The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock
By Schroederplayspiano
Two-Fifteen Am: They Won't Know My Name
Chirping crickets overwhelm my senses when I step outside. They are calling for Jiminy; crying in his absence. I lean against my porch railing and close my eyes; allowing myself to be captivated in their call for my best friend.
After some time, I look up to night sky. The stars are different in Storybrooke than home. Watching the sky tonight, I remember the night I wished on the brightest star for my wooden puppet to turn into a real boy. The weight of the memory pulls me down to my porch steps. I feel their wood supporting my weight; it's weak and uncomfortable. I sigh. I turn to the dark road leading to my house. It has been deserted for three hours.
"Staying up won't do you any good," Anna whispers behind me. I don't turn back to her. My attention on the empty road fails me when a mug full of hot chocolate fills my vision. "Drink up. It's the perfect temperature."
I shake my head in disapproval. "Let me get this straight. You are telling me to go to bed while you are offering hot chocolate." I take the mug from Anna's grasp. "How does that make any sense?"
Anna shrugs and sits next to me on the porch steps. "The Blue Fairy offers advice. That doesn't mean you have to take it." I turn to her to show off the confusion on my face. "I know I won't be able to sleep tonight. I made hot chocolate. It would be wrong not to offer you a cup."
"Right." I take a sip only to realize her hot chocolate recipe is amazing. "That's the reason."
"What?" She turns to me and an oblivious smile lights her face. "You think my motives in offering you hot chocolate were selfish?"
"Interesting choice of words," my observation slips out.
"Yeah, well," Anna watches her fingers trace her mug's rim. "Perhaps you're right. I should admit I was hoping my hot chocolate would entice you to stay up with me until Emma's yellow bug appeared."
The guilt on Anna's face makes me smile. "Really? You think your hot chocolate would have any influence over my decision to stay up into the dead of night for my son's homecoming?"
"No, I know you better than that." She whispers. "But it could influence the kind of company you allowed to wait with you."
"I always welcome your company, Anna," I say with sincerity. "Always." I look at her until our eyes meet. I hold her gaze until she nods. "How could you not know that?"
Anna returns her attention to her mug; tracing its rim in endless circles. "I failed, Geppetto."
"What?" I try to make eye contact again, but she refuses. "What are you talking about? You didn't fail. You could never fail. You are the Blue Fairy"
A small laugh escapes her lips. Its sound is full of disbelief and disappointment. Anna gently places her mug on the porch and brushes her hands together. "To everyone else. To your family? I failed you, I failed Pinocchio, and I failed Jiminy. I'm not the Blue Fairy here, I'm just Anna."
Her statement catches me off guard. Never once, in all the years we've known each other, have I seen her confidence shaken. It scares me a little. She's the most grounded person I know. If she begins to doubt herself there is little hope for the rest of us.
"That's not -" I start to reassure her, but two words are all I manage to say. Just then, as my hand lifts to her shoulder, headlights illuminate my porch. We are on our feet and running towards the street, forgetting all about out conversation.
"Archie!" Anna cries. Jiminy looks to her from behind the car window. I notice the confusion on his face and my heart sinks. We were expecting his alter ego, of course, but seeing them together without his memories is worse than I imagined.
Anna pulls open the car door and helps Jiminy out. His expression doesn't change when she pulls him into an embrace.
He doesn't return her affections. "Mother Superior?" Jiminy takes a step back from Anna. Despair covers her face. "What on earth are you doing here so late?"
Emma emerges from her car. The door barely latches when she closes it. "She's here for me, Archie. Don't worry." A warm and reassuring smile warms her face and she walks around her car to shake hands with Anna.
"I can't thank you enough, Emma." Anna's hyperbolic gratitude worries me again. My concern isn't just for her, but now it extends to everyone in Storybrooke. If anyone here, including Regina, needs to keep a level head, it's Anna. It's our Blue Fairy.
Headlights blind us for the second time. My heart stops. Emma's smile fades. I know it is my boy before I see him. Ignoring the aches and pains in my old body, I run to him. His engine turns off and his arms reach for me before his motorcycle headlight burns out.
"Oh, Father," Pinocchio whispers into my shoulder. "I am so sorry."
"I know my boy," A single tear falls from my cheek. "I know you are." My hand lifts to run my fingers through clumps of his matted hair. Only then do I notice the bar smell pressed into his skin. I wonder when he last took a shower. Still, I don't release him. "I'm sorry, too."
Pinocchio releases me then. He pulls back so he can look at me. "For what? You didn't do anything."
I feel a frown forming. My hand moves to his cheek and my thumb starts to stroke it. "For everything."
My son's forehead creases as if he's confused. He can't be. His absence over the last week and his behavior the week before that; gave me time to reflect on my own mistakes as a father. While I won't say his choices were entirely my fault, I do know my actions and my decisions have a bigger affect on his behavior than I ever thought possible.
"You have nothing to-" Pinocchio starts, but I place a finger over his lips to stop him.
"I have something for you." My excitement grows with my announcement. "Will you come in so I can give it to you?"
"I don't want anything." I can hear the sincerity in his voice. It only makes me more excited. "Nor do I deserve anything."
"You don't, that's true." Our eyes lock. I shrug. "But that's what makes it fun." We share one more moment before I break from him. I search for Emma and find her between Anna and Archie. It takes a second for her to notice me. When she does, she excuses herself and we find a space further into my yard.
Emma speaks before I can. "You don't have to say anything. Really. I didn't do it for you. I wasn't expecting or planning on bringing him back. He came back for you."
Her words touch me more than I thought they would. "He came back for both of us, Emma."
"Yeah, well, like I said – I wasn't planning on bringing him back. Although, I did want to tell you." Emma shifts uncomfortably. Her palms slide into her back pockets. "Thank you for telling the Blue Fairy about my cuckoo clock. I managed to fix it."
I can't help smiling. "I knew you would."
Emma's eyes snap to mine. In all our time together, I've never been able to see down to her soul. It is clear Pinocchio is still there. When she notices the intensity of my stare, Emma blinks and backs away.
"Thanks again, Emma." I call after her.
"Goodnight, Geppetto." She says. Turning from me, she bumps into Pinocchio. He puts his arms out to Emma, making sure she doesn't fall. "Oh, sorry."
"No worries." Pinocchio smiles at her. With their arms around each other, they freeze. I know I should turn away and give them a moment alone, but I can't. I notice way Pinocchio looks at Emma. The depth of his stare is hard even for me to turn away from. "I should be more careful."
"No," Emma's whisper is barely audible. "It was my fault."
Pinocchio shakes his head in the darkness. "No – It was -" he starts, but Emma tears herself away from him. "Emma-"
"Goodnight." My porch lights illuminate Emma's face. I can see she's on the brink of crying. She continues to walk further and further away.
"Emma-" Pinocchio calls after her, but she doesn't turn. His head falls in her absence. Her headlights return with the start of her engine. Only then do I notice my two best friends are missing.
"Where are Jiminy and Anna?" I ask my son.
Pinocchio starts making his way across the yard and up the porch steps. "Anna offered to walk Jiminy home. My guess is she'll probably stay with him all night without him knowing it."
I watch my son finish walking up steps and wonder if his sad expression is mirrored on my face. He approaches me and I put one arm around him.
"You know what I was thinking about while you were away?" I whisper.
My son leads me to our front door and opens it for me. "How selfish and immature your son was being?"
A small laugh escapes my lips. "Other than that." I lead my son into the dinning room where his present lays on the table. He doesn't notice it.
"No," he says with a smile. Then he crosses his arms. "What were you thinking?"
I break from him to pick up the leather bound writing journal I made for him. I offer it to him, but he doesn't touch it. It stays in between us. "I was thinking about how you say you're a writer, but I haven't seen you write anything since the curse broke."
His eyebrows furrow. He whispers, "So?"
"So," My smile widens. "Writers need to write. It's who they are. It's who you are. The only way you're going to be happy is if you are writing."
My son stares at me for a long time. I hold his gaze; challenging him. He looks down at the journal then back at me. His forehead creases disappear when he takes the journal.
"Open it." I whisper.
Pinocchio runs his fingers over the leather cover. Before he opens it, he looks at me again. I level him with my eyes.
I watch him slowly open the journal, making sure I don't blink. On the first page, I've written a title for him. He loses some of his composure when he reads it out loud.
"Two Households Of Dignity," Pinocchio's voice breaks. "What does that have to do with anything?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I just thought it was catchy." I walk pass him towards the stairs. A yawn takes my breath when I reach the first step. All I can think about is going to sleep. "You're the writer. You figure it out."
A/N: Yeah, I was planning on that since the first Vignette :). Does this make up for all my evilness? For readers who have no idea what I or Geppetto are talking about, I suggest looking under 'my stories' on my profile page.
