Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Once Upon a Time. This is story is not intended for profit, just as a tribute to the amazing writing, characters, and intricate plots therein.

Author's Note: Today's chapter title brought to you by William Shakespeare. Do you know which play?

Much thanks to my beta, Willofthewisp!

Chapter 4—Good Lord, for Alliance!


They spent three days walking after their encounter with the fairy Nova, and Killian's mood became darker and darker. He knew Henry could tell. Their conversations had become rarer and downright terse on occasion, at least on his end. Henry at first tried to fill their silence with more stories, but lacking his companion's full attention or reciprocation, even the stories dried up.

Killian felt a bit badly about that, in the small corner of his heart that enjoyed talking with the lad, sharing tales and a laugh, but most of him was now focused on the coming meeting with the Dark One. Added to that, he had no bloody idea where they were. He cursed himself every quarter mile for agreeing to help Henry without a better plan and a full map of the entire buggering Enchanted Forest. Then he cursed himself for agreeing to help in the first place. He should have stayed on the water and put the boy off alone to undertake this quest. Over and over again, the thoughts repeated in his head, yet his feet kept moving inward and onward, the forest slowly giving way to farmland.

By the middle of the third day, the border of the Enchanted Forest was several miles behind them, and the air smelled of warm grass and healthy animals. They now passed through patchwork fields of grains and vegetables that covered so much acreage that Killian guessed they were likely owned by the local nobility or gentry in this corner of the world. Every once in a while they passed a group of peasants working the fields with oxen or mules. Shortly after lunch, Henry spotted a group of farmers cutting hay or weeding or doing some chore that required shears and a lot of bending over. Without asking for permission or even getting Killian's opinion, the boy jogged over to the farmers and struck up a conversation.

Killian hung back. He was not good company right now, and knew it. But Henry, he had come to learn, was never in a bad mood. He was almost always cheerful, but thankfully he knew when to keep quiet. If Killian hadn't been so nauseously apprehensive about their destination, he would go over to the peasants Henry was pestering to hear what the boy managed to wheedle out of them. The lad had already done this several times with farmers, shepherds, and one woodsman to ask for directions or supplies.

Meanwhile, Killian's mood had been downright surly. The fact was they were going to the Dark One's castle. He didn't seem to be ready to abandon the boy just yet, despite his better judgment and constant self-advisement, so it would behoove him to not alienate his one ally. Besides, Henry was just a boy, and had done nothing to deserve Killian's bad mood. He knew he had to at least try to be better company, or Henry might decide to leave him behind. While Killian might respect the lad's courage and intelligence, he knew the boy would not last long alone. And since he still cursed himself for abandoning Bae to the jungles of Neverland, he knew he would regret allowing Henry to wander the Enchanted Forest on his own.

When Henry scampered back, Killian forced himself to give the boy a smile.

"What news, lad?"

"They don't know where to find the Dark One, either," he said. "I didn't expect them to, but I had to ask. You never know, right?"

"True, I suppose."

"But they said that if we cut across these fields, we'll make it to a croft by dusk where we can stop for the night and maybe get some supplies."

"We have a heading then." Killian nodded. "Well done."

Henry's surprised smile caused him to fidget. He cleared his throat and motioned for Henry to lead the way before he broached the topic of his current mood. "My apologies for any recent rudeness, lad. I can't say I'm looking forward to our destination."

"It's okay," Henry said. "I can tell you're afraid—"

"I'm not afraid," Killian protested. Afraid made him sound like a child himself. He was…anxious. Troubled. Wary. Cursedly unprepared. Not afraid.

Henry smirked at him. "Right. Anyway, I could see that you're not happy about where we're going. No offense taken."

"Thanks, lad," he replied, his smile easier to come this time.

Together they traipsed across a huge field, the scent of the damp, loamy earth rising up with every step for the rest of the day. After an hour, they came to a fence which they hopped and found themselves needing to watch where they put their feet. White fleecy shapes dotted the meadow, congregating around a distant pond, but they had left clear signs that they ranged all over the open grass. Their mess was everywhere, along with soiled tufts of oily, matted wool.

"We appear to be in sheep country," Killian observed. He grimaced as he side-stepped another paddy.

"I always thought sheep were soft and fluffy," Henry said, starring skeptically at the matted and dirt-caked patch of wool caught on a bush. "This stuff looks disgusting."

"I wouldn't know, lad. But I expect some cleaning must be included in the process of turning that," he said, pointing to the wool, "into a warm cloak."

"Must be," Henry agreed.

The farther they went through the pasture, the closer they came to a copse of trees that served as a windbreak in the open meadow, dividing the field in half. They were through it in minutes, just as the sun began its quick descent toward the horizon. The little farmhouse was almost directly in front of them—a one-room stone and mortar structure with a stone chimney and just enough height to suggest a loft above the main room. Killian couldn't make out any smoke, but a heat shimmer over the chimney suggested that there was a fire going inside, and he had definitely seen the figure of a man in the distance as he and Henry had traipsed across the pasture throughout the day. Presumably, it was the shepherd, and hopefully he was close by.

It was early evening as they approached the croft. The sun was kissing the top of the distant tree line to their left. The sky in the east darkened except for a faint belt of pink, and in the west, what few clouds that decorated the sky had turned golden and lavender. Soon they would put on the brighter colors of true sunset. It was, Killian had to admit, a pretty pastoral scene.

"Do you think he's inside?" Henry asked.

"Go on up and knock, lad," Killian directed. He smirked. "If he is, likely he'd listen to you before me."

"You're dressed all in black and carrying a sword," the boy pointed out. "You make people nervous."

Killian grinned. "Pirate, remember? Intimidation is rather the point."

Henry rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he scampered up to the farmhouse door, his knapsack bouncing on his back with each step. Killian was reminded of a long-eared puppy running, its ears flopping about after it. Henry stopped on the dirt stoop and knocked—shave and a haircut—while Killian made his way forward with a touch more dignity. He hid his hook behind a fold of his coat. There was no need scare the man they were going to beg for shelter.

A moment passed. No answer. Henry called out, "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Around back!" a man called out. "Be right there."

After a moment, the shepherd rounded the side of the house. He was taller than the peasants they had passed so far, and had a great deal more confidence. The man was in his late fifties, though he stood straight with no hunch to his spine caused by a lifetime of bending in the field. His hair, once either dark blond or light brown, was going white, though there was still a full head of it. The shepherd's face was half hidden behind a thick beard, which grew down an inch or so beyond his chin. It was still mostly comprised of dark hair with a liberal salting of grey. There were lines around his blue eyes and at the sides of his nose and mouth. His clothing was rough homespun, patched and darned, streaked with oil and splotched with mud and dirt, but the man inside wore them with innate pride. Killian had seen officers who wore their dress uniforms with less dignity than the shepherd wore his dirty, stained smock.

And a surprisingly fine pair of boots. Whoever this man used to be before he was a shepherd, he could afford well-made footwear of high-grade leather. Even stained by sheep dung, grass, and toil, Killian could make out embroidery and the tight stitching indicative of skillful craftsmanship in their creation. There was one spot near the left toe that looked like a repair, but otherwise, they were in good shape.

It was a point of pride Killian recognized. The shepherd used to be a soldier. He stood like one, with his back straight, shoulders relaxed, chin up, and he held his shepherd's crook like a halberd. He could probably use it as a weapon if pressed. The bucket of water he carried, emptied, would make an admirable substitute for either a mace or a shield. Age had not diminished him physically, either. He still had the muscle in his arms and back to put power behind his swings. If it came to a fight between them, Killian was not certain his youth—and wasn't that ironic?—would be enough of a physical boon to make a difference.

Not that he was looking for a fight, but best to be prepared.

While Killian had been looking the man over, the shepherd had been doing the same to his uninvited guests. His expression became wary, which was understandable, as they had come across similar attitudes in most of the peasants they had met. Killian, as Henry had said, made people nervous, and it had been a hard decade for the peasantry by all accounts. Still, suspicion was not conducive to granting them some hospitality for the night. Killian was tired, hungry, and his feet hurt.

Luckily, Henry took his role as ambassador seriously.

"Hi!" the boy greeted him. "We were told by the farmers we met back that way that you might be able to help us. We were hoping you could give us shelter for the night, and let us refill our canteens."

Henry held up his canteen to show him.

As with most people, the shepherd seemed charmed by Henry. The lad had a way with people, able to gain their trust and support even against their will. Even as the shepherd kept his eyes on Killian, taking in the sword and, as Henry had pointed out, the intimidating all-black of his clothing, he seemed to relax a bit at Henry's speech.

"The refill is no problem. There's a well out back." He shifted weight, squaring up to Killian and meeting his eyes. "But don't take this the wrong way, I don't know you. I don't know what you want. Not sure I trust you to spend the night."

"We're not here to steal from you, mate," Killian reassured him. He cast his gaze at the humble croft. "Not exactly like you have much to make theft worthwhile here. Doubt there's gold and gems hidden away in there."

"Oh?" the shepherd asked, the left corner of his mouth hitching up a bit in amusement.

"Well, if there was, you'd be more hostile than you are," Killian pointed out. "In my experience, people who are hoarding riches tend to be not only suspicious but aggressive as well."

"Do you have a lot of experience with people who are hiding riches you're trying to find?" the shepherd asked, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest.

"A fair bit," he admitted, smirking. "But rest assured, at the moment my prize lies elsewhere. Whatever you're hiding here is safe from me— if you agree to allow us in, of course." He ended with a faint bow to show respect to his prospective host. It was only good form to show deference to someone who would potentially open his home to wanderers. And the shepherd was hiding something. Killian had developed a bit of a sixth sense about treasure during his time as a pirate, and that intuition was shouting at him now. Not gold or wealth of any kind. But let the man keep his secrets. Killian just wanted a roof over his head for the night.

The shepherd pressed his lips together as he thought a moment. He took a deep breath, flicked his eyes between Henry and Killian, and asked, "You only need a place for the night?"

"We wouldn't say no to being fed, as well," Killian said. "But we have provisions enough to make it a few more days if you're unable to spare anything."

Henry took his turn to speak up, "But we'll be gone in the morning. We're on a quest, and we don't have time to waste if we're going to succeed."

The shepherd grinned at the boy, Henry clearly winning him over.

"A quest? That sounds exciting, but aren't you a little young?"

"That's why I have help," Henry said, motioning to Killian. "I'm Henry, by the way. And this is Captain Hook."

The shepherd raised an eyebrow at him. "Is 'captain' a military rank or a nautical reference?"

"I have my own ship," he said. No need to frighten the man with the details. Although, Killian corrected himself, this was likely not the kind of man who was afraid of much. Still, details were a powerful motivator. Best the piracy be kept a secret.

"And Hook?"

Killian raised the namesake and offered a tight grin.

His other brow rose to join its mate. "I see. Subtle."

"Not really the subtle sort," Killian admitted. "Now could we maybe move the interrogation bit along and get to you either trusting that we mean what we say, or you telling us to move along? Personally, I prefer the first option."

The shepherd huffed a laugh. "Fair enough. I suppose I can trust you for a night, at least. As you pointed out, there's nothing here for you to steal."

Killian caught the thread of regret and truth in his statement and wondered at it.

"I'm David, by the way," the shepherd introduced himself. "Why don't you both come inside? I just need to wash up, and then I've got some stew cooking. Mostly it's mutton, potatoes, and carrots. Not very tasty. I never did master spices. Oh, and bread."

"The vegetables alone are a welcome addition," Killian replied as he followed the shepherd into the croft. "We're down to hardtack and rock hard cheese at this point."

"If you want, we can share the cheese?" Henry added. "Maybe melt it on the bread? I mean, since we are taking half your dinner, it's the least we could do."

David looked pleasantly surprised, his smile returning. "I'll take you up on that."

Inside the little farmhouse was dark except for the poor light provided by the embers in the fireplace in the center of the back wall, an iron hook attached to the side of the stone chimney with a copper pot where their dinner bubbled away, filling the space with a savory steam. On the mantel above the hearth were extra candles and several books. Two unlit lanterns hung from chains dangling from the low ceiling. The walls were bare stone with white mortar in the joints. There were no windows, so the shepherd left the door open to allow in the last of the daylight and provide some fresh air.

Although the shepherd had kept the hovel clean, it still smelled like the home of a bachelor who was a dodgy cook and spent most of his days with sheep. The single-person bed was on the far left wall, hung with drapes of the same homespun as David's clothing. A long wooden trunk abutted the baseboard of the bed. A sideboard with a ewer and pitcher was mounted to the wall next to the door to serve as a wash stand. There were shelves with dishes and utensils at the right. The small table was almost directly center with one chair pulled up to it and a plate covered by a rag towel. A few jugs and bins of tools, roots, and assorted other shepherding accoutrements that Killian could not even guess at completed the accounting of the croft.

"Henry, if you'd slice up some of the bread for us?" David asked, pointing to the dish on the table. He set the bucket of water on the floor by the sideboard and pulled off his smock so that he was only in shirtsleeves and trousers. "Let me wash off a little of the sheep smell, and I'll get us some dinner."

Killian pulled his satchel over his head, and placed it gently on the floor next to the table so as not to break his compass or telescope. He then went to stoke up the fire as the man washed up. He added a brick of what looked like peat to the fire and watched it slowly be eaten by flame, while Henry sliced up the bread he had found under the towel to keep mice and other vermin off.

"Are these pieces okay?"

David looked up and nodded at the three large chunks of grainy, hard-crusted bread Henry had cut. The boy slung his knapsack down to the floor and dug into it to find the promised cheese. Once out, he and Killian crumbled bits onto the bread and set the slices on the stones around the fire.

"Sorry about the lack of seating," David apologized. "I don't get many visitors. Captain, if you'd like, you can take the chair. I can pull up the trunk to make a bench for me and Henry."

"I'll help you pull it over!" Henry volunteered.

"My thanks," Killian said. "I do appreciate you letting us in. It will be a pleasant change to have a roof over our heads for a night."

"You're welcome, Captain," David said. He grunted a bit as he and Henry dragged the trunk over to the table. He sighed as he straightened back up rubbing his back.

Killian pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth as he thought quickly during the time it took the shepherd and the boy to relocate the trunk. After all, they were only staying the night. Who would the shepherd tell? Before he gave himself a chance to question his decision, he held out his hand.

"Killian. It's Killian Jones. Hook is my more colorful moniker," he explained, shaking David's hand. "Though I'll respond to either."

"Hook suits you," David said. His crooked smile was suddenly marred by a wince. He added, more softly, "As my wife would have said."

Killian knew that wince well. "When did you lose her?"

"Back when Regina took over the kingdom. A lot of people died." David tilted his head, his gaze on Killian's wrist. "How about you? I saw a glimpse of the tattoo when you offered your hand, though I couldn't make out the name. Someone you lost?"

Killian tightened his lips in pain. Three centuries, and this stranger just brings her up from a glimpse of a tattoo. For a moment, he wished he had never stretched his bloody arm out. He never spoke of Milah for a reason, even to his crew. It hurt. He considered saying nothing. But he had started it, hadn't he? And David had just admitted that he knew loss of his own just as painful, the loss of a great love. Quick words. Concise facts. The only way to keep the pain bearable.

"Aye," he said. "Milah. A long time ago."

"That's sad," Henry said. "We've all lost someone." He turned to smile at David. "Maybe that's why Fate brought us here. Someone who didn't know loss might not have helped us."

David returned the boy's smile and nodded. "Perhaps you're right. My wife always believed that everything happens for a reason. She strongly believed in destiny."

Killian did not. He never much liked the idea of some unknown force driving his life that he had no control over and no say in. Even if it was an illusion, he preferred to think his life was his own.

"Who did you lose?" David asked Henry.

"My mother. That's why I'm on this quest," Henry explained. "If we can restore all the happy endings, I can get her back."

It was heartbreaking how certain and hopeful that statement was. If the Queen did kill his mother, as Killian suspected, there was no getting her back. That woman did not seem like the kind to show mercy to her victims, with rare exceptions where she was magically compelled not to kill. Henry's mother was gone as surly as Milah was.

"There are other kinds of happy endings, lad," Killian said. "The Princess may not be able to bring your mother back, but I'm sure you'll get a fine ending nevertheless."

"Wait," David said, looking back and forth between them. "Princess?"

Killian shot the shepherd a look. There was an odd chord to the man's question, but he couldn't place it.

"Our quest," Henry answered. "We're going to rescue the daughter of Queen Snow White who was cursed when the kingdom fell to the Evil Queen. Once the Princess is free, then she can bring back the happy endings of all the people in the Enchanted Forest who have been wronged or hurt by evil."

He sat and watched the shepherd's face as Henry spoke. The lines on David's face deepened, his eyes dimmed. The man sat hunched at his table, his hands folded atop as if a weight pressed down on his shoulders.

"Where did you hear about this Princess?" David asked.

Just as he had done with Killian, Henry hesitated. Killian understood the impulse. The boy, despite his seemingly incorruptible innocence, was intelligent. He knew better than to just go about blurting his story to strangers. He watched Henry struggle with what to tell David—the truth or a vague equivocation?

David, on the other hand, leaned toward Henry with such an expression of desperation. The man looked as if nightmares were tormenting his mind, but there was a longing there as well. His quick breathing, his focused eyes. It could be nothing other than longing, as if the resolution of all his nightmares may depend upon the boy's answer, though the man was trying to hide it. Why? And for what? This man, this anonymous shepherd living in the foothills, was more than he appeared. Those boots were too expensive for a mere farmer, and no one would set his heart of a child's tale who did not have something to gain or lose by the telling.

Henry saw something in the man's face as well, and he answered truly.

"Someone who was there when she was cursed told me about her." He leaned in and crossed his arms atop the table, scrutinizing the shepherd with narrowed eyes. "How do you know about the Princess?"

David took a deep breath. He hung his head to study the rough wood of the table, and answered quietly, "I was there, too."

Henry started bouncing in his seat. He looked like he might climb on David to pry the story from him. "You were there when she was cursed?"

"Not quite," David said. "I was at the castle when it fell to Regina and King George's mercenaries. The curse happened on the same day. While we fought, the Evil Queen went to find the Princess."

"You were a soldier," Killian said.

David met his eyes and nodded. "I fought for the royal family, yes. The Princess had already been sent into hiding when the siege occurred. The King and Queen, and their heir, Prince James the Second, were still there when the attack began."

His gaze unfocused, watching the memories playing in his mind. "When the castle fell, the remainder of the army tried to regroup in the forest. Within days we received news that Regina had found the Princess, but no one knew what happened to her. Many lost hope. There were dozens of deserters almost overnight. Then we found out that the Dark One had escaped his cell. He had no reason to like or support the remainder of the royal family. We were outnumbered and out-magicked on all sides. A few of us kept fighting on for nearly a year, trying to make a dent in the enemy's army, before…"

He took a shuddering breath and shook his head. "You can only go on for so long without hope. Without something to believe in. Without people you love to fight for."

There was nothing Killian could say to that. Even Henry appeared at a loss for the moment. The crackle of the fire drew David's attention, and he excused himself from the table to fetch their dinner. Killian allowed him the time to regroup and catch his breath. David passed bowls of stew and the pieces of cheese-covered bread to Henry, who was closer, who then passed Killian his portion.

Once David rejoined them at the table, Henry asked, "Did you ever look for the Princess yourself?"

"For years," he confirmed. "I followed every lead I came across. I even tried to find the Dark One after I discovered that he and the Evil Queen were feuding. But I got stuck in some kind of barrier spell he put up around his castle. Finally, I suppose even I lost faith."

"It's a hard commodity to come by when you've lost everything," Killian observed.

"Indeed it is," David agreed.

Again, the men shared a moment of understanding. One side of the shepherd's mouth quirked up in a nascent smile. Then he turned to Henry to finish his tale.

"For years, I just wandered. Eventually, I found myself here, in the foothills." He shrugged. "I grew up on a farm raising sheep. It was a long time ago, but it's still familiar work. I've been here two…almost three years now."

David cleared his throat and laughed a little, presumably at himself. He shook his head. "That was a longer speech than I've given in a while. Now that I've finished dominating the dinner conversation, how about you tell me your stories? Or a story, at least. How did you end up travelling together?"

Killian allowed Henry to tell that tale. He hesitated to share his profession and recent return to the realm with a stranger, for all David had shared his own story. While David had talked, the sun had finally set and the light from outside the croft had faded to a soft, deep blue, the starlight reflecting off of the Northern Mountains and shining on the grass and through the still-open doorway. Inside the croft was illuminated only by the fire. During Henry's recitation of his meeting with Killian and subsequent rescue by the same, David retrieved a rush, lit it in the hearth, and used it to light the candles in the lanterns hanging from the ceiling so that they could see their bowls. Outside, the crickets in the grass had begun their nightly symphony accompanied by the occasional hoot of an owl and distant call of a bullfrog.

It was pastoral. And homey. Killian could appreciate the ambiance, but he still missed the sway of his ship with the waves and the wind, and the smell of the ocean that permeated his ship.

When Henry reached the end of his tale, he nodded to David. "And now that we found you, you have to come with us on our quest."

"What?" Killian barked, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Oh, do I?" David asked, smiling from behind his beard.

"Well it's obvious, isn't it?" Henry leaned across the table to grin at Killian. "Of all the people and places we could have come across, we came to the home of a former soldier who fought for the Princess's family, and has already tried to search for her once. That's not a coincidence. That's destiny. He has to come with us."

Killian sighed—destiny again—and opened his mouth to list all the reasons the shepherd was unwelcome: Henry only had this man's word for his history, and he could be lying; even if he was not lying, they didn't know him well enough to trust him not to betray them or give up later on; David was past his prime and would likely not be much help on the journey; and besides, crofters were little more than slaves, beholden to their masters to care for their fields or livestock—he couldn't just leave without his master's permission.

But David, apparently sharing Henry's delusions, spoke up first.

"He's right. Such things don't happen by accident." He chuckled at some private joke. "Believe me, I know."

"Met with much destiny have you, mate?" Killian scoffed.

"You'd be surprised."

Killian huffed, setting his spoon on the table by his bowl. "Look, I appreciate your hospitality, taking us in for the night and feeding us, and if you'd be so kind as to supply us with some additional provisions for our journey, I can offer you gold for payment, but like as not, you'd slow us down."

"I spend all day running after sheep," David pointed out, a confident smirk to rival Killian's own half-camouflaged behind his whiskers. "Trust me, keeping up with a child and a man who has likely never been higher than sea level his whole life as they head toward the northern summits will be easy. By the time we start up those mountains, you'll be the ones struggling to keep up with me."

"Mate," Killian tried to reason, "you're not exactly a young man anymore."

The irony of that nearly made him laugh out loud. He was two and a half centuries this man's senior. Not wiser, perhaps, but older. Ah, Neverland. Poison and cure, all in one.

"I'm not dead just yet, Hook," David said. "And I'm motivated. I'm coming with you."

"Think of it this way," Henry chimed in. "Even after we free the Princess from the curse, we're going to need help defeating the Queen."

"To be honest, lad, defeating the Queen isn't what I'm after in all of this," Killian snapped.

"What are you getting out of this, then?" David asked.

"My happy ending, of course," he said, a practiced piratical smile twisting his mouth. "The details of which are my own."

David considered him a moment, weighing the words, before he nodded. "Then you'll understand that I, too, have my reasons for joining your quest."

Killian considered what he'd gleaned about the man. His first impressions were of a warrior, and David had admitted to being a soldier. He said he knew the mountains, which made sense, and Killian emphatically did not. He was invested in the cause, whatever his reasons. And if Killian did decide, later, to abandon ship, at least Henry would have someone looking after him.

Still…

"When was the last time you lifted a sword?"

David did smile then. "Again, I think you'd be surprised."

He stood and motioned Henry to stand as well. Then he opened the lid of the trunk. From inside, he lifted out a sheathed sword at least three feet long. Like his boots, the scabbard was made of fine leather, well-oiled, and obviously handled frequently. The T-shaped hilt, the points of which turned downward slightly to deflect an enemy blade, was clean and sparkled gold in the lantern light. David lifted the sword from the scabbard a few inches so that Killian could see the blade itself was equally clean and oiled, and that the edge was sharp.

Well, then.

Killian nodded. "In that case, welcome aboard."


Author's Note: You would not believe how hard this chapter fought me! And in the midst of it, my laptop started freaking out. (My own fault: I did the stupid thing and was writing while having a wine cooler. The wine cooler tipped over. I cursed myself soundly and creatively.)

Then, this week, I started a new job, which is why the delay in posting. The next few chapters may be slower in coming as I acclimate to the new job. The story itself is nearly complete, but in order to keep up with what I've written, I may need to post every week and a half or two weeks for a while. Sorry!

Make sure to drop me a review to let me know if you like the story, what your favorite part of this chapter was, any questions you have… Let me know! Reviews are my bread and butter!