Emma, Henry, Mary, Regina, Ruby and Gold/Rumpelstiltskin are the intellectual property of ABC's Once Upon A Time.
OC such as Robin, Andrew, and the Reddington family are mine.
This is my first fan fic, so please read and review - thank you, all!
Prologue - The Simple Life
To all the other residents of Storybrooke, it seemed that Andrew and Robin Vertrauen lived in their very own bubble of placid contentment, though they were not the kind of people you might call dull. Andrew was the head county appraiser in the local courthouse. Although he was young (straight out of school, everyone said, and perhaps not as qualified for the position as he might be), the townspeople seemed to like Andrew's sense of fair play and courteousness. Standing a full six feet in the air and then some, the man would have been frightening if it weren't for his kind round face, and ready smile. He looked a bit like a reanimated teddy bear, which made him all that much more endearing. However, it was his grin that conveyed the true humor in his soul. That was what everyone seemed to respond to where Andrew was concerned – he was always smiling.
Robin was just as congenial, if not louder than her proclaimed 'tall-other.' Popular and charismatic, Mrs. Vertrauen ran the small community theater which doubled as an art center in town. Equally young, she was a wizard at grant-writing and appealing to the better natures of the town council whom she relied on financially to keep up the theater which, according to the scads of research she'd done, had been built in the early part of the 20th century. The theater itself was her labor of love, and it was not unusual to see the Vertrauens hard at work late in the evening, vacuuming floors or helping with various rehearsals for one of the local drama productions. Inside the construction of red velvet, gold molding, and gilded art deco motifs lay the bulk of the Vertrauen's world.
Robin was known in the school district, too, as someone who was not shy about assisting teachers with annual plays and programs. It was becoming a tradition for her to go into the small Storybrooke school and help the English teacher Tomasina Grey teach Shakespeare and Frost. There was also the yearly recitation of 'T'was the Night Before Christmas' that Robin and Andrew had been putting on for their friend Mary Margaret's fourth grade class every year for as long as anyone could remember. The two women would take turns reading the stanzas, and of course at the end of the well-known poem, while all the children sat quiet with wonder, Andrew would come bursting into the classroom in full St. Nick regalia. The Vertrauens were well-loved by almost everyone in Storybrooke, and at least respected by everyone else.
Mayor Mills and other prominent townsfolk who had held the sunny little eastern burg in their clutches since all recollection seemed to consider the Vertrauens harmless. Idealistic, yes – but of no real concern. Andrew assessed property, and made certain that no one was cheating on their taxes which kept those involved with the town government happy. As long as the theater was funded, Robin was equally happy to remain Storybrooke's personified embodiment of far-flung ambition and dream-spinning, although she could never quite shake the intangible electricity she felt within her most days. She was able to chalk it up to being a fairly energetic person with a raging tornado of caffeine and pheromones in her system…most of the time. She'd been born that way, and it was sometimes all Andrew could do to keep up with his high-strung wife. However, there were moments in Robin's day when she would sometimes suspect that she had been meant for more than Storybrooke could offer.
Part #1 - The Importance of Being Robin
"Who are you, I wonder?"
Robin's head snapped up from her yellow legal tablet. She was making a list of repairs that would need to be line-itemed in her next request to the city commission. Henry Mills sat in the front row of the Vertrauen's theater with a massive leather-bound book opened in his lap. Each spring, the schools collaborated to produce a large end-of-year pageant for the town, and for weeks before hand many of the children had rehearsals week days after school. Henry's class had been given a delegated practice time on the stage during Friday afternoons which was usually when Robin found herself readying the theater for Saturday morning dancing and acting classes.
She smiled indulgently at the mousey-haired ten year old. His dark blue sweater hung over his cleanly presses white button down shirt, and made him look so much older than he actually was. No one could accuse the mayor's son from lacking imagination – however, he seemed so much wiser than other kids his age. If Robin hadn't been so fond of her young friend, he probably would have given her the creeps.
"You know who I am," she replied happily. "Or has this got something to do with Emily Dickenson?"
"What?" Henry squished his face in a confused expression that made Robin grin.
"Never mind. What do you mean, dude?"
"In the story - I wonder who you are in the story."
"Oh, man –" Robin suddenly felt a little bad. "Is this about your book? This thing has you thinking Mar is Snow White or somesuch, right?"
"I don't just think it – she is," Henry insisted. "…and I wish I knew who you were, Robin. I just know you've got to be someone…someone," there was a momentary pause while the young boy chose his words. He kept flipping through the pages as if searching for something.
"C'mon, kiddo – just my luck, I'm probably someone boring like a washwoman in the castle. I doubt I'm anyone too important!" Robin let out a laugh, trying to make a joke and divert the Mills boy's attention. Failing to tear him away from his search, she put a hand onto one of the large tome's corners to stop him from flipping the pages for a moment.
"Henry, nobody ever really knows who they are." Robin faced the boy now, and looked at him kindly.
"That's the point of living, isn't it? To keep finding out new things about yourself? It's more fun that way – and maybe I'm not someone in your book. Maybe I'm just me."
The little boy looked up at Robin in quiet amusement as she glanced back down at her wristwatch. Was it….? Oh, no –it was later in the afternoon than she'd expected. Instantly, she sprang into action, vaulting herself out of the plush red chair, and nearly dropping her legal tablet.
"Goodness, I'm late!"
Robin momentarily bent over and ruffled Henry's hair.
"Tell Miss Blanchard I had an errand to run, ok? I should be back soon, though – and with something pretty cool, if I've played my cards right!"
Henry was quiet as Robin leapt in what seemed to be a few long, languid movements out of the theater auditorium.
"Someone important," he said under his breath. "She's got to be."
Part #2 - Always a Catch
Robin paused momentarily in the reflection of the pawn shop's large glass display window before entering the building. She tried to make sure that as fast as she was going, her short red hair wasn't too disheveled, the fly on her jeans undone, or something equally embarrassing.
It wasn't that she was afraid of Mr. Gold – she wasn't afraid of anyone, and proud of it. It was simply that the man made her a little - nervous. She'd always felt like a cat locked in a room of rocking chairs whenever dealing with him in the past. Truth be told, she'd preferred not to look at him directly on the few occasions when they did interact. There was something about the way his smile never quite reached his eyes that she just didn't trust. Her husband often worked with the more affluent members of the community as they were the ones who owned the most property, had the biggest structures, etc. Mr. Gold was no different, and had a congenial working relationship with Andrew that had never seemed weird or shady in any way. Nevertheless, people in town talked in hushed tones about Gold's infamously razor-sharp business sense. It seemed that almost everyone was in his pocket somehow. The man could make or break you – and everyone knew someone who had been broken. With this in mind, Robin drew herself a little taller and bit her lip. With a sigh of resolve, she opened the door and the sound of a small bell from somewhere overhead announced her presence.
For a moment, there was a queer silence and the air seemed to shift. Then -
"Ah, Mrs. Vertrauen! Here you are," said a reedy Scotch accent from the back of the building. It was ever so slightly Doric, although no one in Robin's memory had ever seemed to have a problem understanding exactly what Mr. Gold meant.
"Hi, there!" Robin's voice cracked in something that sounded suspiciously like strain, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "How are you, Mr. Gold? "
"Very well – and yourself?" The thud of a cane proceeded towards Robin at the front counter. She steadied herself on the glass display case, and immediately realized that she was still clutching her legal tab and pen. In a mock show of cool reserve, she held it down at her side, leaning back in an attempt to look more relaxed. A million-watt smile lit up her face just as the proprietor of the pawn shop reached her. She may have felt uncomfortable, but Robin would rather die than let someone out charm her, accent or no.
"Busy…swamped actually…but work is a blessing. And fabulously happy about this, yeah?"
Mr. Gold let his head drop to one side, noticing her legal pad, then turned his eyes back to her expectantly. Shoulder-length brown and silver strands stood out on his shoulders. Robin could not help but notice that the man looked more like an undertaker than a shop owner – today, he wore a black jacket over a charcoal grey dress shirt. Around his neck hung what Robin could only assume was a very expensive tie that had tiny threads of gold woven throughout. Although she could not see the rest of the ensemble from where Mr. Gold was standing, the young woman guessed that tailored pants and Italian loafers probably figured into the mix. Robin had an eye for beautiful fabric, but instead of causing her delight, this did nothing to dissuade the pit in her stomach. It was as if every piece of finery Gold wore had been plucked out of an issue of Esquire and then sewn onto a Gila monster.
"Well, dear Mrs. Vertrauen, I do love to support the arts when I can – it just so happened that this worked out quite nicely. Would you care to come into the back and have a look?" Gold seemed to notice Robin's thoughtful pause, and grinned – almost proudly. His gold tooth reflected off the glass of the display case, and it was enough to bring her back.
"Um, totally! That's why I'm here, after all," she exclaimed, careful not to let the brightness fade from her face.
The back storage room of the pawn shop was dusty and held boxes full of inventory that was in the process of being evaluated for pricing purposes. There was a desk, a small tiffany-style lamp which cast just enough light around the small dusky space, and an old wooden chair with a tall, narrow back. A magnifying glass, flashlight, and other tools sat on the desk's surface. And then, there were was the pile of clothing lying haphazardly in three massive plastic tubs. 'Pile' is perhaps an inaccurate description, because what Robin saw instead were treasures that could costume the players on her stage for a long time to come. At first glance, many of the pieces seemed vintage, and in excellent condition. She detected, even in the dull light, some flaws on the pieces. Some threads here and there seemed frayed. Nevertheless, her palms and fingers began to itch. Her heart sped up a bit, and she was suddenly not a young and horribly nervous theater owner. She was Robin, who would do anything to make certain that Storybrooke's Orchard Theater and its small clan of community members had the best of everything she could provide.
"Holy cats and kittens!" she exclaimed, flying to where the large tubs sat. The first tub was already open, and Robin carefully began rifling through the various shirts, dresses, gloves, and other assorted apparel. "This is brocade, probably from at least six decades ago." Robin held up what appeared to be a red and black smoking jacket shot through with silver. There appeared to be some women's overcoats, and shoes as well…and this was only the first of three boxes.
"The second box has some hats in it – I believe that there are an assortment of accessories there, as well. I think – I may have even seen a monocle?"
"My god, my god, my GOD!" Robin squealed. "This is…amazing. But, couldn't you get more from this if you sold this stuff here? I know that the tourists love second hand stores…"
"My dear Mrs. Vertrauen," the thin man leaned in the doorway of the storeroom, both hands on his cane, hazel eyes watching the young woman with some interest. "I can be a generous man when I want to be. However, I am touched by your concern for my –eh, fiduciary welfare – and if you'd like, we can simply say that you owe me a wee tiny favor?"
Robin froze, and gingerly put down the grey silk glove she was holding.
"You know, I think I left my checkbook back at the Orchard but I can run and get it…"
"That's not necessary, dearie –"
"Yes, but I think it is." Robin blinked at the treasure trove of clothing, and sighed before drawing herself upright to her full height, and facing the sinewy Scot. "I appreciate your wanting to help, and goodness knows that I can use all the help afforded to me, but…if this is anything but a straightforward purchase or a donation, I can't accept any of it…sir."
"Oh, tosh – why not?" Gold's thin face looked indignant, and then quickly flickered back into the semblance of a smile.
"I did 'na mean to alarm ya. I was simply saying that – we might be able to help each other out? We are neighbors after all, as well as business people…in a sense."
"If you are implying that Andrew might give you leeway because you gave me some costumes for the theater, you're wrong, Mr. Gold. I don't want to cause my husband trouble. I need to make that clear, and,"
"Yes, yes, dear Mrs. Vertrauen, I know. You're both upstanding members of the community and you can't look compromised at all, so on and so forth." For a moment, the man seemed to lose his composure, all but shouting the last few words of the sentence. He inhaled rapidly, and held his breath until the slight fury seemed to pass.
"I would never ask you to compromise Andrew's position in the community, my dear. The favor I have in mind is quite small, I assure you."
"I'd feel better if I didn't owe you anything at all," Robin muttered. "I hate to be rude but…one…hears things."
There was a second in which both parties let the weight of Robin's words sink in completely. Finally, Gold struck his cane once against the ground, making the theater owner flinch.
"Good lord, woman – why are you being so dramatic?" At this point, Gold seemed quietly exasperated and even a little amused. Robin was certain that she had dropped her charm about a hundred miles back in terms of where the conversation had headed.
"I admire your loyalty to Andrew – God knows he's a lucky fellow…but really, why do you think an old, well-meaning patron of the arts would want to hurt you anyway? This is my town too, dearie. I happen to think that what you do is quite…valuable. Also, I might point out," and at this, Gold directed his cane towards where Robin was standing, "that it seems ironic – you, a theater person, an artist, so liberal – so…open-minded! judging anyone."
And it was in that moment that Robin relented.
Of course, she was being silly. There was nothing she could do for Mr. Gold that would be of any real use. He probably just wanted access to the best tickets for the best productions during the theater season. Every year, the community put on several major shows and while each one was fairly armature, they were often seen as major social events of the annual Storybrooke calendar. While not completely on the up-an-up, Robin decided right then and there that for the cost of all the beautiful stuff locked away in the three large tubs, she could certainly have one slightly questionable affiliation. Those in 'the biz' had backers and patrons, after all. This seemed no different. Being paranoid could be holding her back from making a truly valuable connection – and with someone like Regina Mills running the town, this was not an opportunity to be wasted.
Mr. Gold had by this time removed a small drinking flask from inside his jacket, and was taking a resolute swig. Robin grinned, and walked over to the door way.
"Do you mind?"
The man smirked, handing her the flask.
"Not at all, my dear Mrs. Vertrauen. Not at all."
She sighed, took a look at her newly acquired treasure, and then at the tall Gila monster in his fine tailored suit. She then drank a large pull of whisky without so much as a blink, much to Gold's quiet amusement.
"Well, I guess you have your deal," Robin sang with a final unsure grin.
Part #3 - The Thorn & Loaf
It was not the worst place a girl could grow up, but it was far from being the most exciting. Rose's mother and father ran one of the more prominent inns in the town. The Thorne and Loaf had a wonderful reputation, due in part to Simon Reddington's fair prices, comfortable rooms, and jolly mannerisms. His wife, Morwenna, made the best stews and bread in the land– the couple managed to bring in cooks from the surrounding community to help with food preparation for large banquets and other grand occasions just so that the baker's apprentices could study in Morwenna's kitchen. Simon and his wife were also known for their flavorful ales and meads that were kept in a large roomy cellar below the oaken floorboards that smelled sweet with the orange and rose oil that the Reddington women lovingly wiped into the wood on a weekly basis. Dukes, mages, soldiers, high-ranking ladies, theater troupes, and other exciting visitors all stayed at the reputable establishment. Even Prince James and his father had stayed the evening once before traveling off to the north forest on a hunting expedition. The knights riding with the two royals had consumed three barrels of Simon's best apple grog. That had been a worrisome night.
If there was a jewel in the crown of the Thorn and Loaf, it was Simon and Morwenna's only daughter. The girl had two brothers, but she was the youngest and therefore could not escape being a tiny bit spoiled. Rose Reddington was known for her charm, her humor, her stunning pale skin and red hair that was the shade of pennies, sunsets, and wild strawberries depending on the day and the season. Her eyes shifted between being gold and green. Her feet were quick, and she danced from place to place as if there were wings attached to her ankles. Although indulged by her family, the girl was kind hearted and made everyone she knew feel cared for. The villagers all said it was her parent's generous spirits that gave way to such tendencies. However, what Rose was best known for was her voice. It was sweet and deep like winter hay. It magicked things into being. It magicked hearts into being unbroken.
As she grew older, the youngest Reddington would sit astride a bench in the main hall of her parent's inn with her two brothers. Tobias, a large toe-headed lad with large soulful green eyes the color of turtle shells, would strum his lyre. Joseph, a spry slip of a teenager, played the panpipes. Rose would lift sound to the heavens, and shape the world, the night, the trees, and the mountains surrounding them all. Not a wolf, bird, or cricket could ignore the enchantment the sound carried. If she had not been Simon's daughter, the townsfolk might have made Rose an outcast– they might have banished her from the village, or worse. However, her particular brand of enchantment seemed benign enough. As long as she remembered to keep her place in the order of things, Rose posed no real threat to anyone.
The babushkas and town mothers felt that once the young girl was married she would probably stop singing, and let herself get down to the business of having children, and all the other duties of plain-folk. The music was a harmless enough diversion for now. Better to acknowledge its loveliness, and leave it be. Power, once elevated and pointed out, was hard to control.
Part #4 - A Darkness
Rose's town seemed so isolated by forests and mountains that none of the locals thought it possible to draw much attention to themselves or the place in which they lived. It did not seem likely that anyone of true status, save the tax collectors and king's messengers, would see the community as anything other than a lovely little spot to rest a spell before moving on to a bigger more prominent city. What no one realized was that there were shadows gathering like fine gray mist around the town. The nights suddenly got darker, the days lived in partial sunlight, and all of the chickens in town started laying eggs that broke too easily – eggs that were surrounded by thin shells that seemed the texture of weakened finger nails and spider webs.
The Reddingtons carried on much as they always had – besides the lack of eggs in Morwenna's kitchen, the Thorn and Loaf did not alter much. Everyone seemed a bit more on edge than usual, but no one knew why. The local wise woman who visited Morwenna every Wednesday insisted that a powerful force of evil was circling the town – that she thought it might be looking for someone innocent to devour. Morwenna made garlicky stews that she dumped down her children's throats. She started hanging Bluebell flowers in the sills of all the inn's windows and doorways. Of course, Rose did her best to calm whomever she could. Morwenna told her only daughter that this was a vital role to be played.
"We are the Reddington women – it is our job to comfort those who need it, and provide an example for those we love," her mother asserted while stroking her only daughter's long red hair. This 'comfort' was accomplished by turning the mattresses and cleaning the stew pots without being asked. It was accomplished by fetching Tobias a bucket of cold beer in the afternoon. It was done by helping her brothers with their chores, and not whining quite so loud when Joseph called her pickle-faced and flat-chested. It was done by helping her father deal with the steady flow of patrons who visited the inn night after night, and it was done – also – by singing every evening for anyone who wanted to listen.
At the end of the third day during this town-wide unease, Rose sat down with her brothers once again to sing for the patrons of her family's inn. She knew in her heart that she must make an effort to calm whomever was listening – there had been horrible fights in the streets and even in the Thorn and Loaf during the last day and a half. People were feeling uncomfortably tense all because of a change in the air – an alteration of the senses. So Rose glanced at Tobias, who glanced at Joseph, and the trio went into a slow happy tune about the different birds in the forest. It was a song Morwenna had taught them all as small children. The melody was sweet and bright – the song itself seemed to clear away the gloom temporarily. It acted as a large broom, sweeping out the hopelessness and fear that had been pervading their days.
"And in the wood, the little birds sing all day, all day -
The blue, the wren, the peafowl hen – they sing, and pray, and play,
But 'tis the red bird, good and true, who sings so very sweet -
From the bright and happy joy that in her heart does beat!"
Rose was starting in on the second verse when an audible 'pop' was heard at the front of the hall. Shouts of shock and the screams of two visiting duchesses were greeted by the terrible grin of a curious creature who stood on the opposite side of the crowd from the three Reddington children. Rose thought of him as a 'creature' because she had never seen a human who looked the way this man did. He was dressed in curious clothing crafted from the hide of some animal, although it had been cut into angular shapes and was probably past all natural recognition. The skin of the man glowed with a kind of golden iridescence, and his hair was matted and stringy – it reminded Rose of the snakes she sometimes saw slithering across the tree roots and rocks near the town well. Amber eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and indeed, the angles of the things face and stature reminded the girl of something sharp and dangerous. The creature held bunches of bluebells in his hand, and leered down his arrow-head nose at the three young people who had, till a moment ago, been happily entertaining.
"What a bea-uuutiful performance!" the thing exclaimed cheerily, walking in a straight unwavering line down the middle of the room despite the terrified reactions around him. He threw the bluebells over his shoulder as if they were trash, much to Morwenna's dismay. Simon was already rushing through the room to his children's side, but he was not quick enough to beat the imp whose grimy hands grasped Rose's chin, tilting her face upward. The girl felt like a horse who was being inspected, and wasn't so sure she shouldn't grin to show the monster that she had all of her teeth – even if they weren't as sharp as his.
"Rose Reddington, red, red, red Rose, little Rose Red," the imp grinned, and chortled in a sing-song tenor that was nearly human. "Ah, Red Bird – you are all I've heard you were, dearie, and more."
Part #5 - A Conversation
"You did what?" Emma Swan and Mary Margaret Blanchard sat gaping at Robin Vertrauen who was sheepishly grinning back at the two women. They sat in Mary's cramped kitchen, drinking hot coco and the conversation had been easy and calm until about a moment ago. Emma had been talking to Robin and Mary about how she had been forbidden to see Henry as of late – it was heartbreaking, as everyone in town knew that Henry Mill's birth mother had done Storybrooke and her young son some very real good. Despite the ire of Mayor Regina and the recent death of Sherriff Graham, Emma had won an election to carry on as Storybrooke's major law-enforcement figure.
"Ok, seriously," Emma blurted out bitterly. "Is there anyone left in this town that is not indebted to that man in some way?"
"I'm beginning to think that there isn't," Robin spat out. "I mean, I didn't think that it was that big of a deal at the time. Hell, we even took swigs out of his pocket flask to seal the deal," – at this juncture, Mary and Emma looked at each other, making faces that clearly communicated repugnance.
"That's kind of strange." Mary muttered, dropping her jade green eyes down at her own bone-colored mug.
"…but now? Now I'm feeling kind of…uneasy about the whole thing."
"Well, that's understandable," Mary muttered. She lifted a long finger to brush some strands from her sleek pixie cut away from her face. "He's pretty good about keeping people in this town fairly terrified. I don't like this, Robin. You've worked so hard to secure that theater for our town. Many of us see it as…I don't know, some kind of refuge from whatever else may be going on – in our lives."
Mary smiled, and gently placed a hand on Robin's shoulder.
"Be confident enough to know that you can do this on your own. I think you should take those costumes back to Mr. Gold. We'll figure out how to come up with anything you need for the plays the Orchard puts on."
"I know, you're absolutely right…and I should," Robin sighed, and then ran her index finger around the rim of her mug. "But we're doing a production of The Importance of Being Earnest, and without those pieces that were practically thrown at me today? I don't know how we'll manage to make costumes happen this year. We've had to take a diminished level of funding from the council. It's crap, but I can't just turn down charity from someone that…powerful, right? "
"Um, I think you can. I think you'd better!" The young blonde woman squinted her eyes, and looked sideways at Robin.
"I hate to sound like a jerk but they're just plays. I don't understand what you need Mr. Gold's help for anyway. So what if your shows aren't Broadway ready? That's not really the point, right?"
"But the play is always the thing, didn't you know?" Robin took a swig of hot coco and rose to put her mug into Mary Margaret's sink.
"You're right, and I know you're right. I think I'd better have a talk with Mr. Gold – and soon."
Part #6 - Touched
"You're clever people," the creature stood in Morwenna's kitchen with the Reddington family gathered around their youngest member. "The proprietor of The Thorn and Loaf has a keen reputation for making good deals, and the agreement that I am bringing to you seems more than fair. I fail to see how anything that I've laid out for you does not make sense, or work to your advantage."
"Dark One, you must understand – she is our only daughter, and the apple of her mother's eye." Simon fearfully stood across the table from the imp, desperately trying to make a case for his family – for his daughter.
"I wouldn't do it anyway," Rose piped up from her seat between her brothers. "I don't think I like you."
"Hush!" Morwenna fearfully moved to her daughter, placing her large baker's hands on the girl's strong tiny shoulders. Instead of erupting into anger, the creature looked down in surprise at the young woman and made a mewling bleat that sounded like something between laughter and a baby goat.
"Oh-ho! She's full of fire, this one." The creature grinned, showing a row of yellowing pegs. "Let me tell you something about her grandmother, good innkeeper."
Morwenna visibly paled, and the grasp on her daughter's shoulder's tightened.
"Your wife, lovely though she is, had a mother who was the wild sort and in the end, it dinna do her any good – have you ever wondered why your wife is such a master in the kitchen? Why she seems to age so much slower than other women in the village, or why you, Simon innkeeper, finally made your fortune only after you'd wedded your precious Morwenna?"
"We are blessed, it's true – but what are you driving at, demon?" Simon was growing exasperated, and impatient.
"The grandmother of your children had dalliances with those not of this realm, and your wife is the product of that union. Of course, her human husband found out – how could he not? And it's true – a man's ego is so precious, and with a temper like his? It's no wonder the woman died…"
"Stop it!" shouted Rose's mother, tears beginning to brim in her eyes.
"Ah, but I think it's only fair he know, dearie – after all, the rumors about Rose and her little talent already breed rumors and speculation…ask yourself, inn keeper - what will your daughter do when you and Morwenna are gone?"
At this juncture, the amber eyes of the creature blazed. He raised his hands to his sunken cheeks in a mock show of concern, and looked with wide eyes at Rose.
"Who will want you, knowing what I know?"
The girl fell silent, considering these words. It was true, she'd been labeled an outsider long ago by most in the town. It was only her father's business and her mother's influence that gave her an acceptable place within the social fabric of her community.
"I can clear a path for you, Rose Reddington. I can see that you are beloved in the land – that you sing for queens, and kings, emperors, and gods. I can make certain that you want for nothing."
At this point, the creature turned back to Simon.
"I will make sure that no harm comes to her, and of course a child of so much renown will only strengthen the reputation of the Thorn and Loaf. I see prosperity in your future, Innkeep!" The Dark One lifted his clawed finger into the air as if pointing towards a lucky star overhead.
Alarmed by her mother's outburst, Rose's heart began to beat more quickly. She jumped up out of her seat, wriggling out of her mother's grip. "I won't help you, monster!" she shouted.
"I want nothing to do with you, so go hang!"
With that, the young woman ran out of the kitchen, out of the inn, and into the darkness.
Rose ran for a few minutes before reaching the wall that encapsulated the village. At the gate, she could see the town's blacksmith and the local butcher trading off for a shift as night watch. Unwilling to explain to either one of the men what she was doing out after dark, she walked in the other direction towards the trunk of a leveled oak. She sat down on the wide disc of ringed wood and drew her knees into her chest. She would not cry. Crying accomplished nothing. Despite herself, there were tears that insisted on rolling down her face, which she had no choice but to allow.
The young woman let the tension naturally eek out through her lungs, and her heart eventually returned to beating at a normal pace. Was it true? Had her grandmother really been with…something not human? And what brand of not human had it been? Perhaps an elf or fairy? Whatever her grandmother had done, Morwenna was not dark or evil in any way. Her mother had always seemed beautiful - wise. Whomever her grandmother had been with, the creature would have had to have been worthy in some way.
Rose was so lost in thought that she never heard the air around her erupt into a popping noise. She didn't even lift her head again when the Dark One addressed her.
"Running doesn't make your problems go away, dearie – in fact, it just annoys them."
"I…I don't want to talk to you. You scare me, and I don't think you're a good creature."
"First of all, calling me 'creature' is not acceptable. Secondly, you'd do well to mind your manners. My patience with you is wearing quite thin." The imp began to stalk around Rose's tree trunk. He held his hands behind his back, and never took his eyes away from where she sat. She looked resolutely at the top of her knees. No matter how hard she tried, she could not shake the feel of his amber eyes burning into her skin.
"Perhaps this conversation should be between just us two – after all, it is your destiny, your life."
"I don't know what you mean. I already have a life – and it was fine till now."
"I already have a life!" he echoed in a high-pitched mocking tone. "Well, yes – you do, but it's not the one you really want, is it? There's no good in lying to yourself and saying that it is."
Rose closed her eyes momentarily, and inhaled deeply to keep her composure. This was not fair – he knew more about her than she did about him and it seemed to her that he had the upper hand in whatever game they were playing. It was true – Rose knew that if she stayed in her sleepy little village, she would have to settle for a life much like her mother's. It wasn't a horrible fate – but she had always felt the need to…accomplish something more.
"Tell me again," she started. "Tell me why it's important I come with you."
Instantly, the Dark One sat down behind her on the stump, and wrapped a long, snarled arm around her shoulders.
"Ah, lovely little red bird – you have a gift, and it is a powerful one…but you don't know how to use it...yet. It's better off with me."
"Then take it!" she shouted in alarm, more afraid of being touched by the odd stranger than anything else.
"Oh, I would if I could, make no mistake about that!" the thing said menacingly. "I have, in the past, taken a girl's voice. However, the power that manifests within you is –eh, unique. This gift of yours is part of your bloodline. Your voice and body cannot be separated or the whole damned system won't work! Too complicated for my taste, but there it is." He used his other hand in an upward swishing motion that seemed overly dramatic – silly, even.
"And what will happen to me if I do this? What will happen to my family?"
"They'll be much as they were before, dearie –better off, actually" he asserted, letting the intonation of each word travel up and down until the phrase sounded nearly forced. "They'll have their inn, and they can brag about their oh-so-famous daughter! It'll be great for business – It'll really bring in the tourists. As for you?"
Two slender, knotted hands lifted Rose up off the tree trunk into a standing position.
"You'll have the world at your feet, red bird. Just do what I say, and the rest will all be fame and glory."
Rose gulped, and despite herself, she knew she was shaking ever so slightly in the monster's grip. It was almost as if she were not even herself. It was very much as if she was suddenly looking from the outside in, and the little voice in her head that usually told her what she should do was strangely silent.
"I know you're right," she said softly. "I can't stay here – not forever. No one will want someone who is…touched."
At this, the Dark One laughed maniacally.
"Why should they, lovely? They're not like you and I. Oh, red bird – they can never manage magic for long. They can't accept that magic always comes with a price – but you my girl, you've got the stuff running through your veins!"
Suddenly, Rose saw the strange little man pull a scroll and quill out from one of his sleeves.
"I'll need you to sign on the dotted line."
"I…I need to read it," Rose insisted.
"It's just a formality," the creature assured her. "There is nothing here that we haven't already discussed."
Numb at the thought of what had happened in the past few hours, Rose mechanically commanded her arm, wrist, and fingers to comply with her brain's demands. Using the creature's back as a surface on which to write, the young woman signed her name resolutely at the very bottom of the insanely long scroll.
"You said I can't call you 'creature,' and that I understand…I heard my father call you Dark One. Is there a name that you'd like me to call you?"
As soon as Rose had finished signing the scroll, it was greedily gathered away from her hands as if the man did not want to give her a second more to reconsider.
"You really are isolated in this forsaken little place, aren't you? Dearie, if you knew much of anything you'd already know what to call me. I'm," And at this moment, he made a funny little bow.
"I'm Rumplestiltskin."
Part #7 - Storybrooke Morning
It was half-past seven when Robin kissed Andrew, and left him sleeping in bed with their two cats. The large mackerel tabby, lovingly referred to as Boots yawned in her general direction as she closed the bedroom door behind her. She grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table, and headed to Granny's Café for her morning drug of choice – coffee.
"Make it tall and hot," she called to Ruby from her place in front of the counter. "Just like me." The black-and-red haired waitress, showing off in a pair of short red hot pants and a grey tank top let out a throaty laugh, and looked towards Robin with an appreciative grin.
"You've got it, Rob. It'll be right out."
Truth be told, she felt anything but 'hot' this morning. Her short red hair was mussed up with product, and the long bangs fell flat onto her forehead in a slick kind of wave that seemed more gutter punk than professional career girl. Robin was dressed for maintenance work and grant writing – which meant that comfort was the order of the day. She played with the finger openings on her black striped hand warmers that looked like they'd sprung out of a Dr. Seuss book, and stared down at her red boat shoes. She wore a black tee-shirt under her grey Storybrooke Arts Center hoodie – but her outfit was pitifully loose compared to the skin tight apparel that looked as if it had been painted onto Ruby. That was ok – when she got to work, she'd loose the hoodie. The tee was the way to go – it allowed her to maneuver behind the stage and on the theater catwalk, but it still showed off the tattoo of a large stylized red bird she wore on the upper half of her right arm. She was proud of her arms – they were strong, and Andrew liked comparing them to things like tree branches, and Winchesters. She smiled, recalling a joke her husband had made the evening before about the 'gun show' in their house. She gave an exhausted sigh, and let her purple-framed glasses slide down her nose, taking a moment to turn around, elbows laid casually on top of the counter and the small of her back digging into its edge. She made a mental note that dressing like an eight year old might give people the wrong impression – and then she realized that Mr. Gold was looking up at her from one of the booths.
The day had just gotten…stressy.
"Good morning, Mrs. Vertrauen," he smiled slyly – and immediately, Robin's throat seized up.
"Never reaches his eyes…" she thought to herself as she gave the man a small smile, followed by a half-hearted wave. She quickly turned around to retrieve the to-go cup of dark roast that Ruby had placed on the counter next to her. She swooped it up off the counter, and meant to make a run for it. Of course, she knew having a conversation with Gold was inevitable, but it could wait until she'd had her damn coffee. Alas, she had not been quick enough. Even with a leg that didn't work as well as it might, the man was a spider when it suited him, and he had risen to greet her with a cat-who-ate-the-canary expression on his face.
"D'ya need something in that? I've got me flask –"
"No, no…"Robin rolled her eyes upward in embarrassment. "I usually don't drink till…well, after lunch. What can I do for you, Mr. Gold?"
"I was just wondering how those items you procured from me were working out. Do you think there's anything in there that you'll be able to use?"
She wasn't ready for this. Robin had planned to take the entire morning to decide what she'd say to the pawn shop owner, how she'd say it, and how she might manage refusing the clothing without sounding like an ingrate who wanted to cause ill feelings. There was no tact in her soul at this hour, but Gold was here…now…and it was never a good idea to let these things fester.
"Yeah, about that…" she started, looking down at her cup for a moment. "You know how you told me that all I owed you was a –um- 'wee tiny favor?' Well, I'd be more comfortable if I knew what exactly you had in mind. Ah, in fact, I'm going to need to know that bit in order to keep the clothes."
"I see Miss Swan has been speaking to you –" Mr. Gold growled lazily while he looked Robin up and down. She could not help but feel as if he were trying to size her up and decide exactly what kind of a person she was.
"Yeah, won't lie – I did speak to her and Mary Margaret…but I had pretty much already come to this conclusion on my own. I mean, I'm stunned by your generosity but in order for me to keep The Orchard on the up and up, I need to know exactly what my donor's intentions are. I think you can agree - that's just good sense."
"Good sense also entails taking help where you can get it, Mrs. Vertrauen – times are hard for dreamers, dearie, but I thought you knew that. Perhaps, they're harder than you realize."
The older man turned on his heels, and started back to his booth never looking back towards where a disgruntled Robin stood.
"I'll be by The Orchard later today. We'll talk more then. This isn't necessarily the kind of place I prefer doing my business."
And as soon as their confrontation had started, it was finished. Still unsure of how to react, Robin straightened her hoodie, and walked as briskly as she could out of the café door towards the haven of her theater.
All through the morning, and afternoon Robin kept glancing uneasily at the tubs of clothing that she and Andrew had placed in the theater's main office. Her husband didn't seem to think that there was anything odd about procuring vintage clothing that was almost certainly too expensive for the theater's small budget from Mr. Gold. Then again, Robin hadn't told him the whole story. She told Andrew everything – he was her best friend and truest confidant. Perhaps that was just another reason why the whole situation made her uneasy. Why hadn't she been willing to tell the young appraiser about the 'wee tiny favor' and the shot of whiskey – especially since she'd been more than happy to share the information with Mary and Emma?
Ruby, who had been a long-time pal of the Vertrauens came by at around two p.m. after her shift at the diner was over. The young woman was like a little sister to Andrew and Robin – when she wasn't out on the weekends partying with other Storybrooke residents, she could be found at Robin's house, having beer and listening to whatever new music the two women felt was worthwhile. When she saw the plastic tubs, and received an explanation of what lay within them, she squealed excitedly.
"You mean you had all this great stuff, and didn't tell me?"
"Well, it's probably going back to the pawn shop later this afternoon," Robin insisted.
"But…it's ours right now," Ruby exclaimed, gingerly swinging her arms back and forth as she made her way over to the tubs, throwing open the nearest lid and fishing out the smoking jacket Robin had been admiring not twenty-four hours before.
"Ruby…c'mon, no,"
"No, what?" The lithe young woman put the jacket over her tight grey tank and pulled a bit at the billowing sleeves, luxuriating in the fabric, and velvet trim.
"I don't think it's going to hurt to play a little bit of," at this juncture, Ruby grabbed something that looked like a gentleman's bowler hat, and stuck it lopsidedly atop her crown of red and black curls – "dress up."
"Ruuuu-beee…." Robin let out an exasperated sigh.
"C'mon, you've been writing all morning, working those line items into the new grant. Take a break, Rob! Let's do something fun."
Without further provocation, the young woman stepped away from her desk and the PC screen she'd been straining her eyes at for most of the day. She joined her friend by the plastic containers, and Ruby pulled out a brown fedora and a plaid vest. For the next hour, the young women explored the tubs thoroughly, uncovering polyester dresses, feathered boas, various men's dress shirts and suspenders, wing-tip shoes, clap saddle heels, and a delicate monocle attached to a golden chain. For Robin, a woman who enjoyed fabric and costumes as much as she enjoyed the theater, the entire exercise was something akin to Christmas morning.
Half-way through the final tub, Ruby caught her breath before fishing a two-toned satin opera dress from the pile of clothing. Ruby brought it out into the florescent light of the little office at the back of the box office stalls, and even in the eerie electrically-lit glow, the thing seemed an enchantment.
"Robin…you've got to," Ruby passed it towards her friend.
"I don't think it would fit me," the woman started, keeping in mind that dresses from eras past were sometimes much too tiny.
"Just try it!"
Finally, the young woman relented, and Ruby helped Robin pull the pink and orange silk, with circular passementarie decoration at the sleeves and waist, layered with shimmering embroidered chiffon the color of blushing spider webs over her head.
It fit. Fit like she'd been made for the gown. Ruby gaped at her friend, hands on hips.
"Look at you, Rob – I wouldn't know you in that get-up."
"I…can't believe this," Robin whispered. "I mean, usually these dresses are so tiny…"
"Well, you're not that big," Ruby countered. "We've got to go find a mirror!"
"There's a full-length one back stage," she half shouted, half recalled all at once. Both young women flew out the back of the office, and down the middle of the auditorium towards the stage. After all was said and done, Robin had to admit that she looked fairly magnificent. The pink and orange complimented her pale skin and copper-red hair almost perfectly. With her tattoo and short pageboy cut, she looked like a half-mad escapee from a period film…or some kind of mischievous elf with a curious sense of style.
Suddenly, Robin's right hand flew to her temple. She felt dizzy, and couldn't quite…breathe. Alarmed, Ruby steadied her friend.
"Are you ok?"
"Weird-" Robin's voice came out sounding raspy. "I…I think I just had a little déjà vu?"
"Well, that seals it," Ruby chortled. "You were a duchess in a past life, or some sort of snobby rich bitch."
"Shut up!" Robin replied with a grin, playfully slapping Ruby's forearm.
As they tottered back down the middle aisle of the auditorium, Ruby kept snorting loudly and calling her friend 'Lady Downton Abbey' while Robin giggled and tried not to trip. They exited the wooden doors to the auditorium just as a tall, reedy figure entered the lobby. Both girls heard the unmistakable thudding of a cane, and stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes growing large like children who had been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. Ruby shrank into the double-breasted military jacket and red feather boa she was wrapped in. Robin swore under her breath. This wasn't going to help convince Gold that he needed to take back the clothing – not at all.
Part #8 - At Home with the Dreamers
For a moment, time moved slower than usual. It ground to an absolute halt, and Robin could hear Ruby's audible 'gulp.' It was the kind of story that would be funny in the next week or so – the two young women dressed up like they were off to a Halloween party, the richest man in town trying desperately not to look caught off-guard. Robin could swear that instead of merely looking annoyed, there was a spark behind Gold's knowing hazel orbs.
It was the wealthiest of the three Storybrooke residents who spoke first in a soft, tightly coiled brogue.
"Ruby, I'll thank you to let Mrs. Vertrauen and I have a moment alone?"
That was all Ruby needed to run back to the office with a sheepish smile playing on her lips.
"I'll see you later, Rob,"
Robin turned sideways to watch her friend go.
"Traitor!" she wanted to shout, but thought better of it.
More silence. It covered the air around her, and nearly hurt her ears.
"I…know what this must seem like to you," Robin started, recognizing Mr. Gold's pursed thin lips and seething expression.
"No – I doubt that you do, dearie."
"It's just," she raised her hand in explanation, "Ruby found the boxes, and she got carried away, and then I got carried away, and we…we found this, and,"
"And you found something very useful indeed," Gold murmured, almost to himself. The man made his way slowly towards Robin as if trying not to scare away a nervous animal. Smiling, he tilted his head to one side and noticed the stylized red bird that was forever trying to fly upwards off Robin's rounded shoulder.
"Mrs. Vertrauen, you must realize that I can't take this back now."
"I…I know. You're probably worried about unintentional damages, and I don't blame you."
"No," Gold frowned. "That's not exactly it. I just feel it's returned to its rightful place, that's all."
Before Robin Vertrauen could stop him, the man had stepped close and laid a chaste, gentle kiss on her cheek, quickly turning to leave before she could voice her protest.
"Times are hard for dreamers, pretty Robin red bird," he called behind him. "If I were you, I'd be more open to negotiations in the future – especially if you want The Orchard to survive."