Author's Note: With the semester done, I was hoping that my muse would return in force, but apparently, she is going to be difficult so I apologize for the delay. But without further ado…
Balls always looked better from above. Or so Clara had come to believe through her years of observation. She herself hadn't been to a ball for almost five years, ever since she had last spoken with her parents. They had tried to marry her off at that ball in a vain attempt to keep her from following the path that she was currently on. Clara grimaced at the memory and pushed it from her mind. Cramming another cinnamon roll Oreo into her mouth (an early Christmas present from Jack Frost), Clara swung her feet over the edge of the rafter on which she sitting. The dancers swirled below her in a mess of colors and gaudy baubles that caught the light from the candelabras lining the gold colored walls.
"Where are we again?" She asked the lifeless Nutcracker beside her. When he remained silent, Clara sighed and popped another cookie into her mouth. "I don't know why I keep hoping you'll wake up one day and be good company." She muttered.
"Toys generally make for poor conversation." Clara grimaced with a scowl. "Especially for young women in their twenties."
"You'll find no deal here, Rumpelstiltskin." She sniffed haughtily.
"Oh I'm not here for you, dearie." Rumpel said as he sat beside her Nutcracker. Clara regarded him warily.
"Then why are you bothering me? I'm busy."
"I'm just checking to see what a pupil of mine is up to." Rumpelstiltskin replied. His eyes darted suddenly to the key necklace around Clara's neck; she reached up and wrapped her hand protectively around it. "Why are you here, dearie?" Clara glared at him.
"None of your business." She snapped. Rumpel only laughed. Clara's scowl deepened. She hated the sound of that laugh. "Please go find another rafter to be a creeper from."
"You've been spending far too much time in that non-magical world." Clara rolled her eyes.
"What business is it of yours?"
"It's not." Rumpel replied with another shrug. Though neither was particularly fond of each other, they settled into a surprisingly companionable silence. Clara held up the package of Oreos.
"Oreo?"
"Don't mind if I do, dearie." Rumpel laughed. Clara gritted her teeth in irritation and almost retracted the cookies, but she didn't. There was a sudden ruckus below and Clara frowned as she watched the scene play out. The man hosting the ball – the Count of Monte Cristo – had stabbed another man and was now speaking, rather calmly, with a woman Clara did not recognize. Beside her, Rumpel sighed and shook his head. "Dear me, this won't do at all." Clara turned her head to ask him what he meant, but he was already gone. Clara rolled her eyes. Her relationship with Rumpelstiltskin was complicated. He wanted the necklace around her neck, but she refused to make a deal. He kept trying and she kept saying no. It was sort of a game and Clara enjoyed it more than she would ever admit. As long as she didn't make a deal with him, he had no power over her. And she would never make a deal with Rumpelstiltskin. She was the wielder of the Keyblade and she wasn't about to give it up to anyone let alone the likes of him. Realizing that she had been led astray by her source and that no children were in danger here, Clara stood and stretched.
"Time to go home." She announced to the Nutcracker. Predictably, he remained silent. Clara sighed and bent down to pick him up, placing him in her bag along with the tin soldiers. As soon as straightened back up, a tall man with a bizarre haircut was standing directly in front of her and definitely in her personal space. Clara gasped in surprise.
"Hello, Clara." His voice was deep and his tone was familiar, as though he knew who she was. Clara frowned.
"Do we know each other?"
"Not yet."
"Who are you?"
"A friend." He replied. "And I am very sorry about this."
"About what?" The words had barely left her mouth when the strange man placed his hand on her chest and pushed her. Clara screamed as she fell from the rafters.
"Use the key!" The stranger shouted. Grabbing the key from her neck, it expanded into a full-size sword. Clara twisted her body around and cut into the air. A red portal appeared and swallowed her whole just before she reached the ground.
From his perch on the rafters, Gideon sighed and rubbed at his temple. That had been a little too close for comfort; she had almost hit the ground. He turned to go and his foot nudged the package of Oreo cookies. He smiled and bent down to pick them up.
"Some things never change." He laughed softly before disappearing in a swirl of black and silver smoke.
~*~ BREAK ~*~
Clara was confused, in pain, and pissed off. It was not a good combination under the best of circumstances, but as she was currently surrounded by a host of angry villagers with pitchforks and other pointy farming implements pointed at her, it was even worse.
"Who are you?!" The owner of a particularly lethal looking scythe, an older man with a scar across his chin, demanded.
"Clara Stahlbaum." She replied. "Where am I?"
"Our village." The man snapped. Clara couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes.
"Obviously, but where is your village? What land?" The villager frowned.
"What kind of question is that?"
"An intelligent one." A new voice declared from behind the circle of villagers. Clara looked up and saw an attractive younger man with chin-length wavy brown hair and dressed in an old, red velvet overcoat making his way towards her. The villager with the scythe frowned.
"What are you on about, Hatter?" He spat out the label 'Hatter' as though it was a dirty word. The man – Hatter – was unfazed.
"This world is one of many, Bletchley, though you have never left this town and are thus unware." Hatter reached his hand out for Clara to take. "She means you no harm. She is injured and as confused by her appearance in our town as you are." Reluctantly, the villagers lowered their guard, though their eyes were still narrowed in suspicion.
"Are you taking responsibility for her?" Bletchley asked.
"Yes." Hatter replied.
"Fine. If she does anything untoward, you will be held responsible for it." Hatter rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, whatever." He waved hand dismissively before turning his attention back on Clara who had yet to take his hand. "You going to spend the rest of your time on the ground?" Narrowing her eyes at his sarcasm, she nonetheless took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. The minute his hand had gripped hers, Clara's heart gave a strange squeeze and warmth spread throughout her body. Scowling at the feeling, Clara focused her attention on reattaching the Keyblade, which had returned to its smaller size, to the finding on the chain around her neck. Hatter watched her with interest. "That's a bit more convenient than a hat." He muttered. Clara frowned.
"What?" Hatter waved his hand dismissively again.
"Later. Come on."
"What a tick, who are you? I'm not going anywhere with a stranger." Hatter rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.
"My name is Jefferson and I would suggest we talk more at my cottage." His eyes darted purposefully towards the villagers who were still surrounding them. Clara caught his meaning and nodded.
"Of course. It's nice to meet you Jefferson, I'm Clara. Lead the way." Clara followed him as he headed back in the direction from which he had come, weaving his way between several small cottages. He stopped before a particularly ratty looking cottage. Jefferson turned to face her.
"If you try to hurt her, I will not hesitate to kill you." Clara frowned, but wasn't given a chance to ask what he meant as the door to the cottage flew open and a young girl appeared in the doorway, wearing an apron and pointing a wooden spoon accusingly at Jefferson.
"You're late for dinner." Jefferson smiled lovingly.
"I'm sorry, Grace. I had to play white knight for a moment." Grace suddenly realized they had company and flushed in embarrassment.
"Oh, forgive me." She curtseyed at Clara. Clara felt uncomfortable with the action.
"There's nothing to forgive and please, don't curtsey at me. I'm no one special." Jefferson snorted.
"Somehow I doubt that. Let's get inside." The three of them entered the cottage and Jefferson made sure to close the door. "Grace, this is Clara Stahlbaum. She just came through a portal and her hands need tending. Could you get the kit from the cabinet?" Grace nodded.
"Of course." As Grace retrieved the medical supplies, Jefferson guided Clara to the table and made her sit. He then pulled a chair over so that he was facing her. "Here you are, father." Grace handed him a small basket. Jefferson smiled at her.
"Thank you, Grace. What is for supper?" He asked as he began to tend Clara's scraped hands.
"Broccoli cheese soup with potatoes." She replied, cringing as Clara hissed in pain. "There is plenty for us all. Would you like me to serve it?" Jefferson nodded. Grace once again disappeared.
"So where are you from?" Jefferson asked. "Originally, I mean."
"Eberswalde, Germany. Where is this place?"
"You're in the Enchanted Forest." Jefferson explained as he wrapped up her right hand. Clara frowned. She hadn't yet been to the Enchanted Forest and was confused as to why the Keyblade had taken her here. She said as much to Jefferson who shrugged.
"That's one of the things I always hated about magic: you can never really control it." Having finished bandaging her hands, Jefferson leaned back in his chair. "I stopped traveling through magical portals myself after it nearly cost me Grace." Based upon what he had said in the village center, Clara had guessed that Jefferson had traveled between worlds, but she was surprised that he had been so forthcoming. Jefferson noticed her surprise and explained, "No offense, but you don't strike me as particularly threatening." He wasn't exactly lying, but neither was Jefferson telling her the truth. The truth was that he had felt a connection to her the moment he had taken her hand and pulled her to her feet. The feeling had been strangely pleasant and entirely unwelcome.
For her part, Clara had felt entirely too comfortable in the presence of this strange man and while she logically knew that letting her guard down was a bad idea, she also couldn't help but be, well, relaxed. So, she bit back the retort and let his comment slide.
"Thank you." She said instead. Jefferson raised his eyes and locked them with hers. For a moment, both their worlds stopped spinning.
"Papa?" Jefferson broke their gaze and looked at his daughter who was standing before them with two bowls of soup. Clara flushed and stood.
"I should go."
"Please don't." Grace exclaimed, to the surprise of both her father and Clara, who looked at her. Grace blushed, but smiled. "It's been so long since we've had company and it's getting dark. The Evil Queen may be gone, but the Enchanted Forest still isn't safe for anyone traveling alone at night." Jefferson turned his attention back to Clara.
"She's right. Besides, where else are you going to go?"
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"You're not imposing." Jefferson assured her with a smile. "Take a seat and let's talk about interworld traveling."
Author's Note: I find one of the most difficult things about writing a Once Upon a Time fanfiction is that it can be pretty hard to predict the direction of the show. As a viewer, that is awesome; as a writer, makes life harder. That being said, this story takes place in a somewhat idealized future of the Once Upon a Time storyline. A future where everything has sorted itself out and life continues on without much interruption. This allows me to use characters as I see fit. I will do my best to incorporate elements from future shows, but I also just want to write my story. So bear with me and my creative take on things.
One further note of necessity: Clara comes from the same world/dimension as the Darlings, which may or may not be the non-magical world. I like to think it's a different world/dimension, but I guess it isn't overly important.
Thanks for reading!
