If you’re not currently putting out an official statement on this office’s opinion on the questionable working situation of the North Pole, then you need to put the phone down.” Emma does not, in fact, put the phone down.

And she absolutely ignores the footsteps moving towards her, shoes that are far too shiny shifting into her line of vision as her fingers fly over the screen. At some point she is going to figure out where Killian Jones gets his shoes shined.

It can’t be one of those places in Penn.

They look way too nice for that.

She’s totally going to ask. Someday. At some point. Maybe after she finishes her forty-second text message to Will.

Or, like, fiftieth. That’s a rounder number.

He sighs when he crouches in front of her, the sound morphing into something that almost becomes a groan when what may very well be his right knee cracks. Emma’s lips twitch.

She absolutely did not mean for that to happen.

But that seems to be par for the course when it comes to Killian Jones and his far too shiny shoes because Killian Jones always seems to know exactly what to say to push her buttons and make her smile and almost laugh after a particularly trying press conference.

And the last few months have been nothing short of hectic – a campaign and winning, which wasn’t entirely surprising because Regina was very good at public speaking and being charming and she really did mean every single thing she said, a rarity in modern politics. But all of those things meant that Regina Mills was no longer just a New York State Assemblywoman from District 74. She was now a U.S. Representative with promises for federal funding to fix the MTA and a rather vocal opinion on the travel ban that led to several sleepless nights for Emma when her phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

And, most importantly, for the entire goddamn office, it meant moving to Washington D.C.

Soon.

A few weeks soon.

Right after the holidays soon.

The kind of soon that makes Emma positive she’s the world’s worst mother for forcing her kid to pack up all his belongings and schlep several thousand miles away from his friends to a brand-new school in the middle of the year. She’s far too experienced being the new kid to even imagine any of this is going to go well.

Her phone buzzes in her hand. It draws a not-so-quiet laugh out of Killian and he can’t possibly be comfortable like that, but he doesn’t appear to be making any effort to move.

“I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess that’s not actually Santa Claus,” Killian says, finally getting Emma to lift her head and she kind of regrets that. He’s doing that thing with his face. The smirk thing and the twist of one eyebrow and it regularly gets politicians to do his bidding and little old ladies on the Upper East Side to promise they’ll support Ms. Mills one-hundred percent and Emma assumes her lurking in the hallway of Regina’s questionably large brownstone is probably hurting his schedule.

He’s very big on schedules. She assumes being chief of staff will do that to a person.

“You’re a genius,” Emma drawls, eyes flitting back to the phone when it makes another noise and Will is just sending her slightly passive aggressive emojis now. “Oh my God, that one doesn’t even make any sense.” “What doesn’t?” “I was not talking to you.” “Yes, well, I’m the only other person in this hallway, Swan, so if you weren’t talking to me then I think we’ve got some other problems on our hands.” “Don’t your calves hurt?” His other eyebrow moves. It’s genuinely the dumbest thing she’s ever seen. “Are you worried about my calves?” Emma ignores that too. Her phone sounds like it’s going to explode. And she’s not really worried about Killian’s calves, but he’d helped get her this job what feels like several million years ago, promising Regina he had a good feeling about a single mom with minimal political experience, but plenty of journalism experience and Emma really did believe in what they were doing.

That hasn’t happened very often for her.

“Shut up,” Emma grumbles, but that only serves to draw another laugh out of Killian and he doesn’t move very gracefully when he tries to sit down. She bites her lip. And sends sixteen middle finger emojis back to Will.

“You shut up.” “That’s incredibly mature.” “Swan, you are sitting on the floor of someone else’s very expensive home with one of your feet halfway out of your shoe.” She narrows her eyes at his very good point – and, really, Emma has no idea why she wore these shoes. Well, no, that’s a lie. She wore the shoes because she’s never worn the shoes and they’re kind of sparkly and decidedly festive and she can’t seem to wrap her head around everything that is simultaneously ending and beginning.

They’re going to take Washington by storm.

Or something less lame. A better headline that that.

A headline that inspires confidence and change and a different word than that because that’s someone else’s catchphrase and Killian is the only person who came out into the hallway of someone else’s very expensive home to see what was wrong.

“They’re already making my feet hurt,” Emma admits, and for as powerful and political as the smirk is, his real, genuine smile is, at least, ten thousand times better.

Killian hums, the crinkles around his eyes unfairly endearing. “You know you never answered my question, actually.” “I was too busy wondering how many limbs you were going to break when you sat down.” “Ah, that’s rude. Did you get champagne?” “Was that the question?” “Swan,” he sighs, but there’s no sense of frustration to it. It’s easy and simple, which is ironic all things considered because their relationship is really anything but and Henry wanted Killian to come over instead of Will. That’s probably the reason for all the emojis.

“I have not gotten any champagne yet, actually. Mostly because I’ve been trying to remind Scarlet of all the rules at home and--” “--Wait, wait, Will Scarlet is in your apartment right now?” Emma nods and The Wall Street Journal could probably do some very impressive investigative work trying to figure out whatever happens to her pulse as soon as she hears the change in Killian’s voice. “Yeah, yeah, he said he didn’t want to spend any more time with any of us and promised he was more than happy to watch Henry so, and I’m quoting here, you can actually get off your couch and be mildly entertaining, Emma.” “Scathing.” “I think he’s been holding it in the whole campaign. It’s not easy dealing with everyone he had to deal with.” “Yeah, God forbid a campaign manager work more than forty hours a week when he’s helping the greater good.” “You should get that on a pin.” Killian chuckles, a hand in his hair and eyes staring straight at Emma. “So are you going to do it, then?” “Do what?” “Be mildly entertaining.” “Wow,” Emma breathes, dragging out the word until it sounds like she’s almost genuinely offended. She doesn’t answer Will’s last text. “That seems to suggest you think I’m not, Jones. Not only am I entertaining. I am genuinely fun when the occasion calls for it.” Killian tilts his head, disbelief practically rolling off him. “That so?” “I was fun on election night!” “You had half a glass of champagne, scheduled sixteen pressers, told several different people what to put on social media, which is not your job by the way, and then ignored Mary Margaret’s attempts to set you up with that guy from the Sierra Club.” Emma groans at the memory – head falling back against the wall she’s considering forwarding her mail to at this point. These shoes were a mistake. God, she hopes that’s not a theme for the rest of the night.

And, really, Mary Margaret’s heart is always in the right place. She knows everyone, after all, head of Regina’s scheduling and appearances and she’s got an actual rolodex still because I don’t trust it if I can’t write it, a motto both Emma and Ruby regularly mock.

But, sometimes, Mary Margaret is also a little pushy and a little too certain and if Emma only occasionally believes, then Mary Margaret wakes up with belief pouring out of her and the guarantee that everyone is destined for someone else.  

It’s nice.

It’s also the single most annoying thing in the world.

“That guy was just as uncomfortable as I was,” Emma promises. Killian doesn’t move his head. “He was! And, you know, I can’t just--” She cuts herself off, nearly biting her tongue in half in the process. It’s more uncomfortable than the blisters she’s certain are already forming on her feet.

Killian blinks.

“You can’t what?” “C’mon it’s not--” “--No, no, you were going to say something. And we both know that people don’t say things without thinking about them first.” “Ok, that is fundamentally untrue. Also, this is not a presser. I’m not obligated to give you any kind of answer.” “Fake news,” he mumbles, kicking lightly at her ankle. It’s a weird balancing act that does something else ridiculous to Emma’s pulse and they’re going to fix Washington from the ground up, she knows it.

Emma needs to find some boxes.

“That’s not even clever.” “I beg to differ. You did that thing with your lips.” She jerks her head up so quickly she’s briefly worried that she’s sustained some kind of concussion and that would probably make packing very difficult. Emma’s breath catches, far too loud in a hallway that is still questionably deserted and she can just make out, what sounds like, A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack playing in the background. Killian, for his part, doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes do widen slightly and Emma hopes he doesn’t do permanent damage to his scalp from gripping his hair so hard.

“Is that code?” she asks, voice far too low to be acceptable in a workplace environment. She is getting incredibly distracted by whatever Killian’s tongue is doing in his mouth, pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s considering his options and the most politically correct answer.

And, really, in the last few years there have been moments.

Almosts.

Could have beens.

More of those pesky maybes Emma is always so fond of.

He’d look at her a little too long or she’d brush her hand over his back when she walked by him, but nothing more than that. Because they’re doing something bigger than this and she doesn’t have time for more and--all those reasons she’s given Mary Margaret and Ruby and even, sometimes, Elsa six-hundred thousand times.

Killian shakes his head slowly, hand falling back to his side and Emma doesn’t think she imagines the way his fingers flex slightly. Like he’s trying to stop himself from moving. “No code,” he says. “Just--”

They’re usually much better at having conversations.

It’s definitely A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack and someone laughing and Emma’s positive Will is going to give Henry way too much chocolate.

“Why’d you come out here?” Emma asks, and she hopes the question doesn’t sound as aggressive as she’s worried it is. Killian’s eyebrows fly into her hairline. “That wasn’t supposed to be some kind of accusation.” “I feel like I just asked about something you’d already said no comment on sixty-two times.” “Nah, only like forty-six.” “Ah, well, that’s totally fine then.”

She laughs, smile feeling more natural. “I”m serious though. You didn’t...I was just driving Scarlet insane and learning about emojis I didn’t realize even existed.” “I think that’s the extent of his creativity, honestly.” “Look who’s scathing now. I’m serious. There’s no need to double check on me or anything. I promise, I’ll stand up and ignore what a bad decision these shoes were and--” “--I don’t think the shoes were a bad decision.” Maybe Emma did concuss herself before. Dizziness is probably a symptom of that. She licks her lips to stop herself from doing anything decidedly unprofessional, the sincerity in those words ringing in between her ears.

There’s probably a joke about the record to be made. She doesn’t say it.

“Thanks,” she says instead, and Killian’s answering smile is something decidedly unfair and entirely festive. Emma has no idea how, but she assumes something that bright should probably hang on a Christmas tree. “But you’re doing a real shit job of avoiding my question.” The grin gets bigger.

“I have an idea.” “About?” “Something fun.” “This is not the explanation I was hoping for,” Emma sighs. Killian winks, shifting slightly to grab something out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

It’s a plastic bag, full of...something that looks like it was only recently alive and Emma refuses to be held accountable for whatever expression she makes in response. If only because it gets Killian to laugh again – that one, specific laugh, that she, maybe, sort of hordes for herself because it sounds purer than anything else she’s ever heard or something equally ridiculous. She’s only ever heard it when they’re by themselves.

“Stop staring at it like that,” Killian mutters, that same lack of frustration in his voice. He sounds like he’s trying not to keep laughing.

“I’m not!” “Swan, you are, love. This is not what you’re thinking it is.” “Ok, ok, ok, what am I thinking then o ye Christmas soothsayer?” “That’s a good title.” “Killian!” His eyes flash when she all but shouts his own name at him – eyes wide again and distractingly blue, but they’ve got nothing on whatever the tip of his tongue does when it presses against the corner of his mouth. Emma swallows.

She wonders how many boxes they’ll actually need to move.

And if Regina’s going to pay for the trucks. That only seems fair.

“This is real, unfiltered mistletoe,” Killian explains, leaning into Emma’s space. It’s suddenly very warm in someone else’s hallway. And someone in the other room is shouting something about alcohol and bingo.

“Were those the words you were looking for in that order?” He shrugs. “It sounded way more dramatic that way.” “And that’s what you were going for then?” “Correction, that is what we are going for.” “I don’t understand,” Emma admits, eyes flitting back towards her phone screen when it lets out a string of buzzes that probably affects the brownstone’s foundation. “I think Henry and Scarlet are building a gingerbread house.” “You’re never going to be able to get that kid off that sugar high.” Emma groans. “Maybe I’ll just murder Scarlet instead.” “That’s the spirit, love. Although we did talk about design a couple days ago.” “Wait, what?” Killian nods again, lips quirking up. Emma needs to stop looking at his lips. “Are we still talking about Henry? When did you see my kid?” “I just told you, a couple days ago. You were stuck in that presser about the end of the year stuff and getting ready for Washington and--” “--And you were hanging out with my kid?” Her voice does that aggressive thing again.

Emma winces at the tone, but Killian doesn’t look entirely surprised. His lips shift again, another head tilt that makes several strands of hair fall artfully across his forehead and she’s always been far too overprotective. But she and Henry have been a two-person unit for as long as Henry’s been a person and while most of the office has found a way into the lives, no one has settled into the center of everything as easily as Killian has.

Henry was really upset he wasn’t coming over that night.

“He had a lot of festive thoughts to share,” Killian reasons. “And, like, I said. He was waiting and you were running late. It wasn’t...it wasn’t a big deal, Swan.” Emma bites her lip when he realizes – not necessarily an apology for discussing gingerbread engineering with her kid, but rather because he wants to discuss gingerbread engineering with her kid.

She needs several dozen glasses of champagne.

“No, I know it’s not.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Emma nods. “Why are you carrying around bags of mistletoe?” “Ok, it’s one bag of mistletoe and I already told you. I have an idea.” “Usually that requires explaining the idea, you know.” He makes a face – half an eye roll and an almost smirk, although those both may because she’s trying to get her shoe back on. They will, eventually, have to get back to the party.

“How recently has Mary Margaret tried to set you up?” Killian asks, the last question Emma expects. “It’s got to be recently right?” “Jeez. Were your thoughts on gingerbread houses that pointed?” “No, no, although there’s got to be an appropriate frosting to building ratio. And we did stage a rather heated debate, using parliamentary procedure no less, about whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie.” Emma has no idea what noise she makes. It can’t possibly human.

It seems to bubble out of her, a sound she’s positive she’s never heard in her life because it may honestly be a giggle and the tips of Killian’s ears go red.

She pushes her hair back behind her ears, desperate for something to do with her hands that isn’t yanking on his tie. “Parliamentary procedure, huh?” “He mentioned something about Model UN at the new school.” Emma’s eyes widen, a size that can’t be healthy. “He did?” “Did he not?” “You tell me.” Killian nods, resting his forearms on his bent knees. “I think he’s been looking stuff up, Swan. He’s very good at being prepared. That’s all you.” “Please, if I was prepared for any of this, I’d already have half my stuff packed and know my kid was looking up clubs he could join. Model UN, really?” “Apparently they’ve got a partnership with George Washington. It’s very prestigious. Lots of awards. College scholarships.” “Jeez.” “You’ve got a proactive thirteen-year-old, love. That’s not a bad thing.” “Tell that to my very bruised mom ego,” Emma mumbles. She lets her head fall back again, another threat of concussion when her eyes flutter closed, and Emma is incredibly proud that she doesn’t gasp when Killian’s fingers tap against the side of her thigh.

“I can teach you some of the terms.” Her eyes snap back open. “Did you know those off the top of your head?” “You, love, are in the presence of the best delegate at Cornell University’s Model UN several more years ago than I am willing to admit.” Emma makes that noise again. “No way.” “Oh yes. It was very impressive. I know all about caucuses and drafting resolutions and dealing with crisis committees. Trust me, between the three of us, we’ll save the entire world as soon as we get to D.C.” He can’t possibly mean it the way it sounds – like a promise and a guarantee and a string of words that Emma wants to believe in as well, but can’t possibly afford to be wrong about. She only just realizes he’s never moved his fingers.

“Two questions,” Emma says, partially so she can get him to do the eyebrow thing again. He does. “What did you decide on regarding Die Hard and are you ever going to explain why you’re smuggling real mistletoe into Regina’s house during a party only some of us wanted?” “Did you want the party?” “Oh my God, if you were a journalist, I’d steal your credential.” Killian chuckles, fingers tightening slightly. “No you wouldn’t. You’re far too upstanding for that.” “Generous.” “Honest,” he amends. “And Henry was adamant that a movie being set at Christmas does not automatically make it a Christmas movie, but I’m very persuasive and very good at debate and--” “--Is that the same thing as Model UN?” “No, can I finish now?” Emma sticks her tongue out. It makes him laugh again. The right one. “Anyway, we decided that there were some exceptions to the rule because, strictly speaking, Meet Me in St. Louis is also not a Christmas movie, but it had Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, so--”

“--That song was in a movie?” “Swan! Also, how did you not know that?”

She shrugs, leaning forward to tug the bag out his hand. There’s a ton of mistletoe in there. “Go ahead and lord another fact over me, Jones. And then, seriously, explain your plan because I would actually like to get some champagne if Regina bought the good stuff.” “She’ll be offended to find out you think she didn’t buy the best stuff.” “I’m going to murder you.” Killian shakes his head, far too much confidence and Emma is loathe to admit it’s also pretty goddamn attractive. “You are not. And your kid would be disappointed. Also, you’re kind of on the right track.” “The track never seems to be ending.” He clicks his tongue – and they’re going to rip the bag of mistletoe if they keep yanking it out of each other’s grip. “Patience is a virtue, Swan.” “Separation of church and state.” “That was clever.” “Oh my God, make your goddamn point or I’m going to get ridiculously drunk without you.”

“Well, that would ruin everything,” Killian says, doing something positively sinful with his tongue. “The plan, my dear, is to give those people in the other room a taste of their own medicine. Did you know that Mary Margaret and David have been casting longing glances at each other for years on end?” “A person could be blind and still know that.” “Exactly. So we are going to force them out of the woodwork, as it were. We’ve got mistletoe. We’ve got festive music and a whole list of interpersonal relationships that are less against the rules at Christmas time.” “Holiday,” Emma corrects on instinct, and Killian nods seriously. “How many interpersonal relationships are we talking about here?” “By my last count at least three. Possibly four if we're lucky.” “Three?” He nods again, a flash of amusement in his gaze that has Emma considering this ludicrous plan. If only because it does, actually, sound kind of fun. She can be fun. With Killian Jones. And his shiny shoes.

She wonders if it’d be weird if she spent the rest of the party barefoot.

“We’ll start with the easiest,” Killian explains. “Mary Margaret and David are so in love I’m surprised we haven’t had to fill out paperwork or gotten word of the elopement already--”

“--Please, Mary Margaret would never elope.” “Fair. But we’ll start with them. Get the kissing and then move up the ladder while getting progressively more and more drunk.” “Is the alcohol a requirement, then?” Killian makes a noise in the back of his throat – not quite an agreement, but something that makes Emma’s pulse thud in her veins and her heart feel as if it’s going to explode out of her chest. He offers her his hand when he stands up.

She takes it.

“A perk,” Killian grins. “When’s the last time you got drunk, Swan? Not a few sips or just buzzed. But really, truly drunk?” “I have no idea.” “Exactly. Plus we need an excuse.” She laughs, head falling against his chest out of instinct and several other words she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t, after all, have an alcohol excuse yet.

“Yeah, ok. Let’s cause some romantic ruckus.” “Good name,” he says, not letting go of her hand when he directs her back down the hallway.

She leaves her shoes on the floor.

Regina’s living room – or sitting room? Emma isn’t sure of the technical term and there are so many rooms in this brownstone, it is honestly ridiculous – is some kind of winter wonderland, fairy lights hanging from the ceiling and something that’s less tacky than garland and something else that may be actual holly draped over the doorway.

“You think you can hang something up there, love?” Killian asks softly, knocking his shoulder against Emma’s in a way that’s far too familiar to be entirely far when that room is already so warm. No one’s notices them. They’re probably all drunk already.

Emma is only kind of frustrated that they’re so behind schedule.

“Where?”

He jerks his chin towards the holly and Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat. “How am I supposed to reach that? And then what do we do after that?” “Are you suggesting I don’t have a plan?” “If you do, I haven’t heard it yet.” Killian flashes her a look – not quite exasperation, but maybe more endeared and Emma barely hears his don’t yell when he wraps an arm around her waist, an inexplicable display of upper body strength that makes want to shout and punch him and then, maybe, kiss him.

Except not that last one. Definitely not the last one.

“Oh my God,” Emma hisses, kicking her toes into Killian’s calf. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “Why are you kicking me? And keep your voice down, someone is going to look over here.” “I’m going to murder you.” “It’s entirely possible,” Killian admits, and Emma makes another noise when he hitches her further up his side. “Do you have steel toes? You must be some kind of mutant.” “I genuinely hate you. Was this the plan?”

“It would be if you’d get the goddamn mistletoe up there.”

Emma gapes at him – and it is a wholly unprofessional Christmas miracle that no one has noticed what they’re trying to accomplish in the doorway. It’s definitely because they’re all getting ridiculously and completely drunk on the other side of the room.

It’s been a very long year.

“And where exactly did you put the mistletoe?” Emma seethes. She shifts slightly, which may be the worst mistake she’s made in her entire life because it only ends with Killian’s arm tightening and his eyes widening and there is far too much of her touching nearly all of him.

“In my jacket.” Emma assumes it is entirely unprofessional and possibly a little unethical to be slightly pleased with the wrecked sound of his voice, but she’s also several inches in the air and she’s willing to blame the lack of oxygen at that altitude.

Or whatever.

Maybe it’s just his hand.

“And you didn’t think to take it out before you started exercising your feats of strength?” Killian shrugs. It moves Emma again and she’s only slightly hopeful that her heart stays in her chest cavity when she notices his teeth find his lower lip. “I was trying to be stealthy about this. Although, I’ll be honest, love, this is not helping our covert operation.” “If I tell you I hate you again, are you going to make some kind of journalism quip?” “Yes, absolutely. Get the mistletoe out of my pocket, Swan.”

Emma sticks her tongue out again – complete with another vaguely immature noise and Killian has to press his head into her shoulder to stop from laughing too loud. She can’t believe no one has noticed them.

And it takes some twisting, an impossible shift of her arms and a possibly dislocated shoulder, but she does, eventually, manage to get the mistletoe hanging off the holly.

“That was so much more complicated than it had to be,” Emma grumbles, back on her feet and she’s not surprised to see the smile on Killian’s face. “If you laugh, I’m seriously going to kick you again.” “You are violent when causing a romantic ruckus, aren’t you?” “Where’s my alcohol?” He does something ridiculous with his eyebrows, offering his hand again and the whole thing is equal parts ridiculous and unprofessional and, absolutely, a little unethical. Emma tries to keep her breathing even. “Your wish is my command, Swan.” And, really, Regina has pulled out all the metaphorical stops on this one. There’s more alcohol on the other side of the room than the most overpriced Midtown bar and enough no one loves alcohol more than politicians when they’re off the clock.  

Killian doesn’t ask Emma what she wants, just hand her a glass and--”whisky, neat.” “That’s right,” she says slowly, disbelief clinging to every single letter because she can’t imagine how he knew that and it shouldn’t feel like that big of a deal.

“I’m incredibly perceptive. And you’re a bit of a creature of habit.”

“Is that a compliment?” He hums over the top of his own glass, a hint of something in his gaze that Emma isn’t sure she’s entirely prepared for. “Absolutely.” She’s just about to say something – something she can blame on the whisky and the general temperature of that room, but then there’s a shout and a general oooooh and Mary Margaret and David are standing directly under the mistletoe.

Their mouths fall open in tandem, eyes widening to the size of several different saucers and Ruby sounds like she’s going to fall off the chair she’s clearly claimed as hers.

“Aw, c’mon,” David mumbles, but there’s a hint of color to his cheeks and Emma’s pretty positive it’s not just because they were outside.

“Oh my God,” she says. Killian makes another noise of confusion, although the sound turns into more of a groan when she starts swatting at his side.

He catches her around the wrist, leveling her with a stare that slinks down her spine. “The violence, Swan. It’s got to--” “--Mary Margaret and David are totally dating.” “Wait, what?” “Did you know that?” “I mean obviously not. What...how did you come to that conclusion?”

Emma is glad she’s not wearing her heels anymore. It would hurt to bob on the balls of her feet like she is, excitement and a latent romanticism that’s easier to remember during the holidays. “Look at ‘em,” she says, rushing over the words. Killian’s fingers haven’t moved yet. “There is snow in Mary Margaret’s hair.”

Killian leans forward – tugging Emma’s back against his chest in the process and it’s inadvertent, it has to be and definitely is and she probably won’t think about that on loop when she does, finally, get boxes to pack up her life and move to Washington D.C. – hooking his chin over her shoulder and she swears she can feel his laugh work its way into her, settling into the pit of her stomach and the rather gaping spaces around her heart.

Mary Margaret’s got her hand on one of her cheeks now, more calls from the peanut gallery about rules and tradition and we knew it. Emma barely hears any of it over the ringing in her ears, the sound of her own pulse an impossibly loud metronome.

“Were you two just outside?” Killian calls, growling slightly when Emma elbows him in the stomach. “Your limbs, love.”

David glares at them. “If I say I was double checking security stuff are any of you going to believe me?” “No,” Ruby and Elsa say at the same time.

Regina shakes her head deftly. “If you were worried about security you wouldn’t have brought Mary Margaret with you. There’s no way you’d put her in any actual danger.” “Ah, that’s gross,” Ruby mumbles.

“Or it’s incredibly romantic,” David argues. That only draws several more shouts though and Mary Margaret’s other hand flies to her other cheek. David hisses in a breath of air. “Ok, that’s not what I meant at all and--” “--You’re under the mistletoe, chief of security and bastion of safety,” Emma says. She’s going to blame the whisky. And Killian’s hand, flat against the curve of her hip. And maybe because she can feel him breathing against her.

“Are you drunk?” “Not yet.” “But working on it,” Killian mumbles, loud enough that only Emma can hear.

“Well, this is an antiquated tradition,” David says. “And we don’t have to do anything, just to satisfy you lot and--” He doesn’t finish. Mary Margaret makes sure of that. It may, honestly, be the last thing any of them expects. She turns on David, a flash of determination in her eyes that Emma is only too well acquainted with because Mary Margaret gets what Mary Margaret wants and the sound that ricochets off the walls of Regina’s whatever room as soon as the two of them start kissing under the mistletoe is decidedly joyful and still just a little unethical.

Mary Margaret has to push up on her toes to reach David, but that only last a second and then he’s got an arm around her waist and her toes are skimming the floor and one of her flats falls off.

“She made a better shoe choice than me,” Emma mutters, working another laugh out of Killian.

“Ah, yours are sparklier. Where are they, incidentally?” “In the hallway still.” “Of course.” “Are they still making out?” Killian nods, cheek brushing up against Emma’s hair. “I think we’ve started something that can’t be stopped, Swan.” “With great power comes great responsibility.” “Oh, that was funny.” “See,” Emma says, spinning on the spot and that’s only kind of mistake. She has to throw her hands up to keep her balance, palms flat against Killian’s chest. His lips twitch. “I can be fun.” Killian doesn’t answer immediately – and part of her hates that, hates whatever look he’s directing her way, slightly appraising and slightly cautious with a hint of that same something Emma cannot cope with at any point, but especially with more whisky in her system than she’s had in months and Mary Margaret and David still kissing a few feet away.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Killian whispers, one side of his mouth tugging up.

“Told you.” Emma only moves because the peanut gallery is shouting again. “What do you mean the whole time?” Ruby screeches, standing up and ignoring Regina’s tongue click when she knocks the chair over.

Mary Margaret shifts her weight on her feet, scrunching her nose. “Exactly what those words mean in that very specific order. It’s been--well, kind of a secret and--”

“--And we all know you all had your suspicions,” David adds. “So don’t act like you’re surprised. Whoever put the mistletoe up just kind of forced it out into the open.” “Oh my God.” “Oh my God,” Emma breathes, tilting her head up to find Killian’s thrown back with the force of his laugh. “Maybe we’re actually romance soothsayers.” “That’d be a very impressive talent,” he says.

“I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“There absolutely isn’t one. Should we be drinking more?” “I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“I’m not sure that made sense, love, but I think Lucas is shouting something about shots, so…”

Shots, it turned out, meant shots bingo, a game that Emma was half certain Ruby was making up as she went along without many rules except the goal to get its players as drunk as possible.

It’s working.

“B-12,” Ruby calls, brandishing the ball in front of her like it’s several pieces of gold stolen from the Federal Reserve. “Anyone closing in on bingo yet?” “I think we’re all going to die before we get to bingo,” Mulan mumbles. “Should we be watering down these drinks?”

Regina narrows her eyes. “If you people water down the alcohol I bought for you, I’m going to fire all of you.” “Or we’ll just all have to get our stomachs pumped,” Killian mutters. It’s mostly to Emma, again, or still, but she’s lost track of just about everything at this point, including proper sentence structure and anything that isn’t how incredibly solid his arm feels next to her. “I think it’s time for phase two, Swan.” She’s only a little frustrated by how difficult it is to turn her head.

“What was phase one?” “Mary Margaret and David.” “And there are three phases?” “Yeah, although three may be admittedly kind of difficult.” “And we’re in phase two right now?”

“We’re about to be. How deceptive do you think you can be?”

Emma lifts her hands in the air, another challenge she doesn’t entirely appreciate because she kind of feels like she’s moving through soup or unfreezing after a considerable amount of time in the same, awkward position and the metaphor is stupid. “That’s not doing a lot to inspire confidence in the plan, Swan,” Killian adds.

“Oh, you’re going to tell me the plan this time, huh?” “I would if you’d stop interrupting me.” She’s got to come up with some other response than sticking her tongue out. It also keeps getting Killian to smile at her though, so, maybe in the grand scheme... “G-52,” Ruby says, although it comes out more like a slur and Emma swears Killian’s smile could rival every single light on the tree in Rockefeller Center.

Several different people groan when they do another shot.

They’re definitely going to die before they even get a chance to try and fix America’s piece of garbage political system.

“This is going to require some talent on your part, Swan, you understand?” Killian asks as Emma takes another sip of her drink. Elsa makes a strangled noise at that – she’s breaking the BINGO rules, apparently. “That’s not helping either.”

“Maybe you should be the one doing this then,” Emma says. “You’re clearly lacking in some faith here, Jones.” “That’s not true.” It’s one of those moments again – far too sincere and far too meaningful and Emma shivers when she downs the rest of her drink. She’s only one spot away from BINGO. That’s probably a sign or something.

“I’m going to drop mistletoe in Ruby’s hair,” Emma announces. “Screw your plan.” She reaches forward, tugging on the lapel of Killian’s jacket. He moves willingly, or, drunkenly, hair dangerously close to his brows when his head drops slightly and his hand lands on Emma’s hip like there’s a magnet involved.

Emma’s fingers don't shake when she pulls the plastic bag out of his pocket, although it is getting more and more difficult to breathe the longer she lingers in Killian’s space. And it doesn’t take long, standing up and making it seem like she’s refiling her drink and the whole room is already forty-seven sheets to whatever metaphor she’s running with at this point, so Emma doesn’t really need Killian’s wide eyed gaze and half a smile to help direct her towards Ruby.

It’s kind of nice anyway though.

He winks when the piece of mistletoe gets caught in a strand of Ruby’s hair.

“And now we wait,” Emma whispers, dropping back next to him. He tugs her drink out of her hand when she moves, ignoring her protests and flashing her a smile instead.

“We’re a team, Swan. That means we share the spoils of our reward.” “I’m sure those words make sense to someone who’s had far less whisky than I have.” He hums, letting his head rest against the side of hers and--

“Ru, you’ve got something in your hair,” Mulan says, reaching out towards the mistletoe. Emma holds her breath. “Oh. It’s, uh...it’s mistletoe. How did that get there?”

Ruby makes a noise that might be disbelief. “Is she actually blushing right now?” Emma whispers, glancing at Killian. He looks a little stunned.

“I feel like I’m seeing some kind of romance unicorn.” “That was funny.” “A two-way street, love.”

Emma is going to say something. She is. She’s going to say something wonderful and poetic and it’ll change everything, but she keeps getting interrupted by drunk coworkers and her own thoughts and-- “Rules are rules,” David yells, Mary Margaret’s arm slung around his shoulders. She’s sitting on his legs. “Pucker up!” “Regina, can we fire him for that?” Ruby asks sharply. It gets her another head shake.

“I think I’d get sued. And like he said, rules are rules.” “Pucker up,” Mary Margaret yells, repeating it until there’s a chorus echoing in the room and Emma gapes at Killian.

“Maybe we haven’t done such a great thing after all, Swan.”

“They’re all insane.” “Ah, shut up all of you,” Ruby hisses, but any sense of anger disappears as soon as her eyes move back to Mulan and their kiss isn’t quite as charged as Mary Margaret and David’s. That’s another sentence Emma didn’t entirely expect.

It’s softer and a little careful and Ruby’s cheeks are still tinged pink when she pulls away.

Mulan may actually giggle.

“Or maybe we’re actually miracle workers,” Emma mumbles. She grabs Killian’s glass out of his hand and downs the rest of whatever he was drinking.

“It’s a very fine line to walk, I think.” “Good thing I took the heels off, huh?” Killian chuckles, pulling Emma closer to his side. “You’re going to have to put them back on eventually, you know.” “That is incredibly stupid.” “Eloquent as always. You ready for phase three?” “Are you?” Emma challenges, wobbling slightly when she stands up. Even without the heels.

Killian grins.

And he wasn’t lying – the last one is the most difficult, Emma threatening to kill you when he explains who they’re going to mistletoe next. “I’m not doing it,” Emma says, back in the hallway and people are starting to leave. It’s got to be close to midnight, her phone vibrating in her hand because this was not the time she and Will agreed on. “I’m not.” “Swan, we agreed--” “--And you never once said that we were going to try and get Regina to kiss someone.” “Robin,” Killian corrects. “We’re trying to get Regina to kiss Robin. Because she wants to. And possibly has in the past. I’m, like, ninety-six percent positive.” “That is not one-hundred percent.” “Nothing in life is guaranteed, love.” “God, I hate that you’re right.” “About which part?” “The cliché and the maybe kissing already. They are always around each other, aren’t they?” Killian nods seriously, twisting the pieces of mistletoe between his thumb and finger. “At some point, you’re going to have to realize that I’m almost always right. And this is the end of the plan. You don’t want to come up short of the finish line, do you?” “That’s another cliché.” “Yes, it is. This one is going to be simple. I promise. They’re--” He spins when the footsteps move towards them, Regina jerking back slightly when she notices Emma and Killian standing there. “Why are you two lurking in my doorway?” she asks.

“We’re not, Your Highness,” Killian says, the only one who would dare say such a thing. Robin does his best to hide his laugh behind his hand. It does not work. “I’m just trying to convince Swan that she does, in fact, have to put her shoes back on to go back outside.” Emma gasps – glaring at him and kicking lightly at his left ankle. Killian’s eyebrows are ridiculous.

“Does this mean you’re leaving?” Robin asks, a note of impatience in his voice. Emma stops kicking Killian. She’s far too busy being stunned. “Also, what’s in your hand?” “Ah, I was hoping you’d ask me that,” Killian answers. He twists one arm around Emma’s shoulders, taking a step towards the clearly stunned maybe-pair in front of them and dangling the few pieces of mistletoe over Robin’s head. “Rules are rules, guys.” The force of Regina’s glare could cut diamonds.

Or steel.

Or adamantium.

“Where did you get that?” she hisses. “Oh my God was it you two all night? That’s--”

“--The rules, Your Highness,” Killian interrupts. “Or so you were quick to point out to your subordinates.” “I do not think of you as my subordinates.” “Subjects?” “I’m not sure that’s how democracy works, exactly,” Emma mumbles, and she can feel Killian’s smile when he lets his his cheek rest against the side of her hair.

“She’s got a point,” Robin says.

Regina rolls her eyes. “She’s got alcohol poisoning.” “Whose fault is that, really?” Emma asks. “Stop buying the good stuff.” “It’s almost like I like all you horrible people.” “Almost.” “We going to get this show on the road here?” Killian cuts in, waving his hand and shaking the mistletoe.

Regina stares at him for a moment and Emma’s only slightly worried they’ve overstepped some invisible line and she might not be entirely prepared to move to Washington D.C. but she’s even less prepared to lose her job and--

“This is heavy-handed,” Regina mutters, but she doesn’t say anything else before turning on her senior advisor and kissing him with the kind of enthusiasm that makes Emma certain this is not the first time they’ve done it.

“Huh,” Killian says. He holds his hand out so Emma can slide her feet back into her shoes and there probably aren’t actual sparks involved, but it feels like that kind of night. Robin and Regina are still making out.

Emma is only kind of, sort of, completely jealous.

She hopes there were sparks.

“I thought that was supposed to be super difficult,” Emma accuses. They’re already moving out the door, neither Robin nor Regina acknowledging their departure and there’s a few inches of snow on the sidewalk outside.

“A Christmas miracle, I’m sure.”

“I think your perception of miracles has been a little skewed by the amount of rum you’ve had.” “How did you know I was drinking rum?” Emma shrugs, feet already aching despite the few steps they’ve taken. “Incredibly perceptive.” “That so?”

She wishes he’d stop doing that – half a sentence and half a meaning that may be all meaning and it’s difficult to think when there are snowflakes landing on the tip of his nose. Emma reaches up slowly, fingers barely brushing over his skin and the stubble on the curve of his jaw and she hadn’t even noticed him trying to hail a cab until the cab is honking at them and the driver is leaning out the window shouting a string of words that are neither Christmas-related nor miraculous.

Killian’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into Emma’s palm. “We’re taking this cab home.”

She doesn’t argue. Or say much of anything on the drive back towards her apartment, not sure what to think when he refers to her apartment as home.

The cab driver says something else when they skid to a stop in front of Emma’s building, but she barely hears it when Killian’s pulling her back against his side and reaching into her pocket where her keys always are. He knows where she keeps her keys.

That usually doesn’t mess with her head like it is now.

She’s usually not as drunk as she is now.

She takes her shoes off as soon as the door closes behind them.

“They really are very good shoes, love,” Killian says, leaning against the nearest wall with a smile on his face and that same piece of hair falling artfully across his forehead.

“Not worth my pain, honestly. And you didn’t have to bring me home.” “Wouldn’t be very gallant otherwise.” “You’re being gallant now?” He nods, moving slowly towards her and eventually one of them will stop trying to touch the other. Probably. “Definitely.”

They make their way up the stairs slowly, more keys turning in locks and gazes that linger just a hint too long and Will is sitting on Emma’s couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table when they walk inside.

“Nice of you to show up,” he drawls. “Hey, Jones. Wasn’t expecting you.” “How’d gingerbread house construction go?” “Way better than whatever you and the kid planned. Looks like you guys had some fun.” Killian scoffs, a bit of laughter there too and Emma doesn’t mean to lean into him. She doesn’t. Really. But he’s so goddamn warm and even more solid and she really did have a good time tonight. Emma may be a little disappointed she didn’t get kissed under the mistletoe, but that’s neither here nor there and it’s fine and-- “There’s lipstick on your collar,” Killian says, nodding towards Will and Emma nearly trips over herself in an effort to stand up.

“What the hell, Scarlet?” Emma snaps. “Were you making out with people while Henry was awake? In front of Henry?” Will rolls his whole head. “Who do you think I am?” “Someone with lipstick on your collar. What time did Henry go to sleep?” “A normal time for a thirteen-year-old hopped up on an acceptable amount of holiday-themed sugar. And it wasn’t really people, it was--” “--Oh my God, Belle left early,” Killian finishes, an arm around Emma’s waist when she all but sags against him.

“Is everyone in this office making out with everyone else?” “You tell me, Em,” Will says. He pushes off the couch, barely pausing to squeeze her shoulder and grab his coat off the hook on the wall. “You better get some boxes in here. You’ve got a ton of stuff to pack.” “Is that your not so subtle offer to help me pack?” “Absolutely not. Make sure you drink some water before you fall asleep.” Emma makes some kind of noise that only serves to hurt the back of her throat, Will’s laughter ringing in the air around them even after he leaves and the force of the alcohol in her bloodstream seems to hit her suddenly. Like several different freight trains.

“Ah, that’s why I don’t drink much anymore,” Emma mutters, burying her face into Killian’s chest. She definitely imagines the lips that brush over her hair.

For sure.

“You need to get some sleep, love,” Killian says, a hand moving up and down her back. “And maybe some water.” “Is that you agreeing with Scarlet?” “Not at all. That’s my knowledge of preemptively dealing with hangovers.” “Gallant. Again.” “Something like that for sure.”

“Alright,” Emma nods. She leans back against her better judgment, vision swimming slightly and heart thundering in her chest. “I’m uh--I’m going to sleep. And this was--” “--I always have fun doing vaguely deceptive things with you, Swan.” Her laugh is shaky at best and swooning at worst, another nod that makes the Earth feel as if it shifts on its axis. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. If I walk into my room now will you lock the door?” “Yeah, of course.”

Emma smiles, tugging lightly on his jacket again and she doesn’t entirely remember the next few hours. There’s definitely sleeping and some water, but then there’s light streaming in her windows and voices coming from the other side of the apartment and she does not expect the plural in that sentence.

She moves slowly, tugging a sweatshirt on that isn’t hers and maybe matches up with one of the voices in, possibly, her kitchen. It does. She’s not entirely surprised. She totally knew.

“Hey Mom,” Henry says, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bowl perched on his legs and a whisk in his hand.

Emma wasn’t even aware they owned a whisk.

“Hey kid,” she breathes. Killian’s standing at the stove, tie gone and jacket gone and his feet are bare on the linoleum floor. It’s ridiculously endearing. “What time did you get up?” “Awhile ago. Did you see the gingerbread house Will and I made? Killian said he’d help me build some more sugar trees later today.” “Did he?” Henry nods enthusiastically, almost dropping the bowl in the process. It gets both Emma and Killian to move at the same time, which is either the single worst thing that could happen to her or the single best.

She’s really not surprised he stayed.

Something something gallant. And maybe kind of romantic.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Henry continues. “We’re going to build a whole forest and practice some more Model UN stuff and--” “--Henry did you wake Killian up?” Her kid whisks whatever is in the bowl harder. It’s the single most absurd thing Emma has ever seen. And it makes her heart feel as if it’s grown forty-seven sizes.

“I was on the couch, Swan,” Killian reasons. He’s totally making bacon. He must have gone to the bodega and bought bacon.

Emma may die in her own kitchen. From romantic hangovers.

“Yuh huh,” she says slowly. “If you walk away from that pan are you going to burn my whole apartment down?” Killian shakes his head. “Alright, then…” “Yeah, ok.” They shuffle back towards the front door, Killian’s jacket hanging in the same spot Will’s was. He’s got his hands in his pockets when she turns on him, eyes cast towards the bare feet that may honestly be taunting her at this point and--

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave,” he says before Emma can start the interview.

She really hates that she gasps.

Killian seems to take that as a positive though, stepping into her space until his toes threaten to brush against hers. His smile is tempered, as if he’s worried about Emma running out of her own apartment and, well, that’s fair, but she’s also definitely hungover and she really wants bacon and-- “Why?” “What?” “Why couldn’t you leave?” Emma asks. “I mean...I know I wasn’t exactly a gracious host. I probably should have made sure you could get a car--” “--I’m perfectly capable of getting a car, Swan.” “Then?” He shrugs, reaching back to tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. Emma bites her lip. “I didn’t...” he starts, “I didn’t want to. And I...well, you can take care of yourself, but I wanted to make sure. I don’t--if something happened.” “Like what? I choked on my own vomit?” “That’s far less romantic than I was going for.” Emma gasps again. It’s honestly the worst. “Oh. Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian says, another promise that feels more important than anything else she’s heard in the last twenty-four hours or an entire political campaign. “I really like...being around you, Swan,” he adds, softer when his hand falls to her waist. “Full stop and in general and not always with the alcohol, but the alcohol was also fun and--well, I know you're worried about everything changing, love, but nothing is going to change and you’re still going to have, at least me and that’s not always the best, but--” “--Shut up,” Emma cuts in, and she doesn’t try to grab the mistletoe out of his jacket.

It feels kind of pointless anyway. And she's fairly positive this is the phase four. 

As far as first kisses go, it’s definitely not the best in the history of the world. Emma’s mouth feels a bit like it’s filled with cotton and her head feels a bit like it’s going to snap in half at any given moment, but Killian’s hand moves to the small of her back and he makes this one, particular noise when her tongue brushes over his lower lip that may be the single greatest sound she’s ever heard.

She’d like to bottle it. Or something less weird.

They linger in each other’s space for a moment – lips and teeth and tongue and Emma smiles against his mouth when her fingers find their way into Killian’s hair. She presses up on her toes to reach him easier, letting him pull her flush against him.

That makes her groan.

And he laughs against her.

“I didn’t really want you to leave,” Emma admits, mumbling the words into his jaw and that time she’s certain of the kiss pressed to her hair.

“That’s not something you have to worry about.” “I guess we should fill out some paperwork or something.” “I think I’m going to be drowning in paperwork for the foreseeable future.” “‘Tis the season or whatever.” “Eloquent,” Killian says again, another quick kiss that ends as soon as Henry starts shouting the bacon is burning.

“C’mon. There’s nothing worse than burnt bacon.” They do, eventually, get Henry to stop whisking what Emma learns is waffle batter and the bacon isn’t burned, but just crispy enough and Killian rolls his eyes when she laughs at the phrase unmoderated caucus. But then there’s more smiles and frosting and a gingerbread house that looks much better with some landscaping around it.

Will sends several dozen emojis back to Emma after she texts him the updated photo.

And he doesn’t ever help her pack. Killian does, labeling boxes and putting away kitchen utensils Emma didn’t know she owned, pausing every few minutes to press her against the nearest wall and kiss her senseless.

Without the mistletoe.

That doesn’t change once they get to Washington D.C., smiling against each other as soon as the clock strikes midnight in a new apartment with half-emptied boxes and the certainty that they’re going to change the goddamn world.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 4X05 - Breaking Glass

Not super excited to GLASS-ess this episode, but let’s get a move on and see if this rewatch BREAKS my perspective!

So go under that there cut for the review!

Main Takeaways

Past

I wonder what would’ve happened if Lily had been honest from the start about where she came from. Would Emma have rejected her for leaving a family that she already had or would she have trusted Lily’s feelings of not belonging and feeling invisible?

Speaking of invisibility, I really feel like giving a tangible meaning to “invisible” would’ve made this segment better. Because we see that Lily’s not neglected. Her father personally goes searching for her and her mother is apparently “worried sick.” Are we supposed to believe that they’re putting on an act and that Lily regularly is neglected or are we supposed to think Lily’s over privileged and lying? Or is there something else going on there? I feel like just a line talking about Lily’s specific experiences at home would’ve really helped Lily be a bit more fully rounded.

Present

Okay, so I’m gonna get right to the point about why I don’t like this episode: Emma and Regina’s dynamic. I’ve said before that I don’t like their arc this season and this episode is the reason why. In every episode of it prior, while Emma truly felt bad for Regina and the consequences of her actions, she didn’t forget that that action was saving (What we all originally thought) was an innocent woman’s life, and thus didn’t show regret for the action, just remorse. Therefore, her kindness towards Regina, especially as Regina was insulting, only went so far before she bit back. There were lines that Regina would cross that Emma would say that she’s taking her anger out at the wrong person to. And Regina’s anger at Emma, while not pleasant, was in character and came from an understandable enough place. I get that and it made their dynamic something organic and interesting to follow. It was a complicated issue and they had complicated reactions to it, reactions they and the audience understood.

Here, that nuance fucking disappears and what we’re left with is more shallow than a McDonalds container of dipping sauce.

Emma spends the entire episode putting up with every mean thing Regina says. She practically begs for Regina’s forgiveness and refuses to stand up for herself. And there’s no reason for this change. Had Elsa or even Snow suggested a gentler approach to how she handles Regina, only for it not to work, that would’ve been a better handling of the story.  

And when Emma DOES stand up for herself, it’s just nothing! It’s over Regina lying about Sidney and lasts for barely a few seconds! Regina brings up everything with Marian and I’m just here wondering why they never get into it!

And Regina’s BRUTAL in her insults and goes SO far over the line compared to previous episodes (“You ruined my life” being the worst of them), and the fact that Emma doesn’t have a big snap back to these things highlights not only how harsh the lines actually are, but how practically nonchalant Emma is being towards them. It’s a sentiment that really doesn’t work in the episode’s favor.

As an Emma fan, it feels absolutely undeserved and to not see a consequence from Emma for such lines is anger inducing. As a Regina fan, her behavior here feels embarrassing!

In Emma’s final scene with Regina in the vault, the framing becomes weird. The whole episode is framed as Emma needing Regina to forgive her and then in this last scene, it’s kind of reversed. Emma talks about how she doesn’t want to make the same mistake again, but last time, she was the victim. “I don’t want to kill you.” This is the wham line of the entire final scene between them, but where does it come from? At no point in this season or episode has Regina said anything about killing Emma and it makes the final speech really weird seeing as they were just talking about being friends and forgiving each other.

“You’re trying to win me over so I can assuage your guilt, but you’re wrong.” This is the only line that has a bit of nuance to it, and it still ends up suffering. It makes sense for Regina to feel that way and if we’re to take the line “once you screw someone over, there’s no going back” line at face value, it feels for a second like a real sentiment that the episode is trying to have. I’d even say it would’ve done a better job of painting Emma’s actions as something we’re not supposed to be absolutely sympathetic towards. That said, in terms of framing, we’re supposed to take “I wasn’t looking for you to assuage my guilt” as a genuine statement and those two sentiments can’t coexist simultaneously. Are we supposed to think Regina’s taking Emma’s actions the wrong way and/or overreacting?

I do like Snow’s conflict. As I said before, I don’t think Baby Neal ever needed a huge amount of focus, but these B-plots of seeing Snow and David’s worries concerning him in Season 4 do help to not make him feel forgotten in the rest of the shuffle and help enhance Snow’s character. It also gave way to some cute silliness between her and Will Scarlet. In the grand scheme of things, that makes it a bit meaningless, but I like the cuteness.

Stream of Consciousness

-Emma, I’m with Will here. You gotta let him out. I know legality means fuck all in this town and I’m fine with that, but he’s not a super villain. He broke into a library! This is just cruel and unusual punishment! Give him a fine or something and send him on his...MERRY way! XD

-I kind of love the idea of Sidney just barely holding back giggles at the fact that he betrayed Regina. XD

-I know people don’t love Snow’s wardrobe from Season 4 onwards, and I’ll admit that there’s something of a stark change, but I like her wardrobe. For one thing, in this episode, she’s rocking that vest. For another, she just looks so cozy and warm!

-The cape is here!!! It’s so fabulous!!!

-Who took that photo of Regina and Robin? Were Henry or Snow just being sneaky af? XD

-”Leverage.” Part of me thinks that had Regina freed him, Sydney would’ve stayed loyal to her and that was one final chance on his part for Regina.

-Regina, LOVING the outfit! Everyone just looks positively BANGIN’ tonight!

-”No one was ever gonna look at me the way those parents looked at her.” I’M NOT CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING!

-I know Regina’s mad, but why won’t she just tell Emma that Sidney’s helping her. It makes up a lot of the screen time of this episode and it makes no sense! It’s not like Emma can free him and she’d probably just ask him to help until the Snow Queen is defeated.

-“Intentionally or not, you hurt someone.” Emma would’ve hurt someone regardless if she’d done nothing!

-Watching Will dig holes trying to get back to Wonderland breaks my fucking heart! Just...OW!

-Will, you’re very out of place here, but props to you for going for the gay option! XD

-I love how baby Emma was just raring to go! “I got this” and grabs a fucking candlestick! Emma, no matter the time or place is a fucking badass!

-I like how we got to see Elsa get herself out of danger!

-”If the outcome of your escape is that you found a part of yourself again, I’d say he earned that pardon.” ...Boy can this open a big can of worms in terms of villain redemptions in this show, but at least Will just broke into a library.

-Emma, why do you keep a box from your childhood in your workplace as opposed to the loft? It’d probably be safer there!

-Who took that photo? August? XD

Favorite Dynamic

Emma and Lily. The bond between Emma and Lily is just so en pointe. Their personalities and experiences compliment each other really well and make for an initially very easy going friendship. Lily is very much the opposite side of Emma’s coin. While coming from more of a place of direct privilege, Lily feels like she doesn’t belong and that connects with Emma’s resolve following Cecilia’s adoption. They support each other, trust each other, and are kind. It does so much to make the ending of the episode a point of tragedy. I also like that while Emma is undeniably the victim here, the decision to have her fully turn her back on Lily was depicted as a touch too harsh without erasing the former point. You end up really feeling for both of these girls.

Writer

Kalinda Vazquez writes her first piece for Season 4 in today’s episode and she’s joined by newbie, Scott Nimerfro. Once again, unless I’m corrected, I’m going to attribute the past segment to Kalinda and the present to Scott due to how their names are sequenced on sources pertaining to the episode. To me, that just makes sense too given the writing job. Scott seems pretty unfamiliar with how Emma and Regina work, something that after a brief review of Kalinda’s past episodes, isn’t something she struggles with. When dealing with an episode with a storyline like this, one really has to intake the nuances of the characters and evaluate what they’re trying to accomplish. Here, I feel like Scott was just trying to start on a simpler note when this episode needed a more complicated touch to it. Simplicity will be more of a friend to him in his next episode, “Shattered Sight.”

Rating

6/10. Like with the last episode, the present segment leaves me mostly unimpressed, but the past segment is pretty good.

Flip My Ship - The Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness”

Captain Swan - CHEEK KISS! WE HAVE A CHEEK KISS! And then the office scene. After an emotionally taxing day, Emma gets to reflect on things with a nice bit of booze and her boyfriend. “May I have the honor?” May I have a fainting couch because that shit made me swoon! And I love how Emma, while nervous, trusts Killian with her box of memories. And his reactions as he takes in everything range from adorable when looking at the ring to a pained understanding of mutual grief and love when they look at the picture of Neal. And finally, the hand-arm around thing. Like, while Killian finds the old Emma video to be adorable, he knows on some level that this is hard and wants to be there for her.

Swan Star - I basically Disney ship these two here!

Snowing - I love how David makes such a big effort to make Snow feel safe as they go out on their date! David is such a good husband who really understands what his wife needs!

-----

Woohoo! I made it through the two episodes I knew I wasn’t gonna like! Now let’s get back to some good stuff!

Thanks as always to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales and to the lovely @daensarah!!!

Season 3 Total (35/230)

Writer Scores: Adam and Eddy: (9/60) Jane Espenson: (10/40) David Goodman and Jerome Schwartz: (10/50) Andrew Chambliss: (6/50) Dana Horgan: (6/30) Kalinda Vazquez: (6/40) Scott Nimerfro: (6/30)

*Links to the rest of my rewatch will no longer be provided. They take posts with links outside of searches and I spend way too much time on these reviews to not give them that kind of exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they still can be found on my page under Operation Rewatch.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 177: Scrutiny

Snow rested her head against David's shoulder, as they watched their kids play a game. It was a familiar scene to them, but one sorely missed as of late. Their plates had been taken away a while ago and dessert was shared, as they enjoyed being together again. Rogers had stayed for a while and ate with them, but then opted to go home, for they had court in the morning and he wanted to go check on Tilly.

They tried not to laugh, as they watched their sons stare each other down with two of the worst poker faces they'd ever seen. They could help but chuckle to each other, as Bobby's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. It meant he thought he had a good hand and they could see their older son grinning at the younger for it.

"Well...let's see it," Leo said, as Bobby showed his cards.

"Three of a kind," he announced, thinking he was going to be winning the pot, which consisted of gummy worms, Oreo cookies, and more than enough sugar to keep him up all night.

"Don't even think about eating all that junk tonight, young man," Snow warned, making David chuckle as he got the same pout on his face that she did.

"Don't worry Mom...I'm the only one that's going to feasting on this jackpot tonight," Leo said, as he showed his cards.

"Full house kid...better luck next time," he said, preparing to scoop his winnings toward him.

"Um...not so fast there," Eva said, as Summer put her hand down, revealing four aces.

"What?" Leo protested.

"Sorry...I win," Summer said, as now both boys wore identical pouts.

"That's my girl...I taught you well. Better luck next time, boys," Eva boasted, as she congratulated her little sister in her victory.

"You know, coaching her isn't exactly fair. There's no one better at reading people than you," Leo complained. She rolled her eyes.

"I don't need my ability to read you two. You two wear your emotions all over your faces," she retorted.

"She's got you there," David agreed.

"Mmm...and they get that from you," Snow agreed too and he didn't deny it. His emotions were always prevalent in his mood and expressions. Emma chuckled at their antics and stole a gummy worm.

"Not to change the subject to more serious things...but I need a favor from you," she mentioned to Eva.

"Of course," the dark haired young woman replied.

"Killian...Rogers…" she said, correcting herself.

"Rogers and I found this in Tilly's boxcar earlier," Emma said, as she pushed the evidence bag over to her.

"Is that golden dust?" David asked, looking at it.

"Yep," Emma replied.

"Like...golden dust from a certain flower?" Snow asked. Emma nodded.

"I'm pretty sure…" she replied.

"Then she's been in Tilly's boxcar," David surmised.

"I think so...but that's not all that was in Tilly's boxcar," Emma replied, as she swiped through some photos on her phone of the drawings on Tilly's wall.

"Tilly drew these?" Snow asked. She nodded.

"If I had to guess, then she's probably been having episodes or moments of clarity that she's not even aware of," Emma replied.

"Emma...do you think these are drawings of the future?" Snow asked.

"I don't know...but I think Gothel is looking for the resurrection amulet. I already told Regina that we need to find a way to wake Zelena up so we can get it first," Emma replied.

"If Gothel gets the amulet...then all she needs is our star seeds," David mentioned unpleasantly.

"Which is why I'm going to get it first. I won't let her get it first," she promised. Snow clutched her daughter's hand.

"We know honey...but you won't fight her alone," she assured.

"I know...but you two have got to be careful. You're in more danger than I think you realize," Emma stressed.

"We promise we won't take any chances," David tried to assure her. But Emma knew her parents. The danger to them was significant, as usual and Emma feared that there wasn't much she could do to prevent any of the dangers to them.

"We have court in the morning, so I better go pay the check," David mentioned.

"Yes...and you have a recital tomorrow night, honey. So you especially need to get to bed," Snow responded.

"Mom...I'm not going to my recital," Summer refuted. The raven haired beauty frowned.

"Why not?" Snow asked and her daughter gave her an incredulous look.

"Uh...reporters are trying to follow you and Daddy everywhere and there are way more important things going on right now," she refuted.

"Oh sweetie...I don't care if a mob of reporters are waiting for us at the school. Your father and I would never miss one of your recitals. You love dance and we are not going to let anyone deprive you of that," Snow admonished.

"She's right peanut...we can't wait for your recital. You're the lead, as usual and you know we never pass up the opportunity brag about one of our amazing kids," he added, humbling her a bit, as her mother smiled and kissed her father's cheek, before resting her head on his shoulder. All the reporters and attention from other parents would be uncomfortable at best, but they were gladly going to brave it all for her and without question.

"That reminds me...we need to charge the camera tonight," she mentioned and he nodded, as he settled their bill. Emma smirked and squeezed her baby sister's hand. It was almost like being back home and that gave them all hope, for her parents always managed to give them a bit of normalcy, no matter what was going on around them. They were always first to their parents and that had never wavered, even when they had faced down some of the worst situations imaginable. David pecked her on the lips, before getting up to go pay the bill.

"Thanks again, Joe. We'll get out of your hair now," he promised.

"Nah...this is family. Stay as long as you want," he replied, as the song changed in the jukebox and happened to be one of Snow's favorites. He grinned back at her.

"Well...maybe one dance," he said, as he held his hand out to her and she swooned, as he swept her into his arms.

"This song is so cheesy," Leo complained.

"And like thirty-years old," Eva added.

"It is both of those things...but somehow, it just works for Mom and Dad," Emma said, as they all shared a smile.

"I think we're embarrassing our children again," Snow whispered to him, as they swayed and danced together. He chuckled.

"Probably...but what else is new?" he joked, as he kissed her tenderly. She giggled and then mewled into his kiss again. Which quickly dissolved from dancing into just making out.

"And now they're making out," Leo deadpanned.

"As usual," Eva added.

"It's not new, but still embarrassing," Emma agreed. Snow and David shared a smile at their usual commentary and they decided it was time to go home. As much as they wanted to stay, they had the unpleasantness of court to deal with early the next morning.

~*~

After a tumultuous dinner, the two couples returned to Roni's bar for a nightcap. Robin seemed to get along with Chad well enough. Regina knew she wasn't going to like whatever defense her sister's fiance would be mounting the next morning in court, but she definitely felt that he wouldn't be doing so maliciously. Still, she knew he would be painting Snow and David in a light that she wasn't happy about. Such was the job of a defense attorney, but she still didn't have to like it. Add to that, she still had to figure out a way to get Zelena to remember. She needed to find that amulet before Gothel. Everything could hinge on who possessed the amulet, but that was only part of the battle. Court in the morning was likely to be another and she hated that her family was even having to go through this. And all because of that damn doctor they had originally encountered in New Orleans when Isaac had sent Snow to his facility in a twist he wrote in as an insurance policy if they managed to defeat his narrative. They had, of course, and when the former author's twisted narrative had ended, he made sure to get in a final dig at Snow and Charming.

They had journeyed to the bayou and rescued Snow, of course, but not before making Dr. Ivan Facilier their enemy and initiating his need for revenge on them. And she had to give it to Facilier's vindictive grandson. He had crafted an unorthodox, but very effective revenge. Shining such media attention on Snow and David was not only the last thing they needed, but it was quite possibly the worst thing he could have done. Having normal people focus on them in the scandal he had crafted for them was so intrusive and exhausting. They didn't need or want the attention and it had complicated everything. The doctor that she had dismissed as a non-threat had proved her wrong in a devastating way. Being embroiled in this court battle was just a forced distraction they didn't need. It was almost like he was trying to ensure that even if they did manage to break the curse that there would be either no escaping this new reality or at the very least, it would prevent them from ever leaving Storybrooke again even if they did make it back. Somehow though, she knew Snow and Charming wouldn't mind the latter and neither would she. If they did make it back, she knew it wouldn't matter to any of them if they never had to leave Storybrooke again. In fact, she welcomed that and knew they did too.

"Nice try Facilier...but this family will endure," she muttered, as she did a shot and glanced at her sister, who was leaving with Chad for their hotel.

"I know that look…" Robin mentioned.

"I got a text from Emma...she thinks Gothel was poking around Tilly's boxcar," she said, her face troubled by this.

"The amulet...she's looking for it," he realized. She nodded.

"We think so and the only one that knows where it is…" she trailed off.

"Is Zelena," he finished.

"We need to get to that amulet before Gothel," Regina said, as she went in the back room and started fumbling around.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"I don't know...maybe she hid it here somewhere. Before the curse took us, Zelena assured me that it would be safely sealed away. That means that it might be here," she replied.

"Then we'll find it," he assured, as he started helping her look.

~*~

Snow kissed him deeply, as they lay entwined beneath the bedclothes, sated and glowing the in the after effects of their powerful, incredible lovemaking. They panted together, as their lips parted and they pressed their foreheads together, gazing soulfully into each other's eyes.

"I love you so much," Snow whispered, as she continued to kiss his neck

"And I love you, my beautiful Snow…" he rasped, as he spooned her against him and she settled in his arms. She noticed his pensiveness though.

"What's bothering you?" she asked, for not even their euphoric lovemaking had eased his tension.

"I just hate that you have to go on the stand tomorrow and relive what that psycho doctor did to you," he lamented.

"I know, but I'll be fine, my love, because I know that you'll be there with me," she reminded, as she kissed his cheek.

"You're my hero...never doubt that," she added, as they settled and slowly drifted off to sleep.

~*~

When David opened his eyes next, he was startled at first, because Snow was no longer beside him, but he was dressed in the exact clothing he had been wearing when he awakened Snow from the sleeping curse. He looked around and instantly recognized the meadow as the one from Neverland.

"Snow?" he called, but somehow knew she wasn't there. Snow had told him about her dream and he noticed that their tree was there. He could tell it was theirs, because of the blanket of snowdrops growing all around it.

"I'm sure you've figured out that though this is a dream...it is very real," a male voice said. David turned and found a tall, dark haired man before him. He was wearing a formal black and gold coat, pants and cape that indicated his royal station.

"You're King Endymion," David stated.

"And you're Prince David...we meet at last," he replied kindly.

"Snow told me about her meeting with Serenity and I think that's what is confusing me. Aphrodite made is sound like neither of you survived your battle with the Black Fairy," he said.

"We sacrificed ourselves to save our people from the darkness. Then two of our guardians sacrificed themselves to the resurrection stone to bring us back. Serenity and I were not happy about others sacrificing themselves for us, but it was their duty to see that we survived for our Kingdom," he explained.

"And then Gothel came along," he surmised.

"Yes...the Kingdom was lost then, but we were able to save most of our people and settle again near Olympus," he explained.

"Snow and I don't like the idea of anyone sacrificing themselves for us, especially one of our children. Emma's heart is already poisoned and I know we'll do anything to cure her," he said. He smiled.

"And I'm hoping I can help with that," he said cryptically...

~*~

The next morning, the District Attorney managed to sneak Snow and David in the back way again, avoiding the mob of press outside the courthouse. Clayton arrived after them, having actually enjoyed the attention of the cameras and even had the audacity to do a shameless plug for the grand opening event of his new exhibit debuting that very evening.

"Mr. Stavros...do you think this trial will affect the attendance to your event tonight?" one reporter questioned. He smirked smugly.

"On the contrary...I expect a packed house for the event," he said, as he looked over at Snow and David.

"There is no hard feelings here," he said, gesturing grandly toward them.

"I'll even extend an invitation to Detective Nolan and his lovely...Snow White to attend," he said, making some of them chuckle, at least the reporters that seemed to always eat him up. David clenched his fists, as they were essentially making fun of the woman he loved again, but she put both her hands on his fist and looked him in the eyes.

"Baby...it's okay. It doesn't matter what they say," she whispered.

"I just hate this...they're going to drag you through the mud today on the stand," he lamented.

"I know...but I'll get through it, because all I have to do is look at you the entire time. With you here, I can get through anything," she assured.

"The court will come to order," Judge Cabot stated, as the press was locked out of the courtroom and opening arguments began.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We're here today, because this man, the defendant, Clayton Stavros participated in a dastardly scheme. He assisted the late Dr. Franklin Samdi in a plot to enact revenge on a beautiful little family," Amara stated.

"Their reasons for wanting revenge are not clear, but what is are the deeds the defendant committed against David and Margaret Nolan, as well as their children. Clayton Stavros assisted the Doctor in his kidnapping Margaret Nolan and her son Bobby," she continued.

"Doctor Samdi kept Margaret Nolan against her will, made a false diagnosis in order to keep her locked up, and forcibly medicated her. Mr. Stavros provided forged papers, stating that he was Margaret Nolan's brother and stating that her name was Mary Blanchard. He used these falsified documents to have her committed and take custody of her son, all while allowing her husband to believe them to be dead," she explained.

"I know what these allegations must sound like to all of you. This plot sounds like something out of a movie or crime novel, but I assure what these men did to this family was very real. One is no longer with us to pay for his crimes, but the other still is and I believe after you have seen and heard our testimony, that you will come to one conclusion and one conclusion only. That this man, Clayton Stavros must be punished for his actions accordingly. Thank you," she concluded her opening argument, as Chad stood up and buttoned his suit jacket, before approaching the jury.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we can all agree that the late Dr. Samdi's practices were questionable at best, but the details in his memoir are hardly substantial proof to back up these allegations against my client. But there are facts that I can provide you with," Chad stated.

"I think we can all agree that my client did not do the right things when it came to Mrs. Nolan and her son. But I assure you that I can make the argument that he did the things he did out of concern for a young boy, whose mother is mentally ill," Chad continued.

"Margaret Nolan was correctly diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder and has three identities that we know of," he explained.

"But rather than get his wife the help she deserved, Detective Nolan chose to rather indulge her delusions by playing along with them and indulging her in a very unhealthy way. Meanwhile, his constant investigations into my client bordered on harassment. He was obsessed with trying to find some imagined mis-dealings and illegal actions that he was convinced my client was committing. But despite never finding definitive proof of anything, Detective Nolan refused to stop pursing his outlandish investigations into my client's business transactions," he added.

"Mr. Stavros' only tried to get Mrs. Nolan the help she deserved and give young Bobby a more stable home. He did it the wrong way, but I think by the end of this trial, you will agree that leniency in this matter should be considered. My client was trying to help in all the wrong ways. That deserves community service and a fine, but not jail time. And I think you'll soon agree," Chad finished, as he sat back down.

"He can't be serious," David growled under his breath.

"We knew they were going to go this route," she reminded.

"The state may call their first witness," the Judge stated.

"Thank you, Your Honor. The state calls Margaret Nolan to the stand," Amara announced. David squeezed her hand and she went to the witness box where the bailiff swore her in, before District Attorney Pearson approached.

"Good morning, Mrs. Nolan," she greeted pleasantly.

"Good morning," Snow replied.

"Can you please describe what it was like during your time in Dr. Samdi's care?" she asked. Snow got a haunted look on her face, as she remembered those nights.

"Dr. Samdi kept me locked in a small cell and his orderlies would force me to take pills. When I struggled, they would hold me down and even slap me. I had bruises and marks on my body most of the time," she confessed.

"Did Dr. Samdi ever tell you why you had to take these pills?" she questioned. She nodded.

"He said I was a sick woman and that I was a danger to my family when I said I wanted to go home," she replied.

"And what role did Mr. Stavros play in this?" she asked.

"He had custody of my son and said that my husband believed we died in a horrible accident. He said it was for the best," she replied, recalling all the nights she had cried for David.

"That must have been terrible to endure," Amara stated.

"It was...I cried for my husband every night," she confessed, as she gazed at him. It brought tears to his eyes too, for he hated all she had gone through and he had not been able to protect her.

"Objection, Your Honor. This is not a therapy session," Chad interjected.

"Sustained. Move on with your line of questioning, Ms. Pearson," the Judge ordered.

"Mrs. Nolan...there have been allegations that you have multiple identities. Is this true?" Amara asked.

"No...I only started to believe I might be this Mary Blanchard after I had been forced to take medication for months. The drugs caused those problems. I was very malleable when I was medicated," Snow replied.

"So it would be safe to say that Dr. Samdi easily controlled you while you medicated and the meds made you believe anything he told you, is that correct?" she asked. Snow nodded.

"Yes," she answered.

"Mrs. Nolan...do you know why Dr. Samdi would do this to you or why Mr. Stavros would want to participate in such a scheme against you and your husband?" Amara asked.

"I can't be sure, but I know Mr. Stavros wants revenge against my husband," Snow answered.

"Why?" she asked.

"Years ago...David was responsible for keeping him from illegally acquiring some ancient artifacts that he was desperate to add to his collection," Snow replied.

"Objection, Your Honor. My client was never convicted of any crimes, despite Detective Nolan's attempts to catch him with his baseless accusations," Chad objected.

"Sustained. The jury will disregard Mrs. Nolan's mentions of any unsubstantiated charges," the Judge ordered.

"Did Mr. Stavros allow you to see your son? The son that he illegally took custody of thanks to forged documents?" she asked.

"Sometimes...he would let Bobby visit once a week. Most of the time though, Bobby had to sneak away from Clayton to come see me," she replied.

"That had to be hard on your son. To be cut off from his real parents and kept away from his real father," Amara stated.

"Is there a question here, Your Honor?" Chad interjected.

"I assure you there is, Your Honor," Amara replied.

"Then ask it, Counselor," the Judge stipulated.

"Can you tell the court how your husband finally discovered that you were alive?" she asked. Snow smiled.

"That was our little Bobby. He managed to sneak away from Mr. Stavros long enough to find David. Then David came and found me," she answered. Amara smiled.

"Thank you Mrs. Nolan. Only one more question. Do you believe Mr. Stavros abused your son?" she asked

"Objection! This is not family court!" Chad protested.

"Withdrawn, no further questions," Amara replied, as she took a seat, while Chad got up and approached the witness bench.

"Good morning, Mrs. Nolan," he greeted.

"Good morning," Snow responded curtly.

"Is it true that you also go by Miss Blanchard?" he questioned.

"Mary Blanchard is the woman the doctor told me I was when I was medicated," she answered.

"I see...have you ever seen this book, Mrs Nolan?" he asked, as he held up a white paperback copy of Henry's commercially published version of the original book.

"Yes...it's my son's favorite book," she answered.

"Did you used to read to him from this book?" Chad questioned.

"Objection...of what relevance is this?" Amara questioned.

"I assure you that I have a point, Your Honor," Chad argued.

"Overruled. The Witness will answer the question," the Judge ordered.

"I still read to him from it. So does my husband," she answered.

"Then you are aware, that according to Dr. Samdi's memoir, that the reason Clayton Stavros sought to have you committed was because you began to believe that the stories in this book were real. That you think you are the Snow White in this book," he stated.

"No," she answered. She knew it wasn't really the truth, but for all intents and purposes, she was legally Margaret Nolan in this world.

"Then your son doesn't think that you and your husband are Snow White and Prince Charming?" he asked. She smiled.

"It's my son's favorite story and when he was younger, he liked to think we were. He has a very vivid imagination and we will never discourage that," she answered.

"Then if it is your son that is the only one that thinks your husband is Prince Charming, then why did Dr. Samdi document that you would constantly cry every night and call out for your Charming?" Chad questioned. But Snow was ready for this question.

"Charming is a nickname that I coined for my husband on the day we met. I have affectionately called him that since we met. I was heavily medicated by the doctor and probably was calling out for him by that name," she answered. He smiled at her and she smiled back across the room.

"A nickname? Is that really what you are expecting us to believe, Mrs. Nolan?" he questioned.

"Objection...argumentative!" Amara argued.

"Sustained," the Judge ordered.

"I apologize, Your Honor. I'll rephrase. Perhaps you can tell us why we should believe that," he reiterated. She smiled at David.

"Because anyone who has met my husband knows what an amazing man he is. He has always been my hero...my Prince Charming. He is an incredible husband, a wonderful father, and a dedicated police officer, who puts monsters in prison. Anyone that knows him isn't surprised that I nicknamed him that," she said proudly. Chad didn't look too happy about her answer, but conceded with a nod.

"Fair enough. I think we can both agree that Dr. Samdi was an evil man, but why should we believe that this translates to my client?" he asked. She looked at him incredulously.

"He stole my life from me and my family. He let my husband believe we were dead," she responded.

"Dr. Samdi stole your life. My client's participation is purely speculative," Chad argued.

"He had custody of my son using forged papers!" Snow cried out in outrage. Chad smirked and pulled some papers from his briefcase.

"The defense would like to introduce defense exhibit A. These are the papers in question. Mrs. Nolan...is that not your signature as your alter, Mary Blanchard, signing over custody of your son to Mr. Stavros?" he questioned. Snow was stunned. She knew the papers were a fabrication of the curse, but she also knew how it would look to a jury.

"I was under the influence of a lot of medication. When drugged...Dr. Samdi could have made me do anything he wanted," she responded.

"Blaming the medication again. Seems a bit convenient," he said skeptically.

"Objection! He's badgering the witness," Amara protested.

"Withdrawn. No further questions," he responded.

"The witness may step down," the Judge ordered, as Snow did so and rejoined David on the bench behind the district attorney's desk.

"You were amazing," he assured, as he kissed her tenderly.

"We will break for lunch now and return in one hour," the Judge ordered, as she slammed the gavel down and dismissed them. And David knew it would likely be his turn in the witness box when they returned.

[gray-autumn-sky]

An Affair to Remember: Birthday Cake

For the love @laura-p-g. Written for Inspired by OQ Week. 

Robin is feeling insecure about having Roland on his birthday. Regina helps him come up with a plan to make the day special. 

Robin’s shoulders slump forward and he presses two fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes and drawing in a long, deep breath. He grips his cell phone and tries to tamp down… whatever it is that he’s feeling, and wishing more than anything, he’d just ignored Marian’s calls for the evening.

But of course, when he saw her number flash across his screen, ignoring her call hadn’t even occurred to him. Marian didn’t call often, and when she did, it wasn’t from her cell phone, but from the house phone--and when she did, it wasn’t Marian who was on the other end of the line, but Roland.

He looked forward to those calls, barely ever letting it ring more than twice. He loved hearing about his son’s adventures in first grade and about all of his friends, he enjoyed listening to him talk about his favorite TV shows and what books he was reading, and even the random stories of the trouble he’d gotten himself into, like when it’d been cold and snowy out so he’d took his hockey stick and a puck down into the basement and ended up shattering a lamp that was one of Marian’s favorite antique store finds.

So, when he saw his ex-wife’s cell phone number flash across the screen, his stomach sank a little and his heart beat a little faster and by the time he said her name, a hundred worst-case scenarios had already filled his head.

Nothing terrible had happened, though, and in fact, Marian was calling with what she thought was good news--and until he hung up the phone, he’d thought it to be the very best news.

The plans for Roland’s birthday party had to be switched--something about a bounce house being double booked--so, she and Mulan moved the party up a week, and that meant he’d get Roland on his actual birthday. He’d readily agreed to come and pick him up from school as as soon as they hung up, he’d sent a quick text to John to let him know he’d have to manage things on his own at the store that day.

Then he realized what that meant.

He’d be in competition with Marian and Mulan--and when put up against the two of them, and whatever they had planned, he’d surely lose and end up disappointing his son.

Disappointing Roland was bad enough, but to do it on his birthday seemed an extra harsh blow--and while that was only his fault, admitting that was difficult, so instead, he placed the blame on Marian’s shoulders.

“Well, Henry’s completely wiped out,” Regina says, rounding the corner into the dining room where he’s sitting--and as he looks up, watches as her eyes shift to the game of Clue still scattered around the table.

“Uh, sorry,” he murmurs, setting his phone down and shifting a bit awkwardly. “I, um… got a bit distracted.”

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “I’m… more concerned about the look on your face.”

“Hm?”

“You look like you could strangle someone.”

His eyes roll. “Just… my ex-wife.” She nods and offers him an understanding little smile, her eyes shifting down to his phone and before she can say anything, he sighs. “That’s not fair,” he tells her, looking up. “I’m mad at myself. Not her. She didn’t do anything wrong. She’s… actually just trying to do me a favor.”

“But it’s easier to be mad at her.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, sighing a little as he reaches for a the little notepads and pencils tossed to the center of the game. “I just--”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” he asks, chuckling softly. “Care to explain it to me? Because I don’t get it.”

Nodding, Regina takes a few steps in and smiling gently as she reaches for the game box’s top. “Being a single parent is hard enough,” she tells him, her shoulders rising and falling with a shrug. “But you get to be a single parent with two other people--two other people who, good intentions or not, get to be with your son all of the time--and I think that’s harder than doing it alone.”

Robin nods. “I get him on his birthday--for that whole weekend, actually.”

At that, Regina’s eyes narrow and her head tips to the side. “Okay,” she murmurs slowly. “Now I’m confused.”

Chuckling softly, he nods. “The weekend before, Marian and Mulan are throwing this huge party. All of his friends from school are going to be there and all the kids from his hockey team, too, and--” He stops, drawing in and releasing a short breath. “She called from the store. Roland was with her and I could hear him. He’s so excited for this party. They’re picking out stuff to go in gift bags and she hired an actual fucking Spiderman to come and sit in a photo booth and take pictures with the kids.”

“Wow. Sounds like she can really throw a party.”

“There’s going to be a bounce house and this ridiculous cake that looks like it should be on the damn Food Network.” His eyes widen as he feels his heart beat a bit faster. “Regina, she sent me a picture of that damn thing and--”

“Robin...”

“What?”

“It’s just a party.”

“It’s a party with a real, live Spiderman,” he deadpans. “How are me and my store-bought sheet cake supposed to compete with that?”

Smiling softly, Regina reaches out, her hand falls to his arm. “You’re not going to compete,” she tells him gently. “And you’re not going to give that child a sheet cake from whatever grocery store is nearest to your house.”

“I’m not?” he asks, genuinely curious of what he’s supposed to do instead or how anything he picks will compare. “I can’t bake or--”

“I can.”

“You can bake?”

She nods, rubbing her hand over his arm. “I have this recipe that Henry loves. I’ll teach you.”

“But--”

“And Roland is going to be thrilled because he gets a bonus birthday.” She grins again as he draw in a breath he listens. “And he gets to spend a whole weekend with you, doing things he doesn’t get to do all of the time.”

Considering it, he nods. “We could go hiking. He loves doing that.”

“There you go.”

“I could teach him to go ice fishing.”

Regina nods, a little grin tugging up at the corner of her mouth. “And while I think that sounds like a terrible way to spend a cold day in February, I’m sure Roland will love it.”

“We’ve never gone before.”

“See?”

He feels himself calming down. “You know, your house is on the way and--”

“You want to stop?”

He nods, feeling a smile pull onto his lips. “Giving Roland any time with Henry is only going to win me points, and I think it’d be the nice for the four of us to get some dinner, maybe catch a movie or... something…” His voice falters as her expression changes. “What?”

“The four of us,” she repeats. “I just...I like how that sounds.”

“Me, too.”

Leaning in, she presses a soft kiss to his lips, then as she pulls back, she reaches for his hand, giving it a soft tug. She tosses down the box top and leads him to the kitchen, and he watches as she pulls the necessary ingredients from her cabinets--and he can’t help but laugh as she opens up the pantry door, tugging a black apron from a hook and tossing it at him before selecting a cookbook.

It’s not something that was published; instead, it’s made of construction paper, looks like she bound it herself at an office supply store--and when she sets it down on the counter, she traces her fingers over the title--Henry’s Favorites--written in blue glitter. He can’t stop himself from smiling when she looks back to him, explaining the book was a mother’s day gift the previous year and one of her most treasured possessions.

Regina opens up to the page with a recipe for “Best-Ever Birthday Cake” and he chuckles softly at a picture of Henry, wearing a green and yellow party hat, smiling widely with his tongue poking through a space in his mouth where a tooth had once been.

Together, they mix the ingredients and he holds his breath as they pour them into a glass baking dish. He puts the cake into the oven and Regina sets a timer before sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder as they wait--and all the while, she listens as he plans Roland’s birthday weekend.

He’s almost startled when the timer rings and a grin edges onto Regina’s lips as she hands him a pair of gray over mitts, letting him know that he can do the honors of pulling the cake from the oven.

Nodding, he takes the mitts and slips them onto his hands, slowly pulling open the oven door and grabbing hold of the baking dish--and almost as soon as he withdraws the cake, he’s overwhelmed by the soft, warm smell of honey and vanilla.

Turning back to the counter, he sets it down and feels a flicker of both pride and disappointment when he looks down at the golden cake and Regina tells him it’ll be another fifteen minutes before it’s cool, and longer until then can test it. Then, she links his arm through his, reminding him that no birthday cake is complete without copious amounts of frosting, as she tugs him toward the pantry--and he finds himself feeling so much calmer and grateful that fate allowed their lives to collide.

[faithandfearcollide]

OUAT rewatch: 1x05 - That Still Small Voice

Jiminys parents are awful but hella entertaining. Great actors and clever, witty dialogue.

Regina's complete change in expression when Henry walks over.

Henry openly defying Regina in public for the whole town to see...He's soooo terrified of her.

I will never not love her getting down to his level to talk with him.

Without context, the idea of Regina picking up a broken piece of glass off the ground, putting it in her pocket, and it being construed as suspicious... is still ridiculous thing to me. And how Regina knew it was a piece from Snow's coffin.

*tears up* Henry you’re going to be in the driver seat of that car someday.

I sort of really love watching Regina in full-on mayor-mode running around instructing everyone through a crisis. There’s a reason she’s a leader.

Contrary to anti’s popular belief, this is the only instance in which we’re seeing Regina use Henry’s therapy to negatively influence his feelings. Regina didn’t meddle in Henry’s therapy sessions before this point. She didn’t put him in therapy to make him think he was crazy. She mistakenly decided meddling was the best course of action during a point of stress where, as she said, she’s being accused of being evil while trying to avert a crisis.

But context? What is context?

Poor Archie. Regina how could you do these two little rays of sunshine?

Get you a man who becomes Da Vinci at hangman for you.

Kathryn is so delightful. I really wish they hadn’t ruined all of this with a love triangle because I love that they started her and MM out so friendly.

Mary Margaret: I’m the worst person in the world. Emma: Really? In the whole world? Mary Margaret: If Kathryn was horrible it’d be easier, but she’s so…nice.

I love you Ginny.

You know, if you were any other kid I’d be calling you out for this shit.

...on second thought, yes I’m calling you out for this. What the hell Henry??!

Jiminy’s half-hearted contribution to the con is my favorite thing.

This is awful. He did not deserve this on his conscious.

Indiana Mills and his Dr. Sidekick

Moment of appreciation for Lana’s stellar acting!!

Regina: Oh, please! Lecture me until his oxygen runs out!

I don’t care what anyone says, Regina’s sole focus here is Henry. Even while Emma is pointing fingers and dishing out digs, her concern is on Henry. Yes she screwed up with Archie but playing the blame game here isn’t what’s important or relevant to the situation right now and this was another instance of the writing making Emma look like she’s prioritizing her competition with Regina over Henry’s well-being and it makes it really hard to take her side because of it.I’m watching one mother lose her shit over her in danger son while the other grabs for any opportunity to make that mother look bad.

I’m not sure why anyone thought explosives over an unstable mine shaft with two people inside was a good idea but okay...

Kathryn you’re really putting a damper on this whole “confessing my feelings for another woman” thing. Could you just...NOT be so damn delightful?

Moment #2 to appreciate Lana’s STELLAR acting!

Henry apologizing despite still feeling hurt by Archie is why I really love this kid and how well written he is. They gave him such a lovely maturity and humility to his character. This is the makings of a good, kind, honorable hero.

Even while Regina’s showing her worst colors with Archie, he still won’t bad mouth her to her son. He truly is the softest most caring character. He managed to say all the right things without making Henry feel worse, without making Regina look bad, and without further encouraging Henry where it wasn’t healthy.

And in turn he got a really nice encouraging character building moment from Henry.

This right here is what 100% convinced me that Regina’s love for Henry wasn’t just an act or a means to an end! She genuinely completely loved Henry with what was left of her heart.

She could go down, save Henry, be the hero. She could win brownie points with Henry, with the town, and show up Emma.

Instead she gives that chance to Emma. She does it despite Emma jumping to take it from her, she does it despite Emma trying to yet again insert herself into Henry’s life against Regina’s wishes, she does it because she thinks it’s truly what’s best for Henry and what will get him back to her safely.

Regina: Just bring him to me.

I was legitimately so scared for Archie when I first watched this.

❤️❤️❤️

She’s so giddy and adorable with Henry.

Ignoring for a second absurdity of a custody battle, I’m still cheering Archie on here. Regina needed that humbling and I love that Archie did it in a way that suited his good nature. He didn’t just cut ties with Regina (and in extent Henry) and tell her to basically go fuck herself. He still wants to help Henry (and Regina in extent) but he’s going to do that the right way.

ACTIIIIIING

I really loved the twist of the little boy being Gepetto who Archie was watching over his whole life. A tragedy and wrong-doing turned into a friendship and care. It’s stuff like this that makes Archie’s soft spot for Regina later on really make sense. On a smaller scale, he screwed up but he got a second chance to fix that and find family through it. I think he really hoped to see Regina get that same chance.

Dun Dun DUUUUUUN

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (3/?)

AO3

It’s an hour before Damian leaves. An hour of him hugging her and stroking her hair and her telling him everything she can. They try to spend some time normally, watching vine compilations on Janis’ phone, only it doesn’t feel right. Their laughter is forced and accompanied by a pit in Janis’ stomach, the hard reality staring them in the face. After one video she puts her phone away and Damian holds her tighter, resting his cheek on her head and lacing their fingers together. She lets herself sag against him, revelling in the comfort he gives her even if it can’t make this better. She bites the inside of her cheek as she wonders when the next time they hug like this will be or where they’ll be when it happens.

It’s going to be a long few months.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks him as they stand at her front door. “With all this?” When his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, that’s when she truly feels the weight of it and it drags her down hard. She’s only seen that expression on his face a grand total of three times, two of which related to unpleasant memories of his father. And now once more, because of her. She bites back an apology.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he replies half-heartedly before shaking his head. “Who am I kidding? Of course you’re going to be okay. You’re Janis.”

“I am?” she replies, smirking just a little.

“Yeah.” The crack in his voice doesn’t escape her notice. He play-punches her arm. “This cancer’s going to have a tough time trying to beat you.”

“If God wants me gone he’s going to have to come down here himself,” she jokes. Only it doesn’t land with him. His eyes widen, his hand around her wrist in a grip that’s sudden and panicked. It’s an old joke spoken in a new world and she realises that too late. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t-” She grabs his tense shoulder, unsure of what else to do, and tries to be as reassuring as possible. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay, they’ve said I will.”

“I know.” He hugs her once again, crushing her in her grip and stroking her hair, his heartbeat fast against her chest. She wraps her arms around him, cursing at herself.

“Maybe the dark humour will take a backseat for now,” she whispers. He laughs at that at least, even if it’s short lived. He steps away from her just as his mom pulls up outside of her house, beeping her little car horn.

“My mom,” he says, looking from the car to her. “When do I tell her?”

“Whenever you want,” she replies, shrugging. “Not like we’re keeping it a secret.”

“Okay.” He pats her cheek clumsily as she opens the door. Before leaving, he takes one long look back at her, sadness clouding his eyes. She doesn’t let him know that she hates it. “You owe me a calzone when this is all over, Sarkisian.”

“It’s a date,” she jokes, her breath catching in her throat. Through the window in the door, she watches him run across the road, holding up shirt up over his head as the sky starts spitting, and climb into the passenger seat of his mom’s car. Her vision blurs as the car pulls away, her cheeks hot and her jaw clenched.

She doesn’t bother to hide it when she walks into the kitchen. She’s too tired and even if she wasn’t, what’s the point in it?

“Oh, sweetie,” her mom sighs, rushing up to her and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She rubs a hand up and down her arm, her lips rolled into a thin line. “How did he take it?”

“Fine,” she says. “I mean, not fine. But he’s… It’s a lot for him. But he didn’t storm out of the house or accuse me of lying or something messed up like that so I guess…” She trails off, the sentence running away from her. Is there a good way to take news like this? If there is, it would have been nice for her to know yesterday.

“Why don’t I make you something?” her mom asks again. “You want some coffee? Tea? Or one of those little mug-cakes you like so much?”

“I can make it myself,” she tells her, already tempted. She breaks out of her mom’s grasp and starts pulling stuff out the cupboards, the recipe crystal clear in her mind. She turns around, equal parts amused and annoyed at her mom hovering behind her. “I’m not going to burn myself on the microwave, Mom.”

“I know. Just, well, maybe you should be sitting down?”

“I can do it myself,” she repeats, despite her tired legs. She looks over at her again, annoyance beginning to win out.  She spoons flour into her mug, white smoke puffing up before her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Besides I’m the only one who knows how to make them.”

They were Cady’s idea. Over the winter break last year, before it all truly went wrong, she had called Janis about this new recipe she stumbled upon on Pinterest, babbling excitedly about ‘little tiny cakes in mugs, how cute is that, Janis?’. She invited Janis over, insisting on testing out as many different recipes as her microwave would allow. There was something about the sight of Cady with a white handprint on her skirt and flour dusted across her nose like snowflakes that did certain things to Janis’ heart. She can’t be sure, but that might just have been the day she began seeing Cady in a new light and daring to imagine them as something other than friends.

The memory now only makes her heart clench. There are few things Janis loves in the world more than Cady Heron’s smile and nothing hurts her heart like when she’s sad. When her lips touched hers for the first time, she swore she’d never do anything to hurt her. She’s going to be breaking that promise tomorrow, even if it’s through no fault of her own.

She goes up to her room with a mumbled goodnight to her parents and an unexpected, quick hug from her dad. Maybe she should start expecting them, she thinks sadly as she trudges upstairs, one hand around her mug and the other gripping the bannister.

She curls up on her bed, too tired to sit up but too jittery to try to sleep. Besides, the sky is still orange out there and she refuses to go to sleep before the sun does. Despite herself, she feels strangely proud. Cancer or no, her sleep schedule is hers, at least to some extent.

She pulls her laptop over, squinting in its blue light, and opens Tumblr for a while, scrolling through likes and reblogs without any of it registering. She bounces through social media with twitching fingers, closing tabs not five minutes after opening them. Facebook is the worst; little green dots lined up at the side of her screen, each one able to contact her with the press of a key. The last thing she wants right now is a conversation. So she opens Twitter instead and lets the friends be mixed in with the strangers. She’s hidden as long as she doesn’t say anything and she has genuinely no intention to. No likes, no retweets, nothing but a stream of content she can half-focus on in a bid to forget herself.

It works, at least for a while, three jokes or art pieces for every “real person” who crosses her timeline. But her eyes are constantly drawn up to the searchbar against her will and when a post of Cady’s crosses her path, her eyes linger for longer than they should.

“Fuck it,” she mutters, typing her handle into the searchbar and tapping her nail against the mouspad. She’s not as strong as she looks, and recently she’s discovered that she’s really not that strong when it comes to her girlfriend.

Cady’s profile loads up on the screen, her profile picture of her hugging a lion at least putting a smile on her face. Cady rarely uses this, having only gotten it at Regina’s request and preferring to use platforms like Instagram, uncomfortable with Twitter’s character limit. 280 characters is barely enough to capture those beautiful thoughts of hers. But Janis scrolls through them anyway, not quite having realised how much she missed her until now, missed how she talks and thinks and the feel of her hand against hers. Scrolling through her Twitter is a poor substitute for having the real thing.

There’s a post from five days ago, of the two of them sitting in Cady’s backyard, her chin on Janis’ shoulder and Janis’ hand covering hers, the remains of ice cream around Cady’s chin. Cady’s mom had taken that on her daughter’s phone, the two of them lounging in Cady’s garden after she had been showing Janis her peonies.

Janis is almost taken aback by how she looks. She knows how she felt, exceedingly happy, dangerously close to in love and a little intoxicated, but also exhausted. Even though everything felt perfect and all she could ever want, in the back of her mind she was thinking about going home and collapsing into bed. Her skin crawls as she knows why she felt like that. The girl in the photo with the sparkling eyes and beaming smile has cancer. Her body was-is- falling apart bit by bit and she was none the wiser, enjoying summer sunshine and thinking about nothing other than how much she adores her girlfriend. How would she react if she knew that in a few short days, her life would be ruined?

She curses as she wipes away a tear. Hasn’t she cried enough for today?

She opens up a search engine, fear building in her chest, the hair on her arms standing up despite the warm air. She sits and watches the blinking cursor, the only sound in the room being the soft whirring of the laptop and her heavy, deep breathing. She doesn’t want to know, not at all. Knowing will only make it worse. She should just turn this thing off and toss it away before she does something she regrets. That’s what reason says.

She doesn’t listen to reason. Instead she listens to the one part of her brain that won’t shut up.

She types effects of cancer on relationships into the searchbar and closes her eyes tightly. If she can’t see the results, they don’t exist, right?

A high school senior using middle school logic. What’s become of her?

She clinks on the first link, squirming at the images that load in pieces on her screen. Hands clasped over a wooden table, two people looking into each other’s eyes with sincerity and sadness on their features. She’s never been good with emotions like that. Which is why she pushes them away, she supposes. Even the idea of sitting down carefully and Having A Conversation in hushed voices about such delicate, difficult subjects makes her want to vomit. Today was hard enough. Her parents are just lucky she loves them too much to do that.

She scrolls past sections about family and friends until the word ‘partner’ catches her eye and she stops. According to the article “cancer can be a difficult thing for couples to face” (yeah no shit). Little Miss Psychology who wrote the thing goes on to explain that “this can manifest in changing roles in the relationship” which again, no shit. The more she reads the article, the more she feels her time being wasted. There’s nothing she couldn’t already guess and most of it is for married couples with kids. Who’s going to take the kids to school, who’s going to pay the bills, who’s going to make dinner? Nothing that concerns her, nor should it for a long time.

She reads that cancer has a negative effect on their sex lives, and actually laughs. Sex was the last thing on her mind.

Then, near the bottom, it shifts from the practical to the emotional. Miss Psych explains that cancer can often cause “an inability to do leisure activities” and while that should have been obvious to Janis, it screws with her more than a little. Sure, she and Cady have quiet time in one of their rooms, but it’s always balanced by doing something else, trips to the mall or the movies, or going down to the zoo to see Cady’s beloved lions or the museum so Cady can watch Janis get lost in the art world. It’s the being with each other that makes it special, but going out like this keeps everything interesting for both of them. What do they become when that disappears?

With a shuddering breath, she pushes on, reading about how miscommunication can happen in relationships when this happens. Cady trying to keep positive could become dismissals in Janis’ eyes, or Janis keeping a mask up for Cady only leading to them stopping talking. And miscommunication is always the first step, according to Damian. Out of his three relationships two ended because they stopped communication.

And finally, “cancer can be a destabilising force for most relationships”. It’s one of the first things she sees and it’s the last thing she needs to see. There’s a lot she loves about her life now, or at least her life post-Spring Fling, and one of those is how solid it is. Steady friendships, or semi-steady in some cases, and a comfortable romance with Cady. For the first time in a long, long while she was happy without even trying to be.

She closes her eyes and turns onto her side, pressing her hand to her stomach. What must it look like in there now? According to the doctor, her body is producing more white blood cells and they can’t function and then something about her organs. While she should know better, the image of her blood turning white attacks her mind, something like white paint spreading through her veins and attacking her organs, turning them pale and hard and frozen. Maybe once it was done with her body it would bleed through her skin and show on the surface. Her body could become a statue from the inside out. Maybe if she stabbed herself right now, she’d bleed cold and white instead of red.

She shoots up, shaking the image from her head. Her heart is unsettled in her chest but she takes comfort in it, wild and erratic and alive. She pushes all thoughts of what’s happening to her out of her head, trying to replace them with anything else.

Unfortunately for her, the only anything else she can think of is Cady. Her only two options are her debilitating body or her debilitating love life.

Well, it’s not debilitating. Not really. Not yet anyway. Well, except for the fact that she hasn’t texted Cady back in two days. She’s not left her on read, but she’s no doubt left her worried. She’s always worrying, her Cady. Worrying that there’s enough food for everyone or that everyone at her place is having a good time or that her two friend groups will get along.

What will this do to her?

She opens her laptop again, fully aware of how destructive she’s being. But her mind won’t rest and checking the internet is just as good a plan as any. The article is still there when she opens it, the white light making her head hurt.  Her stomach hurts more and more as she looks through the web and she’s sure it’s not because of the illness or the hastily-made mug cake.

“Cancer can be incredibly straining on the patient’s relationships,” the article tells her. “Often the patient will find it difficult to be a supportive and loving partner with the toll the illness takes on them.”

That’s the part that really sends her flying. The phone falls from her weak hands as anxiety takes over her body, making her hands shake and her chest tighten. She pushes the laptop away and pulls her legs close to her chest, pressing her forehead into her knees as she counts her breath, in for eight and out for eight.

Dumb as it sounds, she likes being someone’s girlfriend. She likes making people, particularly people she cares about, feel happy and warm and loved. It makes her feel worth something. Despite the front she presents to the world, she cares. She cares for fuck’s sake.

Cady deserves a girlfriend who supports her. One who is devoted to her and makes her life easier. Cady went through a lot last year, she wasn’t innocent in it at all, but she went through a lot. So many times she’s told Janis she’s excited to go back to school this year and just be normal. To study with her and walk to school with her and be her prom date.

‘Last year was like a shark tank,’ she had explained to her as they sat in the park, her head in Janis’ lap. ‘Next year I just want to float.’

The sharks might be gone, but Janis is bringing a whole tsunami.

It isn’t fair. None of it is, her parents have told her as much, but now it’s really not fair. Not to her and not to Cady. After a less than great first year, she deserves a better chance at real school life. She should have a girlfriend escorting her to prom, an old fashioned date-on-your-arm type of affair. They should dance under a glitter ball together while Janis whispers words of affection into her ears.

And then there’s the school side of school. Cady has so many college plans, big and lofty ones that require months and months of work. What will Janis be then? A distraction? Or worse, a burden. She’d never dream of demanding anything from her, but what if she can’t help it? Or if she doesn’t need to because Cady focuses on her anyway? What if she’s the reason Cady doesn’t make it? Her job as Cady’s girlfriend is to be her support system, her rock. If she can’t do that then what’s the point in them being together? Why should she have a girlfriend if she can’t give her everything every day?

It’s only when she finds her toy kitten twisted and wrung in her hands that she realises she’s spiralling.

“Breathe,” she whispers to herself. “Come on, breathe.”

Her mind clears as her heart slows down. Her worries don’t go away, but she can see them more precisely than before. She leans her head back against the wall, letting the air rush out of her. There is a solution to her problem, but it’s not one she likes. She guesses what she wants went out the window when her blood started acting like a dick.

After all, the best way not to hurt Cady with this is to just not be her girlfriend, right?

“You’re a moron,” she sighs, shaking her head. She stretches her arms and starts tugging on her pyjamas, tiredness taking over and dragging her eyelids down. She shuts off her laptop, avoiding even a glimpse at the article, and shoves it under her bed. In the quiet of her dark room, she can hear her parents murmuring downstairs and wonders, probably with good reason, if they’re talking about her. They talk about her a lot more than they used to. Years ago, Janis lay in this same bed listening to the same thing; anxious, inaudible conversations about her between people who thought she was asleep. Only thing is now, it hurts more. Guilt only gets worse with age. She drifts off slowly, her stuffed cat pressed into her chest, one thought coming together in her hazy mind.

She’s already hurt the three most important people with this. Can she really hurt Cady too?

                                                                                               *****

Her room is still dark when she jolts awake. Her eyes sting and she blinks heavily out of tiredness as well as getting used to the darkness. She knows why she’s awake before she even looks down or can feel anything. There’s only one reason she’d have woken up this early.

She switches on the light and finds her legs covered in sweat, small dark splotches on the sheets. Her top clings to her stomach and her hair to her neck, a feeling that’s uncomfortably and frustratingly familiar.

Her clock reads 4:30am. Groaning, she kicks her covers off and stumbles to the bathroom, rubbing at her bleary eyes.

Avoiding her reflection, she holds a cold cloth against her skin, her damp shirt handing over the edge of the bathtub. She can’t help asking herself, what if she had noticed this before? What if she had brought it up to her parents? She had just shrugged it off as nothing before. If she hadn’t, would they have caught it in time? Maybe this would be over sooner, maybe it would have been over already. If she had just paid more attention, she might be happy now.

She makes eye contact with her reflection, and the words ‘stupid girl’ ghost across her mind like the other her had whispered them.

“New level of self-deprecation,” she mutters, running the cloth under the cold faucet. “Blame yourself for… this.”

She settles herself in the bathtub and presses the cloth into her stomach and another to her neck, debating with herself if she should go get some ice from the kitchen. Ever the drama queen. She rubs at her heavy eyes, thankful that she has no plans for tomorrow. All her plans are cancelled for the foreseeable future, but at least there’s the silver lining of letting her sleep for longer. Karen must be rubbing off on her if she’s looking for the good parts now.

She’s almost nodding off in the bathroom, until the door open and her dad calls her name, shocking her awake and nearly giving her a heart attack on top of everything else.

“Dad!” she whispers sharply, stumbling out of the bathroom. Her dad’s eyebrows are shot up his forehead, his mouth hanging open a little as he looks at her with more alertness than she reckons he had a minute ago. He looks from the cloth in her hand to her damp shirt, confusion etched onto his features. “Dad I was just… I started sweating. I just needed to sponge off.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you… do you need any-”

“It’s fine.” She drops the cloth in the sink and moves to brush past him. “It’s fine, I’m okay.”

“Woah, woah, Janis,” he says, his fingers curling around her arm and his other hand on her chest. She stops where she is, avoiding his eyes. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“No,” she answers with a shake of her head. “No I’m okay. I just need to go back to bed.” Her dad nods and brushes her sticky hair away from her face.

“How long as this been going on?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “A few weeks, I think. It’s not every night. I think it’s a side effect of the… of you know…”

“Ah,” is all he says. There’s an air of discomfort neither of them can brush off.

“I’m fine, really,” she says, pulling his hand off her as gently as she can. She dares look up at his face for a minute, the two of them feigning composure of the other. “I’m done. You can use it.”

“Do you need anything?” he asks again. “New clothes, some water?”

She shakes her head, even though her throat is painfully dry.

“I can get new PJs in my room,” she tells him instead. “Good night, Dad.”

“Bonne nuit, petite fille,” he whispers in his native French. Although it’s short-lived, she manages a smile.

Back in her room, she pulls off her shorts and tosses them away. She may well run out of pyjama shorts thanks to this. After a second’s thought, she tosses her t-shirt away too and pulls on another one that’s a little too big for her. As she slides into her bed, she wishes her dad hadn’t mentioned water. Even though her throat cracks and she holds back dry coughs, she won’t ask for more than she has.

When she’s half asleep though, her door slowly opens, and when she wakes more minutes later, there’s a full glass on her night stand. It makes her smile, and it lasts longer this time around.

                                                                                               *****

Hours later, she wakes stiff and sore and nowhere near as refreshed as she should be waking this close to noon.  As she curls into a ball and presses her face into the pillow, a wave of self-pity crashes into her chest and fills her lungs. Self-pity is probably her least favourite feeling out of all of them. Anger is an old friend and can be righteous and satisfying. She resists sadness more, but at least that can be reflective and healing. What does self-pity do for her? Doesn’t give her an outlet, doesn’t change anything. She just sits there and wallows in it, hating it more and more with each second until the anger wins out and she throws the covers off.

She leaves her phone switched off for as long as she can. She shuns technology entirely except for the TV, looking at the screen blankly with Maxie in her lap. Even her dog seems to know something’s wrong, either with her body or her mind. He presses his head into her stomach and looks up at her, eyes bright and wide and heart-meltingly cute, all the while whimpering quietly, his little paws tickling her stomach. Janis kisses his nose and it makes her feel a little better.

She goes up to her room and starts getting dressed, not wanting to spend the rest of her day in pyjamas. She’ll probably be doing that a lot a few weeks down the line. Possibly a few days down the line, she realises. Her shirt in her hands, she looks over at the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow is circled in red glitter pen and a little skull drawn in the box, ‘senior year’ written in black glitter pen above it. She wrote that weeks ago, end of July or beginning of August, back when it mattered.

The school knows now. Her parents called them up and told her the day after they found out. Janis, against her better judgement, sat against the bannister upstairs and listened in on it. There wasn’t a whole lot to listen to on her end; just a lot of ‘thank you’s and reiterations of what they’d been told in the hospital. What she would have given to have been a fly on the wall on the school’s end though. To hear every word about how sorry they were and the endless support they were offering to Janis and judge how much they meant it. North Shore’s not a bad place, especially since the end of Spring Fling. There are worse schools. But that doesn’t mean she trusts it. Trust is easy to eradicate and hard to win back.

Regardless, they’ll tell everyone tomorrow. They have to. It might be in a special assembly, or during morning announcements. Maybe they’ll take her friends out of class one by one and break the news to them gently. Or just assume they already know. They’d be a quarter right in that case.

Her phone is still dead on her nightstand. She picks it up the way you’d pick up a live grenade and holds it gingerly in both of her hands. Her reflection stretches before her in the screen like a funhouse mirror. She’s not felt quite so afraid of her phone since she was 12, but now she’s not scared of what people would say to her. The opposite really.

She turns it on after an eternity and places it on the floor until it stops buzzing. One message from Damian, asking how she’s feeling and if she wants to hand out, followed by a yellow heart. Three from Cady, one good morning text, one photo of her hamsters and one asking if she’s okay. It’s harsher than anything she’s seen from her before and the worst part is she has a feeling that’s only the beginning. It’s still polite and careful, asking Janis to talk to her “whenever she’s ready”.

That may take a while, Cady.

Her chin rests on her knees, her nails digging into the sides of her legs and her jaw tightly clenched. Her breaths are long and shallow. She’s not exactly a stranger to difficult conversations. Between coming out and telling them about Regina and telling her parents she wants to major in art, she could make a walk of fame of them if she really wanted to. But none were like this. They could all end in good things and they all did. Nothing good could come of this, not for her and certainly not for Cady.

She dials the number slowly, despite having never dialled a number in her life. Like if she takes longer, she’ll get a better idea. Or this will all end if she waits long enough.

Shouldn’t she know better now, she thinks as she presses call.

“Hi!” Cady picks up on the second ring, sounding out of breath, like she’d ran to pick it up. She can almost picture her just from the sound of her voice; brown eyes wide, maybe twirling the ends of her hair. Or sitting on her bed, her hand buried in a pillow and feet anxiously tapping the floor.  She hates herself and this isn’t even the worst part. “Um, hey, how are you?”

There’s a tiny spark of warmth in Janis’ chest, in amongst all the fear. She’s missed her voice so much.

“Um, yeah,” she replies, aware she’s not actually answering her. “No I’m-I’m good.” As her mouth runs dry, she starts worrying if she is even able to talk right now. Near silence stretches between them, broken only by Cady shifting on the other line and her parents talking below her. As she tries to find something, the idea of just hanging up and throwing out her phone crosses her mind and she can’t quite dismiss it.

“Did you go to your hospital appointment?” she asks, a calm tone taking over her voice. “How was it?”

“Oh,” is all she can muster up. “It was…” Horrible. The worst day of my life. Ruined my life. I wish it had never happened. I haven’t been happy since. “Fine, I guess.”

“So you found out what was wrong?” she asks. The question forms a rope, tightening around her neck.

“Yeah. It’s not important.” Just slightly life-altering. She lets go of her wrist, shaking out of her cold hand. She flexes her fingers, words coming out of her mouth thoughtlessly. “I need-I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Should I… should I be worried?”

Yes.

“I don’t know,” she replies. She pushes herself to her feet, legs shaking, and pulls her sweater around herself.  She bites hard on the inside of her cheek. Her main priority out of this is Cady not hearing her cry. “Caddy…”

She closes her eyes and mouths a silent apology before continuing.

“Caddy, I think we need to take a break.”

Cady stammers on her end, nonsensical, meaningless sounds that do nothing but fill empty space. Janis bites into her fist as tears begin running down her face. It builds up in her chest instead and it aches. Is this heartbreak? Is this what they mean when they say it? She’d always taken it metaphorically. Turns out it’s literal.

“Take a break?” Cady echoes. “Janis I don’t-what do you mean take a break.”

“I mean-” She takes a deep breath, hoping that the sniffle sounds like allergies. “I mean, we’re going into our senior year, Cady. That’s a lot. You’re looking at math college, I’ve got a lot to do for art school, I think it’s best if we-if we just pause it.”

She can’t hold it back. She puts the phone on the bed, the covers blocking any sound and presses her face into a pillow, letting herself cry into the fabric. It’s not much, just enough to let herself breath again. It doesn’t stop hurting or even hurt any less, but she can speak again.

“Janis? Janis are you still there?” Cady asks, muffled by her covers. “Janis?” She picks it up and throws herself off the bed, walking in a continuous circle.

“Yeah I’m here,” she says, her throat raw. “Sorry Maxie was being a dick.” She crosses her fingers behind her back.

“Janis I just want-I just want to understand,” she says. Her own voice shakes a little and it’s a knife against her ear. She’s probably pacing the room, a frown on her lovely face. Janis slaps herself on the cheek like she can slap the image out of her mind. “Janis we can make this work. Loads of people date in senior year-hell, Karen and Gretchen are. Aaron was a senior year-”

“You’re going to use Regina and Aaron as an example of couple goals?” she snorts, an unkind edge in her voice that tastes vile on her tongue. Hurting Cady is more painful than the cancer will ever be, yet a part of her wonders that if she’s a bitch now, this will end faster.

Thankfully, she still has some integrity.

“That’s different,” Cady huffs. “That’s Regina. You and me… we’re you and me.” There’s a long sigh on the other end and Janis can imagine her rubbing her forehead like when she’s debating a math problem. “Janis lots of couples date in senior year. Rachel Hamilton was still with her girlfriend last year. They’re still together now. And I know-I know you’re worried about stuff, I’m worried about stuff, but if we stay together at least we can-”

“Cady!” She jumps at her own voice. She’s never heard herself as sharp as she was just there. Her voice echoes around her and cuts her skin. She lowers herself onto the bed again, her limbs weak. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cady assures her. She doesn’t deserve this level of gentle. Not from her. “It’s okay let’s just talk this out. Maybe we could get Damian-”

“No.”

“You’re right. Bad idea,” she says lightly. “Look Janis, we’re all stressed about senior year. But we don’t need to jump to anything yet, right? We can just take it easy and if it gets too much-”

“It’s already too much,” she replies. She’s not lying. Cady just doesn’t know. “Cady I’m sorry but it’s already too much. I can’t deal with a relationship now. It’s- it’s not you.” Her nails dig into her palm. “There’s just too much happening in my life for a girlfriend now. I mean, I didn’t think it would last as long as it did.”

“You didn’t?” And if pain were a sound, it would be Cady’s voice. Breathless and cracking, the two words shaking. If she had punched her right in the face it would have hurt less than what she just said.

Congratulations, Janis. You just did exactly what you wanted to avoid.

“Not like that,” she whispers pathetically. “Just… I think it’s best for both of us if we end it here.”

“Okay.” There’s a finality in that one word, a line drawn under everything they had these past months. Nothing could have prepared Janis for this. “Okay fine. If that’s what you want, then fine. We can end it here. I’ll see you tomorrow then, maybe.”

“Thank you.”

She’s not sure if Cady heard the end of that. The dial tone rings in her ear, loud and unending. She keeps it there because in a weird way it’s like keeping Cady there.

She got what she wanted, didn’t she? After all, why should she be Cady’s girlfriend right now when she can’t be what she needs? This is all for the best, isn’t it? Now Cady can focus on school with minimal distraction and Janis can go through this without dragging more people down with her.

“Fuck that,” she says in a low voice. Her chest rumbles as her breathes suddenly get quicker, her fingers curling inside and out. Fuck that. It’s not what she wanted, not at all. She wanted a senior year with Cady. For her to slap Janis away as she tries to distract her from homework. To greet her with hugs in the mornings and hold hands with her in the afternoon. Her visions fall apart in front of her and roll away, stopping her from building even a daydream to keep her going. Her nails scratch at her scalp as she pulls on her hair, a dull throbbing rising in time with the dial tone’s steady beeping. As she bites down on her cheek, she doesn’t know if she’s imagining the metallic taste in her mouth, if it’s blood or just her own cocktail of anger and shame and grief.

It keeps building inside her, rising like a tidal wave and filling her lungs, her mouth, her ears. Much like the hard conversations, these feelings aren’t new to her, rage and anxiety are long-time companions. Lately she’s started turning to the people around her when she’s feeling like this, heaving learnt the value of a support system, but her parents are busy enough and she can’t face Damian with this and drive a wedge between him and Cady who is incidentally the person she wants to talk to the most but she doesn’t have Cady anymore because she just broke up with her and Cady doesn’t even know why, and all Janis has is that stupid ringing dial tone-

“Oh shut up!” she yells, chucking her phone across the room. It bounces against the wall with an audible ‘thump’ and falls to the floor. At least the ringing stops. She her head hits the mattress, bouncing a little before going still. The ringing from the phone has entered her head instead and has seemingly no intention of leaving no matter how tightly she closes her eyes or how hard she covers her ears. Her nails leave indents on her skin and her fingers tangle in her unbrushed hair.

“Janis?” She doesn’t even hear her door opening above the noise in her head. Her mom hesitates as she enters, unease evident in her hunched shoulders and flitting eyes. “Janis I heard you yelling-”

“I’m fine.” The words are dull and heavy and hold no semblance of truth. She forces herself to look over at her mom. At least her eyes are dry. “I just talked to Cady.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighs sympathetically. The bed sags as she sits down, her hand covering Janis’. “I’m sorry hon. I know that can’t have been easy.” She just nods, a heavy weight pressing into her chest. She doesn’t cry and wonders if she’s used up all her tears in the past two days. Her mom’s hand moves in a small, gentle motion on her shirt; it’s comforting to her and it soothes her frantic mind. So why doesn’t she like it?

“Mom,” she begins. “No offence but I… I just want to be alone.” She can’t miss the sadness in her mom’s eyes no matter how hard she tries. The hand grows slower and lifts from her back. “I’m sorry, just-”

“It’s okay, Jan,” she says, pushing herself up. She stands over her, the picture of the doting mother. “We’re just downstairs if you need anything.”

“Mom.” Janis manages to push herself up by a mere fraction. Her mom halts right where she is, turning around so quickly she should be accompanied by a whooshing sound effect. She also can’t miss how bright her eyes are, ready to attend to whatever Janis needs. “Um… can you pass me my phone?  It’s… it’s on the floor there.”

The request is so tiny and not at all suited to her mom’s hyper-focus. Not to mention how weak and pathetic her voice sounds. It doesn’t belong to her body, her towering frame that even cancer can’t take away from her. Her mom nods, smile on face, and hands it over to her.

“I… I threw it across the room,” she admits, gesturing with her chin. “At the wall.”

“That’s okay,” her mom says. Something about the careful tone doesn’t sit right with Janis, but she’s too drained to care. “If it’s broken we can just get you a new one, okay?” Her hair moves against the fabric of the covers as she nods. “See you later, kid.”

When her mom leaves, the door stays open slightly, no doubt on purpose. She doesn’t have the energy to get up and close it.

Tomorrow should have been the first day of her senior year. Instead it’s the first day for everyone but her. They’ll all be preparing for the unknown, but while her friends prepare for SATs and college choices, she’ll be preparing for IVs and blood tests. They won’t want to get out of their beds, and she’ll be confined to hers.

Janis rolls onto her side, her phone laying dark beside her. No new messages, not from Cady or Damian. The former probably doesn’t have anything to say to her and the latter doesn’t know what. He’s been giving her a lot of space since she told him. She runs her finger across the cold glass, gliding smoothly across until it finds something that shouldn’t be there. A ridge that runs against her fingertip. She’s almost certain what this means, and last week she would have been freaking out and throwing curse words around. Now she just sighs and turns on her phone to assess the damage.

Her lockscreen is, of course, a photo of her and Cady, taken by none other than Damian. The two wearing their pyjamas at a sleepover they had at Damian’s, a night of movie-musicals, Cady’s hair in a messy side braid and her head on Janis’ shoulder and Janis pressing a kiss to her head. An hour ago it was the perfect picture, and one of Janis’ favourites. Now there’s cracks running through the screen, small ones at the top poking through her hair and over her eyes, and a longer one that slices between her and Cady. They’re not too bad. Nowhere near bad enough to warrant a new phone. But they’re there and they’re all Janis can see.