Summary: Jefferson drags his friend along on his latest scheme. Events of S2 Ep 5 "The Doctor," in Fairytale Land and abroad, from their point of view.
Notes: Originally posted on 11/06/12 on Archive of Our Own. Gen, with original characters. Based on episodes up through S2 Ep5. Takes place during the flashbacks in "The Doctor." I was speculating on the rules of the Hat. How was Jefferson able to travel with Victor/Dr. Whale? And what was the nature of Victor's world? Seems a bit similar to the one from Universal Studios...
The Swap
"Want to go for a ride?"
If Lon didn't know any better, he'd have thought the Hatter was hitting on him, which wasn't a shock for two reasons: the man was an incorrigible flirt, and Lon had caught him leaving the pub with his arm around a man more than a few times. Tonight it was neither. Lon knew Jefferson well enough to understand the Hatter needed to make a Swap.
"I'm busy."
"Come on, just for one night," he wheedled the bartender. "Maybe two."
He wiggled a couple of be-ringed fingers.
"Whatever scheme you're cooking, Jefferson, I want no part in it."
The Hatter let out an exaggerated sigh, theatrically collapsing on a barstool.
"It's just a small scheme," he lied, knowing full well the con involved not only royalty but a mad scientist and the Dark One.
"It's a Swap. My wife made me promise never to do another one."
"Your ball and chain has no sense of adventure."
"I was stranded for three weeks! I almost got gutted by pirates, eaten by mermaids and sacrificed by some kind of pygmy cult."
Jefferson reached over the bar for a bottle of rum.
"Those were little boys, Lon. They just have trust issues around adults."
The Hatter took a sip before Lon could grab it from him.
"This is hardly as dangerous. You get to stay in the finest inn Transylvania has to offer. Just pack some extra garlic. And some sharp sticks."
"It already sounds horrid."
"I'm getting my towns mixed up. We're going to 'England.' The worst you'll find there is rain, fog and sarcasm."
Lon ignored his friend to actually serve some customers. Jefferson twirled that hat of his carelessly, though Lon knew if it ever actually slipped from his fingers, he'd be after it like it was his own child.
"Please," the Hatter begged, although there were any number of potential passengers in the pub who would stay the night in another world for cash or curiosity. "I'll pay you."
"Fine," Lon said. "But I need to ask Ava."
Jefferson grinned.
"How is Ava, anyway?"
"She's doing well. Pregnant. We're having a baby in autumn."
Jefferson gasped and put a hand over his heart.
"My condolences."
"You'll find someone, you know," Lon said. "Settle down."
"I can't imagine."
"Start your own business. Open a shop."
The Hatter flashed a wicked smile.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Lon hugged his wife and patted her belly. Jefferson was gazing at his gold pocket watch, impatiently tapping his foot. The three of them stood in the backroom of Lon's house, hiding from any of the city's prying eyes. Although its citizens were no strangers to magic - magic was the world's fifth element, intrinsic to all things - Jefferson's hat held a power far beyond the talents of any living sorcerer, fairy, or even the Dark One himself.
Its origins were a mystery to Lon and Ava, and their friend would never tell them. Jefferson threw the hat on the ground and without a word, the frayed fabric opened wide, sucking the nearby magic into it, spinning in a circle before transforming into a growing purple vortex.
Ava stepped back and watched the two men become engulfed in the cloud. She shut her eyes and when she opened them, they, and the hat, were gone.
The Hatter kept his promise and put Lon up in a nondescript inn whose only distinguishing feature was its lack of color.
Lon had blinked over and over, rubbing his eyes and wondering when his sight would be restored. At first he thought the plants and buildings were merely tinted grey, until he encountered another human being and realized the unnerving truth.
"What world have you taken us to this time, Jefferson?"
"The people here haven't given it a name. I just call it 'U.S.M.'"
"What does that stand for?"
"'You see monsters.'" He looked embarrassed. "I didn't say it was a good name."
"What do you mean, monsters?
"Let's just say you don't want to keep your window open at night."
"How are they any different than the beasts that plague us back home?"
Jefferson tipped his hat to a passing young woman. She smiled back with incisors that were a little too pointy.
The two men wandered through the rainy city avoiding horses, carriages and the unpleasant contents of buckets being thrown out of nearby windows. They came to a large market full of ordinary people shouting and bargaining over food and merchandise, the only glaring difference from back home being the total lack of color.
"They're not so different. They've got vampires, werewolves..."
Lon shook his head, uncomprehending and not wanting to.
"You know, the Big Bad Wolf?"
"Oh."
"Except these ones have a little more style. And vampires, well, some of them can suck me any day."
Lon rolled his eyes.
"My blood, I mean."
"Sure."
"Get your mind out of the gutter."
The men reached their destination - that modest inn Jefferson had promised.
It stank of garlic.
"One night or two?"
"One," Lon started to say, but his friend interrupted him.
"Two, Madame."
He handed some small, rectangular pieces of paper to the old woman, who took out a huge ring of keys and started up the creaky staircase, gesturing for the men to follow her. Squeezed into a narrow corridor, she led them to a door at the end and unlocked it. Pushing it open revealed a tiny room with only one bed, a desk, chamber pot and barred window. There was a pitcher and wash basin on the desk, but no chair.
Lon entered and noted the stuffy atmosphere. He headed for the window, asking, "Does this open?"
The woman shook her head, frowning. Jefferson sat on the bed with his back against the wall. He took off the hat and crossed his ankles.
"Why is it barred shut?"
"Why do you think?" Jefferson said, motioning Lon to cut it out.
"We'll take it!" he told the woman, who looked at them with squinty eyes. Grumbling inaudibly, she exited, shutting the door behind her. Feeling claustrophobic, Lon did an experimental tug on the bars and sighed.
"She thinks we're a couple," Jefferson said.
"Knowing you, I'm not surprised."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Lon didn't reply. Instead, he said, "What's so dangerous it can fly in the window of a floor this high? In a city so heavily populated, what would?"
"Remember that girl we passed earlier?"
Lon nodded.
"People like her."
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"Not really. I'd prefer to keep breathing."
He got up.
"On that note, I must take my leave."
"So soon?"
Lon couldn't hide his worry. Jefferson headed for the door.
"I'm sure you can take care of yourself."
Lon didn't deny that. Neverland had tested his patience to the breaking point, however. Now the fear of being stranded anywhere away from his wife and child gnawed at him, but this was Jefferson, one of his oldest friends. Okay, acquaintances. Customers/employers.
"I'll see you in two days, Jefferson."
"Two days, Lon, and no longer."
He'd better not be crossing his fingers behind his back.
The Hatter was.
It took only three days.
(Three days, Lon thought, was still better than three weeks.)
The Hatter and Doctor Frankenstein had already made preparations for the doctor's journey to the Enchanted Forest. Deals were already made, the plan was set in motion, and Jefferson wanted to be done with this latest job and get his money as soon as possible.
He took Victor to a camp near the castle straightaway, where the doctor set up his fake laboratory while Jefferson left to "accidentally" bump into Regina.
He owed Rumpelstiltskin a visit anyway. He'd stashed the delivery in his bag and kept Rumpel waiting as part of the arranged meeting. Rumpel still didn't know he couldn't get that witch's red shoes, but Jefferson figured her sister's crystal ball would suffice, and that neither really mattered to him. This girl Regina took priority, for some reason.
Jefferson still couldn't understand what in the world Rumpelstiltskin was up to. Why he wanted a gateway but none of the hat's would do. Then again, he knew there were infinite parallel realities he'd never be able to reach, but ones without magic were an entirely alien concept to the Hatter.
As for the girl, she didn't look anything like Jefferson had pictured. She was older, for one thing. A bit darker. ("Fairest" implied "pale," though there was really no denying she was beautiful.) She did look like royalty - even in those modest riding clothes of hers, strangely enough - until she opened her mouth. Her body language still conveyed uncertainty. If she was a sorceress like Rumpelstiltskin said he was grooming her to become, she didn't show it.
"I want the power to bring back the dead," she said, and Jefferson had already talked at length with Victor about that very thing. People called Jefferson "mad," but he was merely eccentric. This "scientist" clearly was, and begged for access to the magic hearts Jefferson told him about. The Hatter didn't entirely understand how any of it worked - Rumpel's magic or Victor's experiments. All he could do was bring together the pieces of the puzzle. Gain the girl's trust to snatch that precious cargo.
She was too easy, giving into hope immediately. The perfect mark, and it disappointed Jefferson that he didn't even have to try.
Victor waited in the garden and that weirdo was writing, drawing and absorbing as much of Fairytale Land as he could in the little time he had to do so. But Jefferson knew the feeling of stepping into a new place and being struck dumb by its wonders, or even its subtle differences. After a while, it became commonplace and he'd gloss over the details, registering only the relevant bits. He knew he could enter that round chamber again and again if he wanted, taking long holidays in each world. But Fairytale Land was familiar. It had a certain smell to it, the food tasted better, and he got a better night's sleep when he was there. The best part of traveling was the break in between, when you could brag to your friends about the wonders you'd seen and the places you'd been.
A few "wonderful" places, he'd discovered, were too dangerous. One in particular almost got him killed enough times to deter him from ever going back. It was no great loss, because playing cards and chess pieces would start talking to you in a disconcerting way. The monarchy there was comprised of ruthless psychopaths, and if you wanted to keep your head, you had better stay home.
So "wonder" wasn't the best word to use, but in the present, the Hatter wondered why Rumpelstiltskin was so fixated on this girl.
But the young queen also had something Jefferson wanted. Something more tangible. It would be nice to stop getting arrested and thrown out of places. It was bad for business and bad for his health. He'd have conned her for money, but a passport was icing on the cake.
Regina was very nervous about meeting Victor, the "wizard," but savvy enough to roll her eyes at the theatrical way in which Jefferson talked him up. He didn't know this Daniel guy or why he was so worth it, but that was women for you. They just couldn't let go.
The heart vault gave Jefferson a nasty shock. He'd expected something a bit smaller. Maybe a trunk of them. The chamber thumped with active heartbeats - an eerie new experience. One room led to another, the drawers numbering in the hundreds. Victor gravitated to one in particular, for no discernible reason. Regina was too calm in the presence of such sinister, gruesome magic.
She was not just any girl.
Jefferson kept her close by his side at the campsite, half-lying about Victor's powers. The man was confident his procedure would work, back home. Daniel's body was "ideal," the man said, and it was clear from his expression he really was certain. That it wasn't an act. If he really could bring back the dead, he was indeed capable of achievements more remarkable than their magic.
The Hatter would never witness such a feat, however, and didn't really want to. Victor did some lame hand waving - they were on a tight schedule - and manipulated some lightning that gave an anxious Regina a start.
She leaned into Jefferson, and what could he do but hold her when she buried her face in his neck, not wanting to look at what was happening to Daniel. The Hatter feigned sorrow, for her sake, and Victor masterfully feigned sympathy.
The young queen hastened to her lover's side to mourn him all over again, her hopes shattered. Jefferson and Victor gave the girl some space, figuring she'd get over it eventually, when her tears ran out, but remembered what Rumpelstiltskin said about creating a "monster."
What might this woman become, with political and magical power fueled by heartache? The Hatter didn't know, so he didn't worry. He had no idea how bad things would get.
He offered comforting platitudes in the same phony way he always did, but she accepted them all the same and gazed up at him gratefully. He and Victor offered to help her transport Daniel back to the mausoleum, but she levitated her lover's corpse herself. Like a sort of reverse funeral procession, Jefferson walked her home, guiding her with his hand lightly touching her lower back. He left the castle to help Victor dismantle the campsite, making a point of placing the heart box in his own bag.
Jefferson kept Lon waiting another night so they could rendezvous with Rumpelstiltskin, who took in their success story with cackling glee.
Victor haughtily insisted, as he often did, that he didn't really depend upon magic, except for this one time - so little magic that it didn't count, somehow - unaware just how powerful these hearts could be, or what the Dark One and his pupils could do with them. He was playing with fire, with that lightning he harnessed. "Electricity," Victor called it. A power called "science." As if his world were so different from theirs. Jefferson had been there, tasted the beer and the women, and come to the conclusion that some magic was better than none, and Victor could lie to himself all he wanted.
Lon descended the stairs to survey the inn - a cramped wooden structure filled with huddled citizens drinking beer and whispering, glancing furtively at a grandfather clock in the corner. The man furrowed his brow. Outside, the sun was setting and the market was shutting down, but the people held their heads high, no fear, and he wondered what made this inn's guests so nervous.
The inn doubled as a tavern, and Lon, unable to resist comparing his own pub to others, approached the bar. It had a decent collection of spirits, whose names he couldn't quite understand. The labels seemed fake, somehow. Like they were plastered on to be identified from a distance. He figured the multi-shaded greys were distinct enough for the publican to tell them apart, and perhaps Lon's own eyes lied to him in this new universe, and the people here could, in fact, see color.
The grey pub's bartender pulled on some strange levers, pouring beer - Lon assumed it was beer - from a copper faucet. He filled a foaming mug and handed it to a customer. There were several of these faucets of beer - each a different kind, it seemed - probably pumped up from casks underneath the floor. Ingenious. Lon would have to figure it out himself when he got home.
"I would like a mug of your best."
The man shot him a neutral look, but still radiated a sort of menacing coldness.
"Your best beer," Lon clarified. In case their languages were different, he pointed.
The bartender complied, and Lon bristled at the antisocial attitude. He only acted that way towards his own customers on particularly stressful occasions, when there were too many to serve and he hadn't had a break.
"Thank you," he said, taking the mug. "How much do I owe you?"
"Five cents."
Lon reached into his pocket for the money Jefferson had given him, removing some unrecognizable coins. He squinted at them, spreading them out on the counter, and surely looked a fool to the bartender. Exasperated, the man took the appropriate amount and left the rest.
Lon sat down at one of the small tables. It rocked on uneven legs and felt damp and sticky. He took a sip of the beer and nearly spit it out. Not good. What sort of place had Jefferson taken him to? For someone covered in gemmed rings and fine leather, he sure was cheap.
After some time - while Lon had two more drinks, just to take the edge off, and daydreamed of home - the other customers filed up the stairs to their rooms, leaving plates of food behind that one of the workers cleaned up. With nothing else to do, Lon went up himself, but was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned, sweaty in the stuffy room. Creeping downstairs, he stepped outside to get some air.
The streets were quiet, stars obscured by smoke and clouds, but the moon shown down through them, making the city less sinister. Another person may find the shadows thrown by the light eerie, but the moonlight always stirred Lon's good memories. Especially the full moon.
But across the street, Lon noticed a figure creep. That distinctive body language implied a sneak, so he assumed it was a criminal. Lon backed into the doorway and hid himself.
The figure stepped into the light - so close, now, that Lon could better make out details. The shoulders were a bit too broad. His back was larger than a man's, and hunched. He moved with an awkward gait, as if on feet misshaped for walking upright. His suit was torn and his hands...his ears...
Oh, no...
The creature's ears perked up, like he could hear Lon's thudding heart. Frozen on the spot, Lon had heard of such beasts but never seen one. The stories back home implied a large canine that ran on four powerful legs across the landscape. But this creature was a man. He was clothed like a man. He walked like a man. But his head reared back and he howled.
It was the Big Bad Wolf, unmistakably. He approached Lon and his teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
Lon dove into the inn and slammed the door shut. The wolf man charged at him, snapped at the door. Lon, shaking, put its large metal bolt in place, but could hear the wolf clawing at the wood. Then it silenced, and Lon could breathe again, until he heard it rapping at the window. The wolf man growled through the thin walls, and Lon shut his eyes tight. He would run upstairs and into bed, if a small part of him didn't want to keep the inn's helpless guests safe. He had always had a bit more honor than his friend Jefferson.
Finally, the growling ceased, and Lon backed away from the door. Haunted by the wolf's image, he crawled upstairs to go back to sleep.
"So, Lon, how was your vacation?"
"You left me here an extra day."
"Did I? My apologies."
Lon shook his head.
"Take me home, Jefferson. My eyes almost forgot what color looks like."
Lon and the Hatter walked into the woods, which still made the bartender nervous in the daylight, even though people were walking in and out of it, going about their daily business.
He spun the hat and the vortex appeared. Lon reached over and took Jefferson's hand.
Surprised, but not unkind, the Hatter squeezed back and together they stepped into the hat, into the round chamber that would lead them back to Fairytale Land.