A/N: New story! On a whim, I thought it would be fun to write a series of stories of Puck and Sabrina at different ages, and title them accordingly. This one inexplicably ended up being an essay on motherhood. Insane! I hope you enjoy anyway. Three things -
One: this story is not a sequel to Fourteen. It's not even related.
Two: this is not a oneshot. There are three chapters in all.
Three: Michael Buckley owns everybody in my story. Everybody! Sniff.
Dedication:
To my mother, who said, "You'll understand when you become a mother someday."
"How long has he been in there?"
"A month."
"And he has resisted all intervention?"
"Without exception."
"This has gone on long enough."
"I agree."
"Tell her to bring the girl when she comes."
"At once."
"Try to relax," Veronica Grimm murmured as she smoothed down the front of her wool blazer. "She's not nearly as awful as everyone believes."
"I'm not afraid of her," her daughter replied, hands clenched by her side, as they strode down the paths of Central Park, New York City, in the late evening. "But I can think of a hundred people I'd rather meet. Titania has serious anger management issues."
Veronica turned around quickly to check that they were alone, then spoke again: "Knock-knock."
"Who's there?" A voice spoke from the statue in front of them.
"Weeda."
"Well, that's new. Weeda who?" The voice sounded mildly amused.
"Weeda last ones you gonna see if you don't leddus in." Veronica delivered her punchline.
Sabrina Grimm groaned as the voice chuckled. "Good one, Veronica Grimm."
"I still don't understand why, if you recognized us, you still needed a password."
The statue shimmered and winked at her.
"You try sitting here rain or shine, 24/7, 365. I gotta get my kicks somehow."
Veronica snorted and turned to her daughter.
"You need to tell Puck that his kingdom could do with a better front-of-house. I know nightclubs that are less humiliating to get into."
"Hey! I heard that!" The statue hissed at them. "I can deny you entrance!"
"No, you can't," Sabrina shot back. "The Queen invited us. And we told you a knock-knock joke. Fair's fair."
A rude sound came from the statue's rear end just as the quiet of Central Park exploded into the noisy chatter of the Golden Egg pub. The two women blinked at the patrons as they took a few seconds to adjust to the new scene.
"Veronica and Sabrina Grimm," a new voice made them turn their heads to stare at a fairy in gold silk, bowing beside them. "Her Majesty is expecting you."
They followed the fairy through a dimly lit corridor to a curtained doorway, behind which they passed to enter the kingdom of Faerie. Sabrina's eyes slowly grew accustomed to the bright lights, framed art and gilt of the palace-within-a-pub.
Or Mafia HQ, Sabrina thought wryly, remembing her first impression five years ago when she'd delivered a wounded Puck to a family that wasn't expecting him, and welcomed him even less. She'd never gotten over the mental disconnect of the boy fairy belonging to a world that seemed more The-Godfather-meets-Days-Of-Our-Lives than twinkly lights and gossamer gowns.
They were led into an office where an elegantly-dressed middle-aged woman sat behind a large oak desk. Leaning over the desk beside her was a tall, handsome young man. Together, they were poring over a document in quiet discussion.
Titania and Mustardseed: Queen and Prince of Faerie - Puck's family.
In spite of knowing that they were there by invitation, Sabrina and Veronica stood a little straighter and drew in deep breaths as they were announced.
"Ah, yes, the Grimms. Welcome." Titania rose and emerged from behind the desk, as Mustardseed came toward them with his hand outstretched.
"Thank you for coming," the younger Fae prince said, smiling at them. "I trust there were no problems entering?"
Sabrina shook her head, marveling for the hundredth time at how different the two brothers were, and how, had she not known otherwise, she'd never have guessed that Puck was the older by several centuries.
"I shall get straight to business," Titania said, waving them to high-back leather chairs. "This is about Puck."
Sabrina wasn't surprised; things were invariably "about Puck" when it involved the Grimms being in Faerie.
"You see, my son refuses to come out of his room. We haven't seen him since he first shut himself away just over a month ago."
"A month?" Veronica asked. "Is he unwell?"
"We don't know."
"What do you think he's doing in there?"
"We don't know that, either. He is not communicating and has ignored any attempts to persuade him to come out."
"He eats his meals, though," Mustardseed added thoughtfully from his chair, and Sabrina detected a sardonic exasperation in his tone. "So we know at least that he's not starving."
"Yes, Puck would never survive a hunger strike," she observed, not bothering to hide her own sarcasm, "but that doesn't tell us anything."
"No, it doesn't. That's why we asked you to come here," Titania turned to Sabrina, sighing as she leaned forward and laced her fingers together.
"Me?"
Titania exchanged a glance with Mustardseed before turning back to the Grimms, her gaze suddenly penetrating and assessing, as if she were not quite convinced they were up to the task.
"You're Puck's chosen protector, are you not? Years ago, when he returned, broken, to us, his healing vessel selected you."
Oh. That. Yes, she would remember the stench and humiliation forever.
"He chose you over Moth, his betrothed," Titania pressed her point.
Who was a sycophantic murderer, Sabrina mused. It didn't prove a thing: anyone in their right minds would choose anyone else over her.
Not that Puck had been in his right mind then. Or ever.
"He was in a coma," she said instead.
Titania continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And it appears that, even conscious, he is quite fond of you."
Sabrina blinked, speechless.
"Until he met you and the rest of the Grimms, he hadn't aged a day over his childhood. But after. . ." Mustardseed let his words trail off meaningfully.
"What do you want from Sabrina?" Veronica broke in finally, and Sabrina's shoulders sagged in relief at her mother's voice - a reminder that she wasn't alone in her face-off against the inscrutable Fae Queen.
Titania smiled at Veronica's tone.
"Don't be alarmed," she said. "I . . . Mustardseed and I thought that, given the regard Puck has for your daughter, she might be able to draw him out."
"Or persuade him to let her in." Mustardseed added.
Sabrina looked at Titania and was surprised to see faint worry lines around her mouth. She'd always had trouble remembering that the Queen was also a mother. A mother who, while not exactly the milk-and-cookies sort, genuinely loved her sons. The thought softened her heart slightly toward the austere monarch before her.
"How would I do that?" She ventured, not daring to imagine the ideas Titania must surely have already concocted.
"In whatever way works," Mustardseed supplied. "Whatever we've tried has failed, so do what you must."
"So I can break the door down?"
"We've tried that. Unfortunately, he's magicked it, somehow, so it's invulnerable to damage. And explosives. Also sneaking pixies through the crack, and dismantling."
"He means negotiations," Veronica interpreted. "Talk to Puck. He'll listen to you."
Sabrina seriously doubted it. If the boy had wanted a therapy session, he'd have texted her by now, whining and grouching in as many words as his fingertips could spell before his brain broke down. True: he'd been silent for weeks, but not ominously so; he'd simply never been one for corresponding long-distance.
But Titania's eyes were hopeful, even while her face remained cool and proud. Sabrina's gaze caught on the Queen's white hands - they were clasped, as when she'd offered what Sabrina had initially heard as a business proposition but which could just as well have been a prayer.
Sabrina rapped her knuckles on the dark wooden door to Puck's room. Beside her, Mustardseed sighed.
"He won't answer," he said, as matter-of-fact as discouraging. "Mostly, the servants just knock to let him know they've brought his next meal."
"How do they get in and out?" Sabrina wondered aloud. "The meals, I mean."
Mustardseed pointed to a square at the bottom corner of the door, about the size of a cat flap. "It melts away and the dishes get swopped. Random times of the day and night, unfortunately, so no one knows when to expect it."
"So as to force their way in," Sabrina finished.
Mustardseed nodded grimly. "He thought of everything."
They stared at each other for a moment, silent in their mutual - if grudging - admiration for the exasperating crown prince of Faerie. Who could've - should've - been using those smarts for something that actually benefited his kingdom.
Sabrina shook her head and turned back to the door, knocking on it again.
"Puck!" She called out. "Puck! Open up. It's me, Sabrina."
Still silence. They waited. Mustardseed shrugged an I-told-you-so.
"Well," Sabrina decided, "I can't negotiate if I don't even know if he's dead or alive in there. Sorry. Wish I could've been -"
"Grimm?"
Mustardseed's eyes widened as Sabrina's mouth dropped open. Neither cared that they looked, in that moment, quite ridiculous.
Sabrina pressed her face close to the door, as if the proximity somehow made it more likely for her to be granted entrance.
"Puck?"
"How do I know you're not an imposter?" His voice sounded muffled and wary.
"What the heck do you think you're doing in there?" She shot back, as Mustardseed shook his head and wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. She was just as hot-headed as his idiot brother! Did she not know the meaning of negotiation? This was a lost cause! A total, utter, complete lost -
The door flew open.
Puck stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.
"Yep. It's you, all right. As cloyingly sweet as ever."
She glared back.
And then he winked.
"Hello, Ugly."
Mustardseed practically swallowed his own tongue. His mother had been right - this Sabrina Grimm had done the impossible.
Puck turned to his brother, squinting at him through one half-shut eye. "So you brought in the big guns, huh?"
A strange mix of emotions came over the younger Fae prince: relief at this first look at Puck in weeks, anger over how much the court had worried over this incorrigible pest that had thought nothing of locking himself away with no explanation whatsoever, and. . . unexpected resentment toward the human girl, this outsider who'd effortlessly succeeded where everyone else had failed.
He wisely chose to keep those emotions from turning into a fist in his brother's face.
Instead, he said, "What's going on, Puck?"
Puck shrugged. "Nothing. Just got tired of everything and thought I'd take a vacation from it all."
That fist was dangerously close to becoming a painful and satisfying reality.
But Sabrina spoke first.
"People were worried about you, you know. Your Mother. Him." She inclined her head toward a still-simmering Mustardseed.
"Not my problem. No one asked them to care."
Sabrina's eyebrows migrated north. Shutting himself in his room was nothing new - he'd done it countless times back when they were eleven. Then, he'd wanted the attention, had actually been holding out for someone to care. Now . . . ? Yes, something else was definitely up with Puck now.
"Huh." She returned cynically. "So why'd you open the door?"
He glowered at her, but she thought she saw something else under the surface, before it vanished.
"Visiting hours are now over!" He exclaimed. "Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen! We hope you enjoyed the show!"
The door slammed shut in their faces.
They hesitated a second before banging on the door once more, Mustardseed secretly glad to finally land his fist somewhere.
"Puck! Let me in!" Sabrina shouted, as Mustardseed muttered through gritted teeth, "Stop this childish game, brother!"
There was no response this time - not to cajoling, threatening, bargaining, even apologizing. Sabrina wanted to kick herself for ruining the one chance they'd had earlier and, in her frustration, vowed not to leave until Puck answered and she'd got him to come out.
It was not one of her better decisions.
Long after Mustardseed had given up and returned to the main halls to report their dismal failure to Titania, Sabrina sat outside Puck's door, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to conjure up a magical opening line for her next round of negotiations. Just when she, too, was considering surrendering, the servants brought Puck's next meal, and one for her.
With nothing else to do but wait, she ate, keeping a vigilant eye on Puck's serving growing cold on the lush carpet. Then she dozed fitfully, like guests in a hospital keeping indefinite vigil over their ill and injured, until Mustardseed returned some time later with her mother. Veronica had had dinner with Titania and him and then spent the following hours going over a new merger proposal with the Queen's administrative team. This was the soonest, she told her daughter apologetically, that she'd been able to get away to check on her.
"Titania's prepared rooms. . . in case," Veronica offered gently, "where you can sleep in a proper bed. We can try again tomorrow morning. Or come back another day."
Sabrina shook her head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and insisted that she'd be fine. Veronica sighed, knowing full well her daughter's stubbornness in the face of a challenge, and one from the Queen of Faerie, no less.
But was there also genuine concern for the irrepressible fairy boy that made her stay by his door so late into the night? He was like family to them, having been adopted by Relda even before Sabrina and her sister had learned the truth about their heritage or found themselves a home in their grandmother's world. And in spite of their brash dismissals of the other's right to occupy the same universe, he'd always been a constant in Sabrina's: where he was, she would inevitably be, and vice versa.
Oh, each claimed to hate the other, with their aggravated insults and name-calling, but Veronica remembered the times they'd saved one another's lives, and made choices that let everyone know the other was significant, was a priority. She thought of the way they sometimes looked at each other, that made Henry stiffen and catch his wife's eye over the table; of their body language when they were together in the same room.
And the fact that her daughter was no longer her firstborn angel of a baby, who'd changed her life and bestowed upon her the title Mother; that golden-haired little girl was now sixteen, just as he was - the boy who, in spite of all her snorting denial, was blatantly important to her.
They never warn you about this part of motherhood, Veronica mused, the part where you watch your baby girl fall in love with another mother's child, when you realize you now have to share.
She took a deep breath and laid a hand on her daughter's head before heading off to the guest suite alone.
Who-knew-how-many hours later, in that dreamy state between levels of quasi-consciousness, Sabrina heard the clink and clank of tableware. Snapping her eyes open, she watched in amazement as the plates containing Puck's meal were drawn through the opening in the door, and soiled dishes sent out in their place.
"Puck!" She called, galvanized into action and pressing her face to the door jamb, "it's just me out here. Nobody else is around. Let me in, Stinkhead." Then she added, "Please."
The door pulled away in a crack, and she saw Puck's green eye through it.
"Hey." She said softly, as if he were a frightened animal, rather than a petulant child pouting and pulling faces.
The eye blinked once, twice, thrice, and then he sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine."
The crack widened abruptly and Sabrina found herself staring at the legs of a pair of jeans. She got up in a hurry, almost slamming her forehead into Puck's, pulling back at the last second in awkward panic, even as he grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her through the doorway.
She'd done it! She'd gotten in!
Technically, she'd also gotten him out earlier but on hindsight, that hadn't gone quite as well; fingers crossed that she wouldn't mess up this second chance. She quickly changed gears in her head: before, the plan was to get him to end his isolation and rejoin the family; now she drastically lowered her expectations to simply Not Get Thrown Out.
She was so busy psyching herself for this new strategy that she didn't notice he hadn't moved. She snapped her eyes to his face and found him watching her, his own eyes wary and - was she imagining it? - haunted.
"Puck?" She finally spoke. "What's going on?"
As if her words had broken the spell he was under, he shuddered and walked away. Sabrina quickly turned to follow, then stopped, noticing her surroundings for the first time.
The room was tiny.
Not tiny like a broom closet, but tiny like This Is So Not What I Expected The Royal Suite Of The Crown Prince of Faerie To Look Like tiny. His room in her grandmother's house had been enormous, a recreation of the grand outdoors, with no ceiling or walls; borderless.
Puck looked over his shoulder at her, frowning at her just standing there, mouth agape.
"What?" He asked, puzzled.
"Nothing. I . . . just thought it'd look different inside." She sputtered out.
"Been dreaming of being in my room, have you?"
"No!" She flushed. "It's just . . . your room in Ferryport Landing was . . . bigger. Much bigger."
His faced closed. "I got used to living out in the forests and under the stars. And the Old Lady said I could have whatever I wanted, so I told the pigs to make it look like that."
Sabrina nodded, leaving it at that. She could relate - she'd had to share a room with Daphne for a while, but it was more than just the size. It was. . . space; all kinds of space, along with their different significances.
What had this room meant to him, she wondered, if even after years of exile, he'd chosen not to be reminded of it?
She looked around, taking in more details. An unmade bed. A bookcase lining one wall, stuffed with leather-bound books, crushed scrolls, and action figures of a species with which she was not familiar. Piles of clothes strewn about the floor next to the bookcase. A small wooden table, on which sat his most recent meal, along with tools and other random odds and ends.
Puck was facing her again, hands in his pockets, shoulders in a permanent shrug.
"Uh . . . maybe you should eat. Your food's cold." Sabrina blurted out, just to say something. What's wrong with me? Have we ever been this awkward? I just spent the last few hours plotting to get in here, and now I've got no plan other than to act like his mother?
Wordlessly, he grabbed a roll from one of the plates and began to chew, still eyeing her.
Start negotiating, Sabrina, she reminded herself.
She cleared her throat.
"So, this is where you spent all your time before . . ."
Stupidstupidstupid!
But Puck swallowed and nodded in slow motion. He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, beginning to attack his food in earnest.
"You gonna stand the whole time?" He mumbled through a mouthful of food, gesturing at the other chairs crowded around the table.
She gratefully sat, and watched him eat.
"They sent you to check on me," he continued helpfully, when Sabrina tried and failed to come up with something new to say. She exhaled in relief.
"Like I said, they're worried about you. And you haven't exactly been, you know, dropping hints."
He chewed quietly, looking down at his steak.
Sabrina started to feel worried herself.
"Puck?" She said, tentatively, concern making her uncharacteristically gentle. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"
His head snapped up and for a moment, there was the old gleam in his eyes and he looked on the verge of a sarcastic comeback. Then, he wilted and stabbed at a chunk of potato.
"Dunno." He said under his breath.
A sigh. "Maybe."
A louder sigh. "Probably."
Sabrina's eyes widened. "But you're an Everafter! You don't get sick!"
"I caught your puberty virus, didn't I? It made me plenty sick!" He glared at her, but it was half-hearted.
"What? You're not still moping about that, surely? I thought we dealt with that long ago! For goodness' sake, Puck -"
She paused - something had just occurred to her.
"Wait - is this one of your dumb pranks?"
His response was startling. He swallowed abruptly, almost choking, and inhaled sharply. His eyes - wide - darted to the pile of junk on the table, before squeezing shut, as if he were in pain.
Sabrina didn't miss the glance. She followed it to the assortment of items lying in a mess beside them and - she was only noticing it now - piled on the floor beneath. There was nothing significant about them - bottles and wires and gears and string and poky things and tubes of glue: things for making other things. She wasn't a crafting sort of person herself, but she'd seen Basil play with similar stuff, turning them into airplanes and crude machines and other products of his fertile imagination.
So Puck was a tinkerer, too. She'd known that - in the past, he'd demonstrated quite the inventive mind himself, thinking up assault weapons and traps and practical jokes to make her life miserable.
Oh no. Were those his prank supplies?
Suddenly, she began to be very afraid.
Slowly, she pushed her chair back and prepared to bolt for the door. To heck with not getting thrown out of his room - she'd be happy to abandon the mission right then and there and just save her own skin. Or hair. Or whatever other part of her person this incorrigible boy was planning to zero in on.
But Puck just sat, grinding his food like a cow, looking defeated.
Sabrina froze in mid-launch, befuddled.
"I can't." He suddenly spoke, utterly morose. "I couldn't. I might as well be dead."
"You couldn't . . . what?" She lowered her behind back onto her chair.
He pointed his fork limply at the pile of junk. "I thought if I could build an arsenal, like I did in the war, and pull some really awesome pranks, I'd be . . . cured. But I couldn't. . . I wasn't. . . I made lots -" he turned and waved his fork toward his bed, and Sabrina realized there was a small mountain of jars, bottles and weird contraptions beside it - "but I didn't feel like pranking. Or joking. Or doing anything fun."
He turned his eyes on her, and they were huge and sad. "The Trickster King is dead."
He looked so lost and miserable that Sabrina wanted to reach over the table and hug him. Until she realized what she'd just thought, and rolled her eyes. It was a good thing that the Trickster King was out of commission - the world was a much safer place, and infinitely more pleasant to live in.
Wasn't it?
No. Because it still didn't solve the mystery of Melancholy Puck.
And, fortunately, if there was anything Sabrina Grimm was good at, it was solving mysteries.
"When did this start?" She began again, feeling at last in her element.
He shrugged. "Can't remember. Feels like I've always been like this."
She rolled her eyes - he was being such a drama queen . . . er, king.
"Okay . . . your mom said you locked yourself in your room about a month ago. Something happened a month ago - what?"
"Nothing."
"Puck," Sabrina sighed, feeling her patience wear out. "Work with me, okay? Try to think - I know it's very hard for you, but try. Um. . . did something happen in Faerie? Your mother do something? You have fight with someone? Uh. . . some important date . . . someone's anniversary. . . a death . . . oh, Oberon's! Is it because your dad died? When did your dad die?"
Immediately, she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. Puck looked up at her, his moroseness temporarily giving way to an expression of stunned wonder.
"Wow," he breathed almost reverently. "You're even more insensitive and crass than me."
"Sorry," she muttered, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment. "I got carried away."
"Ya think?" He rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he deflated once more. "No, s'not his death."
"Then . . . is it someone else? Your mom? Does she have some incurable disease?"
Stupid! Titania's an Everafter, too! She doesn't get incurable diseases!
Puck didn't seem to notice her slip-up, and shook his head. "No one's dying. Except me."
"Stop saying that, Puck. You're not dying. You're just feeling sorry for yourself."
He responded by despondently mashing his potato with the back of his fork.
Sabrina felt helpless in his silence. She tried to think of what Daphne might do - her sister always knew how to make people feel better. Daphne wouldn't try to fix Puck, she realized - she'd drag him instead to the kitchen and pull out all the snacks they could find and park themselves in front of the TV to binge-watch trashy movies until they fell into a food coma.
Unfortunately, she didn't know where the kitchens were in Faerie. Plus, she didn't remember seeing any TVs. And as for junk food, Titania didn't seem the sort of person who'd go anywhere near a potato chip or a hamburger, let alone stock her royal pantries with them.
But maybe they could sneak out of Faerie and find a place that did. After all, they used to do that from Granny's house back when they were younger. Maybe it would do Puck good just to get out for a while.
"Hey," she leaned forward over the table. "Wanna ditch?"
His eyes widened in surprise and lit up.
"For good?"
"What? No! Just for an hour or so. Find someplace different. Get something to drink or . . . something."
Puck narrowed his eyes at her.
"Or something . . ." He repeated. "Did you just ask me out on a date? Because that was a really lame way to ask someone out on a date."
Sabrina's cheeks warmed and she gaped at him.
"No! You're so full of it! I'm just trying to help you feel better!"
"By drinking? Like at a pub? So we're gonna drown our sorrows like in the movies and -"
"No! Not like at a pub! I can't believe you! You know I'm not old enough to drink and even if I were, this is not about that! Are you trying to be deliberately stupid or what?"
He threw back his head and laughed. It was as sudden as a thunderclap, and the sound of it turned the corners of Sabrina's mouth upward. She exhaled in relief. This, at last, was more like the Puck she knew. Maybe he was just putting on a show after all; maybe, despite his claims to the contrary, this was just his newest ploy for attention. Whatever it was, it had lifted his mood and returned the glint to his eyes.
He rose and pushed his chair back, his meal abandoned. He made for his window, calling out, "I love it when you get all worked up. I knew that if you came, you'd figure out something crazy to make it all go away."
Sabrina watched him draw back the blinds, then turn back to her, his hand outstretched. Something clicked in her mind.
"Wait - what do you mean 'you knew if I came?' You wanted me to come here? You planned this?"
He shrugged. "Sorta."
"So all this was fake? You locked yourself in your room for a whole freaking month and worried your mother to death just so I'd come visit?" Her relief was completely replaced by rising anger.
Another laugh. "Oh, this is making me feel so much better!"
Sabrina launched herself at Puck and shot her fist out at his jaw. But he grabbed it and pulled her to him, still chuckling. She swung her other arm, awkwardly, because of how close they were, and he blocked it, then caught her other hand in his, effortlessly pinning her arms behind her back while she struggled, red-faced and fuming.
"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me, Grimm," he gloated. "But now isn't the time - you were saying something about ditching?"
And before Sabrina could blink, he dropped her hands, slung an arm around her waist, and jumped out the window.