A/N: Three things in this chapter: one, a reunion; two, banter; three, I pull an unthinkably cliche move at the end. Sorry. (Or not.)
She was being carried.
Mustardseed, Prince of Faerie, was carrying her deeper into the crowd, where the noise intensified into a roar in her brain. Her brain, which was not only not addled, but acutely aware of her surroundings, just as her other senses were strangely hypersensitive to the lights, sounds and curious, undulating mix of odors in the air.
Her body, on the other hand, was an impotent sack of useless. Limp and immobile as she was borne aloft through the denizens of Faerie, she could only stare and blink at the occasional face that leaned in to gawk at the hapless human in the arms of their prince. When she'd first slid to the floor, the dancers had clicked their tongues and sashayed around her supine body as if it were merely an obstacle to trip over. But finally someone had looked down, noticed her panicked eyes and discerned that she wasn't just another reveler taking an accidental nap under the influence of booze and gravity. And then that someone was kneeling by her side, was examining the bottle of Aquatelle that had rolled just out of the reach of her fingers, was putting two and two together with the help of frantic questions fired at anyone who'd stopped gyrating long enough to answer. At least, that's what she'd deduced, given that she hadn't understood any of the unintelligible exchanges resulting.
Then had come the kiss - she hadn't understood that, either. Or the searching look the stranger had given her, as if he were expecting something, or the way he'd shaken his head in resignation when she hadn't kissed back and had continued to lie like a living corpse under his ministrations. She had, however, completely understood his intentions when he'd leaned in a second time. She didn't know which had made her feel sicker: that he was getting his way with her while she was incapable of fighting back, or that in such a setting as that, no one would've thought it amiss for a passionate - if one-sided- encounter to be taking place under their feet.
Suddenly, there'd been a shout, the face yanked away and she'd found herself staring into Mustardseed's blue eyes. Her first thought was how much shorter his hair had been in the magazines - he'd looked remarkably like Puck with it hanging over his eyes now as he'd bent over her. Her second thought was that she'd never seen anyone's expression change more quickly from anger to surprise.
"Sabrina Grimm!" Only because his face was so close as he examined her to be sure he wasn't mistaken that she'd been able to hear him over the music. She'd blinked back desperately, unable to return the greeting. Mustardseed had gently pulled up her eyelids, patted her cheek, then frowned and straightened. Sabrina had heard him bark out something - an order, perhaps, in whatever local tongue they used in Faerie - and then there'd been sounds of a scuffle beside her, and she'd been hoisted into his arms and whisked away on determined steps through the throng, down a corridor, under an arched doorway and into what looked like a lounge.
Now she was set down once more, on something comfortable this time - a chaise, maybe - as Mustardseed said, "You're safe now, Sabrina. In a minute, we -"
Another voice interrupted his, just as familiar, and if Mustardseed had been angry earlier, this newcomer was absolutely livid.
"What happened?" The voice thundered into the room and if Sabrina had been able to, she'd have winced.
"She was lying on the floor in the Great Hall with one of the guests practically on top of her." Mustardseed delivered his report with his usual sobriety, although Sabrina could hear the disgust in his tone.
"Are you sure it's her?"
"Take a look for yourself."
Footsteps padded closer and, for the third time, a face appeared above hers.
The last time she'd seen him, he'd been three years younger, his cheeks three years rounder, eyes half-hidden by unkempt hair the sun (and who knew what else) had muddied to a dirty yellow. Now he was bright and gold from the hair cropped close to his head, to the lashes that framed piercing green of his eyes and the glint of light stubble along his jaw and above his lips. The photos, she thought, didn't do him justice, not by a long shot.
The green eyes slitted. "Looks like her," Puck said hesitantly, then turned to his brother. "Could be her, except I know for a fact that Sabrina Grimm should be stuck in school, which is essentially a prison they never let you out of. Now, it's possible that she broke out of the place - given her history of breaking out of places like foster homes and her own grandmother's house, I wouldn't put it past her. But she also hates being the center of attention, so even if this is her, why would she be making out on the floor of the Great Hall? There are plenty of rooms just off to the side for that kind of thing."
If she could have, she would have gasped in outrage. As it was, Sabrina only scrunched up her eyes and silently exhaled as Mustardseed clarified, "It wasn't consensual. She's paralyzed. She hasn't even been able to speak."
Puck's gaze had flicked to his brother as he spoke, but now it returned to her, and the concern in it surprised her. It made her want to laugh, wish she could toss out a sarcastic remark. Once more, she willed her useless body to summon the power of speech. Work, you stupid mouth, work!
"Paralyzed? Why? Is she sick? Dying? Anyone see what happened? Did she walk in or was she dragged in like this?" Puck fired off questions no one in the room had answers for.
"Apparently, one of the guards saw her fall and sent word because she was human. He thought she'd wandered into the party by mistake. I got to her just in time to yank that guy off her."
"Ugh!"
Barely a grunt, but nonetheless sufficient for sensitive Fae ears, the sound turned the brothers' faces as one toward Sabrina.
Who channeled all her strength into her arm, imagining herself lifting it an inch, two inches, three inches . . . but in reality all she managed was a wiggle of her fingers and the tremor of her wrist. Still, it was as if that massive effort had broken through something, and her face relaxed, her body twitched, then spasmed, then - even though it felt like she was submerged in glue - moved.
Puck was by her side in an instant, kneeling with his face close to hers.
"Grimm?"
She blinked at him, trying to form his name, but it was as if after her mouth had fallen slack, her lips had decided it was too much effort to come together once more. "Uhk," she coughed out.
Puck eyed her, considering.
"Sounds like her, too," he decided. "She always did speak like a caveman. She sounds drunk, at any rate. What'd she have?"
Sabrina attempted a glare, but her face remained happily stupefied as Mustardseed produced the bottle of Aquatelle. For a few seconds, Puck could only stare in disbelief.
"Let me get this right," he sounded like he was holding back laughter, "somehow Sabrina Grimm, who never leaves her school, broke out of her school, made her way in a blizzard to Faerie, where some filthy swine got her drunk on water so he could have his way with her on the floor of my Great Hall in front of all my guests. And they say reality TV is dumb."
Anger flooded through Sabrina. Moron! After all I did for you!
Mustardseed cleared his throat. "The filthy swine in question is a Prince of the Northern Court."
"Oh!" Puck exclaimed bitterly, "Well, it just gets better and better! Now I'll have to challenge him to a duel to avenge her honor, and then I'll have to kill him, after which his puny kingdom will retaliate, together with their allies in the hill country, who've been itching to have it at us for centuries and were just waiting for a reason, which we'd have just handed to them, and we'll have to put up arms ourselves to avoid being slaughtered, and just like that, I'll have started a war with the entire Evendale region over a bottle. Of. Water!"
Self-centered pig! Sabrina thought, boiling with frustration.
"Fairy water," Mustardseed amended. "Sabrina Grimm has a magical addiction, does she not? Her paralysis could be a natural reaction to magical water."
"You're missing the point! It's water! If I have to go to war, at least let it be over a good wine. Chardonnay, if not even a cheap Merlot. Not water!" Puck repeatedly slapped his palm against his forehead.
If I had control of my hands, it'd be my fists against your forehead!
"Calm down, Puck. Nobody's starting a war. However, if you don't deal with the prince soon, his court will hear of it and the war you so want to avoid might just begin on its own."
"He in the dungeons?"
"What? Of course not. He's not a prisoner. We put him in the Executive Office."
Puck looked sulky. "There's not enough space in there to flay him. And Mother hates it when we get blood all over the mahogany."
"There will be no bloodshed! He's not a criminal. He's -"
"He kissed Sabrina! Under my roof!"
Mustardseed swallowed an inane urge to laugh at his brother's outrage. He schooled his features into something that he hoped resembled sympathy.
"According to witnesses, he didn't look as if he were enjoying it."
Puck's eyebrows shot upward. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you implying that Sabrina was -"
"I'm not implying anything. I was angry, too, but on further reflection, I think it might've been a misunderstanding -"
"What possible misunderstanding can there be when someone kisses a paralyzed person without -"
"Just go," Mustardseed sighed. "And talk to him, brother; all we have now are questions. Maybe he has some answers."
Sabrina heard Puck swear as he marched to the door.
"Please attempt to act like a King -" Mustardseed called after him.
Puck slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled.
"- and not a jealous lover," the younger prince finished weakly.
Alone once more with Sabrina, Mustardseed rubbed his temples gingerly, then glanced at her.
"I'm sorry this had to happen, Sabrina. If you are indeed Sabrina, I mean. Regardless, just rest now. We'll get this all fixed, soon. I'll call for our healer to look at you."
The next minutes dragged by with far more calm. The healer was summoned and as they waited for his arrival, Sabrina heard Mustardseed issue instructions for more security to be stationed at the revel in the Great Hall. She concentrated on working her extremities. It took all her energy, but she gamely pursed and unpursed her lips, blinked her eyes, and tried to ascertain the range of motion of her neck.
"Meathead!"
The door flew open again with a bang to admit an incensed Puck. The hair on one side of his head was standing at a strange angle, as if he'd been violently clutching and yanking on it.
Mustardseed said calmly, "I'm guessing that it didn't go well."
"He's still alive, if that's what you're afraid of," Puck fumed. "I talked to him. But guess what? All I got back was nonsense."
"Don't be offensive, Puck. It's a foreign language."
"I know two hundred and sixty seven foreign languages, thanks to Father's multitude of tutors."
"And?" Mustardseed obliged tiredly.
"Stupidese isn't one of 'em."
Sabrina had an unexpected urge to giggle, but Puck was continuing his tirade.
"I questioned him about what happened, what he did to Sabrina, right? And do you know what the perv said?"
"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell -"
"He said 'kiss, kiss, kiss' and 'love, love, love' and made smoochy lips. Smoochy lips! At me!" Puck's disgust was evident in his voice. "First Sabrina, and now me! What next? My entire guest list? Random pieces of furniture?"
"Focus, brother."
"I'll show you focus! I told him he was a degenerate piece of filth and I'd have loved nothing more than to gut him and stuff every slimy bit that spilled out back in through those smoochy lips of his. Instead, I was very graciously inviting him to make himself comfortable in my dungeon because it would be his new home for however long I saw fit, although if he even thought about chatting up anyone else in Faerie, I would instantly string up his insides like a welcome banner across its stinking threshold. And just to be sure he understood I wasn't standing down for cowardice or - hell forbid - mercy, I made it crystal clear that sending his butchered corpse back to his people would only risk starting a war with his worthless kingdom that I wasn't interested in wasting my time with."
"Oh dear," Mustardseed said. "And how did he take it?"
"Get ready for it: he just kept bowing and thanking me, and saying "mercy" and "home" over and over. The addlebrain actually thought I was going to be merciful and let him go home! Well, he'll figure it out after a century or two of eating swill and maggots in his own waste, ha ha ha. Bozo! The only thing worse than not being allowed to punch someone's lights out is for that someone to sincerely thank me for it."
Mustardseed exhaled. "The fortuitous blessings of miscommunication. Stars be praised."
"Look, just get him out of my sight," Puck deflated at last. "I've totally changed my mind about keeping him. Just having him in the dungeon has lowered the average intelligence of my entire kingdom by half. Send him home to daddy in the north so he can wallow and die with the rest of the northern Fae. Bunch of numbskulls. We shouldn't have even invited them to the revel. It was all your fault - you said it was for goodwill. And now look."
"Well, at least we got him away from Sabrina."
"If this is Sabrina. It's hard to introduce yourself when you're catatonic."
Sabrina took a deep breath. During Puck's rant, she'd figured out how to prove her identity and explain her reason for being in Faerie. She would produce the cupcake and he'd understand everything! All she had to do was find her backpack. And also somehow miraculously regain control of all her faculties in the next ten seconds.
Okay, baby steps, Sabrina. Speech first - you can do it. Just one word.
"Cuh . . ." she began, lifting her hand to point, gesture, vainly flop, whatever.
Both brothers swiveled around, approached and leaned in, as if she were a person on her deathbed about to reveal a desperate secret with her final breath.
"Cuh . . .p . . . k." She inhaled and focused everything in one monumental effort. "Cupcake." She slurred out, pawing at Puck.
Mustardseed's eyebrows shot up. "Terms of endearment now? She's officially wasted."
Puck immediately recoiled. "Okay. No way is this Grimm. Grimm calls me Stinkbottom and Pukeface and Farthead. But never food - unless it's rancid, I mean. This is clearly some pooka wearing her skin. Look, it even has the little mole under her left eye." He poked her cheek. "Hey, you! What have you done with Sabrina Grimm? You'd better start talking fast, or I will be forced to help you find your voice. And believe me, you won't just be talking then, you'll be singing."
Sabrina had seen Puck interrogate prisoners in the war and until she'd witnessed it for herself, she hadn't truly understood this side of him: battle-bred, relentless, formidable, and certainly more than just a boy with a fetish for pranking and goofing off. Frustration finally gave way to alarm as she realized the trouble she was in if Puck thought her not only an imposter, but someone who might have hurt the girl he'd sworn to protect.
Well, she'd have to put on the facial calisthenics performance of a lifetime, then, and pray he was good at slow-mo lip reading. She inhaled deeply and in the tense silence, she heard something rustle against her ribcage.
The gift.
The gift that her roommate had teased her about, the DIY marvel that was the triumphant result of too many hours on Youtube instead of swotting for her Economics paper. Thank heavens she hadn't decided to shuck her parka, in whose inside pocket she'd carefully stashed the blessed thing instead of having it be crushed in her backpack. Her backpack which could be anywhere in Faerie now, kicked about by the dancing feet and the stomping guards. Maybe fate was smiling on her after all.
Please don't kill me yet, she willed Puck with her eyes as she painstakingly raised her hand to her neck and fumbled for her zipper, then laboriously tugged it down. It was like moving through treacle, but she gummed her lips together and concentrated on not letting go. One inch, two, three. . .
"Whoa." Mustardseed's eyes filled his face. "Now she's undressing. Maybe I uh. . . I should leave you two alone."
He stood up hurriedly, but Puck pulled him back down without even looking at him, because heaven help him, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the slow descent of the zipper pull.
"Don't be an idiot," he hissed, but Mustardseed noticed that his brother sounded uncertain. Or distracted.
"She's reaching for something," Mustardseed continued his play-by-play in an ominous tone. "Could be a weapon."
Sabrina flicked her eyes to him and shook her head infinitesimally.
"Or her lipstick," Puck sniggered. "That's what always happens in the movies. Such a letdown."
"What movies have you been watching? In the ones I've seen, it's a weapon. Always a weapon."
By now, Sabrina had gotten the package out and thrust it at Puck. Although thrust might've been overstating it - it quivered in her hand before slipping through her fingers and flopping onto Puck's lap, where both brothers stared at it in silence.
"She dumped her trash on you," Mustardseed said at last.
Puck picked up the wad of paper and turned it over in confusion. Something rattled within the creased layers.
"Or maybe it's a bomb," Mustardseed insisted.
"Birth . . . day. . ." Sabrina dragged out the words over the span of what felt like eternity.
"There," Mustardseed concluded, satisfied, "It's an assassination attempt. Asp in a basket of fruit, poison in the wine flagon, and now anthrax in wrapping tissue. Times may have changed but there are always the fools who will fall for the winsome maiden, and pay dearly for it."
Puck cocked his head, pointedly ignoring his brother, and carefully peeled back the folds.
"It is trash," Puck breathed in wonder, holding up a drinking straw and several Q-tips.
"No love note?" Mustardseed ventured with a completely straight face.
Puck shook his head as he stuck the straw in his mouth and dutifully sucked. Exasperated, Mustardseed clicked his tongue. "Did you not hear what I just said? It could be full of poison!"
"B - bl. . . blowwww." Sabrina squeaked out, her tongue thick.
Puck glanced at her, the straw dangling like a cigarette from his lips and suddenly, something seemed to click. He turned over the Q-tips in fascination.
"Loaded!" He exclaimed in surprise. "See - the tip's sharp! You could actually kill someone with this!"
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry," Mustardseed muttered in resignation.
Puck dropped the straw onto his palm. Like a child trembling in excitement over a treasured plaything, he stuffed a Q-tip into one end and put the other end back into his mouth. Then with a burst of air from his lips, the Q-tip launched out into the air, barely missing Mustardseed's ear, and embedded itself in the far wall, puffy end vibrating like an angry bee.
"It's a blowpipe!" Puck announced in joy. "I've always wanted one of these. I've read about them - naked men in jungles shoot poison darts out of tubes like these to kill, well, anything. This is awesome!"
He beamed down at Sabrina in adoration. "Awwwww. Look at that - she went all Martha Stewart and made me a deadly weapon for my birthday. And then she wrapped it in trash paper and tried to hand-deliver it at my revel but got rip-roaring drunk instead and some lowlife tried to get handsy with her. Yep, it's Grimm, all right. I swear, every time she's in Faerie, she drinks something dangerous and has to be rescued. I suppose this is an improvement - last time she just about died. I tell ya, Snotface, we gotta keep you away from the eats. Well, let's get you to my rooms to sleep this one off."
He tucked his new toy carefully into his pocket, bent and slid his arms under her body and hoisted her against his chest. "No more drinks for you, nitwit."
Sabrina tried to struggle. Her backpack! Her backpack with the cupcake in it! She'd fought two tourists and one Wall Street who-knew-what in a wool suit for that cupcake! She had to let the princes know.
"Cupcake," she breathed desperately against Puck's neck. This time, he blushed. "Aw, Grimm, wait till we don't have an audience, can't you?"
She shook her head weakly, tried to point, then gave up and collapsed against him.
"It's not poison, so it's not an antidote that we need. And it's not a hex or curse, either."
"Well, what is it?"
"I can't be sure, Your Majesty. Did she . . . eat anything?"
"How would I know? She drank water, and went under."
"But that makes no sense. Water is harmless."
In the privacy of his suite, Puck glared at the healer who was bending over Sabrina and feeling her pulse. "It's magic water, and she's allergic to magic. Any fool could tell she's having what is known in the human world as a 'reaction'! "
The healer straightened, brow furrowed. "If it were a reaction, Sire, she would have retched, her skin blistered with sores or turned all shades of the rainbow. She would be fevered, not paralyzed. This is dark magic."
"It's time-wasting, is what it is. An hour ago, she could at least murmur and turn her head. Now she's just staring. It's getting worse and -"
"- and then she will die," the healer announced loudly, relieved that at last he had something to say about which he had some confidence.
Puck's eyes blazed. "If I'd wanted a bleak prophecy, I would've just read today's news headlines! Your job is to heal, so find a way to heal her, you imbecile!"
The healer wilted, finally realizing the position he was in. "If I could just consult my books . . . " he swallowed, "I will have my apprentice -"
Puck lost the last vestiges of his composure. "Fine! Go read your stupid books! But if Grimm flatlines while you're having story time with your apprentice, I will have your skin dried into parchment for your obituary!"
The healer fled without so much as a bow.
In the peace following his ungracious departure, Puck cradled his head in his hands. "Stars, I miss you, Cobweb. These nincompoops we've had since couldn't even heal a nosebleed. Maybe Mustardseed is right - our isolation is slowly killing us. We need to get out and find others. Or at least a new medic."
He turned back to Sabrina, now ramrod straight, her eyes staring upward. His face was hard with harsh lines from his outburst but now it softened as he glanced at her. He'd always thought her eyes were arresting - not that he'd ever admit it - blue fire when she was laughing, jeweled ice when she was staring down the enemy. But now he could hardly bear to look at them - the white and the blue, goggling back, unnatural, too much. In response, she blinked at him - at least she can still blink, he thought with misery - and he knelt and took her hand. It felt stiff in his, not limp as he would expect from a person in a coma.
Because she's not in a coma, he staunchly reminded himself. She can hear every word I say.
He gulped.
She could hear every word he said.
"Grimm." He sounded almost stern in his excitement. "Can you hear me? Blink once for yes, two for no."
She blinked once.
"Are you Sabrina Grimm?"
One blink.
"Huh. Let's see if you can prove it. Two years ago, I mailed you a box on your birthday with a crone's foot in it. How many toes were on it?"
Four blinks.
"Huh. Anyone could've guessed that. Okay, what was its purpose? Multiple choice now. Blink once for 'back scratcher', blink twice for 'toenail fungus to cure hairy legs' and blink thrice for 'ingredient for potion to hex enemies with eternal two left feet'."
Sabrina rolled her eyes before blinking them twice.
Puck crossed his arms over his chest in satisfaction. "Congratulations! You passed Phase I. Alrighty, let the interrogation begin. Did you drink the Aquatelle?"
One blink.
"Did you eat or drink anything else?"
Two blinks.
"Did anyone do anything to you?"
Did anyone do anything to her? She rolled her eyes again. One blink.
"What?" Puck leaned forward, glaring. "Who?"
Do I need to roll my eyes a third time? She glowered, eyes slits. Think, Stupid! Someone tried to kiss me!
"Oh!" Light dawned. "That handsy kissy loser!"
One very ferocious blink.
"Well, let me rephrase that question. Sorry about that, by the way. He shouldn't've when you couldn't, you know, punch him back or anything," he grinned at her. "That was low of him. No chivalry at all."
Sabrina slammed her eyelids up and down so vigorously Puck thought she was having a seizure.
"What? What are you trying to say?" He leaned closer, as if it made a difference to the silence between them. "He didn't . . . want to kiss you?"
Two deliberate blinks, in which Sabrina channeled all her latent sarcasm.
"But he did anyway," Puck continued.
One blink.
"Why?"
Come on, Stinkface. You can put two and two together. Think! Think!
Puck's expression changed.
"No. It can't be. Surely not. That's so. . . lame."
Sabrina closed her eyes and released the breath she'd been holding. It whistled through her nose, the only sound in the room as Puck continued to stare at her. She opened her eyes once more and fixed him with her gaze, and then gave him one slow blink.
"But it didn't work," he mumbled, confused, leaning away and staring into the distance. "He was a prince! It always works with princes!"
Unbelievable, she marveled. So close and still so stupid.
"Oh," Puck said as, once again, his brain kicked in. "Because he wasn't. . . "
Slowly, a dull flush colored his cheeks as he cast her an awkward look. "Ah, so. . . riiiight. Um, but we're. . . but - what if . . ."
Sabrina let her gaze drop to his lips and lifted it back up again to lock on his eyes.
One blink. Try. Please.
"This is worse than reality TV," Puck grumbled as he slid his palm over her cheek, bent and brushed his lips over hers.
And then drew back, silent and expectant.
As Sabrina sucked in a shuddering breath, bolted upright, clutched her abdomen and threw up all over him.