"Hey little guy, time to wake up. That's it. Ugh, come here you handsome devil," Liam smiled to the darkened room, ignoring the protests outside and focusing instead on the precious five year old half asleep in his arms. "There's a good boy."
Dead weight or not, Liam held him like he was the most precious thing in the world, which he could strongly argue, the boy was. Silently he cursed the fact he was about to scare the day lights out of him, but reasoned this way was better than the alternative.
Out in the living room, the boy's parents protested, and he winced to hear the colorful language. He debated sitting down in the blue painted room, but figured Roland had enough to deal with on his hands. Steeling himself for the battle to come, he kissed the toddler's warm forehead, grabbed the teddy bear he'd know anywhere, and left the darkness for the harsh early morning light.
Marien wept openly the moment Liam came into view holding baby Roland, but Liam felt no sympathy for the woman living on borrowed time. Still, Robin's stricken face twisted his heart; the man had always accepted him.
Roland—his Roland—was currently standing on the other side of the coffee table, his father's bow halfcocked with an arrow that could not miss its mark aimed at Marien's heart. There was no recognition in his eyes, though Liam knew he remembered his mother. His biological mother—Marien had never been his mother.
"Give me my son!" Robin made to stand, but Roland effortless shifted the bow in his direction and pulled back the string. For a moment, a war was fought on the thief's face, but eventually he sat down. It didn't escape Liam's attention that Robin didn't reach over to sooth his sobbing wife.
Walking over to Roland's side, Liam tried to reassure the man who had always been like a father to him, "Nothing's going to happen to the little guy, I guarantee it. Despite what it looks like, we're actually trying to help you."
"By pointing an arrow at his mother's heart!" Robin was incensed, but now so was his Roland, and that never boded well.
"That woman isn't his mother!" His lover's voice was dark and cold, attesting to an argument he never fully won.
"What?" Robin questioned, his face contorting in his confusion—for a thief, he had a terrible poker face.
Roland and weapons were a bad combination, and Marien's crying had finally fully awoken the now terrified child in his arms. Stepping forward, Liam held out the boy to his father, "I meant it, we're not here to hurt you or Roland. Take him," Robin immediately took the boy, quickly passing him to Marien so he could be ready to fight.
Liam turned in time to see his Roland staring at mother and son in pure rage; a look, Liam knew would not ensure the success of their part of the mission.
Taking a step, he put his hand on Roland's arm, and with difficulty, felt his partner slowly release the tension on the string, his touch earning him a furious look that dissipated, though not nearly fast enough.
But this was his time to excel. Roland could handle almost any weapon, but Liam could manipulate people—came with being a prince. His piercing blue eyes turned to the now silent family, and he turned on the charm, hating the look of tears in the child Roland's eyes. Taking a step closer, he handed over the teddy bear Regina had made for him so he would never be scared, "Here you are, Kid. No reason to be upset. I know this looks scary, but we're actually here to help you." Talking to Roland seemed to increase the alertness level of his parents, and Liam knew they were listening to every word. He wasn't surprised at all when both Rolands began to calm down; for a long time, Liam had been the only one who could sooth the angry teen.
Liam chose to focus his attention the boy, "You want to go home, don't you?" He heard Marien gasp, but understood the confused look in those soulful baby eyes, "Back to Storybrooke, you want to go home and see Little John, Will Scarlet, and Henry, right?" Hesitantly, not sure he should, Roland nodded his head, and Liam rewarded him with a megawatt smile. "Great, because my friend and I are here to take you home! You and your dad and Mairen, we're going to take you back to Storybrooke so you can see all of your friends. They miss you, you know? Granny, Pongo, and you know who else?" Now excited, Roland silently shook his head, but there was so much hope in his eyes that Liam knew who the boy was really thinking about. "I'll give you a hit," she smiled, pointing at the teddy bear, "she made him, for you."
The boy's face split in half, and he bounced on Marien's lap happily, "Regina!"
Robin paled.
"Yep! Regina misses you so much! She's sorry she missed your birthday, she got you a present and everything, but didn't know where to send it. She's going to be so happy to give it to you when we get home."
"She sent you," the wicked anger was in Marien's voice, her eyes hard in realization.
"No," his Roland said from behind him, and how Marien couldn't see her own expression in Roland's face, Liam had no idea. "She did the right thing. She wanted Roland to be happy, understood Robin's obligation to you, and sacrificed her own happiness for his," he nodded towards the child. "She has nothing to do with this, so direct your anger elsewhere, or better yet, accept with joy that you've had these few weeks with your boy when you should be dead."
How it was that his kind, compassionate, and very demonstrative lover could have such a dark side was beyond him, but Liam accepted it, even when it made negotiations difficult. "What my partner is trying to say," He directed his words to Robin who was promising pain with his eyes, "is that we're not mercenaries. We're here, specifically, to bring you three back to Storybrooke. We prefer to do it without the bow that never misses, but," he shrugged his shoulder, "if that's what it takes, then we'll be sure to aim somewhere other than Roland."
The promise eased some of the tension, but not the worry in Robin's voice, "Why do you want to help us get back to Storybrooke?"
Before Liam could answer, Roland did, "Because it's your home, it's his home. You don't belong out here, and you know it." Roland's cold eyes landed on Marien, "And neither one of you belong with her."
"OK, that's a good enough start to our adventure," Liam stood up, smiling disarmingly at the boy, who still seemed excited to go home, but was confused by his parent's lack of equal excitement.
Rounding, he moved to stand next to his Roland, and eased the bow down until it was pointing at the coffee table. He smiled up at eyes that just now, needed comfort, "What say we get everyone into the car and go meet the rest of our party?"
Roland nodded, sholdering the bow, keeping the single arrow in his hand and nodded to Robin, "You won't need anything from this place. Let's go."
"Right then, off we go," and as Liam held the door open and reminded Marien not to make a scene, his eyes softened to see his Roland ruffle the boy's hair that would one day be his own.
She was lonely. No. It was more than lonely. How long had it been? How long since she'd heard someone besides herself speak; not that she did that much anymore. When she'd begun answer herself, she'd stopped. Counting the days was also pointless, she'd stopped in year 28, the year she thought her isolation would be over. She couldn't be sure, but it felt like she'd been here even longer since she'd stopped counting.
By the fire rested her spinning wheel, famous for who she was. But the sharp needle at the top gave way to the gossamer strands of fate she toiled to weave. Stretching out from the fire, and strung in a hundred thousand directions, were those iridescent strands of fate that crossed and twisted, twining together, and in some cases, broken, and fallen to the gleaming hardwood floor.
Walking forward on soft slippers that like her emerald green dress, never wore out, she allowed her hand to trace one of the strands as she made her way back towards the wheel. She touched this one often, feeling it hum with pure life. Part of the strand had once belonged to her brother, but now his strand lay broken on the floor with so many others.
She'd wept for weeks, holding that thread, feeling its loss vibrate throughout the room, making dozens of the ones next to it dull in color. But eventually, the other strands once again began to glow brighter, returning to life after such tragedy, and like them, she had lifted herself from her ornate bed, and began to spin again.
And then, a vision had taken her from her wheel to the desk where her paint jars and ink remained forever filled, and she'd drawn a page from a book that might have been, of Robin of Loxley and Regina Mills, and it wasn't until the page was blessed in full color, that she'd come out of her spell to see what she had done.
That's how she knew they were coming for her. It settled into the back of her mind with sureness. She'd cast herself into this pit of despair to save the one's she loved, and as they'd promised, they were coming now to bring her home.
So she'd taken the page, folded it into quarters, and placed it reverently into the fire that never stopped burning. The page burned into bright embers, and like them, she knew they would wink into existence where they were needed.
After that, she'd wished for perfume, and it had appeared, and she'd taken a long bath, sure they would be there soon.
But days had turned to weeks and then to months, and no one came. The doors to her prison remained shut, and the books, the endless, empty books, remained unfilled as the threads of fate continued to spin and the visions evaded her.
And once again, she began to despair, made worse now for her moment of hope.
So now, she passed her wheel, let her hand fall from the thread, and returned to her bed, piled high with thick comforters that never warmed her like her lover's bed had, and she let tears fall from her cursed blue eyes, as images of her happy life before this place tormented her.
"What are you going to do," Ruby asked from her place at the kitchen table.
The home was in shambles, more than just the clutter expected in Gold's house, everything was unkept, and an off odor was coming from somewhere in the kitchen.
At the stove, Belle shook her dull auburn hair, cut short to her shoulders now, and looking just as unkept as everything else. "I-I don't know."
Ruby nodded, it was like something out of a made for TV movie, evil ex-husband gone, but his evil spawn a constant reminder. She hesitated for a moment, "You could get rid of it."
It. She couldn't believe that pronoun had issued from her lips. All children were precious, but she didn't think Belle saw it that way right now.
The petite woman nodded, and then shook her head, and like it, her hands shook dangerously as she refilled her cup from the kettle. Hot tea, not iced tea. As if to burn the evil out of her. "This world has safer methods, that's true, but it's not this child's fault who his father is."
Ruby nodded, glad they were going with "child". "Well," she began cautiously, "that's not your only option you know. You could adopt the kid out. Even if he or she had magic, once outside the town line it'd be gone. And most babies get adopted and have great lives." Then she thought to qualify, "Well not Emma, or Henry. Well maybe Henry, I suppose it's all in how you lo—"
Belle's heartbroken sob ended her words, and Ruby kicked herself for being so insensitive as she rounded the table to hug her friend. "I'm sorry, Belle," she offered, holding the trembling girl close, "I shouldn't have said anything. I don't know what I'm talking about."
But no amount of comfort could stop Belle once the tears began, and it was past midnight when Ruby was forced to give up, and defeated, walk home.