"My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours"
― Charles Bukowski
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.
Author's Note: Better get this one out before the next episode makes it impossible to fit into the canon! (I have a feeling this is stretching it as it is.)
This story operates on the premise that Walsh wasn't originally a human and that he died at the end of the episode.
I got the idea from various tumblr posts about (wanting to like) Walsh, Emma's superpower (I mean they were dating for six months - there must have been at least something from his side) and a hilarious line regarding Walsh and bananas and then stumbling over the quote at the top.
(Also in my opinion he was rather easy to kill, too easy. (That, or he simply transported himself away. Shh, we are not talking about that.))
Enjoy!
"I have a mission for you." Zelena tells him, green fingers pinching a picture and pink lips curled in a smirk.
Golden curls tumble out of the tableau and for a moment he sees someone entirely else, flying high above the sky with him, with silken fur and crafty eyes. Alas, someone long past and gone. Still, the past can be revived.
He smiles back. And the grin is wicked.
This new land is hard to get accustomed to, and he spends the first few months acclimatizing and adapting to life surrounded by alien noises and houses built to capture the sky. The furniture shop becomes an unexpected, but appreciated retreat.
As for his human body, it is a costume, tried and true, which he slips effortlessly in and out of; though not as often as he would have liked. It is too risky in a land of ever-light and piling humans. He misses the wind beneath his wings.
When he feels confident in this world he completes the next step in the mission: Giving the Swan girl a reason to move and a reason to buy new furniture. He likes flames.
On their first date she wants ice cream. Ice cream Sundae to be specific. He wonders if this is a test as his eyes skim the menu without finding the aforementioned food-item. He furrows his brows and asks if she can live without or if they should find another place? She smiles and tells him, I can live without. He is sure that was a fake smile. After they've ordered something else and she goes to the bathroom, he jolts to the kitchen and asks if they can possibly make something speciel for his date? They can, and after a bribe they do.
When they finish eating the chef himself comes out with the Ice cream Sundae. "On special request," the broad man booms, winking at Emma before leaving.
"I couldn't bear the thought of you living without something sweet," Walsh says, mostly to the table, but daring to look at her.
Emma doesn't say anything but her eyes sparkle and somehow he doesn't have to fake his own smile.
After the first date he follows her home and asks for nothing but a second date. When it is granted he releases his breath and laughs as relieved as he trained it to be. He is all smiles and excited flutters as he walks backwards towards the taxi and as soon as the car drives out of sight, he deflates on the seat. Exhausted, drumming his fingers on the armrest and planning, planning.
"What, are you a monkey or something?"
He jumps ten feet in the air, drops the banana on the floor, spins towards her voice only to slip on the aforementioned fruit and rushes to greet the floor.
For a moment he is sure he sees flying monkeys before his eyes but his vision is quickly obscured by a flustered Emma.
"Sorry, sorry!" she giggles. Wait, giggles? Why, yes, she is giggling all the while tugging on his arm to get him up. "It's just…"
He crouches before her, still a little bleary. As soon as the room stops spinning he'll have time to properly panic and- His thought process is rendered short as she gingerly presses her hand to the back of his head. He winces.
"Always bananas." she finishes with a weak smile.
He laughs nervously, his sluggish brain struggling to remember what he was supposed to say, to deflect her questions, if she ever suspected something was off and oh her eyes are green as emeralds this close stop you traitorous brain you are not supposed to-
So preoccupied in her eyes and in his own thoughts he is not even aware of her getting closer until their lips meet.
It is chaste, fleeting but effective. If his brain was running in circles before now it dropped dead.
As soon as she started it she ends it again, clearing her throat and rising uncomfortably.
He follows dazedly, brain not quite yet functioning until he senses her about to flee.
"Wait!" he exclaims, too loudly for his own brain, but she holds for a moment. "Want me to make you some cocoa?" He stumbles out and then curses his should-really-be-functioning-now brain, but the words do the trick.
She smiles.
The third time they kiss, her lips taste of bananas, and she smiles mischievous in answer to his questioning gaze.
He had never thought much of fruit-flavoured lip balm before. He finds he likes it.
"But everyone loves the monkeys!" Henry protests as he declines to go to the zoo with them.
Torn between two sudden feelings Walsh just shudders and says that he doesn't like to see animals in cages. It makes him uncomfortable.
They decide to take a walk in the park where the (limited) wildlife runs free.
"Come on, I'll take you flying." He whispers one afternoon to her.
She giggles. "I thought you didn't like airplanes?"
And it is true. He doesn't care much for the flying metal monsters of this world. But he has found something of a human invention which doesn't completely mock the idea of proper flight. "Paragliding."
Okay, perhaps her disbelieving eyes rule that one out. "I thought you were Mister Safe?"
"I used to fly." He sighs, then quickly amends: "Err- I used to dream of flying."
And she looks at him in that peculiar way she sometimes does, before shrugging. "I used to dream of unicorns."
"What are you guys up to?" Emma surprises Walsh and Henry as they sit hunched over the computer.
"Nothing!" answers Henry with an impish smile and as Walsh glances between the two humans he thinks that maybe, just maybe he could get used to this life.
The proposal is a last ditch-effort. The pirate had talked to Emma and could potentially ruin it all. Why can't he just leave her alone? He knows the risk in dragging Emma back into Storybrooke. And Henry. She will kill them. He knows his orders. Get close to the Swans and stay close. However you have to do it.
Crashing the furniture shop seems like the logical thing to do because he has to do something.
He can't go near Emma; he'll just risk chasing her further away, and he can't even threaten the pirate; it will blow his cover. Besides he can't win in a fist-fight. The only way he has a chance is if he shifts and then he has to avoid getting hit. His bone structure is too fragile in order to be light enough to fly.
Frustrated he upends yet another table – and then his phone pings.
A message from Emma. She wants to meet him. A new idea forms in his head. If he can only get her away from the pirate or – in the worst case scenario – get her to take him with them to Storybrooke. She has to say yes to him. She has to. If not… He doesn't like to think of it. Zelena's voice still rings in his ears: If – if – she ever regains her memory you bring them here. And if you don't… Well, you know what I do to those who displease me.
"Emma, if you love this life, then stay. Just stay." Stay with me. It is your only chance. Come on, Clever Girl, you can still say yes, you can still stay alive.
"I... I can't. I wish you could see this the way I see it."
Likewise, Emma. Likewise. It's plan C now. Forget B, that wasn't the worst case scenario - this is the worst case scenario. "I wish you hadn't drunk that potion." Away to Storybrooke, it is, and you're not gonna like it, Emma. Not one bit. A solid grip, over the edge and then straight on to Maine.
Except that she dodges his attack, again, and she hits his wing with an iron bar. He feels the bones shatter and then one thing races through his mind: She's gonna kill me, she's gonna kill me and he is not even sure if he's thinking about Emma or Zelena or both at this time, he just knows.
And then stupidly, stupidly he gets another line stuck in his head, he doesn't even know where from, some stupid human.
My dear "Dear"? Hah!
Find what you love and let it kill you. Well, she is killing me.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. The roof against his back is coarse and cold as the bar pressed against his windpipe, the empty air behind lost its escape along with his wing.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly,
and he decides
but it's much better to be killed by a lover.
Better Emma than Zelena.
Goodbye Emma.
And then he falls.
Falsely yours