Talking someone off a ledge was a hell of a way to start a relationship. Being harassed for twenty-eight years, then talking the creep off the ledge, even more. But then, Ruby thought, why should her second relationship be any less crazy than her first?
The one thing that hadn't changed was Granny and her crossbow, which explained why she leaned against the hospital's back wall in the falling dark instead of waiting at home for her date. Her red nails tapped her side nervously. The moon was a sliver, but she stayed on edge, like something was waiting to go wrong.
Before she had time to worry, the back door swung open with a groan and Victor was pulling her inside, apologizing heartily for being late, and handing her white flowers all at once. "I'll be out in five minutes," he said. "Sit, please. I'll be right back." He rushed upstairs and returned in his street clothes in much less than five minutes.
She beamed, and he took her free hand and led her to his car. "Where are we going?" she asked as he opened the door for her.
"Not Granny's." He pulled out of the parking lot and drove a mystified Ruby to the ridge overlooking the town. She leaned against a withered old tree and watched the streetlights turn on one by one as he popped the trunk and retrieved a blanket and a bottle of champagne. "It's nothing special," he said, "but I thought it'd be nice to get away from everything."
"Clever man," she said. He attempted to spread the blanket on the ground, but she pulled him to a seat beside her and wrapped it around their shoulders. They sat together with their legs dangling over the edge and (after a while) their hands entwined, talking and talking and talking.
They had already poured out their darkest selves to each other, so tonight they spoke of light and lovely things. She followed baseball religiously. He liked chocolate best with nuts. She loved cloudy days. They reminded him too much of home. She wanted to try skydiving. He never read the books assigned in English. They both always sympathized with the monsters in horror movies. Her favorite thing about Storybrooke was punk rock and no corsets.
His favorite was her.
Green eyes met blue. Her hands burned; his were freezing. They kissed like a summer thunderstorm: sudden and fierce.
Silence fell. No more headlights traveled the streets of Storybrooke, so they watched airplane lights instead.
This spot was Ruby's place to hide; curious Victor should choose it. During the curse she would storm away from Granny and curse the drab little town laid out at her feet. After the curse there were nights when she feared herself and used the distance to protect her home. It had always been an isolating place, a place to remember how she didn't belong among the people below. After one night of cheap champagne and dew-soaked grass, Victor had changed her lonely place into a beautiful reminder: if two monsters had one another, they didn't need to belong.
Finally, Ruby drifted asleep with her head on Victor's shoulder and his arm around her. He sat another hour thus, and what went through his head that hour no one ever knew. Then he carried her gently to the car, bundled in the blanket, and drove her home as the sun crept over the edge of the harbor. He knew he deserved Granny's death glare when she opened the door. Her insinuation that she would enjoy shoving a crossbow bolt up his nose was perhaps uncalled for, though not unexpected given his reputation. He promised to leave her granddaughter alone in the future and left planning their next date.