The silence was almost overwhelming. The only noise in the office, save Archie's slightly ragged breathing, was the soft ticking of the watch he wore on his wrist. In the stillness, it was impossible to ignore. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Archie flinched as he pressed down a little too hard on the paperwork he was filling out. It ripped under the point of his pen, loud as a gunshot to his ears.

"Damn it," he swore, throwing the pen down on the desk before his brain had a chance to remind him why that would be a bad idea. It landed on a blank form still waiting to be filled out, blue ink splattering on the white paper.

Archie stilled, staring at the splattered ink for a moment. If anything, his breathing grew more ragged, enough that even he couldn't ignore it.

"No more paperwork tonight, Jiminy," he muttered under his breath, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "It's not like it matters anyway. Everyone has more important things to be worrying about right now."

Then he froze. Jiminy. He had called himself Jiminy.

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on breathing in and out as slowly as he could. It had been over a week since the curse had been broken, since two sets of memories had planted themselves in his head and started fighting with each other over which one had precedence, but he was fairly certain that was the first time he had actually thought of himself as Jiminy rather than Archie Hopper.

The part of him consciousness that was Dr. Hopper couldn't help but chime in, telling him that it was a natural reaction in such a situation, or as natural a reaction could be considering the circumstances. Jiminy had been a human once, yes, but not in a long time. For years, decades even, he had lived under a different set of rules, a human mind in a nonhuman body. He had never even considered there might be a chance that he would get a second chance at living his life as a man.

Yet here he was. Jiminy Cricket. Except he wasn't a cricket and his brain couldn't quite decide whether he was Jiminy or Archie or neither or both.

It would probably make quite an interesting study. (Except you're not a doctor, a tiny voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously like his father's whispered. It's not real. You didn't earn it. You don't deserve it. It was part of the curse, but the curse is broken, so where does that leave you?)

Archie abruptly pushed himself away from his desk. He managed to bump his knee as he stood up, but he ignored the momentary flair of pain. It was late, and he was tired, and just for one night he wanted to go home and pretend that the entire world wasn't trying to shift out from under his feet.

Ignoring the rest of the papers piled on his desk, Archie stumbled toward the door. His stomach rumbled ominously, reminding him that he'd forgotten to take a lunch break. (What's the point when there's nobody to have lunch with?) Grimacing a bit, he turned out the light and slipped out the door, his fingers trembling a bit as he locked the door behind him.

A distant part of his brain reminded him that he should be careful, that he should be paying more attention to his surroundings than he was. Emma and Mary Margaret (Snow White) were missing. No one quite knew what to expect from Regina. Stepping across the town line meant forgetting who you were (had been). The curse was broken and magic was here, and – while Storybrooke wasn't the Enchanted Forest – it also wasn't the same town they had lived in for the last twenty-eight years. Not really.

"Archie?"

Archie jerked his head up in surprise. It took him a moment to realize that he was standing in front of Marco's workshop, the door still open despite the late hour. Marco was standing just inside, a concerned look on his face, and Archie had the sinking feeling that it wasn't the first time he had said his name.

He cleared his throat. "Marco," he said, nodding slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

If anything, Marco's concerned frown grew even deeper. "Are you all right?" he asked. He sounded almost tentative. "I haven't spoken with you since, well—"

"Since the curse was broken," Archie said, his voice sounding distant even to himself. "I'm sorry, Marco. Geppetto. I just—that is, things have been very hectic the past week or so, and—"

"Archie," Marco cut in, his voice a little sharper than it had been.

Archie raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, but he didn't quite trust his voice. (Jiminy the human, not the cricket, that little voice in his mind whispered. You're a fraud, just like you always were, too scared to do what's right.)

Marco met his gaze matter-of-factly. "You have been avoiding me."

Archie (Jiminy, he was Jiminy, not the cricket but the coward) flinched. Geppetto or Marco, it didn't matter whether he was one or both. Archie (Jiminy, that voice in his head whispered yet again) knew him well enough to recognize the hint of chastisement in his voice, the flicker of hurt, the tiny bit of anger.

"I know you've been looking for Pinocchio," Archie said, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. "I thought that—that is, I expected I'd only be in the way."

Marco abruptly snorted. "It is a good thing the Blue Fairy is not here to hear your lies. Your nose is large enough as it is."

"Hey!" Archie protested, surprise at the teasing insult drowning out the voice in his head for a moment. For a moment, it was as if things were the way they had always been. Archie and Marco, old friends, joking and laughing at the end of yet another long day.

Except that's not how it had always been. Not really. That was just another lie.

Because once upon a time, a man named Jiminy had taken everything away from a boy named Geppetto and spent decades trying to make it right. He had watched that boy grow up, had seen him become an awkward teenager and then a handsome man. He had watched him grow older and older before his eyes, as he tried desperately to make amends for long ago hurts before both of them ran out of time.

Jiminy had put aside human thoughts and human feelings, because he wasn't a human anymore and he'd never be one again and the thoughts in his head would never amount to anything and they were better off put aside. Except then the cricket and the man had forgotten who they were and became other people and everything had fallen apart and—

"—chie!" Marco's voice broke through, clear and loud and worried, and Archie didn't want to even guess how long he had been trying to get his attention. "Jiminy, can you hear me?"

Archie's head shot up like a shot. Marco (Geppetto) was staring at him from less than a foot away, undisguised worry on his face, and Archie could tell from the way his fingers were twitching that it was taking everything Marco had not to pull him into an embrace.

(Waking up in the night, arms and legs entangled. Lips pressed against bare skin. Stealing a moment or two between appointments and projects, hurried kisses and brief hugs and whispered words that never should have happened, that only happened because of a curse that stripped them of everything that made them who they were.)

"I—I should go," Archie stammered, stumbling a little as he took a step backward. "I need to—to go. I need to go."

Marco reached out and grabbed his arm, firmly but not hard enough to actually hurt. "What you need," he said firmly, "is to sit down."

Archie opened his mouth to protest, to argue, to– to– he didn't quite know what he was going to do, but he was going to do something. Except Marco's hand was firm on his back, his body a steady presence at his side, and despite his best efforts every single protest he had flew out of his mind.

"Marco—"

"Archie," Marco cut in, leaning forward slightly so that he could meet Archie's gaze.

It took everything Archie had not to look away. Instead, he forced himself to meet Marco's gaze straight on. He took a deep breath. "Geppetto."

Marco's mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, not quite, but it was something. Archie just wasn't quite certain what. "Jiminy," he said lightly.

And that, that was the breaking point. Archie closed his eyes. "We need to talk."

There was a pause, and Archie (who are you really? Archie or Jiminy or both or neither?) knew that Marco (he's Geppetto too, he's the little boy whose parents you stole all those years ago) was remembering the past twenty-eight years. The days. The nights. Everything that had happened while they had been Archie and Marco, no more and no less.

"Yes," Marco said slowly. "I suppose we do."

Archie didn't open his eyes, and he wasn't quite certain how to interpret his friend's tone. (Except are you really friends? You cost him everything.)

There was a silent pause, and then Archie felt a hand rest on the side of his face. "Come on then," Marco said. "Chair first, then talking."

Archie chuckled despite himself as he opened his eyes, more out of habit than anything. "Okay," he said simply. "That works for me."