Title: No One Is Alone
Fandom: Into the Woods
Pairing The Baker x Cinderella, mentioned Baker's son, mentioned Baker x Baker's Wife and Prince x Cinderella
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Into the Woods and its characters and its wonderful songs do not belong to me.
Summary: …to find there's hope of getting through the journey… Post-finale.
"There." The Baker sets down his hammer and smacks his fist proudly against the firm wooden wall of his new home and bakery. "It's done."
"Wait!" Cinderella rummages through the pockets of the apron she wears—an old one that belonged to the Baker's wife—and pulls out a small, golden bell. The Baker lifts her so she can hang it over the door and turns to smile at him once it's secure and her feet are settled on the floor. "The final touch. Now it's done. And it only took—"
"Two months," he says. "Thanks to you."
She looks at the floor, embarrassed, cheeks pinking. "Oh, I—"
"I mean it."
"I didn't do anything someone else couldn't have—"
"You were a big help."
"I really didn't know what I was doing—"
"I don't know what I'll do without you."
Her wide eyes meet his and now he's embarrassed, and a little guilty, especially when she takes off his dead wife's apron and hands it to him; it took him forever, he realizes, to admit something such vulnerability to his own wife, and yet he's spouting lines like that a woman he's known for barely three months. He takes the apron and folds it gingerly, remembering the first time he saw her wear it, the first time he saw her kneading bread dough.
"You miss her?" Cinderella asks softly.
"Of course." He holds the apron close to his chest. "Don't you miss your prince?"
"No," she says, almost laughing. "Well, not really. My mind's been other things—helping you rebuild. And now I have to find a place to stay—"
"You do?"
"Well, I couldn't stay here." She turns away from him slightly, but doesn't make a move to leave, and glances at him after a moment, like she's waiting for something. For him.
"…Couldn't you?" He asks.
"Could I?" She asks.
"Well, it's not glamorous," he says.
"I'm done with glamour," she says.
"It's no palace."
"I'm done with palaces."
"I'm no prince."
"I'm most certainly done with princes."
"You'll have to work."
"That's about all these hands are good for."
"They're beautiful hands." She smiles, and he realizes he's broken their rhythm. "It's very poor living."
"You sure know how to make a tempting offer!" She turns and takes his hand, the one that's free, the one that isn't holding the apron. "I'll stay. If you'll have me."
"I—don't know." He slips his hand free and turns from her to pace, stroking his chin like he's seriously thinking. "Do you know anything about baking?"
"Very little."
"Hmm."
She bites her bottom lip, and then releases it, eyes twinkling. "Do you know anything about babies?"
The Baker stands still, glancing at the door that separates them from the room where his son is sleeping. He sighs.
"Very little." He turns back to her, beseeching. "Do you?"
"Well, not much," she admits. "But we can work on that one. Together."
"Together," he agrees, offering his hand, which she takes. "It's better than being alone."
"Much better," she agrees.
The baby cries. They exchange a look, a smile, the Baker puts down the apron, and they go to take care of his son. Together.