Dark hair speckled with blues and yellows tumbled over her shoulder, obscuring her deep brown eyes and infectious smile from view. Dainty hands tugged at a canvas buried under others, sending a few clean brushes rolling off the stack and onto a paint splattered desk. Triumphantly, she showed the canvas to the man standing in front of her, and with one quick jerk of his head she turned to start wrapping it in long swaths of brown postal paper while the man pulled out his checkbook after setting his cane to the side. With one final, carefully placed piece of tape, she lifted the canvas and followed the man out to his car, the check left on the desk.
Outside she fit the canvas into the back of his car, the old man getting straight into the driver's seat. Pushing the trunk shut, she took a step back onto the side walk to wave as the man pulled away, hardly sparing a cursory glance back as his fingers waggled in the air briefly. Returning inside, she picked up the check and slid it into the purse hanging off the back of a chair. Picking a blank canvas from another pile, this time off the floor, she took it over to her easel. Choosing the paints she wanted to use was always a big production; the inner fight she had with herself was spelled across her face.
Jefferson took an absent-minded sip from his second cup of coffee, crossing one leg over another loosely. It was still early in the day, not even noon yet, but she liked to get up early. He knew this. He'd gotten to know it very well over the last twenty-eight years. She'd wake up at six in the morning, go for a leisurely walk and end up at Granny's diner. She would eat two sunny side up eggs with white toast (and never forgot the extra butter), a side of fresh strawberries with a cup of orange juice. After making conversation mostly with Granny, she would pay and move onto the tiny art gallery she owned across from Gold's pawn shop. There she would start by trying to tidy up the place before quickly abandoning her efforts in favor of either painting or sculpting, and continue until a member of Storybrooke wandered into her shop inquiring about her artwork or wanting to commission her on a project.
Today she unlocked her shop around seven-thirty, flipping the sign hanging on the door to open on her way in. She made it as far as rearranging where her blank canvases lay before she sat at her easel and experimented with new technique.
Most of the color ended up in her hair.
Jefferson always admired how she lost herself in her work, not coming up for air until he would bring her back to the world with fresh cups of green tea and promises of even better tomorrows.
Splintering pain vibrated through what he had thought was a hollowed-out chest by this point, but he didn't move. Heartache was something he was accustomed to when he remembered his past, and the rhythmic misery he felt every so often was beginning to become a nice reprieve from the utter apathy he felt the rest of the time. He had nothing to distract from his loneliness, nothing to comfort him when he went home at night and was reminded of how distinctly alone he was in this world.
He was jostled from his thoughts when a dark haired, red lipped beauty occupied the seat across from him. Refusing to look at her, he kept his eyes on the woman across the road, who was currently deliberating on what size brush she needed next.
"Jefferson." She greeted neutrally, although the slight upturn at the corner of her lips suggested otherwise.
"Regina." He drawled out, but that was as far as he resolved himself to acknowledge her, though the contempt in his voice could not be avoided.
"So this is what you do every single day." He knew she was mocking him, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of a response. "Twenty-eight years is it now, almost? You come here to see her every day? I think she's actually prettier now, straight hair suits her better, but dear God she never learned how to present herself did she-"
"You don't get to talk about her." He ground out, grip on his cup tightening with his growing annoyance and shattering resolve. "Not after what you did to us."
"Now Jefferson I don't think that's fair." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, getting comfortable on the little café chair, swinging a jean-clad leg over the other. His loathing for her bubbled up in his throat, the distastefulness of her indignance caused old fantasies to return to mind. Images of hurting her like she destroyed him – and he would have done it, too. Would have tortured her day in and day out if there was something he could use against her. Her kid was doing a nice enough job of hurting her himself, and it's not like Regina had much of a heart to hurt in the first place. If it would have changed anything, if he thought there was a slightest chance of her remembering he would have –
"It's almost like I can hear your thoughts." Regina laughed, not even phased by the sheer abhorrence that flickered across his face. High off the giddiness she felt after eliciting such a response in the peculiar man, she had the audacity to reach over and pluck the muffin sitting untouched on his plate. Her theft went unnoticed, his gaze still faithfully fixated on the woman across the street. She had picked the size she wanted and was busy brushing circular strokes of vibrant orange across a small part of the canvas above a paler oval shape. He wasn't sure what she was painting yet, though he supposed it could just be an abstract piece. She moved to wipe the excess paint off her hands.
"What do you want Regina?" He spat, his gaze sliding over to her as he set the mug down before his grip got too tight and he ended up with his palms split open from broken ceramic.
Regina gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders, peeling back the paper on the bottom of the muffin. She let him wait as she took a bite of the muffin. "Banana muffin? I'm an apple woman myself." A foul, self-satisfying smile spread from cheek to cheek.
"Yes, very clever Regina." He grumbled, patience wearing thin quickly with her avoidance.
"I grow my own apple tree, you know. Granny likes to buy them for her apple pies, I wonder what she would do if – "
"Just get on with it you wicked woman!" He snapped, fist coming down on the table and the mug rattled, spilling over its excess liquid. Regina remained unfazed, though a feminine gasp was heard close by.
Dread filled his stomach at the look on the woman's face. The usual lively pink in her cheeks was gone, a pallor settling in its place, pink lips parted slightly, eyes wide. Never once had he raised his voice around her in this world, never once had he ever shown anything other than a pleasant countenance in her presence. Apprehension gripped him in the form of a sudden cold sweat, fingers going icy despite having just had a hard grip on a warm cup of coffee.
"Don't go in there!" He shouted, hand raised out in front of him as if the fifty feet of ground and intense rain and lightning separating them could be traversed by a simple gesture. The woman jerked at harsh, sudden words, and her footing slipped on the wet grass. Losing her balance, she tumbled forward into the mass of swirling blues and blacks, a curt scream alerting the rest of the forest, the birds answering in their own forms of squawks of protest as they took from the branches away from the scene. His pace quickened frantically, diving into the rabbit hole after her when he reached it.
The first time he had raised his voice at her had almost been the last time he would see her.
"Charlotte!" Regina greeted happily, the glee barely being concealed to anyone that wasn't Jefferson. He shot to his feet as Regina spoke, and the suddenness of his action caused the already flighty girl to take a step back from the pair.
This put her in the road, and with all the luck in the world seeming to be working against them, a compact car barreling down the road at twice the legal speed limit. Reaching out for her in worry the skittish girl took another unknowing step backwards, further out into the road.
"Rosalie!" Nauseousness found a home in Jefferson's stomach, and before he could think through his actions he had already stepped forward and gripped the slight girl as the driver honked at them, crushing her to his chest as he stepped back onto the sidewalk, pulling her from harm's way at the last possible moment. The car sped past, but Jefferson took no notice as he looked down at the shaking girl in his arms. Those beautiful, big brown eyes looking straight back up at him in wide-eyed gratitude.
"Are you alright?" Jefferson questioned, his tone considerably gentler than ever. It was times like these that he remembered the almost embarrassing age difference between the two. His concern was tangible, and the girl felt heat spread out along her cheeks at her actions.
"Yes, thank you." She breathed out, taking a small step away from his somehow familiar embrace. Odd, she thought. Jefferson's arms dropped away as if burned, giving her some space. "But my name is Charlotte."
"I'm sorry," the apology was instantaneous. Mentally kicking himself for slipping, he offered an uneasy smile for showing his anger in front of her. "And I'm sorry for scaring you before. The mayor and I were just having… a disagreement."
"No, it's fine." She reassured, cheeks still heated. Self-consciously she pressed the backs of her fingers to a cheek, trying to help cool down their incessant need to show her embarrassment. Outside of seeing him in her gallery every so often, she hadn't had any need to talk to the off-kilter styled man. "It's none of my business."
Once upon a time you would have thought differently, the thoughts came despite his need to forget the differences between this world and their last. Instead of displaying his outwards, he gave a small smile. "I'll get out of your way now, then." He sat back at his previous chair, giving the girl the option to flee back to the safety of her gallery or continue on her way to get her midmorning snack.
"It was nice to see you Mayor Mills, Jefferson." She smiled more naturally, making her way past the pair and into the café after a second of hesitation, her love of sweet treats winning out against her natural inclination to bolt. Strawberry danish, Jefferson thought offhandedly, today is a Tuesday and that means a strawberry danish snack day.
Regina had watched the two in uncharacteristic silence. Something about the indescribable anguish she could identify within Jefferson's gaze as he looked at her made her heart clench with guilt, reminding her of her loss – no, she quickly nipped that in the bud. You don't need to feel sorry for anyone.
"That was cute." Regina's tone was dry as she gave her remark, dropping the muffin down onto the table, rubbing her gloved hands against one another as she stood. "Too bad you've always been too much of a coward." She hoped to elicit more of his biting sarcasm, but one glance down at the man and she could tell he had been pushed far enough today. Shouldering her bag, she turned away from the broken man and set a leisurely stroll back to her office.
Jefferson's gaze fixated on a crack in the sidewalk, trying to compartmentalize his emotions. I haven't embraced her in decades. The thought did nothing to aid him as he drowned in his self-pity, picking at his nails in a nervous tick until the skin around his cuticle bled. The physical pain helped stabilize his warring emotions, enough to look up. His gaze naturally fell on the gallery across the street, where her painting sat on its easel. Now more detailed, a scene from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland was laid out, the Mad Hatter peering down at little Alice.
She was his true love, and she didn't remember him.
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Hey guys, this is my first dive into OUAT. Let me know if you want to see a continuation or else I'll be content to let this sit as a one shot. Thanks for reading!