Summary: "Papa, please!" she begged, voice muffled and cracked, fear and anguish coursing through her. "Please, Papa! Please be ok. You promised!" This is Jefferson and Grace's story after he was torn from her, told from her point of view. What happened to her when he didn't return home? What did she do when the curse in Storybrooke was lifted and she remembered her other life, remembered her beloved father?
Warnings: None. Too long author notes? (just in this chapter, I promise!)
Disclaimer: OUAT and associated characters belong to ABC Studios. Writing belongs to me.
AN: This is my first ever OUAT fic. I absolutely love the Jefferson and Grace storyline, even though it absolutely breaks my heart. We know what happens to Jefferson and how it affected him since their story is told primarily from his point of view so I thought it might be interesting to fill in the blanks a little bit about Grace's side of the story – what happened to her when Jefferson became trapped in Wonderland and what did she do when the curse was broken and she got her memories of her old life back? This fic explores that a little.
I've tried to stay as true to the show timeline as I possibly could and make reference to events in the show as well. I also played around a little with the idea of 'two lives forever at odds…double the suffering' idea. That having two contrasting lives and worlds suddenly in your head would be difficult and painful to deal with, just as Jefferson said. Since other character did not appear to struggle with this, I played with the idea that if you did not have your 'constant' (for want of a better word) to anchor you, then it would indeed be physically and mentally painful, not to mention emotionally from the contrasting memories battling for dominance, and being faced with loss and grieving as if it were new, for a second time.
AN2: This story is completely written, with 4 chapters and a short epilogue. I hope to update weekly.
I hope you enjoy - reviews are very much appreciated :)
Double the Pain, Double the Hope
By Lanthiriel25
Chapter 1 – A Daughter's Faith
"Papa!" she cried, sobs wracking her entire body, her slight frame convulsing with her tears and gulps of air.
She twisted her fists in her blanket, wrapping her arms around her legs as she curled up against the window frame, burying her face in her knees. Her shoulders shook from the pain and grief which felt like it was trying to rip her apart from the inside out, her salty tears soaking into the faded material. Her father was missing. Gone. It had been thirteen days. Thirteen long and painful days spent at Tobias' and Sara's house, waiting, wondering, worrying. Her Papa had never left for more than one day in her entire life and she felt his absence like a physical wound.
He'd promised he'd be back in time for tea. He'd promised. But that was nearly two weeks ago. He would have come back to her if he could, she knew he would; he'd promised her, and her Papa always kept his promises. So, if he wasn't back, that meant he wasn't able to return. He'd left for her, because he wanted the best for her, to provide for her, so it would be all her fault if something had happened to him. Was he hurt? Trapped? Was in in trouble? Was he…d…? Grace whimpered, hugging her knees tighter, screwing her eyes closed. She couldn't even bring herself to think the terrifying word; so small, so short and yet so painfully final. He wasn't dead, he just wasn't. She refused to believe it. Because he'd promised he'd come back, he wouldn't leave her, he wouldn't.
"Papa, please!" she begged, voice muffled and cracked, her heart breaking, sick fear and anguish coursing through her. "Please, Papa! Please be ok, please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Papa, you promised!"
Fighting the terrifying images of her father lying so still and lifeless by an unknown roadside, face covered in mud and blood, Grace wrenched her eyes open, taking a gasping breath, trying to steady herself. She thudded her head back against the aging wood of her neighbour's cabin, hoping she could knock the fear and pain right out of her head.
"Please," she whispered softly, brokenly, into the dark.
She tried to get her breathing a bit more under control, until she was only hiccupping now and again as she swiped her cold hands across her face, dashing away her tears. Her Papa needed her to be brave. She needed to keep a look out for him. She'd spent the first week scouring the forest, the market, all their well-known trails and pathways, everywhere she knew her father went, searching for even the tiniest clue as to where he was, what had happened to him. She'd begged and pleaded with everyone in the market, pulling on sleeves and turning guileless, desperate eyes on anyone who would listen, asking strangers and friends alike if they'd seen him or had news of him. But no-one did.
Tobias and Sara had indulged her, helping in any way they could, wanting to find Jefferson almost as much as she did, but eventually, after a week of searching and no information to go on, they'd put a stop to it, unable to bear seeing the young girl so near to collapse, pale skin, gaunt face, shadowed and red-rimmed eyes. Her grief and searching was making her sick and that they could not allow. There'd been screaming and fighting and crying, but Grace had finally given in, staying in the house during the day, helping Sara prepare the vegetables and eating her broth like a good little girl. But she never strayed far from her place by the window, glancing out every few seconds, keen eyes desperate to catch a glimpse of her missing father. She refused to give up, wrapping herself in her blanket every night, lighting her little candle, keeping watch over the forest as the dark came, hoping the small dancing flame in the window would help guide her Papa to safety, help him to find his way home.
Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around the wooden bar across the window, gripping it tightly as she trembled, both from the cold and her lingering sobs. The cool night air caused her little candle to flicker, teased at her hair and brushed at her hot, tear-stained cheeks, but she felt nothing. She gazed out into the night, down the forest lane, amongst the trees, desperately searching for any sign of her father's return.
Wait... What was that?
Grace's breath caught, whole body freezing. Something had moved in the trees from the north-easterly way. She held her breath, scrambling up onto her knees, heedless as her blanket dropped from her shoulders as she did so, her eyes never leaving their spot. Gripping the frame tightly, she pressed herself as closely as she could to the wood from her place on the window seat, practically leaning out the window as she strained to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that she'd seen.
There was no movement, nor sound, aside from the soft wind in the trees and the occasional hoot of an owl. Grace bit her lip, breath held, her eyes narrowing as she tried to spot the source of the noise.
Another twig snap, and a soft rustle of undergrowth, closer this time.
"Papa?" Grace breathed, heart thudding in her chest in almost painful anticipation.
Silence again.
Until a hare all of a sudden darted from the bushes, across the dirt track forest road and behind the house, fox close on its heels.
A hare.
Grace froze, her mind not wanting to accept what she'd seen, that her father hadn't found her; he was still missing.
"Papa," she whispered brokenly, feeling her hope shatter and splinter once again so painfully in her chest.
She slumped back into the window seat, pushing the shutter nearest to her further open so she could see as much as she possibly could. She pulled her blanket back up around her shoulders, fidgeting until she was at least halfway comfortable, determinedly refocusing on the tree-line, ignoring the prickling behind her eyes. She slid the candle a little further along the ledge, making it as visible as possible whilst not being in danger of setting anything alight.
"Please, Papa. I'm sorry! Come home. I need you."
She felt tears well once again in her eyes, missing her dear father so much, so scared for him and for herself. In an attempt to distract herself from her grief, fighting back the exhaustion which ached in her body and pulled at her eyelids, she began to toy with her blanket, fingering the uneven patches where the material had had to be mended, re-sewn or patched up. Some were simple wear and tear since the blanket was old, yet cherished. Others however had a story to tell and as Grace kept her vigil for her father, her fingers tracing the evidence of their shared moments of love and laughter in the fabric. These memories kept her company in the candlelight, keeping the sharp and twisting worry at bay.
There was the small tear along one edge from when she'd tried to cut her father's hair, her blanket around his shoulders to protect his clothes, just like she'd seen Neighbour Sara do. Papa had sneezed, causing her to quickly pull the scissors away so as to not accidentally hurt him, catching the woven material as she did so. He'd been quick to reassure his panicked daughter that he was alright, that she hadn't accidentally nicked him with the scissors, and had made a game about repairing the blanket, teasing her that he'd keep his lop-sided hair-do and start a trend, and Grace hadn't been able to stop giggling.
There was a velvet patch, cut out of one of his old ruined cravats, that covered the hole where a spark had burned through it. They'd been having a bonfire in the clearing by their house, toasting bread on long forks as they watched the fire-flies dancing in the dusk light. Papa had been telling her a story about a clumsy fairy he'd met at the market, who'd accidentally dropped some fairy dust into his mushroom basket, causing everyone who bought his mushrooms to have good fortune for the rest of the day. She remembered how her father had come home beaming that day, a soft loaf of bread tucked under one arm and a jar of honey in the other, which he'd bought as a treat for them after selling all of his stock. Before this, Grace hadn't remembered the last time they'd had bread, let alone honey, since money, whilst always tight, had been particularly scarce. She helped him collect firewood and they settled down to toast their bread and warm the honey, exchanging stories as they did so. They'd ended the evening asking each other riddles, each more ridiculous than the last, their happy laughter echoing through the moonlight night.
There was a hard patch from where he father had accidentally split his foul home-made cold medicine when she was laid up in bed with the flu. It was thick and sticky and disgusting, but despite the taste, it did help her feel a little better. And Papa always gave her a honey drop afterwards to suck on to take away the nasty taste. She'd been propped up in bed, a pile of her father's clothes crammed under her pillow to make her more comfortable, and he was pouring out a spoon of the viscous liquid ready for her to take. When he'd seen her screwed up expression, nose wrinkled and mouth down-turned at the memory of the taste, he'd laughed, tweaking her nose. She'd pouted at him, playfully taking a swipe at his shoulder in retaliation which had caused his hand to falter, spilling some of the dark-coloured medicine onto her blanket. And they'd soon discovered it was impossible to wash out, but Grace was just thankful that the smell had disappeared quickly enough.
The mended rip had happened one morning after breakfast, her Papa chasing her around their small home, threatening to tickle-torture her because of her laughing at his highly comical bed-hair. Grace had squealed and laughed as she ran, ducking under his arms and dodging her father's out-stretched hands. He'd finally caught her, sweeping her into the air as she shrieked in surprise and the sudden weightless feeling. He'd spun her round as she squirmed, trying to escape the tickling fingers. Laughing and teasing him, she'd wriggled out of reach, dancing away from him, catching her blanket, which she'd been using as a shawl, on one the hooks on the wall by the door. They'd called truce but Grace had insisted on telling everyone they met that morning that her Papa was having a 'Mad Hair Day'. Jefferson had mock-threatened her with not mending her blanket, but she hadn't been worried since she could see the happy twinkle in his eyes and the smile twitching at his mouth. Her Papa had then declared that same day each week to officially be 'Mad Hair Day' and Grace took great delight in messing up her father's hair on those mornings and tying her own up in a wide variety of messy and crazy ways, often with her Papa's questionable help.
With all these happy memories wrapped around her, Grace's exhausted mind and body finally gave in to sleep, her head falling to rest against the window frame, face still turned outwards into the night. She dreamt about her Papa, stumbling through the woods, twigs in his hair and dirt on his clothes, but with a big smile on his face, kneeling down, arms open wide to greet her. In her dream, Grace leapt from the window seat, flung open the door and ran to meet him, throwing herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. She hugged him tightly, clutching as his coat, feeling him murmur apologies and 'I love you's into her hair. She pulled back, giggling at his dishevelled appearance, reaching up to pull to the leaves from his hair and brush the dust from his collar.
"I'm glad you're home, Papa!" she told him, with a huge smile.
"Me too, sweetheart," he replied, tears in his eyes.
Seeing Grace, fast asleep, exhaustion and grief clear on her face even in slumber, Tobias quietly strode across the room. He hated seeing the girl so tired, so burdened, so scared and alone. He wished he could do more to help, but despite all of their best efforts, Jefferson had vanished, seemingly without a trace. He couldn't understand it, knowing the man's devotion to his daughter. He just hoped that he was able to find his way home soon, for both their sakes. But if he couldn't, if he had left the lands of the living, Tobias didn't know what he'd do. It would kill Grace to lose her hope like that, to know for sure she'd never seen her father again.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Tobias carefully wrapped the blanket around Grace, stooping slightly so he could safely scoop her into his arms, blowing out the candle as he did so. Using the light of the moon through the open shutters, Tobias slowly carried Grace to her bed, taking care not to disturb her.
"Papa?" Grace murmured, sleepily, nuzzling her face into Tobias' shoulder, feeling strong arms encircling her, carrying her.
Tobias would have given anything not to have to answer that innocent, hopeful question from a half-awake Grace. He gritted his teeth to keep his voice steady and soothing.
"No, honey. I'm sorry. Just me, Tobias."
"Tobias?" Grace repeated, confused, her sleep-fogged brain too tired to really understand.
"Yes, Grace. You go back to sleep now, alright."
"Alrigh',' Grace mumbled, slipping once more into slumber, as Tobias gently set her down on her blankets, pulling the covers over her.
"Poor child," Sara commented sadly, as she joined her husband, having witnessed the short exchange between the pair of them. Seeing the grief crash down on the girl each morning after she woke from dreams of her father's return was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to witness, seeing the light dim and the hope fade, a little more each day.
Brushing the girl's hair from her face, expression sad as she took in the soft frown which marred Grace's brow, Sara retrieved Grace's rabbit toy and tucked it under the covers with her. In her sleep, Grace's fingers twitched in recognition, reaching out and hugging her beloved soft animal to her chest.
"Papa," she sighed, fingers twisting in the rabbit's coat, before she settled, breathing evening out as she slept through the few short hours until dawn.
And so it continued, for days, weeks, months. The heart-break never lessening; her hope fading but stubbornly refusing to give in. Falling asleep as she waited and wished, keeping her vigil, Tobias carrying her to bed each night, Sara keeping her fed and busy during the day. Grace never gave up on her Papa, never stopped searching, never stopped waiting in the window with her candle, never stopped believing he would keep his promise, her tea set and her precious rabbit ready for their tea-party when he returned.
She never stopped. Not until the blackened purple cloud, which thundered and sparked, choked the land, snuffing out her candle and her hope, ripping her precious and cherished memories from her, condemning her to a life where, for her, her beloved Papa had never existed.
Thanks for reading :) Chapter 2 coming soon.