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little-inkstone · 7 years

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Impish

Summery: After Gold’s heart is broken he wishes to just disappear, only to be told by a member of the fae that if he can’t bury a cursed dagger before sunrise his wish will come true.

AN: Happy Halloween everyone! This fic is very loosely based on an old myth called Teig O’Kane and the Corpse. I hope you all enjoy it!

Nothing could heal Ruskin Gold’s broken bitter heart, not the expensive whiskey clutched in his hand, nor the long walk he’d taken across the moor on the cold foggy night. In his drunken state he had thought it would be best to walk across the open fields. The roads were too muddy from the constant rain, and the cobbles of town were so slick he’d be more likely to end up under the hoof of a carriage horse instead of being allowed to sulk in peace. There was also the matter of privacy, most of those that lived in the small town he called home were his tenants or debtors and he their collector, it would be good for business for them to see the cruel Mr. Gold so deep in his cups.

Unable to take another step he somehow found himself lying on the ground, looking up at the sky. Twinkling stars winked at him between dark fluffy clouds, the damp from the ground slowly sinking into his fine wool coat. The amber liquid of his drink sloshed loudly as he lifted the bottle and toasted the sky. He mumbled something about seeing people for who they really where, and the tried to take a deep drink, only to end up splashing his face and missing his mouth entirely. Lying prone and trying to drink while drunk, in hindsight, was not the wisest action. He let out a bitter laugh at that thought. Gold hasn’t been acting very wise recently as it was, and it was all the fault of that damned Isobelle Avonlea and her smile.

“Belle.” He whispered to no one, the alcohol making him weepy as tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

He was a fool to ever think anyone could feel warmly towards him, of course it had been nothing but a ruse. She had seemed so honest and kind; and he’d fallen for it as surely as he’d fallen to the ground a moment ago.

When she and her father had moved to the small town he all but owned he had paid them little mind; Maurice Avonlea was a good tenant if a little prone to drinking and gambling a bit too much at the local pub. But he and his daughter ran their little flower stall and made enough to pay their loan and rent on time as well as afford the indulgence, so Gold hadn’t thought of them much. That was a lie, he’d been thinking about Isobelle from the moment he’d first seen her. She’d been holding a bouquet of fragrant flowers and selling each bloom for a half penny. One of the local children had been shy in approaching her, but she had bent down with a kind smile and offered the sweet blossom for free. Gold had scoffed at her foolishness. Flowers were her family’s livelihood; they wouldn’t last long if they gave them away for free.

Gold hadn’t had much time to dwell on that thought, for just as he was about to turn away she looked up and smiled at him. He froze in place, taken aback by the sweetness of the look. She had to be looking at someone else, but when he turned to look behind him there was no one else there. When he looked back at her she had covered her mouth to no doubt stifle a giggle at his clear bewilderment. With the same hand she gestured for him to come to her, and without his permission his feet had obeyed.

In the following months, Isobelle, Belle, had been a bright spark of light in the terrible and dark ocean of his life. It wasn’t just her beauty that drew him to her; he had seen many a pretty face in his years of life. No, it was more than that, she was kind and gentle and clever as well. She laughed at his darker quips and challenged him with her own. The soft silk of her skin and voice hid a will of steel and a core of passion. That passion had been his down fall, how could anyone as perfect as Belle ever truly want him? That thought had been his constant companion while he courted her, but she had seemed more then receptive to his presence. So he had continued until the voice of doubt and fear had been nothing but a whisper. He was a fool.

Belle didn’t love him, she never had. That morning he’d planned to propose to her, but the words had never left his lips. Instead when he had found her she had taken his hand and lead him away from the village. She’d kissed him and ran her hands through his hair, asking him to do to her what only those that were married should experience. Damn fool that he was, he had eagerly agreed, hadn’t he gone to find her to ask for her hand in marriage? What was the harm in an indulgence?

The harm was that it had been nothing but a trick to get him to marry her. Maurice had come across them just as he was pushing up her skirt and she undid his britches. Instead the anger bellows of a father that had caught a man taking advantage of his only daughter he had laughed cruelly and said the words that had both broken Gold’s heart and solidified his worst fears into reality.

“Good job, my girl, now the bastard has to marry you.”

She had tried to lie to him, to tell him that her father was drunk and being unkind, but he wouldn’t listen to her. Instead he had thrown the ring he’d planned to give her as an engagement present at her feet. He would have married her for love; if she hadn’t been so grasping and greedy he would have waited at the end of an aisle for her and pledged his soul to her along with his wealth. Now no such thing would happen. If she was so intent on his wealth she could have it, what use for gold and silver did have when it felt as if his heart had slowly and painfully been ripped from his chest.

Gold had left as she held her unlaced jerkin together and cried in front of the ring he’d flung at her. Blind rage had given away to bone deep sorrow and both had been muddled together once he’d began drinking. Hours later a walk had seemed like a good idea, so now he was lying in a field with a broken heart and a fine jacket soaked with both rain and whiskey.

The sound of footsteps broke the quiet night and for one irrational moment he betrayed himself and wished it was Belle, come to explain everything away and help him up. He let out a disgusted noise at his own patheticness and ignored the sounds. It didn’t matter who it was, it could a French battalion come to invade for all he cared; nothing would rouse him from this spot. The footsteps drew nearer and he closed his eyes, perhaps they wouldn’t see him. He wished no one could see him, if he simple didn’t exist them he wouldn’t be in so much pain. The steps stopped beside him, and without really meaning to he opened one eye to see who it was by his side.

Instead of a man or woman or even a beast he found himself looking up at the sickening and twisted smile of an imp. His skin glittered like damp moss and mud found at the edges of sluggish streams, his teeth were as crooked and dirty as his hair was wild and tangled. The blood in Gold’s veins ran cold as he looked at the terrible creature in front of him. He couldn’t move; he was pinned down by the cold reptilian eyes that were looking at him with clear intrigue.

“Hello, Ruskin Gold.” It said nastily. “It seems you’re lucky to have met me.” Gold’s mouth moved but no sound left him. The creature let out a wicked giggle and tapped its fingers together. “Forgotten how to speak have you? Fine, then listen to me.”

“What…?” Gold tried, finally finding his voice. Dreaming, he must be dreaming.

“Ah, ah, ah, you had your chance Ruskin Gold, I’ll be talking now.” The imp said, barring his teeth. With a wave of his hand Gold felt himself begin to rise off the ground. Blood rushed to his head as he found himself upright and he tried to stay standing. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming, maybe he was just drunker then he thought. He didn’t have long to think on this, the imp was talking again and he felt it was important to listen. “I need you to do something for me, and if you succeed you will be richly rewarded, but if you fail you’ll disappear!” He giggled menacingly. “Seems you’ll get what you want either way.”

“I-I don’t want to disappear.” Gold said, a shiver of fear dripping down his spine like ice water.

“No? Then you best bury this,” The imp flourished his hand and held out his palm, a wavy dagger suddenly there. “Before dawn.”

Headless of the mess it would make of his hands Gold fell to the ground and began to paw at the dirt to make a hole that would fit the wicked weapon. He stopped when the horrible creature began to laugh.

“What? What am I doing wrong?” Gold begged, desperation making him tremble.

“This is no mere knife; it needs a special place to permanently rest.” His smile was more a sneer then a grin when he leaned down. “Do you know a place like that?”

Gold grabbed the dagger from the imps hand and jumped to his feet. He began to run as fast as his legs could carry him. He wasn’t running from the imp, he had heard the stories of the fae; he knew it would be pointless. Instead he wanted to wash his hands of it as soon as he could; there were several places he thought could be worthy of burying the blade, but the sun would be up in a matter of hours and those places might not be acceptable. His lungs burned as he ran, his feet slipping on the wet grass under his feet, but he didn’t stop until he reached the first place that had come to mind.

There was a light burning in the cemetery and Gold stopped up short when he entered the yard only to find the imp sharing a drink with a skeleton as they sat in front of a fire. Drunk and dreaming, that could be the only explanation. His shoulders began to relax as he caught his breath, he didn’t need to hurry if he were soon to wake up. The imp looked at him with his nasty smile once more and Gold decided that he would hurry anyway. He moved to take a step into the graveyard but was stopped when the skeleton stood.

“We’re all full here.” It rasped. “You’ll have to find another spot.”

The next few spots he tried were the same. A band of ghosts had taken up residence under the large tree he thought would make a good resting place. When he tried to approach them they told him to move on, there was no room among the roots of the tree to hold another treasure. Ghouls and goblins were in the next places he tried and soon the sky was beginning to lighten with the rising sun. He’d run himself ragged. His hands were stained with dirt and he had nothing to show for it. Limping after twisting his ankle he made his way to Belle’s house, he didn’t care if it had been a lie, if he was going to disappear then he wanted to see her once last time.

Resting against her window seal he stabbed the source of his distress into the ground and looked through the window. Across the room from him was Belle’s bed, in the dark he couldn’t see her very well, but he knew she was as beautiful as always. Yet, he could just make out the moue of distress. Her face, instead of being at peace and smooth with sleep was marred by a wrinkled brow and down turn of her plush lips.

“Oh Belle.” He whispered. “Oh, Belle, I’m so sorry, I truly was a fool, but not for the reasons I thought.” His face grew wet with tears as he sobbed at the window of the woman he loved.

Dawn came and went with him there as he cried, but he paid no mind to it until he noticed Belle began to rouse from her sleep. He gasped as she stood and walked towards him. He looked over his shoulder to confirm the sun was up and then back at her; he was still here, he hadn’t disappeared. Joy bubbled up and he let out a laugh and stood to tell Belle he loved her. Only for that delight to disappear as she looked through him like he was nothing but air. He closed his eyes and looked away; he had no more tears left.

“Come,” The imp said from behind him. Gold looked at the outstretched hand. “It seems you’ve gotten your wish to disappear, so now it’s time I show you something important.”

“What more could be left?” Gold replied, feeling haggard.

“You’ll see.” The dark creature giggled.

There was nothing else left to for him to do, so with one last forlorn look at his beloved he followed the imp. They didn’t walk for long, instead once they had gotten to the main road they stopped and waited as the sun began to rise higher into the sky, but as it did Gold began to notice the way the world changed around him. Gone was the quaint little village he called home, and in its place was a dark and dingy parody. The cobble streets had fallen into disarray and all the shops had seen better days. Soon people began to walk along the road, all of them too thin and pale to be healthy. He recognized most of them, although their faces had aged and their hair had turned silver. Misery seemed to have settled into the very bones of those that lived there.

That was until a large man rode down the street. He was dressed in a fine red coat and his horse was clearly better fed than anyone else he had seen. The man oozed wealth but Gold had never seen him before. Turning to the imp he noticed the creature was smiling at him with narrowed eyes.

“Who is that?” Gold asked. “What happened to this place? It was thriving only yesterday.”

“Ah, but this isn’t yesterday, this is years and years into a future where you’ve disappeared. Dreary place, isn’t it?” He replied nastily.

“And that man? Why is he so much better off than everyone else?” Gold demanded. How could this have happened? All from just he being gone?

“That man is their landlord.” The imp replied. “After you disappeared there was no will and no heirs to be found, so your lawyer sold everything you owned and this man bought the towns debts.”

“That doesn’t explain why he is so well fed while everyone else starves.” Gold snapped.

“Doesn’t it?” His guide asked. “When you guard your coin like a dragon guard’s gold? Don’t you think that there are others that are as greedy as you?”

“I am always fair.” He defended. “I take only what can be afforded.”

“I wonder if the townspeople would agree.” The imp hummed.

Gold scoffed and turned away and back to the scene in front of him. The town had come more alive as he’d argued with the fairy creature. Merchants opened their stalls and others wheeled their carts into the street, one of which was Belle. His heart leapt up to his throat when he saw her. She was as beautiful as ever, but the years had taken their toll. His Belle was too thin to be healthy, her cheeks were sunken in and her skin was sallow with malnourishment. She had a streak of white in her hair that came with age but he couldn’t help but wish to reach out and play with it. Belle would always be beautiful no matter what, but seeing that she had suffered made him feel as if his chest has been ripped open. It didn’t matter that she’d only spent time with him because she wanted his money, if his wealth could have kept her healthy he would have given it all to her.

“Belle.” He whispered, trying to reach out to her as she made her wears ready for the day. “Belle I’m sorry.” But she couldn’t see or hear him.

“Ah, Isobelle.” A voice called from behind him. Gold turned to see the wealthy man in red dismount from his horse and swagger towards Belle.

“Hello, Mr. Gaston.” Belle replied with a weary nod. Gold couldn’t help but notice she didn’t smile at this man.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” The man, Gaston asked.

Gold closed his eyes. Of course Belle would have moved on to the new richest man in town. Hadn’t he had that spelt out to him very clearly just the day before? He knew Belle’s true character now, it didn’t matter how much he thought he knew her.

“You know my answer, Mr. Gaston.” Belle replied her lips thinning unhappily. “I’m waiting for someone to come back, so for the last time I will not now, or ever, marry you.” Gold looked at her in confusion, who could she be waiting for.

Gaston laughed as if she’d told him the funniest joke in the world. “That again? Gold isn’t coming back; he was swept away by the fae, or drowned himself in the river. You’ll be waiting forever for him to return.”

“Then I’ll wait forever.” Belle said, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Him? She was waiting for him? Gold fell to his knees before her, his hands passing through her skirts as if he were nothing but a ghost. He’d been wrong, he’d been so very wrong, and now he would never have the chance to make it right. Before he had thought he had no more tears, but that seemed to have been another mistake he’d made. Now he found himself openly weeping. He didn’t notice when the world around him changed again, or when the sun seemed to arc backwards across the sky, nor did he notice when he was no longer weeping in the streets but rather under the window he had been previously. All the world was lost to him until he felt a brush of something through his hair. He looked up in shock the most beautiful set of blue eyes staring at him.

“Ruskin?” She said her eyes widening in shock. His own eyes widened and he stood with a laugh reaching out and pulling her into his arms. “What happened to you?” Belle asked as he clung to her.

Pulling back he looked down at himself at her words; he really did look a fright. His coat was stained with mud and grass and his hair was wilder then the imps had been. No doubt his eyes were also red from his lack of sleep and too much whiskey, but he had never felt more grateful for the beginning of a hangover.

“A dream,” He replied. “It must have been a dream, but oh Belle! I thought I’d never see you again!” Gold reached out again and grabbed her hands through the window and she let out a surprised noise.

“I thought that was what you wanted, after how cruelly you spoke to me yesterday.” Belle removed her hands from his and crossed her arms, eyeing him wearily. “Or has your dream made you forget?”

“No, no Belle, I haven’t forgotten, I was a beast to you, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve those words. I was a fool and a coward; I thought no one could love me and now I’m afraid I’ve ruined the only good thing that’s happened to me.” He said the words spilling out in a flow of honesty he’d never experienced before.

“Ruskin, are you alright? You don’t seem yourself.” Belle asked worriedly, reaching through the window to press her hand to his forehead to check for a fever.

“Oh but I am.” He reassured her, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. “I see things for as they truly are, Belle.” Gold told her, taking a deep breath he feel to his knees. “Marry me Belle, not for any other reason that I love you, and I hope that you love me too.”

Gold watched as Belle climbed out of her window in her nightgown and kneeled in the mud beside him, staining the knees of her white cotton dress. She took his face in her hands and pulled him in, her lips capturing his in a deep searching kiss. When she pulled back she smiled at him in a way that would make angels weep from its beauty.

“Of course I love you,” She whispered. “I’ve loved you for so long!”

“Then will you marry me?” He begged.

“Yes, we have a lot to talk about, but yes, I’ll marry you.” Belle said, tears forming in her eyes.

Gold pulled her to him and kissed her again, neither of them hearing the soft mischievous giggle on the wind, as they did.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Impish #cue the queue #Halloween #Happy Halloween

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lenfaz · 7 years

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Time Upon Once, ch. 8 (8/?)

Summary: Killian Jones is a bailbonds man, living in Boston and doing his own thing. But on his 29th birthday, a kid knocks on his door and claims to be his son. What happens when Killian is forced to face his past along with a mystery prophecy about his own purpose in life?

Rating: M (eventually)

A huge thank you to @tnlph @businesscasualprincess and @blessed-but-distressed for beta duties and @shady-swan-jones for the banner!

Tagging a few people that showed interest in this story: @lk0622@nowforruin@sambethe@xemmaloveskillianx @l-e-x-a-xd @profoundlyfadedprincess @once-uponacaptain@icecubelotr44 @poetic-justice-96 @allietumbles @el-kelpo @jennjenn615 @leiandcharles (want to be tagged? let me know and I’ll do it)

on Tumblr: I II III IV V VI VII

ao3 ff.net

Chapter VIII

It had been two weeks. Two gruesome weeks of picking up the slack in the Sheriff’s Station of a town he had barely any familiarity with, of drinking himself almost to a stupor every night at The Rabbit Hole, and nursing hangovers in the mornings.

Two weeks of seeing Henry’s sad eyes and lack of a smile, the boy shutting him and everyone out. Of running into Regina and simply averting his eyes, determined not to play whatever game she was after.

Two weeks in which every day he contemplated how easy it would be to just pack his meager belongings and simply leave. Two weeks in which the only things that stopped him were Henry’s grieving stare and Mary Margaret’s heartbroken eyes.

Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair as he entered Gold’s shop. He couldn’t understand why the man had called him in the first place, and the hideous stench coming from whatever he was doing was making it almost impossible for Killian to think straight. What in the bloody hell was the man doing with lanolin and sheep wool in the twenty-first century?

But he soon sobered his wandering thoughts as Gold spoke.

“I just wanted to, uhm, express my condolences, really. The Sheriff was a good man.” He pointed to Killian’s belt where his badge was clipped. “You’re still wearing the Deputy’s badge. Well, he’s been gone two weeks now, and I believe that after two weeks of acting as Sheriff, the job becomes yours. You’ll have to wear the real badge.”

Graham was a good man. Far better than Killian would ever be, and no matter what a local ordinance would say, he’d never be able to properly fill those shoes. He knew he had to eventually. To take the badge that had been sitting over on the desk at the Sheriff’s office in the station and clip it to his belt. But he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.

“Aye, I guess. I’m just not in a hurry. If that is all that there was, I better head back to the station.”

“I have his things.” Gold walked over to a small carton box that was sitting on the counter. “The Sheriff rented an apartment that I own. Another reason for my call, really. I wanted to offer you a keepsake.”

As if he needed more keepsakes from people he’d cared about one way or another, only for them to be lost to him. He’d kept the baby blanket he was found by the side of the road. He’d held onto a few possessions from the Joneses, the ones he’d managed to grab before he was taken and screwed out of his inheritance by a crooked social worker and unscrupulous foster parents. He carried Brennan Jones’s old flask in his jacket pocket, close to his heart. He had hold on to Isobel’s engagement ring for years, dreaming of giving it to Emma when the time was right. Bloody hell, he still drove Emma’s car, a decade later.

“I don’t need anything.” He took a few steps back, as if the physical distance would make the pain lessen.

“As you wish. Well, give them to Mayor Mills. Seems like she was the closest thing he had to family.”

“You’re free to do it, Mr. Gold, but I am not sure it’s the best idea.” Regina and Graham hadn’t ended on good terms and while they had been something, Killian somehow knew Graham wouldn’t want his things to reach the Mayor.

“Look, I feel that all of this stuff is headed for the trash bin – you really should take something. Look – his jacket.”

The thought alone made Killian nauseous. “Brown doesn’t suit me.”

“Well, here. Your boy might like these, don’t you think? You could play together.” He held up a pair of walkie talkies, a hopeful expression of his face. Killian wondered - perhaps for the umpteenth time since he’d arrived into town - what Gold was scheming behind his polite facade. Because he didn’t buy for one second there wasn’t something in this for him in the long run.

“I don’t-”

“No, please. They… They grow up so fast.” He handed Killian the walkie talkies and he took them, eager to leave the place once and for all. “You enjoy these with your boy. Your time together is precious, you know? That’s the thing about children – before you know it, you lose them.” Well, that was cheerful. Killian thought as he tilted his head in a quick goodbye and left the shop, feeling more troubled than when he’d entered. He felt the need to find Henry and check on the lad, to see if his belief and optimism could bring him out of the funk he was in. Although Henry hadn’t been the same lately, Killian figured it was worth a shot.

/-/

Killian found Henry at his castle, the image of the boy sitting there so much like that first day he’d spent in town. He held the two walkie talkies tightly in one of his hands as he climbed the structure and sat next to him.

“I brought you something.” Henry didn’t look at him, his eyes lost in the view in front of him. “Perhaps we can use them for Operation Cobra?” Killian hated the way he sounded, so falsely cheerful, as if life could go on as if nothing had happened, as if tragedy hadn’t just struck Henry - and him - again.

“Thanks.” Henry’s voice sounded small and lost, and Killian’s heart broke in two.

“You’ve been ducking me for weeks, lad. Care to tell me why?”

“I think we should stop Cobra stuff for a while. You don’t play with the curse. Look what happened to Graham.”

“Henry,” Killian started, his hand aching to reach over for his son’s. “They did an autopsy. He died of natural causes.” Gods knew he wanted something to be found, anything that wouldn’t reduce Graham’s death to a triviality that couldn’t have been avoided. He wanted a secret, an almost imperceptibly poison. Heck, he would have taken the idea of an Evil Queen crushing his heart if that meant there was something that could explain it, if there was someone to blame for losing a decent man in such a futile way. But as much as Henry wanted to believe, life wasn’t a fairytale and there wasn’t a big bad villain responsible for the evils in the world.

Sometimes life sucked. Plain and simple.

“Whatever.” Henry shrugged and turned to face him. “You don’t believe – good. That should keep you from messing with it. And getting killed.”

His eyes bore into Killian’s with such fear that it almost made him lean back. Henry was scared of losing him to this fantasy. Or maybe he was just scared of losing him.

“You’re worried about me, lad?” he asked softly, trying to convey hope and understanding in his voice, even if he was a little short on hope these days - or in his life in general.

“She killed Graham because he was good – and you’re good.”

“Henry.” Killian wasn’t sure what was more troubling: Henry’s fear for him, or the fact he considered his mother capable of murder.

“Good loses – good always loses.” He sounded discouraged, disheartened, his little shoulders sagging as he averted his gaze to the horizon. “Because good has to play fair – evil doesn’t. She’s evil. This is probably best.” He thrust the walkie talkie back into Killian’s hand. “I don’t want to upset her anymore.” He grabbed his backpack from his side, stood up and left. Killian sat there for a while, letting the soft breeze mess with his hair, trying to avoid the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never meant to be like this.

He gave Henry away so the lad could have a better chance than he did, so he could be raised and loved in a family. And today, only a few years older than Killian had been when it happened to him, his son was mourning the loss of the closest thing he had to a father.

/-/

Killian drove back to the station, placing a steaming cup of coffee from Granny’s next to the station keys on his desk. He picked the sheriff’s badge, the one that had been staring back at him for the past two weeks. Killian supposed that it made sense that he took on the job now, although there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he’d never be able to fill those shoes.

His hand curled around the badge and he reached to open the clasp with his fingers.

“That’s not for you.” He turned around to find Regina standing by the entrance, smirking knowingly at him.

“It’s been two weeks – promotion’s automatic.” He cleared his throat, working very hard to sound secure and yet knowing he was coming short of that.

“Unless the Mayor appoints someone else within the time period, which I’m doing today.” There was the distinct sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she walked towards him, her hands buried on the pockets of her gray coat.

Killian clenched his jaw and tilted his head to the side. “Who is it?”

“After due reflection – Sidney Glass.”

“From the newspaper? What experience does he have?” He knew the words were a mistake the moment they left his mouth, Regina’s mouth curving into a tight smile.

“He’s covered the Sheriff’s Office for as long as anyone can remember.” She gave Killian a once over. “Besides, what makes you think you are qualified?”

“I’ve worked in a branch associated with law enforcement for the past decade.” He shifted his stance, standing a straighter. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Graham was a good man, Mr. Jones. He made this town safe, and forgive me for saying it, but you have not earned the right to wear his badge.”

He knew that. Killian knew that he had no right to wear Graham’s badge or to even think of claiming the place the other man had held in the town. But Sidney Glass was not the answer. Killian was aware of what it meant for the station in the long run.

“Aye. I am aware that you’re grieving, Madam Mayor and I am sorry for your loss.” He watched as her mask fell and for a second she seemed small and lost, but she quickly recovered. “But Graham picked me to be Deputy, he wanted me to take over if something happened,” Killian said, trying very hard not to engage in a fight with Regina, but not willing to give up just yet.

“And he was wrong.” Regina took the badge from his hand. “You’re fired, Mr. Jones.”

/-/

Killian knew he wasn’t making the best impression as Mary Margaret walked into the loft to find punk music blasting from the stereo, a half empty glass of rum on the sideboard and him perched on a stool, his hands on the toaster as he was finishing with it.

“I fixed the toaster,” he provided by way of greeting and he could feel more than see Mary Margaret’s quirked eyebrow.

“I didn’t even know it was broken,” she supplied politely, as she crossed the room and turned off the music.

“It was making a sound.” Killian tilted his head apologetically.

Mary Margaret dropped her bags on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I needed to get my hands on something,” He sighed as he put the toaster back in place. “Regina fired me. She’s putting someone she can control as Sheriff.” Killian ran a hand through his hair. “That’s my job.”

Mary Margaret’s mouth twisted in a surprised expression and she moved to take the groceries out of the bag. “I’ve never heard you so passionate about it before, Killian.”

“I know,” he admitted, letting her have a little peak of the things he kept behind his mask. “I know I wasn’t that interested to begin with, but I want it back.”

Mary Margaret worried her lip with her teeth. “There must be a reason.”

Gods, the way she could read him was scary. It should be scary, but Killian felt one more time that need to simply tell her the truth, to let her see him for who he was and make her own choices. It was funny how long it had taken for real friendship to find a way in his life. “There’s always a reason.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Killian stopped fidgeting with the toaster and went to answer. He frowned at the sight of Mr. Gold standing in front of him.

“Good evening, Mr. Jones. Sorry for the intrusion.” Gold balanced back and forth on his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Killian noticed the massive binder Gold had under his arm and he turned to give Mary Margaret a confused look.

“I’ll let you two talk,” she said after a beat, climbing the stairs towards the upper floor and Killian’s room. He wasn’t sure he was relieved she wouldn’t be subjected to whatever Gold wanted, or troubled that he had to face the man by himself after the day he’d had.

“Come in.” Killian moved to the side and motioned Gold to come into the apartment, closing the door after the man.

“I heard what happened. Such an injustice,” Gold offered, still holding the binder under his arm as he moved near the table.

“What’s done is done, is what me mum used to say.” Killian gave him the fakest smile he could plaster on his face.

“A true fighter, I see.” He didn’t miss the hint of contempt in Gold’s voice. It was so easy for men like him to belittle others.

“She’s the Mayor, Gold, and I’m... well, I’m no one.” Killian shrugged. He’d decided long time ago that he didn’t give a damn what others thought of him - Liam had taught him that at an early age - especially not men that liked to play puppeteer with the lives of innocent bystanders in order to get their own way.

“Mr. Jones, two people with a common goal can accomplish many things. Two people with a common enemy can accomplish even more. How would you like a benefactor?”

Bullseye. He knew Gold had a hidden agenda. He had to, men like him never did anything out of the goodness of their hearts. Men like him didn't have goodness in their hearts. But Killian was willing to see how this was going to play out, especially if he could stay one step ahead of the game.

“Benefactor?”

“You mind?” Gold gestured at the table and Killian briefly nodded, waiting for the man to place the binder over the table and take a sit before he sat as well. Gold opened the binder, shuffling through the pages. “You know, it really is quite shocking how few people study the town charter.”

“The town charter?” So far, Killian wasn’t impressed.

“Well, it’s quite comprehensive. And the Mayor’s authority? Well, maybe she’s not quite as powerful as she seems.”

Oh, see, that was interesting. /-/

He could lie and say he wasn’t one for dramatic entrances, but Killian had always enjoyed a little flair for dramatics - according to Emma, anyway. It had been a nice way to counterbalance the tedious parts of his job, the ability to saunter over to a skip and deliver the perfect punchline just as he slapped the cuffs on.

“Please welcome your new Sheriff!” Regina exclaimed with a proud smile on her face, her fingers just about to pin the Sheriff’s badge into Sidney’s chest. That was the moment when Killian went in.

“Now, hang on a second.” He had a smirk plastered on his face as he strolled into the Mayor’s office.

“Oh, Mr. Jones, this is not appropriate,” Regina said in a condescending tone, not giving up an inch on the smile on her face.

“The only thing not appropriate is this ceremony, Madam Mayor.” He tilted his head to the side, his footsteps secure as he stood in front of her. “You do not have the power to appoint him.”

There was a flicker of something dark passing behind her eyes before she collected herself. Regina Mills didn’t like to be challenged. “The town charter clearly states the Mayor shall appoint-”

“A candidate.” And she clearly didn’t like to be interrupted, but Killian Jones had always had problems with authority figures. He wasn’t going to start behaving now, not when there was so much at stake. “You have the authority to appoint a candidate. It calls for an election.”

“The term ‘candidate’ is applied loosely.” Regina waved her hand, trying to divert the conversation to her own ends. It might work with the town residents that didn’t seem too keen to oppose her vision, but he liked to think he’d battled people tougher than Regina Mills in his life.

“No, it’s not. It requires a vote,” he countered, as he saw that same darkness creeping back into her expression. “I’m running, Madam Mayor.”

“Fine,” she said dismissively, as if this was nothing but a nuisance and a waste of time. “So is Sidney.”

“I am?” The man spoke from the first time and if looks could inflict pain, he’d have been on the floor from the one he got from Regina. “I mean, I am,” he professed with a little more determination, and it only cemented Killian’s belief that he was only going to be Regina’s puppet if he was elected Sheriff.

“With my full support. I guess we’ll all learn a little something about the will of the people.” Regina smirked, as if she’d already won.

It was a long shot, but he had to try. If nothing else, for the peace of mind that he’d tried everything humanly possible to prevent it.

“I guess we will.”

/-/

Killian found Henry sitting at a booth in Granny’s and quickly made his way to him. He sat next to Henry, but the boy didn’t pay him much attention.

“How was school?”

“Okay,” Henry shrugged, his eyes focused on the newspaper he was holding in his hands. That caught Killian’s attention as he noticed the way the boy's shoulders were slumped in defeat.

“Anything interesting in the local news?” He asked nonchalantly, trying to get Henry to look at him.

“Sidney wrote it,” Henry said as he flipped the paper over and presented Killian with the upper part of the front page. The blood drained from his face and he felt dizzy at the sight of his most recent mugshot with the title “Jailbird. Killian Jones served time for theft, missed own son’s birth.”

“Is it a lie?” Henry asked looking eagerly at him.

Killian had vowed that he wouldn’t lie to his son. He deserved the truth and Killian just wished the lad had been a few years older when he learnt about it. He shook his head and sighed, giving his son a self-deprecating smile.

“You were in jail when I was born?”

“Aye,” he admitted in defeat. “Those records were supposed to be sealed.” Killian had worked hard to have them sealed, even if he’d served time at a regular prison and not juvie due to his recent 18th birthday, he’d been able to plead with the judge about the status of his case and the stigma that a sentence like his could have on his future. He wasn’t sure if it was his natural charm, or if he had simply inspired pity, but the judge had agreed to seal the records and Killian had moved on, working hard to build a life of his own.

“Did my birth mom know?”

“She must have, because that’s where I found out she was pregnant with you.” Killian said, drifting away to one of the most painful memories in his life.

He had been locked up for a little over five months when the brown manila envelope arrived, a stack of papers inside... and her letter. It was a short letter, attached to the adoption papers, in which Emma pleaded with him to give their unborn child the best chance they could. It was the first time she’d made contact since he’d landed in jail and he wondered - not for the first time - what lies Neal and August might have fed her that she hadn’t shown up to see him. While a part of him wanted to be mad at her, blame her for not believing in him instead of what she might have been told, Killian knew Emma better than she knew herself. He knew how skittish and hesitant to trust others she’d been her entire life, a by-product of the abuse and neglect she’d suffered at the hands of a system that was supposed to take care of her. He knew he had torn down her walls and that she’d fallen for him as much as he had fallen for her. But he also knew that in this situation, and without him being able to talk to her - his attempts at contact were futile as she didn’t have a cellphone or an address to be reached at - she would revert to what she knew best: Look out for herself and avoid getting hurt.

And he couldn’t resent her for it. He wouldn’t. As much as he’d like to plead with her to hold on for a few more months and wait for him, to bet on them, on a chance to be a family, Killian knew it was too much to ask for a just-turned-eighteen year old high school dropout that lived on the streets.

A tear ran down his cheek as he signed the consent for the adoption, wishing things could be different. But he made a promise to himself in that moment. He was going to find Emma when he got out, and he was going to explain everything to her, begging for a chance to start over.

The only problem was, he’d never been able to find her.

“Is that why you consented to the adoption?” Henry’s question brought him back to the present and he turned to find his son looking at him with almost a desperate plea in his eyes.

He nodded, not trusting his voice not to betray him. “Are you scarred for life?” He finally asked, wanting with everything in him to know that he hadn’t ruined his son’s life even more than before.

“Not by this.” Killian smiled at Henry’s sarcastic barb that reminded him so much of Emma.

“Let’s burn this thing to ashes and find somewhere better for our information. Like the internet, for example.”

Henry didn’t quite smile at his attempt to lighten up the mood. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you – good can’t beat evil, because good doesn’t do this kind of thing. My mom plays dirty – that’s why you can’t beat her. Ever.”

The fact that he was being put in the ‘good’ column tugged at his heart, and he desperately wanted to be worthy of that. “Gold said he’s going to help.”

“Mr. Gold? He’s even worse than she is. You already owe him one favor. You don’t want to owe him anymore. Don’t do this.” Henry seemed genuinely scared and Killian wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms and take him away for good. But he couldn’t, so he had to settle for putting the boy’s fears at ease.

“Henry, evil can only beat good if good cannot see the dirty coming. Lucky for you, I’ve known a few evildoers in my time to know how to play it. Trust me, lad.” He smirked, his hand resting on Henry’s shoulder. “It’s not about playing dirty. It’s about staying two steps ahead of the game.”

/-/

Killian barged into Regina’s office brandishing the newspaper. “Those records were sealed by court order.” He placed the paper over her desk and gave her a furious look. “I don’t know how you got it, but that’s abuse of power, and it’s illegal.”

“I’m sorry. You didn’t want people to know you were playing cards with other jail mates whilst the poor woman you impregnated was giving birth?”

He clenched his jaw, tilting his head and willing himself not to fall for the barb she was throwing at him. “I don’t bloody care what people know, but this hurts Henry.”

“He would’ve learned eventually.” Regina glanced over at him as she closed her bag. “We all lose our heroes at some point.”

She started walking away, but Killian wasn’t ready to let this go. “He doesn’t need to lose anything more. He’s depressed, Madam Mayor. He doesn’t have any… Any hope. Don’t you see that?” he pleaded, trying to appeal to Regina’s love for her son. He could understand why she wanted to drag him down into the mud, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why she was so careless with her son’s feelings.

“He’s fine.” She waved her hand dismissively at him, as if he were a subject that was annoying her. She shut off the lights of her foyer and waited for him to exit before closing the door.

“He’s not fine.” He turned around to face her, unwilling to let her go until she could see what she was doing. “He’s watching his adoptive mother wage an illegal smear campaign against his birth father. Don’t you find that upsetting?” He tilted his head, his voice cracking slightly at his words. “He just lost Graham, Regina. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that man was the closest thing he ever had to a father. Does he need to go through this?”

“I’m just letting him see the truth,” Regina countered, with a smug smile. “And as for the legality – I did nothing wrong.” She blatantly ignored Killian’s cocked eyebrow. “But you and Sidney will have a chance to get into all that at the debate.”

“A debate?” He almost choked on the words. As if he needed a bloody debate to have more of his past being dredged up before the citizens of Storybrooke.

“Yes, Mr. Jones, there’s a debate. You and Sidney can talk all about your jail experiences, as well as your new benefactor.” She cocked an eyebrow at him, her red lips curved into a knowingly smile as she walked to open the door. “He’s a snake, Jones. I’d be careful if I were yo-”

The rest of her words died as she opened the door and the explosion set off, deafening everything else. The force of the blast threw both Regina and Killian back, and when he lifted his head, he could see the flames licking the room and coming their way. When he turned around to urge Regina to get out, he could see her ankle trapped underneath the debris.

“I can’t move! Help me!” she shrieked.

Killian didn’t hesitate, reaching first to free her ankle from the debris and jumping through the flames to get ahold of the nearest fire extinguisher. Once he’d weakened the fire a little bit, he lifted Regina in his arms, urging her to hold tight as he hurried them outside the building.

The fire truck had arrived, and a few people had gathered as Killian tried to gently place Regina on the ground, but a coughing fit had him drop her with a little more force than intended.

“Oh, ow, ow! My ankle! Set me down gently!” Even when injured and when she should show at least a bit of gratitude at being rescued, Regina managed to find a way to belittle him.

“I’m sorry if my manners whilst saving your life are not meeting your standards, Your Majesty.” Her eyes widened comically for a second and Killian realized the unintentional barb he’d made with his comment.

But soon Regina was back at being her regal self and scoffed at him. “The firemen are here. It’s not like we were really in danger.”

“By all means, then next time I’ll let them fight for the honor of rescuing you.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair, frustrated by this whole ordeal. “Actually, next time I’ll do the same thing, because she might not have been with me for decades, but me mum taught me to be a decent human being.” He tilted his head to Regina’s dumbfounded expression and chose to walk away, as he knew nothing good would come from talking to the woman in this state. Real danger or not, it had been a nerve-wracking ordeal for the both of them.

Killian spotted Henry talking to one of the firemen. The lad broke into a smile when he saw him. “Is it true that you rescued my mom?”

He simply waved his hand dismissively, whilst Regina tried her best to downplay the incident, anything to prevent a shift in popular opinion in Killian’s favor. But he wasn’t that worried about how Sidney was going to skew the story, not when the rest of the town was talking about him being a hero and organizing campaign posters. Not when Henry was beaming at him as he used to do - in the way Emma used to beam at him.

“This is how good wins, lad,” he said as he ruffled his son’s hair, a soft smile on his lips.

The same smile that faded the moment Killian spotted something that looked eerily familiar in between the debris. Something he’d seen not too long ago, in Gold’s shop.

/-/

Gold was still wiping something from his hands with a rag when Killian entered the shop, and that only fueled his conviction that he’d been involved in whatever happened at the Town Hall. Killian grabbed the fabric he’d stealthily retrieved from the fire site and toyed with it in his hands.

Gold took a look at him and gave him an eerie smile. “Lots of visitors today.”

“I know you set the fire, Gold.” Killian took a few steps and set the incriminating piece of fabric on the counter.

The pawn shop owner didn’t even flinch at the accusation. “I’ve been here all day, Mr. Jones. How could I have possibly been involved in what happened at Town Hall?”

“This fabric was found on the site. Surprisingly, it smells rather like the sheep oil you were using a few mornings ago.” He made tsk sound with his mouth and tilted his head to the side. “And it’s flammable.”

Gold took a few steps further into the shop, standing at the other side of the counter. “Are you sure? There’s some construction work on at City Hall at the moment. There’s lots of flammable solvents used in construction.”

Killian wasn’t in the mood to play hide and seek with the local pawn shop owner slash powerful man in town. He decided to cut to the chase. “Why did you do it?”

“If I did it,” the other man said and Killian rolled his eyes at his antics. “If I did it, that would be because you cannot win without something big. Something like, uh… Oh, I don’t know. Being the hero in a fire?” He waved his hand about with a dramatic flourish.

Killian shook his head slightly. He really despised men like Gold. “And, let me guess. You have eyes and ears in this town that would let you know if I was in the right place at the right time?”

“Or maybe I’m just intuitive - were I involved.”

“You counted on me not being able to leave Regina behind.”

“Not the type.”

“I’m not doing this, Gold.” Killian stated resolutely, not willing to be a pawn in someone else’s power play.

“This is the price of election, Mr. Jones,” Gold shrugged with the calm of a man used to having his way.

“This is not a price I’m willing to pay. Find someone else to be your posterboy for your war against the Mayor.” Killian turned and made his way towards the door, Gold’s voice reaching him just as his hand was on the knob.

“Go ahead – expose me. But if you do, just think about what you’ll be exposing and what you’ll be walking away from. And who you might be disappointing.”

Killian smirked, looked at Gold over his shoulder. “Nice try, Mr. Gold. But trust me, I wouldn’t be disappointing the son that begged me not to get involved with you in the first place.”

/-/

Killian paced restlessly backstage, waiting for the debate to start. If it could be called a debate. It was more an opportunity for each candidate to give a short presentation, and then the people would cast their votes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was nervous. He couldn’t recall the last time he was nervous over something as silly as this.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d given a crap about what people thought of him.

Mary Margaret approached him and thrusted a piece of paper and a bottle of water on his hands, giving him a comforting smile.

He smiled in return, exhaling deeply as he voiced his thoughts to her. “I’m not going to win.”

She tilted her head in confusion and reached up to straighten his black tie and the collar of his white button down. Her hands smoothed the lapels of his black leather jacket. “What are you talking about? Everyone’s talking about what you did in the fire.” The fire, aye. The one he’d decided not to use to his advantage.

“Henry is right, I can’t beat Regina at this. Not the way she fights. My reputation - such as it is - it’s going to get bloody destroyed as soon as I get behind that podium.”

“Killian.” She gave him that look Killian was fast becoming very used to. The one in which she was reading all the things he kept hidden from the world and silently chastising him for lying to her. “This has never been about Regina.”

He averted his gaze for a brief second as he pondered her words. “Of course it isn’t. It’s about Henry,” he admitted.

“You want to win this to show him that good can actually win fighting fair and that is a wonderful thing, Killian. But what about you?” She smiled encouragingly at him. “Why do you want to win the election for yourself?”

Because I’d have nothing to offer him if I didn’t.

“If I’m not the savior, or his mother’s hero, if I’m not even his father figure - Graham was - then what am I to him? What part do I have in his life? I’m nothing but the man who sired him and wasn’t even around when he was born. I was in jail, Mary Margaret. Emma had to go through it all without me.” Killian’s voice broke at the last part, allowing himself to voice his deepest fears. “If all I do is disappoint him in every role he casts me in his life, then what is left?”

“You, Killian.” Mary Margaret was giving him a resolute stare. “The man that drove his son from Boston to Storybrooke and stayed around after to make sure he was going to be okay. The man that is still here, trying, regardless of everything Regina is throwing at him. It’s not always about winning, Killian. It’s about trying.”

She was right, as usual. Killian took a deep breath. “There it is.”

“There it is.”

He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome.” She beamed at him, a soft pat on his shoulder as she sent him on his merry way, off towards the stage.

/-/

Killian sat there, trying hard to control the way his knee was bouncing up and down as Sidney delivered his speech about reflecting the best qualities for Storybrooke: honesty, neighborliness, and strength. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Regina nodding and almost mouthing the words, one by one. He resisted the need to roll his eyes and scoff at the blatant ventriloquist act in front of him.

He was called upon the podium. Killian’s eyes connected briefly with Henry, who smiled in encouragement, before facing the sea of unfamiliar faces.

“I’m Killian Jones. You might recognize me from my mugshot on the front page of the paper yesterday,” he started, hoping a little self-deprecating humor was going to lighten the mood. But this was a tough crowd and he knew it. His eyes scanned the audience and he spotted Gold smirking at him.

Killian was tired of men like Gold. He was tired of men like him winning, pulling the strings of his life. But not anymore. If he was going to do something today, he was going to be the kind of man he wanted to be. The kind of man Henry could be proud of. He cleared his throat as he tried to find the words for his speech. Suddenly, he remember his brother Liam’s words the first time he had to give a speech at elementary school.

You can do it little brother, I have faith in you.

“Yes, I have had a troubled past, but as my brother used to say ‘Start in the way you want to finish, Killian’. I’m just starting my life here… and if I can dare hope that you’d embrace me as your Sheriff, I cannot start with a lie. You think I’m a hero because I rescued the Mayor from a fire. But the fire was a setup.” He heard the gasps in the audience and he forced himself to go on. It was all or nothing. “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 this was the case. I cannot, in good conscience, let you think otherwise even if it might help me win this race. That is not the Sheriff I want to be.” His eyes looked for Henry. “That is not the man I want to be.”

Gold stood up the moment he finished the speech and walked away, his cane hitting the floor the only sound on the room. Killian sighed before he nodded briefly and left the stage.

He needed a drink. Or five.

/-/

Killian downed the first glass on two gulps under the amused scrutiny of Ruby.

“Another?”

“Hell, yes. And keep them coming, lass.”

Ruby was pouring him the second one when the doorbell jingled and Henry entered the place. He took a seat next to Killian and silently pulled a walkie talkie out of his backpack and handed it to him.

“What’s this for?” Killian hand held onto the device.

“You stood up to Gold. That was cool.”

“It was the right thing to do, lad. He did something illegal. And, I seem to recall you told me not to work with him.” Killian bopped Henry’s nose and he smiled brightly at him. Even if he lost today, his son’s smile was worth everything he’d done.

“That’s what heroes do – expose stuff like that.” Ruby came back with a glass of milk and Henry waited until she left to continue speaking in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have given up on Operation Cobra.” There was a newfound hope in him and whilst Killian wasn’t exactly keen on getting back into fairytale conspiracies, he was bloody happy to see a little bit of the old Henry back.

There was another jingle of the doorbell and Regina walked in with Sidney behind her. “I thought I might find you here. With a drink. And my son.”

Killian decided to ignore the barb in Regina’s voice and addressed Sidney directly. “Here to card me, officer?”

“Well, not at all. In fact, I think I’ll join you.” Sidney said in an amicable tone and Killian raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Here? I don’t know. I thought they were setting up a back room for the victory party.”

Sidney shrugged with a small, uncomfortable, smile on his lips. “Oh, well, you’ll have to tell me what that’s like.”

What?

Killian’s eyes darted to Regina. The Mayor was holding the Sheriff insignia in her hands. She averted her gaze and her mouth tilted in a small pout. “Congratulations …Sheriff Jones.” Regina placed the badge on the counter. “It was a very close vote, but people really seem to like the idea of a Sheriff brave enough to stand up to Mr. Gold.”

“Are you joking?” It was all Killian could ask as more people started to pour into Granny’s.

“She doesn’t joke.” Sidney clarified and Killian nodded.

“Of course she doesn’t.” He should have known that, but Kilian was still amazed and his eyes looked for Henry. He was giving him a beaming smile, only to be matched by Mary Margaret’s looking at them from a safe distance.

“You didn’t pick a great friend in Gold, Mr. Jones, but he does make a superlative enemy.” Regina interrupted his thoughts, her smile carrying a hint of danger in it. “Enjoy that.”

/-/

Things felt different when he entered the station the next morning, carrying his meager possessions back. It wasn’t more than a notepad and a mug, but Mary Margaret had insisted he needed his own mug in the station as she gifted it to him that same morning. He sighed, his eyes scanning the place before he froze on the spot at the sight of Graham’s jacket, still hanging on the coat rack.

“The Sheriff’s jacket – I thought you might want it after all.” Gold walked in and Killian wondered for a brief moment if he could simply arrest the man for breaking and entering.

“What do you want, Gold?” Killian spat, clenching his jaw and reaching for his weapon.

“It was a great act, don’t you think? Political theatre in an actual theatre.” Gold must have noticed his disbelieving stare because he gave Killian a smug smirk. “I knew no one was going to vote for you unless we gave you some kind of extraordinary quality, and I’m afraid saving old Regina’s arse from the fire just wasn’t going to do that. We had to give you a higher form of bravery. They had to see you defy me – and they did.”

Killian wasn’t buying it. He couldn’t sense any outright lies from the other man, but he knew his kind. He simply shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re claiming you planned it?”

“Everyone’s afraid of Regina, but they’re more afraid of me. By standing up to me, you won them over. It was the only way.”

“Men like you always feel the need to pull the strings. Or feel that you pull the strings of other people’s lives, regardless of the outcome.” Killian pointed out, not willing to fall into the man’s recount of the tale.

Gold simply shrugged and headed to the exit. “Be that as it may, Mr. Jones, you still owe me a favor. I know that can be a bad feeling – owing someone. And now that you’re Sheriff -”

“I’d be careful in ending that sentence, Mr. Gold, unless you want me to press charges for attempting to coerce or otherwise corrupt a law enforcer.” Killian looked defiantly at the other man. Whatever pull Gold had in this town, he wasn’t going to let himself be dragged under by it. He hadn’t freed the Sheriff’s Station from Regina’s influence only to have it fall under Gold’s. “Also, it’s Sheriff Jones. Goodbye, Gold.”

Gold smiled at him, nodding his head. “Goodbye, Sheriff.”

He knew he’d made a strong enemy in Gold, but as his fingers brushed the Sheriff’s badge that was now clipped to his belt, he couldn’t care less.

Good had won. At least for the day.

#cs ff #lenfaz fics #time upon once #captain swan #canon divergence

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