#jackabelle writes
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Hello, @rockitmans !!
I am finally revealing myself as your Klaine Secret Santa, and only four days late. I'm so sorry I kept you waiting, but your gift fic is finally here.
When I saw your wish list, I immediately zeroed in on New York City, adult professionals, and Broadway. And I decided that this was a great opportunity to add to my Between the Moon and New York City verse. I finished that fic in 2019, but I had several ideas for what could have happened after the events in that story. I've never written any of those ideas, till now. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to get at least one plot bunny out of my head.
I hope you had a happy holiday season, and wish you the happiest New Year. May 2024 be a better year for all of us.
@klainesecretsanta2023
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For your 500 followers celebration! 12:45 pm the Haus porch. Shitty and Jack or another bestie pair
Lyrics "We can do this every night You can be my ride or die And we can live this way every day Go out like dynamite, I'm living life, ride or die Gonna live this way every day" the Knocks "Ride or Die"
I'm at this handle on AO3 also.
HELL YES JACKSHIT MY BELOVED BFFS
a genuine pleasure to write them, thank you for the prompt and all your lovely comments the past few years :D
want your own ficlet? followers can submit their own prompt using these guidelines through Jan 31, 2024
🏒🏒🏒🏒
12:45pm, haus porch
“Jackabelle!” Shitty calls up the stairs. “Get your perfect, gravity-defying ass down here!”
“I’m still unpacking!”
“Unacceptable reasoning—motion denied.”
“On what grounds?” Shitty can hear the amusement in his best friend’s voice.
“On the grounds that that’s stupid, and I’m down here, waiting for you so we can celebrate a new year.”
Shitty punches the air in triumph when he hears Jack’s feet crossing his room, refuses to look at all contrite in the face of Jack’s faux-disapproving glare as he comes down the stairs.
“I really should unpack—”
“Absolutely fuckin’ not. Time for that later. Or you can get the frogs to do it,” he says, shepherding Jack out onto the porch. “Right now is best friend time, no more arguments.”
“Fine, fine.” Jack sounds all put out, but Shitty catches the way his lips quirk up at the corner and knows he isn’t actually bothered. If he really didn’t want to come downstairs he wouldn’t have played along with Shitty’s jokes earlier.
“Sit down, Jack-o, it’s Best Friend Porch Swing O’Clock.” He hip checks Jack in the direction of the swing before grabbing two drinks out of the cooler he packed twenty minutes and one of his own suitcases ago.
“Cheers to the best year ever,” he says, pushing one of the bottles into Jack’s hand and flopping down, more onto his best friend than the swing.
“Shitty, I don’t—”
“It’s non-alcoholic, J.”
“Oh.” Jack picks at the label with his thumbnail. “Thanks.”
“Got your back, bro,” Shitty says, shrugging. The motion sets the swing swaying wildly and they both have to grab hold of the wood armrests for a bit before Jack gets a foot on the porch floor to steady them.
“My hero,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes, mentally cheering when Jack huffs out a laugh.
“Anytime, Shits.”
“Now, cheers! To a new school year, and a new hockey season with the best damn captain Samwell Men’s Hockey could ask for!”
Jack clinks his bottle against Shitty’s, but he’s not smiling now, just staring out at the street, brow furrowed, full Hockey Robot mode.
“You are the best captain we could ask for, you know.”
Jack exhales hard, takes a swig of his drink. “The other guys only voted for me because of my last name.”
“Yeah, probably,” Shitty says, blithely.
That startles Jack into actually looking at him.
“Your name’s your name, Jack—no getting around it. Well,” he says, “I guess you could change it, but that’s a lot of paperwork and everyone would still know who you are, so probably you should just leave it. But you’re gonna absolutely smash it as captain this year. Not because of your dad, who is admittedly, pretty great, or because of your fucking stellar stats.” Shitty makes sure to look directly into Jack’s eyes, willing him to hear Shitty this time. “You’re gonna be a great captain because you care. You care so much about what happens to this team, and you want us to be the best we can. And the others will see that and get in line.”
Shitty lets his speech sit in the still-humid air around them, lets Jack sit with those words while they drink in silence, watching the occasional car drift by.
“Thanks, Shits.”
Jack presses their shoulders together firmly, a non-verbal I appreciate you that Shitty learned last year.
“‘Course. Now can we fuckin’ celebrate? Because I’ll bet the tub juice fund for the year that you haven’t yet.”
“Yeah, go on then,” Jack says, his smile actually visible to the average human now, and not just Shitty, who has put in the ten thousand hours to become an expert in Jack Zimmermann’s expressions.
Shitty punches the air again, and yells, “FUCKING BEAUT OF A CAPTAIN RIGHT HERE!” loud enough to echo around the street.
The LAX-holes across from them immediately shout for him to shut the fuck up, brah, but Shitty ignores them in favor of savoring Jack cracking up next to him, worries wiped away for now.
#cricket writes#itsthekiks#ficlet fest 500#omgcp#check please#jack and shitty ride or die#i love them your honor
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Questions?
1. Do I need to be an experienced writer?
It doesn’t matter if you’ve written 0 or 100000000 stories–anyone can join in on the fun!
2.Where will the fics be posted, and who will post them?
Since the stories must be posted anonymously, everyone will email their fics to us, and we will post them on the Rumbelle Showdown blog for you, under your nickname.
3. Do we write one fic, or will writers be required to write a new fic based on new prompts if they reach the next round?
You will write a fic based on each set of prompts that will be given for each round. If you would like to make it an ongoing story, that’s great! As long as each part fills the required prompts.
4. Do all writers get the same prompts, or are they different for each writer?
Since there are a lot of sign-ups, everyone will be split into groups. Each group gets the same set of prompts per round. But the prompts will be short and general enough to give each writer a chance to make the story their own.
5. Do I need to set up a side blog to participate?
No. You just need to choose a Secret Pen Name that only you and the Mods know. If you do choose to set up a side blog for the Showdown, I ask that you refrain from posting any of your entries until the end of the contest.
6. In what format should we send our fics?
I ask that you copy and paste your fic, with title, into the body of your email. Indicate your secret Showdown name and the round number in the subject line. "Jackabelle entry for round one." If you are able to attach it as a Word document, or provide a link to Google docs, please do that in addition to the copy/paste. Those options make formatting easier, but copying the text of your fic gives me a backup method.
7. Concerning your prompts:
No, your fic doesn’t have to spell out each and every single prompt given to you, but I must be able to tell there is at least an influence. Especially concerning any abstract ideas.
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If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?
All of them.
Every writer is their own worst critic, but I am doubly so, as I kind of talked about in Jackabelle's ask. I really do hate what I write and so I often look at it when I am trying to finish it and cringe horribly, then point out that /this/ is why no one likes it either. Doesn't matter how many visits or kudos it has, I hate it so everyone else must also.
Most recently I went through Last Night On Earth and realized just how badly some of the scenes were written. They just hadn't been edited properly. God that was cringe-worthy. I might start with that one, but my plan is actually to go through all my unfinished fics as I end them, do the edit and then write the endings.
Have to finish Monster In the Storm first. It just keeps dragging on.
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Zimbits bingo post #1
“Your dog is in my yard again”
Bitty looked out the kitchen window and sighed.
The dog from across the way was in his yard again.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. Dogs were great. They were warm and furry and wagged their tails and could be taught to sit and lie down and come when called and STAY WHERE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE.
Which was not in Bitty’s backyard, drooling at the gate of his chicken coop.
Bitty growled, grabbed the broom from its hook next to the back door, and headed outside.
Not that he’d actually hit the dog or anything. He just wanted to be able to keep his distance. The dog was a black and white pit bull, probably more than 50 pounds, with a massive head, and Bitty had heard things about pit bulls. About how they clamped down and never let go. While the dog didn’t look threatening now, who knew what it would do when confronted?
Well. Bitty had a pretty good idea, because this was the second time this week and the fourth time this month that he’d had to shoo the dog out his yard.
At least the coop was strong and secure. Coach probably never thought that when he taught Bitty to build things he was just encouraging his baking habit; Bitty had decided to get chickens as soon as he moved to a house with enough property to care for them because he wanted the constant access to fresh eggs. But now his chickens were pets as much as egg suppliers,and he’d be heartbroken if this goldang dog hurt any of them.
He stalked out the back door brandishing the broom.
“Hey!” he yelled. “You! Skedaddle!”
The dog turned from the coop to face Bitty, tail up, ears pricked forward, tongue lolling out.
Did that mean he was mad? He certainly didn’t look scared.
Bitty jabbed the bristles of the broom in the dog’s direction.
“Go ‘way,” he said. “Get!”
Instead of running, the dog jumped towards the end of the broom, trying to pounce on the bristles. The dog ended up down on its elbows, rear end in the air, tail waving like mad. Bitty could have sworn the dog was smiling at him. It didn’t seem mad.
“No, I don’t want to play,” Bitty said, swinging the broom towards the dog yet again, even more careful not to hit … him? her? It. Definitely it.
The dog stood up and trotted back towards the rear of the yard, a blue identification tag swinging merrily from its red collar. If Bitty got close enough, he could maybe get the owner’s name. At least an address or phone number, so he could give the guy a piece of his mind.
Bitty followed at a distance, watching the dog slip under a loose section of chain-link fence at the bottom the yard then bound up onto the back deck of the house not directly opposite, but one over.
Well, at least Bitty knew where the dog lived now.
That evening, Bitty buttoned up his shirt, shined his shoes and tied his favorite red bow tie around his neck. Maybe it was overkill, but Bitty knew he had a baby face, and he didn’t know what he was walking into. What kind of owner would that big black dog have? Someone who liked to intimidate people? Or a family that didn’t know they were harboring a potential chicken-killer?
Bitty hoped the jaunty red tie would strike the right note either way.
He picked up the pecan pie he’d baked in a disposable tin that afternoon and a plastic container with a half-dozen eggs and marched himself out the front door, down the sidewalk, and around to the other side of the block.
If he wasn’t sure he had the right house (a mid-size colonial with blue shingles), he could have told from the deep barking that came from inside as soon as he rang the bell.
He could just write a note and leave it with the eggs and pie …
The door opened.
The guy definitely was big. And buff. And way underdressed, at least compared to Bitty, in loose athletic shorts and a dri-fit T-shirt. His dark hair wasn’t long but managed to look a bit of a mess anyway. His light blue eyes felt ice-cold as they stared down at the offerings in Bitty’s hands.
“We don’t need any —”
“I’m not selling —”
There was a snuffling noise, and Bitty looked down, taking in the man’s highlighter-yellow sneakers along with the black muzzle of the dog, trying to work it’s way around the man’s knee.
Bitty took a large step back, almost falling down the top step in the process. The man’s leg straightened, effectively penning the dog in the house.
“Puck, sit,” the man said. “Sorry about her.”
Well, that was one question answered.
“What do you need?” the man asked, still brusque, but maybe not quite as terse as before.
“I wanted to give you these,” Bitty said, holding up his offerings.
“Ooo-kay,” the man said, not reaching to take the pie or the eggs. “Who are you? I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m your neighbor from around the other side of the block. Eric Bittle.”
“Are you bringing everyone eggs and pie?”
Now the man just looked puzzled. At least he wasn’t grumpy anymore. But Bitty was probably going to make him grumpy again.
“Um, no,” Bitty said. “It’s your dog.”
“The pie is for my dog?” Jack said, glancing down at the dog, who was staring at Bitty from behind the man with … was that a hopeful expression?
“No,” Bitty said. “The pie and the eggs are for you. I don’t even know if a dog can eat pecan pie.”
“No,” the man said. “Pecans aren’t good for dogs. But she can eat eggs. In moderation.”
Bitty stopped his eyes from rolling at the last comment. This man clearly took his diet — and probably his dog’s diet — seriously. Maybe pie hadn’t been the way to go?
“Of course,” Bitty said. “I meant I wanted to talk to you about your dog. It — She keeps getting into my yard, and she’s terrorizing my chickens.”
The blue eyes blinked as the man processed that.
“You brought me pie because my dog is scaring your chickens?” he finally said.
“And eggs,” Bitty said. “Really, I just wanted to ask you to please keep the dog in your yard.”
The man nodded.
“You’re the one with the chickens,” he said. “I wondered. I heard them.”
“I don’t have a rooster because I didn’t want to wake the neighborhood every day ...” Bitty started.
“No, not that,” the man said. “I’m usually up early anyway. I heard the … clucking? I guess … when I went for a run in the morning the other day, when it was really quiet, and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.”
Bitty’s arms were starting to get tired from holding the pie and eggs, but he didn’t dare set them on the step, especially if dogs shouldn’t eat pecans.
“Um, can you take the pie, Mr. —” Bitty thrust it towards the neighbor again.
“Zimmermann,” the man said. “Jack Zimmermann. I’m sorry, I didn’t know Puck had been getting out. I travel a lot for work, and I just got back a couple of hours ago. I have a friend who comes and takes care of her when I’m gone, but he didn’t say anything about her escaping. But I don’t really eat a lot of pie.”
Jack took the pie anyway, and the eggs, and set them on a table inside the door.
Bitty let his arms relax and said, “It’s happened several times now, usually a couple of days in a row, in the afternoon, and then not for a few days. I followed her today to see which yard she went into. I live behind you and over one.”
“Huh,” Jack said. “Okay. The yard is fenced —”
“She’s getting under it,” Bitty said.
Jack nodded.
“That would explain the scratches I found on her back. Shitty said she hadn’t run into any other dogs. He didn’t mention chickens.”
Shitty? Bitty silently mouthed.
“With all due respect,” he said, “how would Sh — your friend knew what she encountered? If she’d getting out of the yard.”
“He probably hasn’t realized,” Jack said. “He likes to stay here when I’m gone because it’s quiet and he can study — he’s a law student — so he probably thinks she’s in the yard while he’s studying. Hold on, he hasn’t gone home yet.”
The man, Jack Zimmermann, turned to call into the house, “Shitty! Can you come out here please?”
The dog, Puck, took the opportunity when Jack turned to get out, coming right up to Bitty. Instead of jumping, she was snuffling around his knees while Bitty stood stock-still, hands up in what he hoped was a non-threatening pose.
“Puck!” Jack turned back. “Sorry about that. We have to keep working with the trainer, especially on ‘stay,’ but I’m pretty busy. You can pet her — she likes people.”
Bitty very gingerly lowered his right hand, reaching past Puck’s head (well away from her mouth) to pat her muscled shoulder. She turned and bumped his hand with her head, swiping across the palm with a wet nose.
Bitty’s fingers found themselves resting behind her ear, so he obliged her by scratching. Puck let out a contented sigh.
“Who’s this, Jackabelle?”
Jack had been joined by a man in nothing but Wonder Woman briefs. His shaggy hair was a mess, including the full mustache, and his eyes looked tired.
“This is my neighbor Eric,” Jack said.
Shitty stuck out a hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Did you bring that pie? It smells delicious.”
“It is delicious,” Eric said, because while Jack had been polite, Bitty was not used to having his baked goods ignored to this extent.
“And the eggs,” Jack said. “From his chickens. Which apparently Puck has been terrorizing in the afternoons.”
“She has?” Shitty asked. “But she goes out and then she’s still in the yard —”
“She’s back in the yard when you notice her,” Jack said. “I’ll have to get the fence reinforced. Or install a new one she can’t get under. In the meantime, she has to go out on a leash. Or a tie-out in the yard, I guess, if she wants to play fetch or something. But I don’t want her tied up alone. Only if you stay outside with her, all right?”
“Sure, brah, whatever,” Shitty said. “Wouldn’t want the Puck-princess to get hurt, would we?”
He glanced at Bitty. “Or to hurt your chickens. Sorry, man.”
“Yes, I’m sorry my dog has been bothering you,” Jack said. “Puck, come.”
The dog reluctantly got up from where she had settled half on Bitty’s foot.
“You’re not going to invite your neighbor in to share a slice of that pie?” Shitty said. “What kind of heathen are you?”
“I —”
“You don’t have to,” Bitty said, even though he was kind of curious now. A tall, gorgeous man with a sort-of-trained dog and his friend who seemed to think clothes were optional? Jack said Shitty — really, Shitty? — stayed when he was traveling, but that had been three weeks in the past month. What did he do?
“He doesn’t have to, he wants to,” Shitty said to Bitty, then he turned to Jack with a look Bitty couldn’t interpret. “Don’t you, Jackie-boy?”
“Fine,” Jack said. Bitty somehow thought the exasperation was more for Shitty than for him.
“If you don’t want just pie, I could make an omelet,” Bitty said. “If you have some vegetables.”
“Even better,” Shitty said. “All the protein even you could ask for.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Bitty squinted one eye open and looked at the clock. The sun was up. Almost seven. Puck would have to go out.
She must have heard Bitty move because she bounded onto the bed and lay on top of him, her elbows pinning his shoulders while he she tried to lick at his face.
“Puck, get off,” he said, holding her midsection with his hands and rolling over, dumping her onto her back next to him. He sat up, scratched her belly for a moment, and got out of bed to find his running clothes. Bitty had learned that a nice run in the morning did wonders for her behaviour the rest of the day, and it was good for him as well,
Then he would have time to feed the chickens, make a couple of videos and tidy the house. Jack would be home late tonight, after his game in St. Louis. There should be plenty of eggs to make an omelet for their breakfast tomorrow.
Tagging: @zimbitsbingo
Read Chapter 2: Mutual Pining
Read on AO3
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I asked Jackabelle something similar to this one, but I'm gonna reuse it, because I'm super curious to hear your answer also.. When did you realize you wanted to start writing your own fics and did the first one you wrote ever get posted, or do you have a secret stash of "No one's ever going to see these" hidden away somewhere?
The first thing I ever wrote got posted! I had just watched “The Cricket Game”, and when Rumplestiltskin said something about sheepdogs, it stuck in my mind. I thought about it for months. It’s odd what gets trapped in the sieve of your mind sometimes, isn’t it?
Anyway, it grew into Rumple’s three ‘personalities’ each being drawn to a different kind of pet: the Spinner to sheep dogs, the Dark One to cats, and Mr. Gold to chameleons. And I realized if I didn’t write it, I’d be thinking about it the rest of my life! So I wrote it down, and then I was able to relax. Until I got another idea.....
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Would That I
From: @lizards-online
To: @pieandpucks
Sometimes in life, things are missed. Opportunities are lost, but as a whole we cannot stop moving. Still, something feels left behind, dropped in a time before. We keep going, with something lost and something gained, until life gives us our chance again,to take destiny’s chance to reconnect and find what is lost.
At Samwell University resided one Dr. Jack Zimmermann, a professor of history with an affinity for ice sports and queer literature. His smile was kind and his hair was just beginning to hint at touches of grey. He was a hard grader, and his readings were long, but his passion for teaching and his love of his students always showed through in his work. Students left his classes better thinkers, harder workers, and with only the smallest crush on him. Okay sometimes, not so small. Even the straightest of men recognized that Dr.Jack Zimmermann was a resident hottie. Rumor had it that he was voted “Samwell’s Most Gorgeous” four years straight back in the day.
Jack shuffled a few papers at his podium so as to get them in order before the end of his lecture. “Everyone, thank you for your attention today, just remember if you want to earn some extra credit points, you can attend one of the alumni guest lectures that will be on campus this weekend, and then write a one page response on the speaker’s topic and your thoughts. I’ll be popping in to a couple of the speakers myself, so if you see me, don’t be afraid to say hello.”
Jack began walking across the front of the classroom, dispersing flyers advertising the Alumni Symposium to be passed back.
A student in the back of the room raised her hand, staring down at the flyer in her hand “Dr. Zimmermann, when did you graduate Samwell?”
Jack paused for a moment. “2015. Why?”
“Well, I was just looking at the graduation year of some of these alumni, and it says here Eric Bittle Graduated in 2017. So that means you were only two years ahead of Eric Bittle when he went here!”
The class erupted in murmurs and comments. Eric Bittle was one of Samwell’s most famous alumni. He led Samwell to the Frozen Four his senior year, while being the first out NCAA hockey captain, was drafted by the Falconers and was the first openly LGBT+ player in the league. He won the Stanley Cup his rookie year (first of many) along with the Calder and Art Ross. Even outside of hockey he was famous for his witty vlog which evolved from a cooking vlog to a hockey, cooking and life blog with now over 18 million followers from all walks of life.
Jack swallowed hard. Yes, it was true, his time at Samwell and Eric Bittle’s time did overlap by two years, and in fact, during those two years, he ran into Eric all the time. They were...friends. Shitty made sure of that. Jack would watch the hockey team’s games, not only to support Shitty, but to watch Eric weave and maneuver across the ice unlike anyone else. Even though Jack had decided against playing in college, he never did lose his love of the game. Meanwhile Eric would hover about the library doing anything but homework when Jack was working. Plus, the semester they took a class together was definitely a bonding experience. But it had been a long time since they had spoken. After Jack graduated, he felt too awkward reaching out to someone who he had a massive crush on but was WAY out of his league. And when one month turned into two, and then one year turned into five, and five years into a decade, Jack had trouble remembering where all the time had gone.
“Hah. Uh, yes he was two years younger than me. We had a class together once.” Jack decided firmly against mentioning his large crush on the blond to his entire History 336 Seminar.
The students in the room all lamented about how cool it was that their professor knew a celebrity.
Jack closed the door to his office and scrubbed his hand over his face and let out a sigh. Would it be awkward to see Eric again? Would Eric even remember him? Probably not. It was just a youthful crush. Even if Eric was still as attractive and charming and wonderful as he was back in the day, Jack was far past his prime. He could just not go to that lecture, but he felt drawn to it, as if something wanted him to see Eric speak. Jack picked up his phone and dialed the most recent number. It picked up on the first ring.
“What the FUCK is up Zimmermann, to what do I owe the pleasure of one of your rare and coveted calls? Are you in legal trouble? Did you kill someone? Did you kick a goose and now you’re losing your Canadian citizenship?” Shitty was Jack’s best friend. He was boisterous and energetic but genuine nonetheless. His words washed over Jack with a wave of excitement and familiarity.
“Haha Shits. I’m good. And no, no geese, at least not this time. I was just wondering, would you want to come down to Samwell this weekend? There’s an alumni symposium going on, and I think you’d enjoy the speakers.”
“Ah ha old Jackabelle misses me. Of fuckin course I’ll come down to the symposium, but I’ll warn ya man I’m not gonna sit through more than ONE old white man talk. ONE. Who's the lineup anyway?”
“I can forward you the flyer but just off the top of my head: there's the current head of the English department, Dr. Masawa, she’s gonna be talking about her book, um Dr. Atley is going to present some research, and um, Eric Bittle is going to be there.”
“Bitty fucking Bittle? The myth, the man, the legend himself? Well fuck my ass and call me chicken we HAVE to go to that. It’s been like FOREVER since I’ve seen Bits. What a fucking beaut. We texted a bit last month but it's been like a year and some since I last got to hang with him. You know he’s got a daughter now?”
“Oh. Uh, no?” A daughter. Jack’s head spinned. He knew he didn’t have a chance with Eric but he didn’t realize that Eric had gotten married and had a kid. That would’ve been big news right? Was Jack really that out of the loop? He needed to read the news more.
“Yeah she’s fuckin adorable as fuck. Like, two, three now maybe? He posts pictures of her on Facebook like all the time.”
“That’s uh pretty cool. Listen Shits, I have to go I have a, uh, book to read. I’ll see you this weekend. You can stay at my place. Text you bye.”
“Bye Jac-” Jack hung up the phone before Shitty could fully say goodbye. Why did he feel like there was a pit in his stomach? He didn’t care that Eric Bittle was a married father. So what? It’s not like he had a chance with him anyway. What would he have done? Gone up to him after his speech and say “Hello, I had a crush on you in college, and then we never talked after I graduated. Want to go on a date?” Even if Jack had had the confidence to do so, it was literally impossible now because Eric was a married father, a professional hockey player, celebrity, and an A Level hottie. All Jack had was a doctorate, a wall of books and a million papers to grade. He wasn’t even in the shape he had been in when he was in college, so really, he didn’t have anything to offer. Jack should just shut out all the fantasies of those big brown eyes, and golden hair, and gorgeous toned legs. Gosh what was he doing?
Jack crossed the room and slumped into his chair behind his desk and picked up a stack of papers sitting on a chair beside the desk. The best way to distract himself was to drown in work.
Eric Bittle woke up at 6 a.m. Saturday morning to the sound of his daughter crying. He was tired and sore from his game the night before, and a bruise was starting to form on his left thigh due to a nasty check from a Bruins defenceman but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
Eric threw off his sheets and rushed into his daughter’s room. Allie was just about two and a half years old, and was in the midst of potty training. Unfortunately for him, Eric was also in the middle of the thralls of hockey season so a lot of the potty training fell on her daycare teachers. Being a single parent was tough. When his cousin Elizabeth had passed away, leaving her and her partner’s daughter to him, he had no idea what to do. He had been five years into his professional hockey career, out, single and totally unprepared for the hurdles of parenthood.
He pushed open the door to the nursery to find his daughter sitting upright whimpering. “Oh you poor thing. Looks like we’re going to have to get you changed real quick now aren’t we Miss Allie?”
Eric brought her to the changing table and cleaned her and dressed her for the day. It was a little earlier in the morning than he had planned, but he needed to get a move on to get to Samwell in time for his guest lecture. Eric had reached out to his old advisor and she recommended him an education major who would be glad to watch his daughter while he spoke and mingled, not wanting to be away from her for the entirety of his day off. He dressed her in cute bunny socks and a yellow shirt and white pants. She was just about the cutest thing in the world. Soon Eric himself got dressed, packed a diaper bag and headed out.
On his way Eric’s thoughts winded through his head. It had been quite some time since he’d been back to his alma mater. Samwell had been such an influential and formative place for him. From developing his hockey skills to coming into his own as a gay man. And even though he never did have a long lasting romantic relationship, the friendships he made there pushed him through his life and helped him become who he was. Thinking back to some of the people, he thought about the boys, Lardo, some of the other team captains, and his mind landed on one Jack Zimmermann.
Eric had always had such a massive crush on Jack, with his boyband bangs, his droopy eyes, jaw that could cut glass and a behind that would give greek statues a run for their money. Eric had first met Jack through Shitty, but then subsequently kept running into him in the dining hall, gym and then one semester for a class. Jack would come to their games and Eric would watch him stack books in the campus library while he pretended to do homework, but always ended up back at the circulation desk, talking about everything and nothing until it closed. They had been friends, and Eric had had the largest crush on earth on the sad-eyed Canadian. But Jack was way out of Eric’s league. He had been voted Samwell’s Most Beautiful for four years straight, and suitors were constantly trying to ask him out. And then Jack graduated, leaving Bitty yearning for what could have been. According to Shitty, Jack was a professor at Samwell, but the two hadn’t really kept in contact. After the fact, there had been some boys, some boyfriends, even some hookups, but nothing lasting more than a few months at a time. At 30 years old Eric Bittle had never been in a relationship longer than 9 months.
The sight of Samwell pulled Eric out of his thoughts and Eric shook his head. He had things to do, and he wasn’t going to let ghosts from the past distract him from his job today: to speak about Samwell, sports, and his activism.
Jack entered the packed auditorium with Shitty in tow. He smiled and waved to a few of his students while Shitty was speaking as if he was a physical manifestation of stream of consciousness. They took their seats in the front row reserved for faculty, staff and alumni.
“I wonder what he’s gonna talk about. I hope he brings up all the swawesome shit the SMH did. Like that one kegster when-”
“Wait Shits shhh there he is” Jack cut Shitty off.
Eric Bittle walked onto the stage with a mic affixed to his shirt. He wore tight fitting navy blue slacks that highlighted just how well the NHL had bulked him up. His top two shirt buttons were unbuttoned on his white and navy blue patterned shirt. The sleeves were rolled up ¾ of the way showing off the definition in his arms. Jack’s throat immediately went dry with his face getting more red as the moments ticked on.
Fuck. Eric Bittle was even hotter than he remembered and was a million times more attractive in person than he had been in promotional pictures. And his voice, the accent was so cute! Keep it together Zimmermann, that’s a married man. Jack was going to have a hard time sitting through this entire speech.
Fuck. Eric walked on stage, scanning the audience and almost immediately his eyes landed on one Jack Zimmermann. He was wearing a tweed jacket, with glasses and his hair was just a touch grey. Time had been very kind to Jack. Eric’s throat became dry as he stumbled his way through his introduction. Shit Jack was in the front row. How was Eric going to concentrate when the hottest man in the world was right in front of him, watching him speak for an hour and a half.
Clapping. Jack was clapping. He zoned back in after having not actually comprehended a single word for the past 90 minutes. He had just sat and stared at the most gorgeous man he had ever seen and tried not to get a boner. Shitty was speaking to him. Jack needed to respond.
“Yeah. He does look good in those pants” Shit. Probably not what Shitty asked him.
“Not what I was talking about, but yeah you know what now that you mention it, mother fucker looks fresh as fuck! I gotta fuckin tell him those pants are doing it for him.” Shitty bolstered himself out of his chair, and up the steps and onto the stage where some faculty were gathering to congratulate him on his speech. Jack followed.
“Eric Mother fucking Bittle” Shitty bellowed as he walked, Jack close behind, to where Eric stood, now holding a young baby girl on his hip as he spoke with alumni and faculty alike.
Eric turned to face the two men and smiled. “Shitty B. Knight you best not be swearing around my daughter like that. And Jack, it’s good to see you. It’s been awhile.”
“Fuck yeah it has been. You two were adorable back in the day. You should’ve kept touch more!” Shitty laughed.
Jack smiled awkwardly. “Yeah it has been a bit hasn’t it? I’m sorry I never kept touch. Congrats on the hockey, and the Stanley Cup, and the marriage and uh, kid.”
Eric’s face twisted into a confused half smile. “Marriage? Jack Zimmermann I am not married. I was her godfather. Life happened and now I’m her Daddy.” Eric looked at her, and kissed her forehead softly.
Jack’s brain short circuited. Not...married? “Oh so are you…”
“No I’m not seeing anyone. I’m doing quite fine with her all by myself.” Eric blushed.
“Okay I see where this is going, I’m gonna back out of this convo..” Shitty etched away from the two men. The latter hardly noticing.
Jack awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. “In all honesty, Eric, remember all those years ago, when we went to Samwell together. I had the biggest crush on you, but you were so out of league I never did anything about it. I should have, but I was a bit of a coward.”
Eric’s face turned a bright shade of pink as he stammered out a response. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann! You had a crush on me back then? I’ll have you know I pined for you for two whole years thinking you were straight until someone told me YEARS later that you weren’t, and then when I did realize you were an option, I never thought in a million years that you would be in my league anyway. You’re meaning to tell me you had a crush on me that entire time?”
Jack blushed furiously. “We both had crushes on eachother I guess. I’m sorry I never made a move on you back then. If it means anything, I’d like to uh make one now.”
“Well how about our timing. Gladly Jack. Here, ” Eric pulled out his phone with one hand, careful not to disturb Allie, and handed it over to Jack. “ text me.”
Jack put his number into the phone and texted himself. “In the meantime, would you like to catch up? It’s been a long time.”
Unbeknownst to the two men, several students stood by in shock, watching their professor flirt with and score a date with a literal celebrity. Two in the front high fived. “Get it Dr. Zimmermann!”
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Love and Happiness, ch 9
Fandom: OUaT/Rumbelle
Rating: Teen
Word Count: ~3,200 for this chapter; ~31,800 total so far.
Ch 9 on AO3
A/N: this chapter is for @reolf for their birthday. I'm so lucky to have you as a friend. <3
-
Walking into Storybrooke Island University Library felt like coming home.
Belle stopped just inside the doors, closing her eyes and breathing in the smell of thousands of books. It was a little ritual she had, just taking a moment to remind herself of how lucky she was to be here, in this fortress of knowledge. The small sounds of a working library washed over her… patrons’ feet tapping on the floor. A hushed conversation from the circulation desk. High-pitched giggling from the children’s section. Books being stamped as they were checked out.
“Belle! You’re back!”
The Head Librarian’s voice made her open her eyes. Archie Hopper stood before her, arms loaded with books.
“Yes. My honeymoon is over, and I have my husband’s permission to work. I’m hoping that I can resume my internship here.”
“We could certainly use your help,” he nodded. “Two more staff members have left in the past month, either to get married or because they are expecting a baby.”
“Oh, really? Who left? Here, let me take some of those for you. I’ll walk with you and you can catch me up on everything that’s happened.”
She followed him down an aisle, helping to reshelve books as he told her about the staffing changes and everything else that had happened in the past month. He was called away to deal with an irate patron, and she finished the chore on her own. It didn’t feel like a chore at all, really. She loved this work.
She paused in the act of stepping down from a stool, attention diverted by a book at eye level. The Bear and the Bow, the spine read. The cover showed a large bear, towering over a woman with long red curly hair who was notching an arrow into her bow. The woman looked not at all afraid, glaring back at the bear with defiance.
Hmm. This must be a new acquisition since she’d been gone. A bit of heroic fantasy would certainly be a nice break from all the historical and legal texts she’d been reading for the past month. It was a wonder that the book was on the shelf at all; a story featuring a courageous heroine was not the sort that Queen Regina normally allowed in her library. Tucking the book under her arm, she walked slowly down the aisle, scanning the book spines to see if anything else caught her eye.
The quiet click of a door closing carried to her ears as she pulled down another book for closer inspection, right before Henry Mills walked around the end of the bookcase.
“Mrs. Gold!” he gasped, pulling the large book he held close to his chest and staring at her with wide eyes.
She spied a distinctive red sticker on the spine of the book he held. Only books kept in one section of the library had that sticker, and there was only one door that Henry could have just exited.
“Henry… did you take that book from the government archives?”
“My mom asked me to pick it up for her,” he claimed.
“Mmm. I doubt that, considering how tightly that area is regulated.” She held out her hand, and he surrendered the book with a sigh. “How did you even get in there?”
“My mom’s the Queen and Mayor,” he shrugged. “I have my ways.”
She wanted to ask him more about his methods, but restrained herself.
“If it were up to me, I’d let you take it. I’m not one to inhibit the pursuit of knowledge.”
“So I can have it back?” he asked hopefully.
“You’d never make it out of the library without getting caught. There’s a sensor embedded in the spine, that will set off alarms as soon as you walk out the door.”
“Really?” He peered at the book as if he could see the offending piece of security.
“Yes, really. You’d better go, Henry. I’ll find a way to get this back where it’s supposed to go.”
He gave one last glance at the book she held, before he turned away. He’d only taken two steps before he turned back.
“You won’t get in trouble, will you?”
“No. I’ll be fine, Henry. You should go.”
He nodded and left. Belle looked both ways to be sure no one else was near, before peeking at the title. The Mills: From Laborers to Ruling Family. The author was listed as Isaac Heller. Flipping through, Belle got the impression of a tell-all book, in the style of a tabloid. How in the world had this gotten published? No wonder Henry had been interested… but why would it be kept in the tightly restricted government archives?
Curiosity gnawed at her, as she tried to think of some way she could get it out of the library without being caught, so she could take it home and peruse it at her leisure. When no ideas presented themselves, she sighed and went to the circulation desk, mentally rehearsing the lie she would tell Archie.
*
“Can we talk freely here?” Belle asked, as they entered the house that evening and hung up their coats.
“The house should be safe. I had Dove here all day, watching for anyone who might try to plant a listening device.”
“Good. I want to tell you about something that happened at the library.” She launched into her tale, finishing with, “I told Archie that I found it on a table near the government archives, and had no idea how it got there. He praised me for turning it in.”
By this time, they were sitting down to a dinner prepared by his housekeeper. With their honeymoon period officially over, Mrs. Potts had returned to her duties. Whatever she’d cooked for their first post-honeymoon dinner, it smelled delicious.
“And young Henry didn’t tell you how he got in?” Mr. Gold asked.
“Only that he had his ways,” Belle smirked, amused by the idea of the Queen’s son defying the rules.
“Hmm. Well, all children go through their rebellious phase.”
“Did Bae?” she asked, hesitant but she felt that he needed to talk about his son. When had he last had anyone in his life that he could talk to about his son, and the devastating loss of him?
There was a barely perceptible pause in the motion of his fork, as he scooped up more food.
“Only a little,” he said briefly, then immediately followed it with, “you didn’t tell me the title of this contraband book that Henry had.”
She nodded, accepting that he didn’t want to talk further about his son, before reciting the title.
“Really? That book?” He actually smiled, a rarity for him.
“You know it?”
He chuckled.
“I have a copy in my library. I’m surprised you haven’t run across it already.”
She dropped her fork with a clatter.
“Where in the library?” she asked, already sliding off her stool.
“Miss French, it’s been there for over a decade. I doubt it will disappear while we’re finishing our meal.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” She returned to her seat, abashed at her questionable manners. “I just… get excited about books.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he said wryly.
Belle was able to laugh at herself, picking up her fork to resume eating.
“I was really surprised to see that book in the Government Archives. I only skimmed through it, but I would expect that the Queen would want all copies destroyed.”
“Most were, believe me. My guess is that Regina held on to one copy so that she had proof of the lies Isaac Heller told about her family. Should he ever attempt anything like that again, she could submit evidence in court that he’d done it before.”
“What a miserable pair of women. It’s sad. Nothing has ever been enough for them. Nothing will ever make them happy.”
“You’re correct about Cora. Had she ever achieved all the power and status she craved, then perhaps she could have been happy for a while… but then she would have wanted more. Power feeds on itself and is always hungry. Regina, though… she might be a different story. There’s a glimmer of hope for her to change, because she’s found something that makes her happy.”
“You mean her son.”
“Yes.”
“I saw them together, the day of our interviews. She really loves him. Anyone could see it.”
* * *
Weeks passed, during which their lives settled into a surprisingly mundane routine. They rose each morning, had breakfast together, and drove into town, where they went their separate ways for the day.
Belle had resumed her studies, and only took a couple weeks to catch up on the work that she’d missed while on her honeymoon. When she wasn’t at school, she was at the library working at her internship. It was a relief to settle back into her former routine and realize that she was still on schedule to graduate on time.
At the end of the day, she would meet Mr. Gold at his shop, and they would share the ride back to his house -- which she was increasingly beginning to think of as not just their house, but their home. They would share stories of their day over dinner, and usually spend a quiet evening together in the den. She would study or read, while he worked on his rental ledgers or sat with his own book.
Their life together was wonderful, Belle had to admit. It was nearly perfect… if not for the shadow of a government threat hanging over them, and the worry over Bae’s safety. There was no way to know if Mr. Gold’s aunts had been able to deliver the crucial message to his son. They could only hope, and wait, knowing all along that they might never get confirmation. The best they could hope for, Mr. Gold told her grimly, was that nothing would happen. No change meant that the government hadn’t captured Bae.
It was an imperfect solution, and Belle could tell that the uncertainty was taking its toll on her husband. Though he was as kind to her as always, she caught him sometimes staring off into space when he was supposed to be reading, and the grim twist of his mouth said that he wasn’t thinking happy thoughts. She’d heard him walk past her door in the middle of the night, and surmised that he wasn’t sleeping well.
She knew he had continued his work to aid the Queen behind the scenes. She wasn’t happy about that, but accepted it as necessary to insure Bae’s safety. For now, they were biding their time. Hopefully, one day soon, they could talk again about challenging the government’s unfair practices, but now was not the time. Not when his son’s safety was at stake.
*
“I think I found something!”
Belle rushed down the hall toward Mr. Gold’s office, arms wrapped around a large book, and turned into his office just as he was exiting in response to her call, causing the two of them to collide. She rebounded from the impact and would have ended up on her derriere, if not for his quickness in wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her.
She found herself pressed against him, with only the book she still held forming a barrier between their bodies. His face was so close that she could feel his breath when he exhaled, and she realized with mortification that she was staring at his mouth. She forced herself to raise her focus to his eyes and found him staring back at her, his face reddening.
She stepped back and he released her immediately.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, and thank you for catching me. I’m sure that would have been a very undignified fall.”
“No matter,” he assured her, using one hand to smooth his waistcoat. “You said you found something?”
“Yes! It’s in here.”
She passed him to enter his office, no longer feeling like a stranger in his work space. There was a small table by the window, and it was there that she laid the book and opened it to the bookmarked page in the sunlight.
“That’s a very old book,” he commented, reaching out to touch the yellowed page edges.
“Yes. And even this is only a reprint of the original, which is hundreds of years older.”
He gave the words themselves only a quick glance before turning to face her. “You’ll have to tell me what you found; you know I can’t read this language.”
“Right. So… we know that the current constitution, including the arranged marriage law, is based on a model of government established hundreds of years ago, written down in a book that our previous ruler dug out of an archive somewhere.”
“Yes. Always seemed a bit convenient that she found a document that described a government that gave her exactly what she wanted.”
“Very convenient… and badly translated.”
“How so?”
“This section here--” she outlined a paragraph with her finger without quite touching the page— “is the basis of the marriage law. The modern translation of these words reads, ‘the government shall choose for each citizen a life partner, and offer whatever support necessary to insure the success of each marriage.’” She opened her eyes, only then realizing that she’d closed them as she recited the words by memory, and saw Mr. Gold staring at her, lips parted and body tense.
He cleared his throat and glanced down at the book between them.
“So you’re saying that’s not what this book says?”
“It’s not how I would translate it, no. I read it as, ‘the government shall support each citizen in choosing their life partner, and offer whatever support necessary to insure the success of each marriage.’ Mr. Gold… they reversed the verbs in the current translation. There’s a world of difference in meaning between ‘support’ and ‘choose’ and they reversed them!”
“How sure are you of your translation?”
“I’m very sure of how I translated this book. The problem is, this is a later edition of the original. It’s very common for each edition to have minor edits, or changes in translation. What we need is to see the original.”
“Do you know where it’s kept?”
“According to my favorite professor at university… in the Government Archives of the University Library, where I have my internship. It’s theoretically possible to receive access to the documents kept there, but permission is granted to very few. The most commonly approved applications are from academics and scholars, like my professor. That’s how she knows where it is; she’s seen it there.”
“Hmm….” He leaned back against the table, tapping his fingers on his cane as he thought. “It’s unlikely that either of us could be approved to see these documents. There are other ways, though. How about you let me work on that? You’ve done your part by finding this information, and translating it. My skills are more suited to procuring items of value, especially those most difficult to procure. I’m going to enjoy this challenge. Well done on your part, Miss French.”
He gave a small salute as he went back to his desk, and the wink that accompanied it made her stomach flutter. He picked up the phone and started dialing, his attention already intent on his task, so she picked up her research and left, closing the door behind her.
*
The clock next to her bed read 2:08 when she opened her eyes, wondering why she was awake. She got out of bed and went to her door, opening it a crack to look out in the hallway. It was empty, but the light from downstairs told her that Mr. Gold was awake.
Wrapping a robe around herself, she went downstairs and knocked on his closed office door. She didn’t wait for his answer before opening it and stepping inside.
“Miss French. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“Wondering why you’re up at this hour,” she countered.
He sighed. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I found myself unable to sleep, and thought I might get some work done.”
“You’re worried over Bae,” she stated. He simply nodded. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be, to not know. Can I help in any way?”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing that anyone can do, Miss French.”
“Well, I can keep you company, at least.” She saw him start to protest, and cut him off. “You shouldn’t be alone. Just let me grab a book, and I’ll sit with you.”
He only nodded acknowledgement when she re-entered his office, The Bear and the Bow in hand, and made herself comfortable on the small couch that she’d never seen him use. She didn’t try to draw him into conversation, but focused on her book. She felt his eyes on her occasionally, but continued to read, till her eyes grew heavy and she let her head fall back against the cushion.
She didn’t know how much later it was, when he shook her awake, whispering her name urgently.
“Miss French! Miss French, you must wake up now.”
His panicked tone chased away the last traces of sleep-induced fog. “What is it?” she asked, sitting up. A blanket fell away as she did, and she had the passing thought that Mr. Gold had covered her as she slept.
“Someone is in the house.”
“What?” She was fully awake in an instant.
“I heard footsteps upstairs. I need you to stay here, and lock the door, while I investigate.”
He stood up from where he’d been bending over her, and for the first time she saw a gun in his hand. The sight made her go cold; she’d never known that he owned a gun. He strode toward the door as quickly as his injured leg allowed, and left, closing the door behind him.
What danger was he walking into upstairs? She couldn’t stay here, safe behind a locked door, and let him take all the risk. Not when she could possibly help. Crossing to Mr. Gold’s desk, she scanned the items in plain sight and grabbed a glass paperweight in one hand, a silver letter opener in the other.
As quietly as possible, she left the office and tip-toed up the stairs. Mr. Gold was already out of sight, so she hurried to the top and looked down the hall, to see him pressed to the wall outside Bae’s room. A light shone from beneath the closed door. She moved to the wall herself, and crept closer. She was still several feet away from Mr. Gold when he turned suddenly, opening the door and pointing the gun into the room.
“Stop where you are!” he commanded, and Belle shivered at the menace in his voice. “Turn around with your hands up, or I shoot!”
“Don’t shoot!” A man’s voice. “It’s me, Papa. It’s Bae.”
The color drained from Gold’s face, and the hand holding the gun fell limp to his side.
-
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Chapter three of my fic "Already There" is posted! I originally said this would be the last chapter, but I was wrong. Not the first time, won't be the last. @threepwoodmarley
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Shitty and Jack, 4:15 PM, Jack's room in the Haus
MY BOYS (sobs in hockey bro friendship) thank you thank you thank you for this prompt - i loved the excuse to write for them for the first time in a while! 💜🦗
want your own ficlet? TWO DAYS LEFT rules here.
🏒🏒🏒🏒
jack's room, 4:15pm
When Jack frowns his forehead goes all scrunchy and Shitty has a hard time not reaching out and smoothing the lines out like a human iron. Jack has a lot of frowns, from Frown #1: Get Your Shit Together On The Ice I Swear To Gretzky to Frown #46: I Do Not Understand That Reference And I’m Not Sure I Want To and everything in between and beyond. He’s currently wearing Frown #34: That’s Not OSHA Compliant.
It’s fucking adorable. What a goober.
“Seriously, Shitty, that can’t be safe,” Jack says, all earnest concern.
“Jack. Jackabelle. Jackabaloo,” Shitty says, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Let me paint you word picture, okay? After classes and practice, you and me, snacks, a drink if we feel like, out on the roof, surveying our new domain. You could even study like the giant fucking nerd that you are. We’d be kings of all the light touches, et cetera. You feel me? Plus, generations of SMH team members have been out on the Reading Room before us, and many will after us. It’s tradition.”
Jack crosses his arms. “The fact that so many people have been out there only worries me more, honestly.”
“It looks fine to me,” Shitty shrugs. “And Johnson says it’s structurally sound.”
Jack snorts. “Oh well if Johnson says it’s safe—”
“His dad’s an engineer or something. He checks the Haus over every summer.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh, now get that big beautiful but of yours in gear and help me get it set up.”
Frown #12: I Think I Missed A Pertinent Segue
“Set up?”
“Chairs, lights, cooler, blankets, tarp – for a start. We’re gonna trick this place out.”
Jack sighs, frowning down at the pile of gear Shitty gathered earlier. (Frown #19: I’m Thinking So Hard It Hurts Sometimes.) “You’re going to keep badgering me about this until I say yes, aren’t you.”
It’s not a question.
Shitty beams at the hint of acquiescence in his tone. “You know it brah! It wouldn’t be the same without you out there with me. What kind of a kickass hang out spot could it be without my kickass best friend?”
Jack freezes in shock. It breaks Shitty’s heart how Jack still doesn’t think of himself as important to other people sometimes.
“We should get this ready before dark, then, eh?”
And that— That’s not a frown. That’s a fucking smile.
Jack has fewer smiles than frowns, but the number of smiles that he lets Shitty (and sometimes the team) see are slowly but steadily increasing. Smile #1: Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaal, but it doesn’t matter if Jack is the one to score it or not.
This one is Smile #4: Shitty Called Me His Best Friend – unsurprisingly, it’s Shitty’s favorite.
#cricket writes#ficlet fest 3#omgcp#jackshit#check please#pre canon#the many expressions of jack laurent zimmermann#set at the beginning of Jack and Shitty's sophomore year#GOD THEIR FRIENDSHIP MAKES ME EMOTIONAL#ficlet#gentleindigo#okay last one for today probably
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Return Notice
Fandom: OUaT/Rumbelle
Rating: G
Word Count: ~1,800
Summary: A donation to the library gives Belle insight into the mysterious Mr. Gold.
A/N: This is a @rumbellesecretsanta gift fic for @lotus0kid. Their prompt was: If found, please return to... Lotus, I'm sorry this is late. Real life stuff got in the way. I hope this answers your prompt.
* * *
The box was directly in front of the library doors, where she couldn’t possibly miss it. “For donation” was written in large letters across the top. Christmas Eve seemed like a strange time to donate books to the library, Belle thought. The building wasn’t even open today; she was only here for a moment, to pick up a gift that she’d been hiding in her desk for weeks.
She leaned over the box so she could unlock the library doors, then managed to push it inside. It was a large box, and quite heavy. Flipping on a light, she opened the box to peruse the contents.
She could tell at first glance that many of the books were for children. Several well-known board books caught her eye, worn and frayed from a toddler’s rough treatment. There were beginning readers, chapter books of the sort read by middle school children, and YA novels. With the exception of the well-gnawed baby books, they all seemed to be in excellent condition.
She picked up a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit and opened it. On the inside cover was a sticker. If found, please return to Baeden Gold, it read. The name had been filled in with careful childish print.
Gold?
The only Gold she knew of in town was Mr. Gold, the forbidding man who owned and ran the pawn shop across the street. He also owned most of the property in town, but those two facts made up nearly the sum total of what she knew about him. He seemed to take pride in keeping to himself; the only time he interacted with other humans was when he was collecting rent or conducting business in his shop.
Curiosity piqued, Belle flipped through the book in her hands, and then immediately went back to the front, where handwriting had caught her eye. On the blank page preceding the copyright information, there was a note.
Dear Bae,
You are the only reason that I ever became Real.
Love always, your Papa.
Belle read the inscription a second time, her eyes filling up with tears. Mr. Gold had a son? One that he loved very much, if this note was anything to go by. Yet she’d never heard anyone speak of the man having a son, or any family at all.
She picked up another book at random, and flipped through it. A photograph fell out, and it confirmed her guess. It showed Mr. Gold, younger than she’d ever seen him, holding a small boy by the hand. Written on the back in the same handwriting she’d seen in the book, it said, Papa and Bae, age four.
She tucked the picture back in, and turned to the front of the book. Another label with the name Baeden Gold, and on the next page, another note.
Dear Bae,
I know you long for more adventure than Storybrooke can give you. Till you grow up and go out into the world seeking your own adventures, perhaps you can live vicariously through stories like this.
Love, Papa
She turned the book over to see the title. Treasure Island. Plenty of adventure to be had in that one. Had it been enough to satisfy a young Baeden, as his father hoped?
She chose several more books at random, finding the same name labels and handwritten notes in each of them. If there was one thing Belle French knew about, it was books. And she could see Bae’s entire life documented in this box. These books had been chosen with care, starting when the baby was too young to focus on the pages, continuing through childhood, and ending – as far as Belle could ascertain – when the boy became a young adult. Till he left home, perhaps? Why had he never come back? She was sure she would have been aware if Mr. Gold had a son who visited.
She looked out the window to the pawn shop across the street, where the lights were still on. Everyone knew that Mr. Gold stayed open late on Christmas Eve, and even opened on Christmas Day, for those last minute shoppers each year. That wasn’t the only reason, she realized now, standing there with the box of books at her feet. Mr. Gold stayed open all the time because he had no one to go home to. He’d clearly had a family, once, but not in her lifetime.
Why would he give away the books of a son that he clearly loved?
Without stopping to think about it, she snatched the first book she’d looked at from the box again, and crossed the street.
The bell above the door jingled as she entered the shop. Inside, the warmth welcomed her. She’d forgotten to put her coat back on when she left the library.
Belle stopped in the middle of the room and looked around. She hadn’t been here for years, not since she’d accompanied her father on the day that he asked for a loan from Mr. Gold. The visit had been fraught with tension, and soon after that, her father warned her to always stay away from Mr. Gold. As a good and dutiful daughter, she’d done so… until this moment.
The tap of a cane warned of the man’s arrival, before the man himself came through the curtain that separated the showroom from the back of the shop. His eyebrows raised as he regarded her with interest.
“Miss French. You’re not one of my Christmas Eve regulars.” He planted himself behind the counter.
“You have regulars for that?” Belle asked, distracted from her mission by the thought of people who consistently waited till Christmas Eve to buy gifts.
“Indeed I do, but I would not have expected it of you.”
“And what makes you think you know me?” she asked, curious. “We’ve never even had a conversation before now.”
“I make it my business to know about everyone in this town, Miss French. Surely a librarian would agree with the saying that knowledge is power.”
His dark eyes bored into hers, and she was suddenly reminded that she was dealing with the most powerful man in town. Had she made a mistake, coming here?
“I’m not here to shop,” Belle said, speaking before she could lose her nerve. “I came to ask you a question.”
He regarded her for a moment before giving an elegant wave of his hand.
“By all means, proceed. I confess to some curiosity about what question could be so urgent that you’d accost me in my shop on Christmas Eve.”
Belle walked up to the counter and placed The Velveteen Rabbit on its glass top.
“Why are you trying to give away all your son’s books?”
At sight of the book, Mr. Gold went eerily still, his face guarded. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before, yet there was a subtle threat in his tone. A warning.
“My reasons are not your concern, Miss French. I donated books to the library. Shelve them for others to borrow, or throw them in the rubbish bin, but don’t bring them back here.”
He turned and moved away, aiming for the curtain again. Belle sensed that if he walked through that curtain, that she’d have missed her chance forever.
“Why are you trying to forget the only person who’s ever loved you?”
He spun around, snarling, and Belle took a step back from his obvious wrath.
“What would you know about who loved me?”
Gathering her courage, Belle tapped the book cover. “The only reason you became real,” she reminded him.
He closed his eyes, and looked… embarrassed?
“I forgot that I wrote in that,” he murmured.
“You wrote in all of them,” Belle said. “At least, the several that I looked at.”
He moved closer again, but slowly, like his burst of anger had tired him.
“Every year for his birthday, and again at Christmas,” he said, in a near-whisper. “No matter what other gifts he received, I would always give him a new book. I would write a note in it. Even before he could read, I wrote those notes.”
He laid a hand on the book, gingerly, as if it might burn him. Belle waited, but no further information was forthcoming.
“That sounds like a wonderful tradition,” she said finally. “I’m sure Bae appreciated it.”
“I thought he did… till I lost him.” His hand withdrew, clenched into a fist.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“He’s not dead. I said he was lost to me.” He was still looking at his hand on the book, but his eyes were unfocused. Was he remembering all the times he’d read this book to his son?
What had she been thinking, barging into his shop and bringing up painful memories?
He removed his hand suddenly, stepping back and resuming his formal manner like a well-fitted suit.
“Miss French, I’ve changed my mind about donating the books to the library.”
She nodded. “I understand. I’ll see that the entire box is returned to you after the holiday, when I’ll have help carrying it.”
“No, I don’t think you do understand. I don’t want the books back. I want them destroyed. You must have a system in place for that.”
“Destroy them?” she asked in horror. The very notion of destroying perfectly good books was a sacrilege to her.
“I’ll pay you for your services,” he offered.
“I don’t… no. I don’t want your money,” she stumbled over the words.
“I need a guarantee that no one will ever see these books, Miss French. Or what they contain. Destroying them will ensure that.”
“What they–” And suddenly, she understood. The words she’d meant to say, died on her tongue. She took a breath and nodded, trying for her professional librarian voice. “I understand, Mr. Gold. You have my word that no one else will ever see these books.”
“Thank you, Miss French.” He was already turning away. “If you wouldn’t mind seeing yourself out, I have work to do.”
He was gone through the curtain before Belle had moved from her spot. She picked up the book and returned to the library, where she contemplated the box by the door.
With effort, she managed to push it across the floor into her office. Using a large marker, she crossed through the existing words. Instead she wrote Property of Belle French, and taped the box firmly shut.
At the first opportunity, Belle planned to move this box to her own storage unit for safekeeping. Mr. Gold could change his mind one day, and if he did, the books would be waiting for him. In the meantime, the citizens of Storybrooke never needed to know that their town Scrooge had anything other than a lump of coal where his heart should be.
He’d been right. Knowledge was power. Belle would use her power to protect.
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Matched Set
Fandom: Glee; Klaine.
Summary: Blaine is just trying to get through each day as single dad to a newborn... but today will be different.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2,200
A/N: Written as a @secretsantaklaine gift for @datshitrandom, who asked for a single dad Klaine story. Happy Holidays to you!
Glee fic masterlist
AO3 link
* * *
Nothing’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around…
Blaine crooned to Rosie in a murmur that barely carried over the constant shhhh of the white noise machine, laying her down on the changing as she squeaked a protest. He grimaced at the ripping sound of the velcro parting as he unswaddled her. He made a mental note – again – to buy some swaddles that didn’t use velcro.
Released from the tight confines of the swaddle, Rosie immediately flailed her limbs in every direction. Blaine tapped the button that turned on a dim light, resigned to needing a bit of help to see what he was doing. He had no hope of getting her diaper changed in the dark, with her moving like that.
No one’s gonna hurt you, no one’s gonna dare…
Slide a clean diaper under her bottom, take off the soiled one, wipe her off, secure the tabs while fighting her kicking legs. The routine had become automatic over the past few weeks. He laid her back in her crib, flinching at the increased volume of her cries, and hurriedly washed his hands in the connected bathroom before retrieving her bottle from the warmer.
Scooping her up, he sat in the rocker and nudged the nipple into her mouth. The screams died in the air as she latched on, sucking down the formula as if she hadn’t eaten for days. He held her closer, breathing in her baby scent and kissing her forehead.
Others can desert you, not to worry. Whistle, I’ll be there.
He’d known the pain of desertion… from his parents, from his ex-husband… but Rosie never would. Not if Blaine had anything to say about it.
He let his head fall back, closing his eyes but still attuned to the small bundle in his arms. When the bottle was empty, he raised her to his shoulder and patted her back, still singing to her softly. His rendition of “Baby Mine” was interrupted by a deep yawn that he felt all the way down to his toes. A part of him didn’t want to put her down. He wanted to hold her and sing to her all night, but he also needed his sleep if he was going to keep caring for her.
He forced his tired body to move, to put her back in her crib, and move to his own bed. He peeked at the time. 2:31 am. If he was lucky, he’d get three hours before she woke again.
He slid under the covers, and was immediately asleep.
***
No one had told him that parenting a newborn was a constant contradiction. He was constantly terrified, yet happier than he’d ever been. Exhausted, yet he had limitless energy. Every day was mind-numbingly the same as before, and yet every day was so different. He’d never felt so loved and needed, nor had he ever felt so lonely.
By the time the sun had come up, and he’d diapered, fed, and burped Rosie again, he’d decided that he would take steps to make sure today was different. They were going to do it. They were going to leave the house.
He hurried through a shower while she napped, and managed to finish getting dressed before she woke. No time for gel in his hair, though. Rosie didn’t seem to care about whether his hair got tamed; what she cared about was getting another bottle. After she ate – again – and burped, he dressed her in an outfit that he’d bought before she was born, and had been dying to try on her. She was adorable in it, if he did say so himself.
He checked the diaper bag for the third time, slipped a bottle into the insulated pouch where it would stay cold, and clipped Rosie into her stroller.
Once on the sidewalk, he turned in the opposite direction of his usual corner store and favorite coffee shop. Funny how a person could live in NYC and have so many options all around them on every block, yet find themselves frequenting the same places each day instead of exploring.
With that in mind, he meandered down a few side streets, stopping to look in the windows of stores that he’d never passed before, while Rosie slept in the stroller. A coffee shop caught his eye, and his pace quickened. Coffee… yes, coffee sounded like a good idea. He’d been practically living off it since Rosie was born.
He maneuvered the stroller into the small shop and ordered at the counter, even paying for the next customer out of impulse. He’d gotten a four hour stretch of sleep this morning. He could afford to be generous. He found a table by the window and tucked in behind the door where he could watch passers-by, and checked on Rosie, but she was dead to the world, so he allowed himself to savor the aroma of the coffee for a moment before drinking. He nearly moaned at the liquid burning his tongue, already anticipating the jolt of energy to come.
The door opened and the noise of New York came in, along with a man carrying a baby in a sling. Blaine hid a smile in his coffee as the man went up to the counter to order, pleased beyond measure that the next person to come in was another dad. And a very stylishly dressed dad, at that. Blaine hadn’t been able to see the man’s face when he came in, but his backside was very nice to look at.
The barista was shaking her head at the man’s offer of money, and pointed in Blaine’s direction. He sat up as the man walked over, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth and hoping that he hadn’t dripped any coffee on his shirt, because the newcomer’s backside wasn’t the only part of him that was nice to view. His face was beautiful.
“Hi. I just wanted to say, thanks for the coffee.” He was even more handsome when he smiled, and Blaine gave himself a mental kick. He tried to sound natural when he answered.
“You’re welcome. I had no idea that the next person to come in would be another dad–” he gestured at the bundle the other held to his chest – “but I’m really glad it worked out that way. How old is your baby?”
“He’s four months. I don’t think I’d have managed this long, if not for coffee. Being a single dad is no joke.”
“You’re a single dad? Me too!”
The other man gaped at him. “What are the odds?”
“I don’t know, but umm… would you… like to join me?” Blaine asked, as hope welled up in him. “We can trade horror stories about 4:00 am feedings and diaper blowouts.”
“I only have a few minutes before dropping him off at daycare, but sure.”
“I’m Blaine, by the way.”
“Kurt.”
He waited while Kurt sat, carefully angling his chair out from the table to allow for the bundle strapped to his chest.
“We single dads are a rare breed,” Blaine commented, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping with the question he planned to ask. “May I ask how you came to it?”
“Well, it wasn’t because I knocked up my girlfriend by accident, that’s for sure!” He winked, and Blaine’s heart skipped a beat, before Kurt’s expression sobered. “I’m a single dad by choice, though I didn’t exactly dream of this when I was a kid. I always knew it would involve a surrogate, or adoption, but I figured I’d get married first, and make that choice with my husband.”
“So how….?” Blaine trailed off, not sure if he should ask.
Kurt shrugged.
“I turned 30, then 35, and Prince Charming had yet to show his handsome face. I knew my dad wanted grandkids, and he’s not getting any younger. I decided to stop waiting for the right time, and just make it happen. I wanted my dad to be a granddad, and I wanted my child to grow up with a grandfather that he’ll hopefully get enough years with, to remember when my dad’s gone.”
“Wow.” Blaine was honestly impressed. “I don’t think I’d have been brave enough to do that. To choose it, I mean.”
Kurt sipped his coffee, turning his head to keep the cup to one side instead of drinking over his baby.
“And yet, here you are. So how’d it happen?”
Blaine hesitated, wondering how to summarize the tumultuous events of the past year. Rosie whined at that moment, giving him an excuse to delay a moment as he took her out of the stroller and bounced her in his arms a bit, till she went limp in sleep once again.
“Well, I was married,” Blaine started. “To a man I thought I’d be raising kids with, grow old with, all that. I kinda wanted to have kids when we were about thirty, but he said we should wait and get more established in our careers first. I should have known then that something was wrong.” Blaine sighed, adjusting Rosie’s blanket so it wasn’t too near her face. “When I finally convinced him, last year, to start the surrogate process, he just wasn’t enthused. The surrogate was in her second trimester when my ex announced that a baby was ‘too much reality’ and walked out. So that left just me and Rosie.”
“I’m sorry it happened like that,” Kurt murmured. “That must have been devastating.”
“It was,” Blaine admitted. “Luckily, I had a distraction.”
He smiled down at Rosie, dozing in his arms, and dropped a glancing kiss on her forehead.
“Yes. Babies do provide quite the distraction.” They smiled at each other in recognition of all that the distraction included, before Kurt said, “Rosie is a pretty name. What made you choose it?”
“Oh, well… I was looking toward theatre for name inspiration. And what’s one of the greatest female roles of musical theatre?”
“Mama Rose,” Kurt supplied without hesitation.
“Yep. Rose is actually her middle name. I hadn’t planned to call her Rosie, but as soon as she was born I took one look at her and knew she was a Rosie.”
“Ahh. So her first name is?”
“Eliza… from Hamilton, of course.”
“You’re joking!”
“Uh… no. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Eliza was my mother’s name. Well, Elizabeth,” Kurt clarified, “but she always went by Eliza. If this one had been a girl, he would have been Elizabeth, after my mother.”
“So what did you choose instead?”
“Elijah. It was the closest name I could think of as a male equivalent of Eliza. His middle name is Finn, after my step-brother who passed away several years ago.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
Kurt nodded in acknowledgement, and looked down as the bundle on his chest let out a squeak.
“Time to wake up?” he asked the baby.
Apparently it was, because he carefully unclipped the carrier and lifted the baby out, offering Blaine his first look at Elijah’s clothes.
“I don’t believe it,” he blurted.
“Excuse me?” Kurt asked.
“Hold on, just… let me show you.”
He quickly unwound Rosie’s blankets, and held her up for Kurt to see what she was wearing.
“Oh… my… God.”
Kurt stared at the babies’ matching outfits, and started to laugh, with Blaine joining him.
“This feels like it should be a sign of something,” Blaine said, wiping his eyes. “I’m not sure what, though.”
“Maybe… it’s a sign that we should meet here again tomorrow, and share single dad stories over coffee and bagels,” Kurt suggested. Was Blaine imagining it, or had he actually winked?
“I’d really love that. I mean, assuming she cooperates. You know how it is with babies and their sleep schedule.”
“So we should exchange numbers, in case one of us can’t make it.”
Kurt handed over his phone, nodding for Blaine to input his number. Their fingers brushed as he handed it back, and he felt a jolt. He tried to recover, faking an easy smile as he did his best not to hyperventilate.
“Just a warning that if our babies wear matching outfits again tomorrow, I’m going to be seriously freaked out,” Blaine said.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Tell you what, Elijah will be wearing something red tomorrow. Rosie may coordinate her outfit or not, as she pleases.” Kurt glanced at his phone. “I really do need to drop him off, so I can get to work. I just went back a week ago, and it’s a nightmare trying to catch up.”
“Well, it was great to meet you, Kurt.” Blaine held out a hand, and felt that same electricity as they touched.
“You too. See you tomorrow!”
And with a wave, Kurt was gone. Blaine watched him till he disappeared from sight, and looked down at Rosie, still asleep. He had a sneaking suspicion that their lives had just changed, and she had slept through the whole thing. He leaned down to whisper to her.
“One day, I’ll tell you the story about meeting your brother, and how the two of you were always a matched set.”
* * *
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Love and Happiness, ch 8
Fandom: OUaT/Rumbelle
Rating: Teen
Word Count: ~2,850 for this chapter; ~28,700 total so far
AO3 link
* * *
The next morning, Belle woke early enough to see the sun peek over the horizon. Excited, she hurried through her morning routine, only grimacing for a moment before putting on the dress that designated her as a newly married woman. She hated it, but it was a necessity if she was going to be seen in public.
When she went downstairs, she saw that she wasn’t the only one up early. Mr. Gold was already in the kitchen, and from the smell, was cooking something delicious. He turned when she greeted him.
“What’s all this?” Belle asked.
“Just thought we could eat breakfast together, before we go our separate ways for the day. I need to check in at my pawn shop, and you said you have people you want to visit.”
“Yes, I do. And this looks wonderful, but we don’t usually eat breakfast together.”
“It seemed like a good day to start new traditions.” He actually gave her a small smile as he put food on the two plates already set on the table.
Although she felt like cheering, because it seemed as if his cold facade was finally showing some cracks, she restrained herself and simply took a seat at the table. As they ate, they went over the plans again, and worked together to clean up the kitchen. They rode together in his car to Main Street, and he stopped in front of the florist shop to let her out. She waved goodbye to him and hurried into the shop.
“Papa?” she called out as she entered. “Papa, are you here?”
“Belle!” He appeared from behind a spread of elephant ears, and immediately stepped toward her with open arms.
She rushed into his hug, slumping against him in relief.
“I wasn’t expecting you, sweetheart. Your honeymoon is over?”
“Yes, Papa. We had our interviews yesterday. I can go out again, and you’re the first person I wanted to see.”
He cupped her face in his hands, studying her.
“How are you? I hope Mr. Gold treated you well.”
“Yes, Papa. We’re a better match than I ever would have expected.”
And it was true, even though their marriage was in name only. Her father didn’t need to know that they slept in separate bedrooms. She could tell him how they’d talk for hours on a variety of topics, and that Mr. Gold treated her with the utmost respect, and all of that would be true.
“How have you been? Are you taking care of yourself?” she asked.
“Yes, darling. Believe it or not, I am capable of taking care of myself when you’re not around. Not that I haven’t missed you terribly! I have, but I can cook my own meals. I can even do laundry.”
“Hmm. So if I stopped by home… I mean, your home,” she caught herself, “I wouldn’t find the dishes piled up in the sink, or take away bags from Granny’s Diner in your trash?”
“Well…” He looked cagey. “Maybe a few.”
“That’s what I thought. I knew you wouldn’t be cooking at home every night, once you had to do it yourself. Tell you what, I’ll stop by the market today, and buy all the usual groceries, and stock your refrigerator.”
“Belle… you can’t be spending all your time taking care of me. You have a husband to take care of now, you should be focused on him.”
“He’s at work today, and I have his full blessing and permission to spend today visiting everyone I haven’t seen for a month. I’ll be going home with him tonight, and I’ll eat dinner with my husband. So don’t you worry about that.”
“Well… alright. If you’re sure he won’t mind. I suppose I could do with a bit of help.”
“So how has business been this past month?” she asked. “Why don’t we go in back, and we can work while we talk?”
They strolled into the back room arm-in-arm, and Belle was hit by a wave of nostalgia as she stepped into the familiar space. She’d grown up in this florist shop, helping her father tend to the flowers, watching him carefully group the blooms into a pleasing arrangement that she couldn’t get the knack of, no matter how often she tried. She’d been checking out customers since she was old enough to work the register, standing on an overturned crate because she couldn’t see over the counter without it.
Of course, a lot of those memories included her mother, who had been the friendly face in the front of the shop for years, while her father handled the back. After her mother passed away, Belle had stepped into that position when she could, but her studies took up a lot of her time. And of course, for the past month, she hadn’t been able to help her father at all, at home or in the shop. So it was a relief to walk into the back room and find that here at least, nothing had changed.
“I was just finishing up with today’s deliveries, sweetheart. Hand me that bucket of roses, hmm?”
She spent the morning in the florist shop with her father, and they fell back into their old working patterns so easily, she could almost forget she was married. As noon approached however, she told her father regretfully that she needed to go.
“Mr. Gold and I agreed to have lunch together at Granny’s,” she explained. “It’s our first time out in public as a married couple, so we want to let everyone know that we’re getting along well.”
The day after interviews was always anticipated by the town gossips, who would watch to see which of the new couples would step out together on their first post-honeymoon outing, and which would go their separate ways, avoiding each other as much as possible. Belle had discussed it with her new husband, and they agreed that they needed to present a united front for the town. They were sure that the Queen -- and her mother, who Gold seemed to think was the greater threat -- would be watching.
So she hugged her father goodbye, whispering into his ear as she did so.
“I need you to do something for me, Papa. Don’t say a word right now, and don’t tell anyone.” As she let go, she slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He closed his fist around it, and gave her a confused look, but nodded.
She picked up her bag and left, calling a final farewell from the door, before walking down the street to Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. As she went, she sent a prayer to any deities who might be listening, that her father would be able to deliver the crucial message — disguised as an ordinary flower delivery — to Mr. Gold’s aunts.
She entered his shop to the tinkling of the bell over the door, and stopped in the center of the room to look around. She’d never been here before, kept away by Mr. Gold’s reputation. The man himself came through the curtain behind the counter, and smiled. Was she imagining it, or was his smile even a genuine one?
“Miss French. Did you have a good morning with your father? And is he well?”
“Yes, it was very nice. Thank you for asking, Mr. Gold.”
She’d asked him if the townspeople would think it odd that they called each other by formal titles, suggesting that perhaps they should switch to first names. He’d pointed out that many newly married couples still used formal titles for some time after their marriage. Belle was privately disappointed, only because she’d hoped to learn his first name, which he’d never told her. It seemed wrong that she was married to him, and still didn’t know his first name.
“Did you get a chance to discuss everything you wanted?” he asked, and the look he leveled at her said what he was really asking. “I’m sure that after a month, you have many things to talk about. I have no objection to you going back to spend the afternoon with your father after our lunch, if you need more time.”
“No, we caught up with each other pretty well. I would like to visit the market this afternoon though, and buy some healthy foods for him. I suspect he’s been living on diner food this past month.”
“Of course. I have an account at the market. You can tell them to charge whatever you get, to my account.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”
“Shall we go to lunch?” he asked, offering his arm.
They stepped out onto the sidewalk together after he locked the door, and strolled down Main Street toward Granny’s Diner, sending each other sideways glances. They’d agreed not to talk openly about their plans anywhere outside of his home, as he considered it possible that his shop had been bugged in the month he was absent.
The diner was filling up when they arrived, and Belle thought they might not find a place to sit, but Mr. Gold simply said, “Excuse us, please,” to a young couple about to take the back corner booth, and they backed away, opting to sit at the bar instead.
A waitress appeared promptly with menus, and after they’d ordered they sat awkwardly for a moment, aware of the numerous eyes on them.
“I suppose… all we can do now is wait,” Belle said. He met her eyes, knowing that she wasn’t talking about the food they’d just ordered.
“Yes.” He looked pained as he said it, and she thought about how difficult it would be to simply wait, and take no action, hoping that others would keep your loved one safe. She reached across the table, taking his hand in hers.
It took a moment for her to realize that the pitch of the chatter in the room had changed. Looking around, she realized that people were now openly staring at them.
“Why are people staring?” she asked Mr. Gold softly, trying to speak without moving her lips.
“Don’t you know? They’ve never seen a beautiful young woman hold hands with the town monster.”
“You’re not a monster,” she protested. “They don’t know you, but I do.”
He gave her a look that said they’d agree to disagree, as the door opened again and Belle could see, from the corner of her eye, everyone turning to look at the newcomers.
It was Ruby with her new wife. Dorothy, she remembered. She turned and waved, relieved when Ruby saw her and waved back, pointing them out to her wife. They headed toward the back booth, making quick apologies and promises to talk later to other townspeople who tried to waylay them.
“Belle!” Ruby leaned over to give her a hug. “Isn’t it so nice to get out of the house?”
“Yes! And where better to be, than at your Granny’s?”
“This is my wife, Dorothy Gale,” Ruby introduced. Belle shook hands with her, and introduced Mr. Gold.
“Do you want to join us?” Belle asked. “I don’t think there’s anywhere left to sit.”
“If you’re sure we won’t be imposing,” Ruby said, looking askance at Mr. Gold.
“Don’t be silly! Here, let me move over…”
A moment later, she was sitting on the same side of the booth with Mr. Gold, pressed against his side. Let the townspeople chew on that. Ruby and Dorothy slid into the other side of the booth.
“So, Belle! What are your plans, now that you can go out again?” Ruby asked, obviously trying to get the conversation started.
“You know me,” Belle said with a grin. “I’m going right back to my books.”
“Of course you are. This girl....” she turned to Dorothy and whispered, as if telling a secret, “looooves books. Like, I think she’d marry them if she could.”
“Wonder what our government would say about that match,” Dorothy whispered back.
All three women laughed, and even Mr. Gold managed a smile at their banter.
“Well, they did match me with a man who has an impressive collection of books,” Belle pointed out. “What about you, Dorothy? Do you like to read?”
“Not really,” she replied. “I’d rather be outside, being active. I grew up on a farm, so there’s always something to do.”
“We went out there this morning, Belle. It’s amazing. Miles of fields and wooded areas. Made me feel like I could really breathe, you know?”
“And the two of you plan to move back to the farm, after your starter home?”
“We’ve applied,” Ruby answered, her eagerness obvious.
“We’ll get approved, Rubes. I told you… farmers always get approved, because we feed this entire island.”
“It makes sound financial sense to keep the farms well staffed,” Mr. Gold agreed. “Tell me, Miss Gale, what are the major crops on your family’s farm?”
As their spouses lapsed into a conversation about agricultural economics, Belle caught Ruby’s eye and smiled.
“We both lucked out, huh?” Ruby said, so softly that Belle almost had to read her lips, more than hear her.
“Yeah.” Under the table, she slipped her hand into Mr. Gold’s and squeezed, making him falter mid-sentence. He caught himself and continued talking, and she felt an answering squeeze in response.
Their relationship might not be what everyone else assumed it was, but it was a good match nonetheless. For just a moment, sitting here in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, having a nice lunch in public with her husband and her close friend who definitely seemed happy in her match, Belle wondered if challenging the marriage law was worth it. It was so risky, and with very little chance of success. The retaliation from the government would surely be severe. And they were risking it all for the slim chance of escaping this marriage, when she was becoming more and more convinced that she could be happy with Mr. Gold.
Wouldn’t it be easier, and safer, to simply accept her fate and make the best of it?
Once they had confirmation that Mr. Gold’s son was safe, they could settle into their life together, and be happy… except that the government would never relinquish control over them. And Mr. Gold was indebted to the Queen, thanks to the deal they’d made long ago. Breaking that deal would make him even more of a target, and her with him.
Belle sighed, wondering why she kept having this argument with herself again and again, only to keep coming back to the same conclusion.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Gold asked.
Belle realized that while her thoughts were elsewhere, their server had reappeared. Ruby and Dorothy were placing their orders for lunch.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just making a grocery list in my head.”
She managed to direct her attention back to the conversation for the rest of their meal, asking Ruby and Dorothy about their future plans. Their answers tumbled over each other as they described the life they planned to build together. They both lit up when they spoke of adopting a baby in the future, and Belle realized that she’d never seen her friend this happy. Dorothy had put that dazzling smile on Ruby’s face, and by the time their server cleared away the dishes, Belle felt a rush of gratitude toward the other woman. If only all the arranged marriages were as happy as the couple seated across from her.
Mr. Gold didn’t contribute much for the rest of the meal, choosing to mostly listen to the women’s conversation. He paid for both bills when they arrived, overriding Ruby’s and Dorothy’s protests.
They all said their goodbyes in front of the diner, with Belle exchanging hugs with Ruby and – after asking if the other woman was receptive – Dorothy as well. She walked arm-in-arm with Mr. Gold back to his pawn shop, talking about how nice it had been to connect with an old friend, and make a new one. They stopped at his shop door.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the lunch, Miss French. It’s nice to see you so happy.”
Though he didn’t quite smile as he said it, she thought he smiled a bit with his eyes.
“I am happy, and not just because of seeing Ruby again. This past month has been better than I could have expected, and now that we can go out again… well.” She shrugged. “I know the world isn’t perfect, but today has been good.”
Acting on impulse, she raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then smiled at his flummoxed expression.
“I’m off to the market, then to the university to see about my classes and internship,” she said. “I’ll be back here by 5:00, so we can go home together.”
She walked away, resisting the urge to look back. When she reached the corner, her resolve cracked, and she turned to look. Mr. Gold was still standing at his shop door, watching her walk away. With a wave, she turned the corner and walked on, smiling to herself.
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The Long Road Home, ch 10
Fandom: OUaT/Rumbelle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,900 for this chapter, ~33,000 total.
Summary: What if Belle hadn’t left the Dark Castle in 1x12? What might have happened next?
Read from the beginning on Tumblr. (Following chapters are linked.)
My Rumbelle Fic Masterlist
AO3 link.
A/N: This is the end of the fic! Thank you to everyone who read it, and liked or reblogged, or commented on AO3. And a huge thank you, again, to @embracedself who created the banner for me.
* * *
Chapter Ten: Homecoming
“But there is room now in my heart for more memories, carved by a letting go that I could find only by coming home to a place I’d never been.” -- Karen White
*
Months passed, and life was unexpectedly normal at the Dark Castle.
Bae and Gideon played together each day, sometimes fighting as brothers do, but more often bonding in ways that made Rumple’s heart melt to see them. Belle continued her work of cataloguing the massive library, often getting distracted by reading a book rather than cataloguing it. Rumple still made deals, whenever a desperate soul called his name, but those souls frequently found themselves getting a better bargain than they’d expected.
They celebrated Bae’s birthday, the first one he’d had in 200 years. The birthday feast was a simple rustic dish that Rumple had made often during Bae’s childhood. It was the only thing Bae asked for… not the mountains of gifts that his father’s gold could have bought, but a taste of his childhood. When he hugged his father that night on his way to bed, he declared it was the best birthday he’d ever had.
Life was so blissfully happy with Belle by his side and both his sons safe at home, that Rumple could almost hope that the curse would never be cast.
He should have known that it was too much to hope for.
The day the curse arrived, they were outside, enjoying a family picnic. Bae and Gideon were throwing a ball to each other, while Belle swung lazily on a swing hanging from a tree, with Rumple stealing kisses every time she swung back, before he pushed her forward again.
“Papa! Look!” Bae called to him, pointing to the western sky.
Rumple paused with his hands still gripping the ropes of the swing, and studied the dark cloud in the distance.
“The curse. Regina cast it. Come here, boys, quickly!”
The ball rolled away across the grass as both boys rushed to their parents, who gathered them close.
Rumple held out his hand, and four vials appeared there amid his customary red smoke.
“Everyone must drink this. It will preserve your memories in this curse.”
They all took a vial and drank, making faces at the taste. The dark cloud carrying the curse came closer.
“Does everyone have their bracelets?” Belle asked.
As one, they held out their arms to show the golden bracelets on their wrists. They’d all worn them since the day Rumple and Belle had sat the boys down for an honest discussion. They’d told them about the possibility of the Dark Curse, and what it could do, and about the precautions they’d be taking to counteract the effects of the curse.
“Everyone stay close, for as long as you can.”
Belle picked up Gideon, holding him tight and letting him wrap his long legs around her waist. Rumple put one arm around the two of them, and the other around Bae, and pulled them close. If he could just hold on tight enough, maybe the curse wouldn’t sleep them away.
“We have to have faith,” Belle said, raising her voice over the rushing wind. “This world we’re going to will be strange, but as long as we love each other, and believe in each other, we’ll be alright.”
“I love you!” Rumple shouted as the cloud bore down on them. “I love you all, more than my own life.”
He thought they answered, but their voices were torn away by the wind. He pulled them in even tighter, bracing his legs against the wind to stay upright. Gideon whined in protest as he was squished between them, but Rumple refused to loosen his grip. His happy ending that he’d fought so hard for, would be swept away at any moment… the cloud swept over them as Rumple held his family for as long as he could, and then everything went black.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on the floor in a room full of strange objects. Shelves and storage cabinets covered each wall, and each shelf held a multitude of objects.
This was Mr. Gold’s shop, he realized, and he was Mr. Gold. The knowledge was simply there in his mind, with no effort on his part. He was a pawnbroker, and his son helped at the pawn shop afternoons after school--
“Bae!” He sat upright at the thought of his son. His older son. He also had a young son, and a wife, and Rumple nearly wept with relief at the realization that they were still a part of his memories, even as he acknowledged they weren’t part of his cursed memories. That was quite alright. He’d expected that to happen. He would find them, but first, he needed to find Bae. If the bracelets had worked properly, Bae should be close.
“Papa?” A voice came from the front of the shop.
Rumple started to get up, but found that his right ankle wouldn’t support him. Damn Regina, and damn this curse, for including his old injury in his cursed persona.
A curtain in the corner of the room parted, and Bae came through. His eyes widened when he saw Rumple on the floor and he rushed over to him.
“Papa! What happened? Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Where are Gideon and Belle, Papa?”
“They should be nearby. We need to find them.”
Bae was wearing strange clothes, and for the first time, Rumple looked down at himself and realized he was wearing the same. It didn’t matter.
“Yes, Papa,” he replied, but he was looking at him strangely.
“What’s wrong?” Rumple asked.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just… you’re human again, Papa.” Bae’s face widened into a grin. “I haven’t seen your real face for centuries.”
“So I am,” he mused, looking at the very human appearance of his hand. “And unfortunately, it seems I also have human frailty. My injury is back. I may need your help to stand up.”
“Oh,” Bae said softly, glancing down at his father’s right ankle, then looking around. “Here, this must be your staff.”
Bae picked up a cane from the floor and handed it to him. It was polished to a shine, the handle at the top covered in gold -- a far cry from the gnarled and worn staff he’d once carved from a tree limb. Between the cane and Bae’s support, Rumple managed to get upright.
“Thank you, Bae.”
“I feel strange, Papa.”
“How so?”
“I know who I am, and where I came from, yet I have memories of another name, and a life lived in this realm. It’s very confusing.”
“I know. You must fight to hold on to who you really are; I’ll help you.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Do you remember what we need to do?”
“Yes. We need to find Gideon and Belle, so we can all be together again. So we can be a family.”
“So let’s see what we’re dealing with, hmm?”
They made their way through the front room of the shop, which was just as full of miscellania as the back room, and stepped out the door onto a street.
“Where should we look, Papa?” Bae asked.
“This would be so much easier with magic,” Rumple muttered. “These look like shops, rather than homes. Perhaps we make our way down the street, and look in each shop as we go.”
They went into each shop, greeting the proprietor and trying to keep up the appearance of being cursed with the help of the artificial memories in their minds. They asked about the possible whereabouts of a young woman of Belle’s description, who had a son Gideon’s age. No one seemed to know anything about them, and their attitudes toward Rumple were less than friendly. They were more open to Bae, he noticed.
Rumple was sure they had found them when they saw a library, knowing that Belle would gravitate to a place with so many books, but there was no sign of them there, either.
“She may not be herself,” he explained to Bae as they exited the library. “If the potion I gave her to keep her memories intact didn’t work, then she would be just as cursed as the rest of the town.”
They went into a few more shops, and had reached the end of the street.
“What now, Papa? Do we go to people’s homes?” Bae asked.
“I’m not sure. Let me think.”
Bae slipped his hand into Rumple’s, holding it reassuringly, and waited.
Rumple searched through his cursed memories, hoping for some small piece of information that would give him a clue as to the whereabouts of his wife and other son.
There was nothing. Damn Regina. She’d met Belle on the road, and easily deduced that his maid was much more than that. She’d made sure the curse separated them, despite the efforts he’d made to prevent it.
He was almost sure that Regina didn’t know about Gideon’s existence, or that Bae had been returned to him… still, fear gnawed at his belly. If Belle didn’t remember who she was, or her husband, did she and Gideon even stay together? Was his five-year-old wandering this town alone, or living in the belief that he was someone else’s child?
“Papa?” Bae was tugging on his hand.
“Yes?”
“A lot of people are going in that place,” he said, pointing down a side street. “Perhaps we could ask for Belle and Gideon there?”
He looked, and saw that Bae was correct. People filed in pairs and small groups to a building that his cursed memories told him was an eating establishment named Granny’s. The sun was high overhead; it was time for the midday meal.
“Good idea, Son.” He tried to smile for him. “Let’s go ask.”
When they entered the diner, the volume of all the combined conversation in the room reduced noticeably, and people very studiously kept their eyes on their plates or menus, not looking in their direction.
“What do you want, Gold?” A vaguely familiar voice demanded from his right.
Widow Lucas stood behind the counter. So she was the proprietor of this establishment. He’d had dealings with her before, in the Enchanted Forest. From the unfriendly look she was giving him, their cursed personas had also interacted, and those deals had not gone in her favor.
“Miss Lucas,” he started, the curse helpfully providing the information that her last name was still the same. “I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me, since it seems that everyone comes here.”
He tried a smile, but the flat look she gave him in return said that she wasn’t charmed in the least.
“People come here because my food is good, and because I don’t rat them out to their landlord. I’m not going to help you find someone so you can harass them.”
“It’s not like that, Granny,” Bae spoke up beside him. “This is all my fault, really. A woman came into the shop to pawn something, but I was the only one there, so I told her to leave it for Papa to look at when he came back. The thing is, I forgot to get her name.”
Widow Lucas’ expression softened when she looked at Bae. Rumple continued the falsehood that his son had impressively created on the spot, pressing the momentary advantage.
“It turns out that the item she wanted to pawn is quite valuable, and I’m prepared to make her a generous offer for it,” Rumple said. “If only we knew who she is.”
“Tell me, Neal… what did this lady look like?” Widow Lucas asked. Bae’s cursed name sounded so odd as she said it.
“Umm… she’s young. Grown up,” Bae clarified hastily, “but younger than Papa.”
“Well, that’s not saying much,” Widow Lucas shrugged.
“She has brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, and an accent you wouldn’t soon forget,” Rumple supplied.
Widow Lucas’ eyes sharpened on him.
“I thought you weren’t there that day?”
“Well, Neal here was able to give me a better description immediately after seeing her,” he explained hastily.
“Well….that sounds an awful lot like Lacey Booker. She works a shift here sometimes, when the Rabbit Hole is slow.”
“Does she… have a child? A young boy?” At her look, he added, “Neal thought she mentioned a son.”
“Yeah, she does. Ryder. Cute little boy. No one knows who his father is,” she said, letting Rumple unclench his fist that he didn’t remember tightening. “Lacey’s kept it a secret ever since she got pregnant.”
“So can you tell us where to find her?” Bae asked.
“If you’re lying about why you want to talk to her, my crossbow has an arrow notched with your name on it,” she warned.
“I promise, it’s a simple business transaction.”
She eyed him for another moment before nodding. “She was just in here, picking up sandwiches. Said she was taking Ryder to the park.”
“Thank you, Granny!” Bae said sweetly, and was given a cookie before Rumple ushered him out the door.
“Now where’s the park?” Rumple asked, standing in front of the diner and looking both ways on the street.
“That way,” Bae pointed as he mumbled, his mouth full.
He headed in the direction Bae had pointed, as fast as he could on his injured ankle.
They entered the park, and Bae headed left.
“Where are you going?” Rumple asked.
“The playground is this way. That’s where we’ll find them,” he said confidently. At Rumple’s surprised look, he explained, “Maybe your cursed memories don’t tell you that, but mine do.”
“Lead the way.”
They rounded a curve in the path and saw the playground. Rumple zeroed in on a young woman with her back to them, wearing a short denim skirt and a tank top that left her arms bare, chestnut hair done up in a messy bun. Belle. She was pushing a child on a swing, and when she stepped aside, he saw Gideon.
“Belle! Gideon!” Bae called out, breaking into a run.
“Bae, wait!” Thankfully, his son stopped, turning with a questioning look. “They may not remember us. Let’s approach slowly.”
“Right.”
They walked up behind her, and Rumple cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, may I have a moment?”
She turned, already smiling... but that smile slipped as soon as she made eye contact.
“Mr. Gold? What do you want?” She stopped the motion of the swing, picking up Gideon and holding him. Their son wrapped his legs around her waist and tucked his head into her throat, peeking at Rumple from his safe place.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss… Booker. I, um…” He couldn’t think of a plausible excuse why Mr. Gold would need to speak to Lacey Booker.
“I already paid you my rent this month,” she stated. “It’s not due again for three weeks.”
“Yes, of course you did. Did I… give you a receipt?” he asked weakly.
She gave him a strange look. “You don’t give receipts. You just mark it in your ledger.”
“Right. I’m going to start giving receipts each month. If you visit my shop, I’ll write you one for the last payment.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that. We have to go, Mr. Gold.”
With that, she picked up a large purse from a bench, and left quickly, still holding Gideon.
He watched her go, as his heart sped up and his breathing grew shallow.
“Papa? Are you alright?” Bae was by his side.
“No,” he managed to say. His vision was blurring.
He was vaguely aware of being urged to move, then he was sitting on the bench, with Bae kneeling on the ground in front of him.
“Papa? Listen to my voice. Take deep breaths,” Bae urged. “In and out, slowly. In and out… that’s it. Keep doing that.”
After a few moments, he could feel his muscles relaxing, his breathing returning to normal. He blinked and truly focused on Bae.
“Thank you, Son. I would have been lost without you.” He reached out, pulling Bae into a one-armed hug. “I didn’t expect to take it so hard. I knew it was a possibility that some or all of us would lose our memories.”
“But you have a plan, right?” Bae asked as Rumple let go.
“The potion that we all drank… that was the plan. It should have worked. I don’t know what to do next.”
“You’ll figure it out, Papa. You always do, when it’s for your family. Until you find a way, at least we know Belle and Gideon are together. And you and I are together. And I’ll help you, Papa, till our whole family is back together again.”
He cupped Rumple’s head in his hands, pulling him down to give him a kiss on the forehead. It was the first kiss he’d received from his son in over 200 years.
Rumple felt a wave of magic, and some part of his brain acknowledged that there shouldn’t be magic here. This was the Land Without Magic, after all… and then it struck him. True Love’s Kiss, delivered by his son. The son that he’d lost and finally found again, who had finally forgiven him for his transgressions of the past.
“What was that?” Bae asked, looking around. “I felt something, Papa.”
“Magic, Son. The most powerful magic of all. You broke the curse.”
“But… I don’t have magic,” Bae protested.
“You have love,” Rumple said, his voice breaking. “And I love you too, Bae.”
He pulled him into another hug, dropping his cane to use both arms this time, and released him only when he heard his name called.
“Rumple?” The call came from the street, in the direction that Belle and Gideon had disappeared. “Rumple, we’re here!”
They turned as one at the sound of Belle’s voice, and there she was. Holding Gideon’s hand, starting to run toward Rumple and Bae.
He cursed his leg again as he tried to stand up, his ankle collapsing under him. He was forced to sit back down on the bench, reaching down for his cane to assist him.
Bae had more luck, running toward the pair and scooping up Gideon to hug him and swing him around as the younger boy squealed.
“Bae! We found you!”
“You’re here! You remembered!”
Belle kept running till she was in Rumple’s arms, pushing him back down on the bench again and clambering into his lap. And then they were kissing… in relief, in gratitude, with love.
“Who that? Bae, who that kissing Mama?”
Gideon’s confused voice broke through to Rumple, prompting him to finally break the kiss and look over at his sons.
“That’s our Papa, silly,” Bae responded.
“As if I would kiss anyone else,” Belle laughed. She held out a hand to Gideon, her other arm still around Rumple. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s reintroduce you to your papa.”
“I guess he’s never seen you like this, has he?” Bae commented, as he urged Gideon forward.
“No… and I didn’t think of that before now.” Rumple reached out a hand, and Bae urged Gideon to sit on the bench as Belle slid off his lap to sit on his other side. “I know this must be a shock to you, son. This is what I looked like, before I became the Dark One.”
“It’s true. I knew him before,” Bae added. “It’s okay, Gideon. I promise that this is our Papa.”
Still looking uncertain, Gideon let go of his brother’s hand, reaching instead toward Rumple’s face. He closed his eyes, and with both hands patted over his father’s forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, and chin, before opening his eyes again with a wide grin.
“Papa!” He flung himself at Rumple, knocking him backward with a tackle hug.
And then they were all hugging, laughing with each other and inspecting everyone’s strange clothes, comparing the false memories that were still in their minds, though those memories were fading already.
“Look,” Bae said. “What’s going on?” He pointed to where the main street was visible between the trees bordering the park.
All along the street, people were coming out of their shops and looking around. Some greeted each other like long-lost loved ones, while others simply stood and stared, as if confused.
“What happened, Rumple?” Belle asked.
“It was Bae,” he said, gazing at his older son with so much love that his heart hurt with it. “He gave me a kiss.”
“True Love’s Kiss can break any curse,” she said softly.
“So… the curse that brought us here, it’s really broken?” Bae asked.
“It appears so,” Rumple answered.
“So what happens now?” Bae looked nervous, and little wonder. He’d had a lot of change in his life in a short amount of time.
“Perhaps we should go and find out,” Belle said. She reached out, pulling all of them back into a hug. “No matter where we are, or what happens next, the important thing is that we’re all here together.”
“Exactly,” Rumple agreed. “If I could get some assistance…”
He gestured at his cane on the ground, and Belle handed it to him so he could plant it on the ground and use it for leverage to get up. He was glad that he’d once told her the story of his injury.
“Why you need this, Papa?” Gideon asked innocently, touching the cane.
Rumple hesitated, wondering how to explain his old injury -- with all its emotional baggage -- to a four-year-old.
“Papa hurt his leg a long time ago, Gideon,” Belle said. “We can tell you the whole story some other time.”
“Yes,” Rumple said. He needed time to think how best to tell him what had happened.
“I can tell you what happened,” Bae said, and knelt down to his brother. “A long time ago, before you were born and I was just a baby, Papa had to go away, very far away from me. He wanted to go home and see me, but the way home was very dangerous. He hurt his leg getting home to me. And he would do the same for you, Gid.”
Gideon looked up at Rumple, his bottom lip sticking out as it did when he was about to cry.
“Papa? You have a boo-boo?”
“Yes,” Rumple laughed. “I have a boo-boo.”
“Kiss it better?” Gideon asked, and knelt down to kiss Rumple’s leg through his pants. He felt tears well up in his eyes at the gesture.
“That’s very sweet, Gideon.” Belle urged him to stand up. The crowd in the street was growing larger and louder. “We should probably go find out what’s happening.”
“Hey, Gid? Want to ride on my back?” Bae asked. He knelt down, and Gideon wasted no time in scrambling up, wrapping his legs around Bae and holding his shoulders.
“Shall we?” Rumple asked. “This should be interesting.”
“Mama?” Gideon asked, as they started toward the gathered crowd.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Where do we live? Where is castle?”
“Well…” She hesitated, and Rumple knew she was sorting through cursed memories. “Our castle isn’t here, sweetheart, but we have a place to live. It’s that way, I think.” She pointed down the road to their left.
“And it’s pink,” Bae said, as if he was just remembering.
“A pink castle?” Gideon giggled at the thought.
“Things will be different here, m’boy,” Rumple reminded him.
“Where is here, Papa?” Bae asked. “I feel I should know, but I can’t remember.”
He slung an arm around his boys, as Belle leaned against his other side.
“This town is called Storybrooke, and it’s our new home.”
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I Remember You
Fandom: OUaT/Rumbelle
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~3,000
Summary: Belle Sabrina French attends a party at the Larrabee-Gold mansion... and it’s not just any party.
A/N: A gift fic for @killingkueen, who prompted a Sabrina AU. Killingkueen, I know you had probably given up on ever getting a gift fic from this year’s RCIJ. This took me ages, and I apologize. Writing has been difficult this year, but I loved your prompt and was determined to finish a fic for you. This was not my first idea for a Sabrina AU, but I think I like this better. I hope you enjoy.
A/N 2: Thanks to @blueboxesanddeerstalkers for a last minute beta read.
AO3 link.
* * *
For only the second time in her life, Belle Sabrina French was attending a party at the Gold mansion. And not only was she invited… tonight, she was the guest of honor.
There was a knock at the door and Ruth poked her head in to ask, “Ready for some company, darling?”
“Yes, please. I’m going to need help with this dress.” She stepped up onto the platform in the middle of the room, having learned from experience that adding some height to her petite frame made it much easier to don the dress.
Ruth came in, along with Mary Margaret, and they lifted the white gown from the rack and -- with Mary Margaret standing on a chair to gain height -- lifted it over Belle’s head.
“Beautiful,” Mary Margaret said, stepping down. “Look at yourself, Belle.”
She turned toward the full-length mirror and took in the sight of herself in her wedding gown. It was not the first time she’d seen herself in it, of course, but it was the first time seeing it on her wedding day. Her hair had been styled, her makeup carefully applied. The house and grounds had been decorated for the lavish event. At this moment, her fiancé was somewhere close by, looking dashing in his tuxedo as he always did, and he was waiting for her.
“Oh, my…” Belle took a breath, putting a hand to her stomach to quell the swarm of butterflies that had started to flutter in there. “This is real. This is happening.”
“I felt the same way when I put on my wedding gown,” Mary Margaret smiled at her in the mirror. “Somehow, all the months of preparations with David, all the gown fittings, guest lists and deciding on the menu, didn’t make it as real as putting on the dress that day.”
“But you got through the nerves,” Ruth reminded her. “And so will you,” she said to Belle. “It’s far too late to back out now!”
“I don’t want to back out,” she assured her prospective mother-in-law. “I feel more sure of marrying Linus, than I’ve ever felt about anything in my life.”
“Hmm. And two years ago, how sure did you feel that you’d marry David one day?” Mary Margaret asked, her eyes twinkling.
“You…” Belle smacked her lightly in the arm, only making Mary Margaret laugh. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Belle, be honest… if our positions were reversed and I was the one who’d had a girlhood crush on Linus, would you let me live it down?”
Belle considered, and admitted, “Probably not.”
She smiled at her prospective sister-in-law, and took her offered hand to step carefully down from the platform.
Instead of letting go, Mary Margaret took her other hand as well, and gently pulled Belle around to face her.
“Neither of us grew up with sisters,” she said. “We never experienced all the teasing that sisters do to each other, or so I’m given to understand. After tonight, we’ll be sisters, and can tease each other for the rest of our lives.”
Belle drew her into a hug. She stepped back, and glanced over to Ruth, who watched their interaction with a smile.
“Something else we have in common, is that we both lost our mothers at a young age.” She reached out to Ruth, pulling her into their little circle. “Ruth, I can’t wait to call you my mother.”
They broke apart at a soft knock on the door.
“Is everyone decent?” Maurice’s voice called through the door.
“Yes, Papa!” Belle answered.
The door opened and he came in, beaming at the sight of her.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“We’ll give you two a few minutes,” Ruth said, with a look at Mary Margaret, who leaned in to give Belle a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll come get you when it’s time.”
“Are you ready?” Maurice asked.
“Yes, Papa. So ready. All those years of spinning fairy tales in my mind, of imagining myself marrying into this family....” She trailed off, because she didn’t need to tell him all that. He winked at her, and she laughed. “It’s not the ending I imagined, but a happy ever after, nonetheless.”
“Wait till you see the decorations, Belle. It looks like a fairy tale.”
“Oh, give me a hint!” Belle begged. “Linus insisted on taking care of all the arrangements, and wouldn’t even tell me the theme for the wedding.”
“Oh, no… I’m not getting off to a bad start with my new son-in-law by spoiling it just before you walk out there. You’ll just have to wait.”
She gave him a pout, but didn’t mean it in the least. She would see the decorations for herself soon enough, and to be honest, she wanted to be surprised. Linus had been so secretive about the preparations, and so insistent on taking care of all of it himself. It was an uncharacteristic move for a man whose acquaintances would swear didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Belle knew better, after a year of living with him in Paris, but the rest of the world hadn’t yet been introduced to the man she knew.
They’d returned home to his family’s estate on Long Island to have their wedding, but planned to live in Paris. It was in Paris that they’d truly built a relationship, and they both felt they belonged there.
“Belle?” Mary Margaret peeked in. “It’s time. Everyone is waiting for the bride to make her big entrance.”
Maurice offered his arm, but Belle stepped inside it to give him a hug instead. This was her last private moment with her father before becoming a married woman, and she wanted it to last just a moment longer. He returned her embrace, seeming to take care not to squeeze too hard and crumple her dress. Under the scent of freshly dry-cleaned fabric coming from his tuxedo, she could smell the leather soap that he used on the cars’ interiors, a task she’d helped him with so often. It was the smell of her childhood… but she was grown now, and it was her wedding day.
She drew back, giving him one last smile, and took his arm when he offered it again.
The wedding was taking place in the courtyard, with its high stone walls blocking Belle’s view as she approached. However, she could see an unexpected blue glow over the walls. The lights moved and flowed, undulating in a lazy sort of way.
She walked faster, tugging her father along with her, till she stood in the arched entrance to the courtyard, where she stopped to take in the view.
She stood at the entrance to an underwater grotto. The blue lighting that she’d glimpsed over the walls simulated waves as the tide ebbed and flowed. Large water fountains placed throughout the area bubbled and flowed, adding water sounds to the overall effect. Several aquariums, larger than any Belle had ever seen, lined the walls. The fish within, swimming slowly back and forth, represented every color of the rainbow. Streamers hanging from overhead looked like seaweed; trees and plants looked improbably like coral.
Their guests sat to either side of a blue-green aisle, and there, at the end of the aisle, was Linus. Her betrothed, her True Love whom she’d waited a lifetime to meet, who stared at her as if he couldn’t believe she was really here.
She was dimly aware that other people were with him -- Mary Margaret as her Matron of Honor, David as his Best Man, and Archie as the wedding officiant. They weren’t worthy of her attention, not when Linus came out of his trance and smiled at her.
Belle smiled back and started walking, aware that the music had changed but unable to recognize the melody. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to Linus. She reached out her hand for him before getting to the end of the aisle, but paused to give her father a smile and kiss on the cheek before she let Linus pull her to him.
“You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said softly, stealing a quick kiss before the officiant cleared his throat. “Sorry, couldn’t wait,” Linus grinned, looking not the least bit apologetic.
“Went a bit overboard with the decorations, didn’t you?” she whispered to him as they assumed their position… facing each other, their hands clasped.
“Anything for you, my water sprite. You don’t like it?”
“I love it. Love you more.”
“Well, perhaps I’d best start the ceremony, before these two perform it without me!” Archie Hopper proclaimed.
“Sorry, Archie,” Belle murmured, only loud enough for him and Linus to hear.
“It’s my understanding that the two of you have prepared your own marriage vows?”
“Yes,” Linus answered, and squeezed Belle’s hands, nodding to her to go first.
She smiled into his eyes, took a breath, and started to speak the words that they had carefully chosen together, and tweaked to suit themselves.
“Linus Rumford Larrabee Gold, I swear to you today that by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, that I now take you to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my True Love. To desire you and be desired by you, but not possessed by you. You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself; but while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. I promise to love you wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in this life and the next, where we shall meet, remember, and love again, for True Love can never be destroyed. It only changes form, and I will love you in any form, any place, and any time, in this realm and the next, for all eternity.”
She barely managed to finish her recitation, her voice breaking on the last syllable. She drew a shuddering breath, and felt a tear slip down her cheek. She hoped Linus would understand it was just excess emotion.
He reached out and wiped away the tear with his thumb, giving her a smile that said yes, he understood.
“Alright?” he asked softly, and she nodded. He squeezed her hands before beginning his own vows, identical to hers.
She tried to listen to him, to drink in the moment, but could hardly hear him over the sound of her own heart pounding. So she watched his mouth instead as it formed around the words. Linus’ lips stopped moving and Archie said something, then those lips she’d been staring at were touching hers and then her heartbeat grew even louder… or was it his heart she heard? It didn’t matter; all that mattered was kissing Linus, lifting up on her toes to get even closer to him.
They broke apart only when the witnesses started to cheer, and she gave her new husband a bashful look as she let her heels touch the ground.
“Later,” he whispered to her, as they turned to exit as husband and wife.
Yes, later. They’d been spoiled by their year together in Paris, paying attention only to each other with no other demands on their time. Coming back and reintegrating into their social circles from home -- and under the pressure of planning a wedding, no less -- had been a shock, but they were married now. A few more hours of socialization, then it would be just them again, alone all night. And then they’d have their honeymoon, which felt almost redundant after the past year, but Belle wasn’t about to turn down more time alone with her love.
Just a few more hours… but the first hour of it dragged as they greeted guest after guest in the receiving line, and Belle’s smile started to feel pasted on. So many of the guests were business associates of the Gold family, people that she didn’t even know. She was thirsty, and her feet were starting to hurt in her admittedly beautiful, but completely impractical, high heels.
Linus noticed her discomfort, and stopped the receiving line, making a man whom even she recognized as a major player in the business world, wait longer for his turn. In front of everyone, her husband knelt down and removed her shoes, overriding her protest that she couldn’t possibly finish the party in her stocking feet.
“I say you can. It’s your wedding day, and you can do whatever you want. Is there anything else you need, my water sprite?”
“Well, since you mentioned it… water. We have water all around us, but I’m parched.”
With a nod to a nearby server, a glass of water appeared in her hand, and she finished the receiving line with a genuine smile. She even managed to charm the gentleman who’d been next in line, smoothing his bruised ego over being forced to wait.
Finally, that part was done, and everyone sat down to dinner. It had been catered, of course, she assumed by whatever five-star restaurant was the current trend in the city. Wait staff moved around them, serving food and drinks, tending to their every need.
“You know, the staff here volunteered to cook for the wedding, and serve the dinner,” Linus commented.
Belle turned to him, dismayed.
“I wouldn’t want that! I wanted them to be guests at my wedding, and enjoy themselves.”
“I know. That’s why they’re not cooking and serving tonight.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss it.
He kept his gaze on her as she did so, and the look in his eyes made her belly tighten. How much longer before it was socially acceptable to leave their own wedding reception? She couldn’t wait to be alone with her husband.
The distinctive sound of a knife being tapped on glass made them look up.
David stood at the microphone on stage, waiting till the conversations died down and all eyes were on him.
“This should be interesting,” Linus muttered, taking Belle’s hand under the table.
“Behave. You’re not the only one who’s changed in the past year,” Belle answered, just loud enough for him to hear, before focusing on David.
“Could anyone here have predicted a year ago, that we’d be here tonight celebrating my brother’s wedding?” David asked. Silence answered him. “I didn’t think so.”
Soft laughter rolled through the audience.
“This last year has been so pivotal for my entire family. Linus and I seem to have switched roles… now I go to work every day at the office, while he’s spent the last year jetting around Europe with a beautiful young woman by his side.”
Linus chuckled, and Belle squeezed his hand, quietly overjoyed that the two brothers who had had so little in common their entire lives, were finally bonding.
“Not just any beautiful young woman,” David continued. “He was lucky enough to find the love of his life. As someone who found and married my own True Love--” he paused to raise his glass to Mary Margaret at her table -- “I know how much that matters. Belle… you are one in a million. The human side that my brother has always needed, the light to his darkness. I never could have predicted that the two of you would marry, and yet, now I can’t imagine our family’s story happening any other way. I would wish you a happy ending, but today is not an end. So instead, I’ll wish you a very happy beginning. Cheers.”
He raised his glass to them, and the guests followed. Applause broke out, prompting Belle and Linus to stand up to accept the well wishes being sent their way.
“Oh, one last thing?” David spoke into the microphone again, interrupting the applause. “It’s my honor to announce that it is time for the bride and groom’s first dance. Belle and Linus, the floor is yours.”
Linus turned to Belle, a twinkle in his eye.
“Would you like to dance, Mrs. Gold?” He extended a hand.
“I would love to,” she answered breathlessly.
She followed him out onto the dance floor as the orchestra started to play, and recognized the opening notes.
“Linus… is this?”
“Is it what?” he asked, with an all-too-knowing smirk.
“I told you how much I love this song,” she whispered, as they moved effortlessly around the dance floor. They’d gotten quite a bit of practice at dancing together while living in Paris. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did, but that’s not the only reason I chose it.”
“Tell me.”
He pulled her closer before answering. They were barely dancing at all, more like swaying back and forth, so close that he only needed to tilt his head a little to whisper in her ear.
“Do you remember that night on the beach in Martha’s Vineyard, when I told you I’d never married, not because I didn’t believe in True Love, but because I did?”
“I remember that night vividly.” It was the night she’d started to truly fall for Linus.
He pulled back so he could look at her.
“I meant what I said. I’ve always believed, deep down, that there was someone out there for me, but I’d started to lose faith that I would ever find her. And then you came along, and renewed my faith. Now, I can’t imagine my life without you.”
“Me either,” she answered, misty-eyed. She cupped his cheek, caressing his face.
He pulled her closer again, putting his head to hers as he whisper-sang into her ear.
“I always knew you’d find me… always knew you’d love me. Long before I met you, don’t ask me how I knew. Ever since I can remember, I remember you.”
* * *
The song that Linus and Belle dance to.
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The Long Road Home, ch 4
Fandom: OUaT/Rumbelle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,500 for this chapter, ~14,200 total so far.
Summary: What if Belle hadn’t left the Dark Castle in 1x12? What might have happened next?
A/N: I wasn’t sure whether to post today, since it’s a holiday in the US and most American readers would be too busy to read fic. However, more than one reader pointed out that some people cannot be with their families this year, and could use distraction. I don’t expect my fic to be a replacement for time spent with loved ones, but if this chapter can help even a little, I’m happy to post it. Happy Thanksgiving to those who observe it. I hope that you’re able to celebrate safely with at least some of your loved ones, even if the group is smaller than years past. To my non-American readers, Happy November 26th! I hope you are staying safe as well, and have a great day.
A/N 2: I realized that I hadn’t acknowledged my beta readers, and that was a very inconsiderate oversight on my part. @xiolaperry and @peacehopeandrats both read an early version of this fic, and made extensive comments that helped make it better. Thank you both so much for your help!
Read from the beginning on Tumblr. (Following chapters are linked.)
My Rumbelle Fic Masterlist
AO3 link
* * *
Chapter Four: Not on Any Chart
“Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark.” ― Stephen King
*
It took some time to set up all the ingredients and tools needed for the spell. Rumple chose to do it in the Great Hall, spreading everything out on the long table. Gideon watched, fascinated, as his father worked.
Ever since he was able to track motion with his eyes, Gideon had observed him as he brewed potions and cast spells. That interest in Rumple’s work was something that he’d never known before, in all his centuries of being the Dark One. Oh, he’d had students… but they’d always had reasons for wanting to learn magic from him. They’d all had ulterior motives. If he was being honest with himself, he’d had his own selfish motives for teaching them.
Gideon, though… he watched and wanted to learn because he idolized his Papa. Rumple could do no wrong in his son’s eyes, and that was a new feeling. Perhaps Bae had felt like that, when he was Gideon’s age, but by the time Rumple lost him, he’d become jaded and wary.
Even if he could get Bae back, Rumple knew he would never again have an uncomplicated relationship with his firstborn son. That didn’t matter, he told himself as he began adding ingredients to a small cauldon at the end of the table. What mattered was that Bae would be safe for the rest of his life, and that Rumple would have his chance to make amends. After centuries, it would finally happen today… hopefully.
Eventually, all else was ready and they gathered around the small cauldron that bubbled with a frothy blue liquid.
“Don’t forget this,” Belle said, picking up Bae’s old swaddling blanket.
He bent down in front of her, letting her place the blanket around his neck like a scarf. Before he could straighten, he felt her lips on his forehead, a final good luck kiss.
“Now, Gideon… this is the part when you need to be brave,” Rumple told him, drawing his dagger from his boot.
“Why don’t we go first,” Belle suggested. “So he can see what he has to do.”
“Watch carefully, Gideon.”
Rumple held up his thumb over the cauldron, and using the sharp point of the dagger, pierced the skin. He squeezed till a drop of blood came out, and let it fall into the simmering potion.
Gideon’s eyes went huge as he looked from one parent to another.
“My turn,” Belle said calmly, holding her hand out.
She pressed her lips together tightly to suppress any vocal expression of pain as he sliced into her skin. The blood welled up, it dropped into the potion, and the pain was gone, the cut healed by Rumple’s magic.
“It hurt, Mommy?” Gideon asked.
“Only for a second,” she assured him. “Papa can heal it right away… look.”
He inspected her thumb, finding no evidence of a wound.
“Do you think you can do that, Gideon?” Rumple asked, making an effort to ask calmly. He couldn’t pressure his small boy, not about this. Gideon had to make the sacrifice of his own free will.
Gideon’s brown eyes flickered between the dagger and the cauldron, assessing.
“How will this bring Bae home?” he asked.
“Magic works in mysterious ways, my boy. In this case, it requires blood from all three of us, and then, if you want it badly enough, a portal will open to Bae’s location. I can find him, and bring him back here. Is that what you want?”
His little face scrunched in thought for a moment, before he held out his hand. Belle wrapped an arm around his shoulders, offering comfort even before the dagger sank into his delicate skin.
“Ow! It hurts!”
“I’m sorry, Gideon. That’s the worst part. One drop of blood, and then I can make it stop hurting.”
It was barely a moment before Gideon was inspecting his newly-healed thumb, and Belle picked him up to hug him.
“You were so brave, Gideon! My little hero!” She showered him with kisses before letting him squirm down and asking Rumple, “Did it work?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” He reached out, indicating that they should join hands.
When they’d joined hands, standing in a circle around the cauldron (with Gideon on a stool so he could reach over it), Rumple squeezed their hands and said, “What I want, is to have my entire family together. My wife, and both my sons.” He looked across at Belle. “What do you want?”
“I want you to get back the son you lost, so he can be reunited with his papa.”
“What do you want, Gideon?”
“I want Bae here! We play with toys and eat cake!”
“Then close your eyes, and think about what that will be like,” Rumple instructed.
He closed his own eyes, trying to stay calm, and squeezed Belle’s hand lightly, feeling an answering squeeze in response. It was up to Gideon now. He was the linchpin for this part of the spell. If he wanted Bae home badly enough, the portal would open.
A long moment passed and Rumple was trying to think how to tell his son it hadn’t worked without crushing the small boy’s confidence, when he felt a tingle in the fingers of the hand holding Gideon’s. It was no more than the tickling sensation that he remembered from his mortal days, when he sat in one position too long and lost blood flow to an extremity, but it was there. His power latched on to it, refusing to let that flicker of immature magic fade away. He fed magic into the connection with his son, letting it build, and knew from the gasp he heard that Gideon could feel it. The potion in the cauldron bubbled and a sudden breeze whipped through the room. Belle’s hand tightened even more in his, and he squeezed back automatically, not letting his attention waver from the tenuous thread of magic connecting him to Gideon.
“Papa?” Gideon’s voice came small and frightened. His hand started tugging away from Rumple’s, but he wouldn’t let it go.
“Hold on, son. We’re almost there. Don’t let go now,” Rumple said desperately.
“We’re right here with you, darling.” Belle sounded much calmer. “Nothing will harm you here, I promise. You’re doing everything right. We just need you to be brave for a little longer. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Keep focusing on your brother,” Belle instructed, her voice low and soothing. “Think about all the things you’ll do together, once he’s here. What will you do first?”
Rumple didn’t think it was possible to love her more than he already did. She was doing her part to cast this spell, by keeping Gideon calm and focused, and all for a boy she’d never met. He was vaguely aware that Gideon was answering her, and they were continuing to talk, but he ignored their conversation. A warmth was spreading through him, starting with the hand holding Belle’s, till it reached his heart. Before Belle, he would have said that heart was cold and dark, but no longer. She was projecting the most powerful magic of all onto him, and it took barely any effort to grab on to her True Love, using its inimitable force to boost the fledgling magic coming from their son.
He felt the magic building, and knew before another breeze swept through the Great Hall that they’d succeeded. He opened his eyes in time to see the portal burst open, and told his family to open their eyes.
“Look. We did it.”
Belle’s smile was radiant, and Gideon simply stared at the portal in awe, his mouth hanging open.
Rumple swept him up in a brief but heartfelt hug before passing him to Belle, giving her a meaningful look. She nodded.
“Go. Bring Bae home. We’ll be here waiting.”
He strode toward the portal, hearing Gideon call his name, but he didn’t look back. He passed through the blinding white light between realms, and thought he heard Belle call out something, but he kept going.
He stepped out into a jungle environment, with lush green vegetation all around. Something about it seemed familiar, but before he could connect it with a memory or previous experience, he sensed the magic in the air. So. He had not landed in the Land Without Magic, as he expected. He took a moment, letting the power swirl around him, and grew uneasy. The magic here… didn’t feel right. There was something chaotic about it.
Something hit the back of his legs with an oof sound and he jumped away, turning to face the attacker at the same time that he pulled his dagger from a boot.
Gideon blinked up at him from the mossy ground, and behind him, Belle was picking herself up, brushing off her long skirt.
“He got away from me, and rushed through the portal after you,” she explained. “So I followed him.”
“Want to help,” Gideon said innocently, jumping up and looking around. “Where’s Bae?”
“I’m not even sure where we are,” he admitted. “Son, you shouldn’t have followed me. Both of you would have been safer back at the castle.”
Belle came up beside him, and slipped her fingers into his, making the panic that was trying to take over in his chest, melt away. He couldn’t feel badly that they were here, even if they would have been safer at home. Everything was better with his family by his side.
“What now?” Gideon asked, pressing against Rumple’s legs. He was looking around with wide eyes, intimidated now that he’d had a chance to take in their strange environment.
“Now, we go find Bae. We’ll do it together, as a family. Yes?”
Gideon nodded, his hair flopping. “Yes, Papa.”
Rumple pulled the old swaddling blanket from around his neck, and a small bottle from an inside vest pocket, handing the latter to Belle.
“If you would do the honors?”
The fabric glowed blue as she poured the potion over it, and started to flutter, lifting from Rumple’s hands and floating away from them.
“Papa, where is it going?”
“To Bae. We follow it, and we’ll find him.”
Gideon grinned, and started to run after the scarf, but Rumple stopped him.
“We have to stay together, Son. We don’t know what dangers lurk in this jungle. Stick close to us, hmm?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Gideon took his father’s offered hand, and then his mother’s, when she stepped up on his other side. She gave him a look over their son’s head.
“Together,” she said softly.
They walked into the dense jungle, following the scarf which floated lazily up ahead. There was a rough path to follow at first, but it narrowed as they got deeper into the trees, then disappeared altogether. Rumple used magic to clear their way.
The trees thinned and they emerged into a clearing. In the center of what appeared to be a campsite, a large cage was suspended from a tree. The scarf lost no momentum, flying straight up to the cage. Gideon dropped their hands and ran to the cage, stopping beneath it and staring up. Rumple caught up to him, drawing the small boy close to him as he surveyed the campsite for dangers. It was deserted.
“What the--” A voice came from above their heads.
“Bae,” he breathed out, hardly daring to believe it.
“We found him! We found him!” Gideon shrieked. Belle knelt down by him, whispering to him and pulling him close.
With a wave of his hand, Rumple lowered the cage to the ground, controlling the descent so that it barely bumped as it touched the earth. He approached the cage, seeing a figure cowering in the shadows. His hands shook as he opened the door.
“Bae? Is that you, Son? Do you remember your Papa?”
The figure came into the light, and Rumple nearly stopped breathing. His firstborn son was unchanged since the day he’d fallen through the portal. Rumple had known that Baelfire was alive somewhere, but had never known how his son was still alive after so many years. It was a shock to find him not only alive, but the same age as the day he’d lost him.
“This can’t be real.” Bae was shaking his head. “You’re an illusion.”
“I promise, I’m very real. Take my hand, Bae, and I’ll prove it.”
He extended a hand, waiting, but Bae only shrank back into the shadows, shaking his head.
“Pan’s gone to new limits of cruelty.”
“Pan?” Rumple looked around again, realizing hitting him like blowback from a faulty spell. Fear was spreading through his gut. “We’re in Neverland.” He heard Belle gasp. “Bae, we have to get out of here, now.”
He waved his hand, dispensing with the cage entirely, making it disappear into nothingness. Baelfire was left standing in the open, blinking at Rumple in shock.
“It’s really you, Papa?”
“Yes. I’ve come to take you home, Bae.”
“But how--”
A high voice interrupted their conversation.
“Hi! I’m Gideon! I’m your brother!”
Bae looked down at him, then at Belle, as if noticing them for the first time. “Pan’s tricks are getting weirder and weirder,” he muttered.
“Not a trick. Bae, it’s me. I’m really here. I came to rescue you. This is your brother, Gideon, and this is Belle.”
“Brother?”
“Bae… a lot has happened since we last saw each other--” Rumple started to explain, hoping he could convince him to come with them and save the explanations for later, but Gideon shoved between them, evading Belle’s grasp.
“I’m your brother! Right here! And that’s Mommy!” Gideon pointed at Belle. “See, Bae?”
“She’s not my mum, and I don’t know who you are,” Bae said, backing away with his eyes wide. “I don’t know what kind of trick this is, but I’m not falling for it.”
“Baelfire, stop!” Rumple commanded. “I’m your father, and I’ve come for you. I know this must be very confusing, but you’ll come with us now, and I promise I’ll explain when we’re all safe. We have to leave, before Pan arrives!”
“Too late,” said a mocking voice behind him.
Rumple spun around, to face the man who’d abandoned him and controlled his nightmares since he was a child — but not the man he remembered as his father. Instead, the smirking teenager that he’d only seen once, just before being dragged away by a horrifying shadow, stood there with his arms crossed.
He wasn’t alone. About two dozen other boys, from early teens to almost adults, had surrounded Rumple and his family. How had they snuck up on him? Belle and Gideon had drawn close, and Bae — he risked a quick glimpse behind him. Yes, Bae had drawn closer as well, thank goodness. Apparently, his fear of Pan was greater than his uncertainty about whether Rumple was real.
“Such a touching scene. Warms the heart, doesn’t it, boys?” Laughter rolled through the group. “A father and son, reunited at last. And you brought along your new love, and the child she birthed.”
“I’ve come for my son,” Rumple said, his voice rough. “I’m leaving with him, and my entire family.”
Pan laughed.
“You can try. But you don’t control the magic here, I do.” His voice hardened. “I decide who comes and goes on this island.”
“You may be master of Neverland, but you are not all-powerful.” Rumple faced him head-on, because this was not like the last time he’d faced this demon. “You’re not the only one with magic, now.”
He opened his hand, letting a fireball form and holding it up for Pan to see. The other boys raised their spears and clubs higher.
“That’s a nice parlor trick,” Pan smirked. “You may have powers now, but you also have more to lose.” His eyes shifted, looking behind Rumple, and he heard a choking sound.
He risked taking his eyes off Pan long enough to look behind him. Belle was holding her throat, gasping for air and reaching out for him.
“Pan, stop it!” He threw a fireball at him, which Pan simply sidestepped. He was aware of Gideon crying for Belle, as he tried an immobilization spell next… and Pan simply waved it away. How was he stopping all his efforts so easily?
“Papa, do something! She can’t breathe!” Bae called urgently.
“Take me instead,” Rumple offered in desperation. “Release your hold on Belle, and let my family leave unharmed. I’ll stay.”
“Hmm. An interesting proposition.” Pan opened his clenched hand, then Belle was coughing, drawing air back into her lungs. “I might consider an exchange… but not for you. I want the little one,” he said, pointing at Gideon.
“No,” he answered, and realized that Belle and Bae had both said no at the same time. He had a brief flash of pride for Bae, that he already felt protective of the brother he’d just met.
“Have it your way,” Pan said, and closed his fist again.
“Rumple,” Belle said in a strangled voice.
“Don’t hurt my mommy!” Gideon yelled. He pushed in front of Rumple, tiny fists clenched at his sides, and stomped a foot, glaring at Pan. “Stop!”
The jungle went suddenly, eerily, silent for a long moment, then Belle was coughing again. Pan and the Lost Boys were frozen, some of them pointing at Gideon and paused in mid-laugh.
Gideon looked up at his father in wonder. “What happened, Papa?”
Rumple put one hand on his young son’s shoulder, letting his own magic flow into him and strengthen his control.
“You happened. The twisted magic of Neverland was no match for your desire to protect your mother. Keep your eyes on them, Gideon. Don’t let your focus waver.”
He nodded, his small face serious as he turned back to the group before him and sent them his best four-year-old glare.
Keeping one hand on Gideon, he turned to Belle, seeing the color come back in her face. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, still coughing slightly, but seemed able to breathe.
He checked on Bae, who looked shell-shocked but unharmed.
“I don’t know how long Gideon can hold them,” he said, reaching into his vest for the magic bean. “His magic is immature and untrained. We need to go, now.”
“Wait!” Bae darted toward the edge of the clearing.
“Bae, come back here!” He took one step after him, but stopped, looking down at Gideon. He didn’t dare take his hand off him. He didn’t know if Gideon could hold Pan without assistance.
“Just a moment, Papa, please!”
Bae started to frantically pull loose tree limbs and shrubbery away, revealing another cage.
“There’s no time!”
Bae unlocked the cage and a girl, with long blond hair and looking about Bae’s age, stepped out, looking bewildered. He grabbed her hand, pulling her over to the family.
“This is Wendy. She saved me once. I won’t leave Neverland without her.”
“Is that everyone?” Rumple asked quickly, poised to throw the bean.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” He threw the magic bean, and a portal opened. Through it, they could see the Great Hall in the Dark Castle.
“Belle, take Bae and Wendy and go through. Gideon and I will be right behind you.”
She nodded, and gestured to the children, urging them toward the portal, but Bae resisted, staring at Rumple.
“Bae, we have to hurry! Go through the portal, quickly!”
“The last time I went through a portal was the worst thing that ever happened to me. How can I trust you now?”
“It’s me or Pan. Make your choice!” Rumple snapped, and Bae’s gaze shifted behind him.
Pan… was grinning, the corners of his mouth moving upward slowly into a smirk. The other boys were still frozen, but Pan’s fingers were moving.
“Pan is breaking free! Go! Now!”
Bae stared at Pan’s hand starting to inch up, and grabbed Wendy’s hand. “Let’s go.”
They ran into the portal, and Belle gave Rumple one last look before she followed. He bent down to whisper in Gideon’s ear.
“We’re going to back up into the portal, so you can keep your eyes on Pan. Just keep thinking, “stop,” until we’re back in the Great Hall. Trust me, son. Let me guide you.”
They walked backwards into the portal, and stepped into the Great Hall. Right before the spiral of light closed, Rumple saw Pan and the Lost Boys regain mobility. They rushed toward the portal, but it was too late. It closed and Rumple stood in his castle with his long-lost son, finally returned to him, and his wife and the son they’d had together. Plus a young girl whose name he barely remembered, but that was a minor detail. They were home, and he had Bae back, and his whole family was safe.
* * *
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