Part 2: Tales From The Proverbial Closet
Killian
The pirate isn't quite sure what to do with himself. He hasn't left his ship in a week or so. It's a little cold, but he's dealt with worse, and he can't quite bare showing his face right now. He doubts that Emma has told anyone about their confrontation, but it's not something that he can risk.
It doesn't really matter, anyway. He hasn't really been sober since he barricaded himself in the Jolly Roger. As long as he's got plenty of rum on board, there's not really a reason to jump ship.
His food supply is running a little low, but that's fine. He hasn't had much of an appetite anyway. Even if he runs out, there are still plenty of fish in the sea. Sobriety would have made that into an easy metaphor about Emma Swan, but at the moment he's really quite too drunk to play with words and too depressed to do anything but lay in his bunk and think too much. Since his last piss about an hour ago, he's come to an unsurprising conclusion.
He just might hate himself.
It's something that he's known for years now (maybe always) but as he stares up at the ceiling of his cabin, it's not just a fleeting thought that comes and goes. It's the truth.
He hates himself, because he doesn't love Emma Swan. She's everything that he's supposed to love—a woman, a princess. She has everything that he's supposed to desire—tits, a cunt.
But that's never been what he wants. Swallowing hard, he recalls his father saying in passing at the dinner table that a homosexual was driven out of town at gunpoint, and good riddance. Liam had hummed in agreement, and that was where Killian had learned right from wrong.
Another memory, even less welcome, comes to the surface.
It had been during a brief departure from Neverland, when he'd been trying to find out more about his crocodile. He'd followed little whispers about his history until he found himself in front of a hovel in the woods.
A tired-looking man answered the door, his expensive clothes looking worn down and his hair in need of a cut. Killian had expected more of the famous portal-maker, but he'd also heard that after fleeing the Enchanted Forest and leaving the service of the Dark One, he'd fallen on rather hard times. He'd returned home at some point, and that suited Killian just fine. It had made him easier to find.
"What do you want?" He asked, looking Killian up and down. His eyes narrowed as it become obvious that his visitor was a pirate. In fact, he looked even more nervous than most people whose homes he showed up at unannounced. His knuckles had gone white with the force with which he was gripping the door, and his face had drained of color.
"I'm not here to rob you, if that's what's got you looking so uneasy." Killian sneered, putting a foot in the doorway so that the man couldn't close him out. "Quite the opposite. I'm here for information, and I intend to pay you for it."
"I don't make deals with pirates." He seemed to relax slightly, but not by much.
"You misunderstand me, Jefferson." The poor man tensed at his name. "What I want is something that, from what I've heard about you, may bring a little joy to…all of this."
"Oh really?" Jefferson grit his teeth. "Just get on with it—tell me what you need."
"To make a fool of the Dark One." Killian explained. "I need to know how to get past his defenses, and from what I hear, you're the man to talk to. As I said," He held up a bag of gold. "I will pay you handsomely.
A child started to cry from behind the hatter, and it seemed that his child's wellbeing was enough to convince Jefferson to help the captain.
"Come in. I'll tell you what you want, but I expect no payment. All I ask is that you must never return."
Days later, Killian realized that Jefferson had spun him lies. He was still no closer to killing Rumpelstiltskin, and refused to remain a fool in the eyes of the hatter. Spitting with rage, he pounded his fist against the shack's door.
"Jefferson!" He snarled. "Let me in—I need to have a word with you!"
The door opened, and the hatter answered, looking even more tired than before.
"What is it?" He asked, exasperated. "I gave you what you want, and it seems that you don't remember your promise not to bother me again."
"You promised to help me breach the Dark One's defenses—you lied!"
Jefferson rolled his eyes, and Killian thought about killing him until he remembered that the man had a child, but no wife to be seen. He may have been a pirate, but he wasn't quite in the mood to orphan anyone.
"My former employer is an all-knowing, extremely powerful, ancient magical being. Do you think that he's so dull as to not change his locks? I told you what I know, but it's been well over a year since I worked for Rumpelstiltskin."
"How do I know you're not lying?"
"You don't." Jefferson said, sounding honest enough. "And you never will."
Killian's anger subsided enough for him to think clearly. Jefferson was in no position to bargain, and he had a child to care for. Lying to Killian could have brought his family harm—and from what little he'd heard, the portal hopper had given up everything for his daughter. He must be telling the truth.
"Fine," he growled.
"Will that be all?" Jefferson asked, standing defensively in the doorway. "I have things to do."
Killian thought it over. It was fairly late, and he'd skipped a few meals in his haste to beat the hatter to a bloody pulp.
"You owe me dinner," he decided, crossing his arms. Part of him was just curious. He'd spoken to some of the hatter's customers and employers, and they remembered him as a well-dressed, snarky little shit. This man was broken.
"You'll rob me blind."
"As you said, you have nothing worth stealing."
"Fine."
In Storybrooke, Killian Jones rolls over in his cot and wishes that Jefferson had never been born. He'd ended up staying in that little shack for a good week. Every time he'd wanted to leave, something about the way that Jefferson's eyes crinkled when he smiled—or the love he had for his daughter—made him make up an excuse to stay put.
He hadn't understood it at the time, but as they shared what was left of the rum that Killian had his person, he had the strangest urge to kiss him. This wasn't the first time he'd wanted to be with another man, but he'd thought that he'd beaten the urge out of himself with years of ignoring his desires and bedding every woman in every port from the Enchanted Forest to Neverland.
The way that Jefferson's smile made his cock twitch and his hands sweat was enough to make him high-tail it out of Fairytale Land.
That, unfortunately, hadn't been their last encounter. Shortly after meeting Killian, Jefferson had started visiting different realms again in an attempt to provide for his daughter. Thieves and pirates crossed paths more often than not, and when Jefferson gave up his hat for good, Killian breathed out a sigh of relief.
Things had been ok after that, for a while. If nothing else, the business with Cora and the curse had taken Killian's mind off of his sexuality. He'd hardly thought about Jefferson at all, and when he had—when Cora crossed her arms and stared him down until he explained why he was crying as he stroked himself to hardness—the Queen of Hearts had taken care of it.
She'd punished him for such impure thoughts, and he'd been so grateful that he let her do whatever she wanted in return. It had been painful, painful bliss. Now Cora is gone, and there is no one to keep his thoughts in check.
Storybrooke is making it even worse. Killian often hears people say that Jefferson is a recluse, yet he seems to see him everywhere. Not for the first time, Captain Hook wonders if he can drink himself not into another world, but a new universe entirely where the hatter's smile can't haunt him every time that he tries to sleep away his memory.
It's all Emma's fault—if she'd just kept things as they were, none of these thoughts would be surfacing. Gritting his teeth, he curls up in his cot and lets out a ragged sob.
No one was supposed to know.
Ruby
She stands in front of her mirror, stripped down to her underwear. Turning slightly, she admires the curve of her waist, and traces it down to her hip. Her hair is loose, falling down well past her shoulder blades.
The curse blessed her with some of the most expensive underwear in Storybrooke. Her push-up bra, red and black and lacey, suits her perfectly. The matching panties eventuate the swell of her ass and the arc of her stomach down to her crotch. Her skin is clear, her limbs long, and her smile bright and genuine. Flawless.
Ruby knows that she is beautiful. She knows it because people have told her so for as long as she can remember, even back in the Enchanted Forest. When she was small, everyone had told Granny what a pretty granddaughter she had. The child had always giggled and grinned, and Granny had given her a pat on the head and told her that looks weren't everything.
Even when Ruby was too young to really understand her grandmother's good advice, the woman had given it. It was in her nature.
As time had continued on, as it always does, she had only grown more beautiful. People noticed. She'd been happy enough to use her good looks to get free sweets at the market, or an extra pound of meat at the butcher's.
It had escalated in Storybrooke. For twenty-eight years, she dressed in skin-tight, scanty, scandalous outfits that men took as invitations to catcall and grope her. For twenty-eight years her days passed by almost identically, full of what felt like tight, leather rebellion but was really nothing more than curse-induced routine.
Now that the curse has broken and Ruby and Red are one in the same, she's found a happen medium between the good-hearted werewolf and unruly waitress. Although she still jumps up and down to fit into skintight jeans every morning, she also finds herself growing fond of comfortable flannels.
Keeping her hair colored and fashionable became a little too much work when time truly began to move forward, and so she let her hair fall free down her back with minimal styling, though she still takes impeccable care of it. She can't quite part with her extensive shoe collection, but knows when to switch to hiking boots.
There are some things that Ruby and Red have in common. One is the need to please the people she cares about—mostly Granny. In both worlds she's looked up to the older woman. That will never change. Snow, Emma, Ashley, and her other friends are also very important to her, and she wants nothing more than to keep those who she loves happy and safe.
Her lack of interest in all things carnal had also extended to her Storybrooke persona, despite her wardrobe and coquettish mannerisms.
Once a man who worked at the docks had started talking to her while she was out at the Rabbit Hole. He'd sidled up to her at the bar and bought her a drink. Now, years later, she can't even remember his name or what he looked like, just that he'd smelled like liquor and the sea. It might have been Eric, Ariel's prince, but she can't be sure. Some of her memories from the curse are foggy, and she knows that others feel the same.
It had been a common enough scenario for her. The attention was welcome, and it was nice to receive it outside of Granny's. Speaking of her grandmother, she'd been well aware that she'd get a scolding the next morning, but that didn't matter. The waitress was out to have fun, not listen to the matriarch of the diner. It had been a beautiful night, she remembered that. The middle of summer.
She'd been happy and tipsy, and was greatly enjoying their conversation. Then he kissed her. That was okay. She liked him, and it had been a long time since she'd been this close with a boy.
Then he'd put his hand up under her shirt and asked if she wanted to go home with him, and even though he was being respectful and courteous she suddenly felt like crying. Instead, she told him that she had work in the morning and kissed him goodbye before hurrying outside to get some fresh air.
She knew that she was supposed to want to go home with men like him. He'd been incredibly handsome, and his kisses had made her feel warm and tingly from her head to her toes. Seeing men like that is supposed to set her alight with desire. She's supposed to want them to touch her, but she's never wanted that.
Is she broken?
Before starting to walk back down the street towards Granny's, she considered going back into the bar and taking the man up on his offer. Maybe all that she needed to do was go for it and let a man show her what she was supposed to want.
The thought made her want to throw up (or maybe it was just the alcohol) and so she walked home, took off her makeup, curled up in bed, and didn't sleep.
It's been years since then, and now she stands in front of her mirror wondering what's wrong with her.
No one she's ever known has had this problem. Even Snow, for all of her goodness and purity, admits every now and then something to new that Charming has learned in the bedroom, and how much she wants him. Ruby doesn't know what it's like to need someone that way.
Emma's the only one she's ever admitted it to. A time or two she's considered telling Snow, but she can practically hear what the princess (queen?) would say. Oh, you just need to find the right man! That's what she'd said about Rose, when Ruby had brought up her old friend in conversation. She just hadn't found the right man, but she would, and it would be fine.
Ruby would defend Snow to the grave. Her friend is compassionate, kind, and gentle…but there are some things that she just doesn't understand, and one of them is love outside of the fairytale bubble that she and her prince found happiness in. Maybe one day that will change. Ruby certainly hopes so.
Resentment hits her like a hammer in the next instant, because it's been a long time since she's thought about this at all. If Emma hadn't brought it up, she wouldn't be thinking these thoughts—she wouldn't be hurting like this. She's still staring into the mirror. Tears are running down her face, leaving little lines in her foundation and smearing her eyeliner. She's still beautiful, even then, but she still feels abnormal.
She'd wanted to be with Peter. She'd loved him (still loves him). But sex had never been a part of that. When she'd thought about running away with him she'd imagined that eventually have a kid or two, but their wedding night had never been something that was a part of her fantasy.
He'd never pushed for sex, and so she'd never thought about it. Thinking back (and she didn't like to, because she'd killed him) it had been almost strange that their young romance hadn't included any fumbling hands underneath their clothes. She wonders if he was like her.
She wonders if anyone is like her.
Jefferson
He's more tired than he should be. The day was easy. Grace was away at school. He went shopping for groceries and a new jacket. Dinner was simple. Now, his daughter is in bed and he hopes that her dreams are full of wonder and light.
With far too much on his mind, he sits in his kitchen at the table with a steaming mug of tea, unable to sleep despite the late hour. Emma's visit had unearthed some old demons he'd never really be able to put to rest.
Alice rises to the forefront of his thoughts, and his chest constricts with unbearable pain, as he realizes, not for the first time, that he can never see her again. He thinks about Regina as she used to be, and guilt consumes him.
He isn't meant for that kind of love. All he can do is hurt.
After Alice passed away, and he realized what Regina had become, he had thought in passing that he should never love again. He had after all, for a time, had far more love than any one person deserved. It had been foolish to think that he deserved to have such wonderful women as his lovers.
Back then he'd been at his most reckless. They all had. It hadn't even crossed his mind that the summer of their youth would ever end. That any of them would ever have to start really growing up. No, they'd all be twenty-something and full of potential forever. What an idiot. He should have at least seen it in Regina, in the pain of her marriage and her role as queen.
Alice's wit and laughter had kept their little trio uplifted and happy enough. Jefferson couldn't remember exactly how they'd settled into loving one another equally, but even now he couldn't bring himself to truly regret that part of it.
Without all of that pain he might not have their daughter, after all.
Gripping his mug as he drinks tea and tries to calm down (even days after his conversation with Ms. Swan he's on edge) he breathes out a deep sigh. His daughter is a gift, but Alice is dead and Regina became a monster and it's all his fault.
He wonders, then, if he should have told Emma Swan the truth when she came knocking at his door inquiring about Regina. Although he'd shown the amount of honesty he was comfortable with given that the topic of conversation was the love of his life (both Regina and Alice—the love that all three of them had shared was the greatest romance he would ever experience) but he'd elected to keep certain details private.
In short, he had chosen to lie. He didn't feel bad about it. His lies hadn't been about Regina, they'd been about the other two participants in their love affair: himself and Alice. If he'd told the story in its entirety, with complete honesty, he would have kept the sheriff in his home much longer than either of them wanted. He would have told her things that she didn't deserve to know.
Things that he never wanted anyone in Storybrooke to know, because he knew exactly how they would look at him. They'd look at him like they looked at Regina—or even worse.
He hadn't told Emma because it wasn't any of her business.
The latest he can begin his story is at the moment his mother died.
Jefferson had been training to use the hat since he was a small child, and he loved his mother very much. When she'd died suddenly of a disease picked up in a world he would never again visit, Caprica, he'd been devastated. The responsibility of the hat that had been in their family for generations was suddenly on his shoulders, and his mother—who he'd loved very much—was gone forever.
At the same time, he'd been liberated. For all of his life he'd only wanted one thing, a deep dark secret that he hadn't dared share with his mother for fear of being rejected by the only family he had. He liked to think that she would have accepted him without a second thought, but as it turned out fate hadn't wanted to give him a chance to ask.
Without the pressure of not knowing what she'd say, he was free to make his dreams come true.
That was how he faced Rumpelstiltskin alone for the first time, in a coat three sizes too large and wearing two pairs of thick socks to fit into his father's old shoes. He wore his late father's clothes whenever he could—the antique style and fine handwork appealed to him. They were far too big, but that didn't matter. They made him feel more like himself.
"I know that my mother has made deals with you," He said boldly, sleeves rolled up and fists clenched at his sides. They were in the Dark One's palace, a place Jefferson had often visited with his mother. "I want to make one, too."
"You think that you can make a deal with me? You're just a child," the Dark One had sneered, looking at the teenager in front of him. "A child with a very powerful hat, but a child." He sighed. "What is it you want?"
Swallowing hard, Jefferson held his father's jacket tightly across his chest, almost afraid to ask the imp. He'd never said it out loud before. Not even to himself.
"Oh." Rumpelstiltskin breathed out and leaned forward. "I know what you want."
Jefferson clenched his teeth and ran his fingers through short, poorly cut dark hair. It had been longer before his mother died, but as soon as she'd been laid to rest he'd taken out her finest pair of scissors and chopped off his long hair, partially in mourning and partially because it was what he'd always wanted.
"I can help you—I will help you," the Dark One decided, pacing around Jefferson and looking at him with a gaze that made him feel transparent. "Your mother was a great asset. You can consider this an advance payment on what I know will be a long and fulfilling relationship. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful!" Jefferson's voice almost broke, because he had never expected it to be this easy.
"I can't give you exactly what you want and make it permanent, but I will do the best that I can and it will last forever. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes!" Jefferson answered immediately. "When?"
"Well, right now, of course. You're not the first one to come to me wanting this." The Dark One stood and waved his hand. A bottler materialized in mid-air, and he caught it. "You drink this, I cast a spell, and we're in business." He tossed it to the young portal jumper, who caught it eagerly. "You're sure this is what you want?"
"It's what I've always wanted," Jefferson said honestly.
"Very well. Bottoms up." Rumpelstiltskin raised a hand, ready to cast the spell as soon as the contents of the bottle passed Jefferson's lips.
He swallowed the vile-tasting liquid, and his insides felt like they were on fire. The magic hit him a moment later, and he collapsed to the ground in pain.
"Oh, I forgot to mention—it's rather excruciating," Rumpelstiltskin giggled, stroking his chin thoughtfully and magicking a mirror out of nowhere.
"Well? How do you feel?" The Dark One asked once Jefferson had stopped writhing in pain and the spell had finished its job. "Take a look."
Jefferson looked up, into the mirror, and started to cry. Unable to believe what he saw, the young man slowly rose to his feet, hands trembling as he felt his flat chest under his open shirt. The buttons hadn't held up to the spell.
His father's suit fit for the first time (his shoes were now far too tight, and he sub-consciously loosened the laces to relieve the pressure) and that in itself was enough to make him start sobbing openly.
"Do you like what you see, dearie?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, leaning down and offering Jefferson a handkerchief.
All that the portal jumper could do was nod enthusiastically and blow his nose.
Gone was the narrow torso—the full hips—the generous breasts that he'd been made of only minutes before. His haircut was still shitty, but at least no one in the Enchanted Forest would bat an eyelash at short hair on this body.
"As I've said, not everything is different. I've changed what you already have—if I'd given you a new body entirely, it wouldn't be permanent. It would be a spell that could be broken or undone. I assure you that this is for the best." Rumpelstiltskin explained, crinkling his nose as Jefferson all but destroyed his handkerchief. "You still need to take precautions with people of the—er—phallic persuasion, but—"
"I don't care. I don't care," Jefferson hiccupped, finally, finally, in his own body. "Thank you."
"No need for thanks. We made a deal, J—"
"Jefferson." The young man cut the Dark One off. "Call me Jefferson."
Rumpelstiltskin raised a brow.
"A little old-fashioned, but alright. Jefferson."
Decades later, he runs his fingers through his professionally cut, meticulously styled hair and wonders if he should have told Emma the truth. The real reason he and his lover had needed to flee to another land to protect their child. Regina could have been a parent to Grace, too, if she'd wanted. Sometimes Jefferson wondered if that was why she hadn't gone with them—had she been afraid of being a mother?
It hadn't been Alice who was carrying Grace: it had been Jefferson.
Regina
After Emma leaves, Regina stares at the closed door with no color in her face, and her arms limp at her sides. When she finally moves, it's simply to sink down onto one of the bottom steps leading up to Henry's room.
Her son is away at the moment. With his grandparents. The thought of that usually brings rage, but now she just feels empty, and a little scared.
It's been years since anyone has spoken to her about the rumors. Even Snow White never mentioned them out loud, because the prissy little idiot was too good to ever articulate such impure thoughts. That had been fine with Regina. She wanted everyone to forget. She never wanted to think about Alice again.
When Leopold had caught her kissing Alice (not even fucking, they were just kissing) in her room, he had been outraged. If Jefferson hadn't shown up (her husband was supposed to be away, they were supposed to be safe) Regina doesn't know what would have happened.
Regina had told her lovers to leave ("Just go!") and though they'd briefly tried to convince the queen to come with them, guards had been fast approaching and so they'd vanished into Jefferson's hat before Leopold could make them stay.
Alice had been one of her handmaidens at the time. It had been surprisingly easy to get her lover a job in the queen's service, and it had made their affair much easier. They'd been planning on waiting for Jefferson to whisk them away to a place where they could all safely spend the evening together, but Regina hadn't been able to resist pulling Alice close, not after she heard the news that the other woman had for her.
"So, Regina…" she'd said, clearing her throat a little. Her face was flushed, and she looked nervous. "Do you remember a few weeks ago…when Jefferson took us on a trip, and we spent the night with that man from the tavern?"
Color rose in Regina's cheeks, and she gave a little nod. They'd all been a little drunk and feeling mutually adventurous, and had decided to add a fourth player to their trio for a few hours, just to see if it was something they were interested in.
Or rather, Alice had mentioned that for her birthday what she'd really like to see was Jefferson in bed with another man. He'd mentioned in passing his attraction to his gender, and had been perfectly willing to give a demonstration for his two favorite women in the world.
So Regina and Alice had watched, aroused and breathless, as Jefferson opened his wicked, wicked mouth and took the handsome man they'd picked up to bed. He'd done his absolute best to put on a show for his lovers, and had allowed the stranger to fuck him, though that part of it hadn't lasted long. It was still one of the most erotic experiences of Regina's life.
Even now, after everything, the memory sends a shiver down Regina's spine. She can remember what Alice's hand felt like under her skirts as they watched their lover, and the sounds that Jefferson had made as he performed for them. Alice had helped them finish in the end, but Regina had found herself overwhelmed just by watching, and had finished herself off as a voyeur.
It had been incredible.
Afterwards they'd decided that it wasn't something they'd ever do again, but it had been a nice experiment, all the same.
"I remember," Regina whispered, face reddening as memories of that night raced through her mind. "What of it?"
"Well, we only just found out—and I wanted to tell you as soon as possible. It's just…you see, I…" Alice was stumbling over her words, which in itself was strange. She was normally very articulate.
"What is it, Alice? Is everything alright?" Regina had asked, brow furrowed as she took her lover's hands.
"We're going to have a baby," Alice had whispered, eyes wide as she searched the queen's face for a reaction.
Regina would have normally worried and fretted from the start, but instead she was filled with joy at those simple words. Unable to help herself, tears in her eyes, she'd pulled Alice in.
It had been at that exact moment that her husband appeared in the doorway, and everything had gone wrong. Leopold had kept her under careful watch after that for a long time. She'd only seen Alice and Jefferson once more after that.
They'd come out of Jefferson's hat in the middle of the night, and begged her to run away with them.
"I can't," she'd said, curled up in herself with her lovers on either side of her. "I need to stay here."
"But you hate it here…" Jefferson whispered, running his fingers through the queen's hair. "And we love you so much. And we're having a baby. I—I don't want to do it without you, Regina. I can't." It was one of the only times that the queen had seen the hatter cry, and she'd been confused.
He was going to be a father, and that was wonderful. She would have expected Alice to be the one in tears.
"I love you, too," Regina whispered, tears in her eyes as Alice buried her face in the back of her neck. "But I can't go with you." She hesitated. "I wish you could stay here with me. I'm sorry."
"I know." Alice's voice broke. "I'm sorry, too."
Sitting on the stairs of her home, all these years later, Regina draws in a deep, shuddering breath. Maybe she should have gone with them, but—but no. She wouldn't have Henry if she'd done that.
You'd have Grace, a little voice in the back of her mind whispers. And you might have been able to save Alice. Even if you hadn't, the child would have had a mother and a father.
Regina brings her knees to her chest and curses Emma's name. She hasn't thought about Alice for years. It hurts too much. After learning that she'd died it had been easy to start hating Jefferson. She'd been at the height of her run as the Evil Queen, too—that had helped.
She'd never hated the child of course. Grace had no part to play in any of their mistakes. She was an innocent child.
But Jefferson? Jefferson deserved to suffer, and so when it had come time to cast the curse, she'd made sure that her former lover would never feel happiness again. They are all different people now, of course. She knows that she should find him, maybe talk to him about everything that's happened, but she just can't.
Especially if the rumors are resurfacing. After Leopold found her with Alice it seemed that everyone knew, and the looks that she got from people both within and outside of the palace carried a new kind of disdain. That had been part of what wore her down and turned her into the Evil Queen in the first place.
She's tried desperately to create a new identity over the past few years, and if Emma can't let her do that, she doesn't know what she'll do. If Henry finds out that she's loved a woman, and decides to reject her because of it, she knows it could be the end of her.
Emma
Biting her lip, Emma shifts from one foot to the other as she stands in front of the door to Mary Margaret's apartment. She's done a lot of thinking over the past week, and has decided that it's time.
She's going to do it.
She's going to come out to her parents.