A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm slowly replying to them via PM, but here's the next chapter, just in time for the weekend. Ridiculous amounts of fluff, so be warned. Factoid: there is indeed an amusement park in Central Park but, because it's for little kids, I might have taken some liberties with sizes in my description. Enjoy!
It's only the landing that kills you, Sabrina repeated in her head as her stomach lurched itself into her throat. The free-fall just makes you barf out all your innards and your self esteem along with them.
Suddenly, she heard the pop of Puck's wings opening, felt her momentum checked, and then they were rising in a grand arc across the sky. She remembered too late that summer was over, and that it'd been a mistake to have left her jacket behind in Faerie's cloakroom. But how could she have known she'd be zipping into an autumn night with (what felt like) nothing between her bones and hypothermia? At least she had her sweater, but even then, at the speeds at which they were going. . .
As if he'd felt her spasm with the cold, Puck shifted and dove out of the wind, sheltering her with his own body.
"Having fun, Grimm?" His voice was liquid laughter.
"Trying not to throw up all over you," she chittered back between clattering teeth. "This is worse than a roller coaster."
"Well, I wanted to make sure you got your money's worth," he called out as they dipped into a stomach-crunching dive. "We aim to please, you know. And speaking of roller coasters . . ."
She forced her eyes open as she felt herself slow into a landing. Her feet touched something solid - well, as solid as might feel on legs like jello. She teetered, and held onto Puck, all her senses momentarily numbed. Then she noticed the creak of metal, the shiver of something shifting under her feet, and looked down.
And shrieked.
Immediately, a hand was clamped over her mouth and Puck's voice hissed in her ear, insistent.
"Shhhhh! We're not supposed to be here! I don't have any forgetful dust!"
She was standing on a hundred feet of nothing, the soles of her shoes held up by strips of metal stretching across each other in a hollow cage of groaning steel and frisky air. Between the bars, she could see suspended cars swaying slightly in the wind.
"We're on a ferris wheel?" She spoke around his fingers.
"We're on top of the world," he corrected, removing his hand.
She eyed the surrounding skyscrapers that dwarfed them and disagreed, but silently, because her focus was on balancing well enough on the steel beams so she wouldn't plummet to certain death. Slowly, gingerly, she eased herself into a squat, then sat squarely, letting her legs dangle. She was still holding on to Puck.
Who thumped his own rear end down beside her with all the ease that had been absent from her own descent, sending a shudder through the steel frame beneath them. Sabrina clutched at him, clutched at the metal under her, clutched at herself, cursing his overconfidence and his invulnerability to gravity.
He smirked, and it occurred to her that he'd done it precisely to annoy her, to get her to keep holding onto him.
She immediately let go.
"If I fall . . ." she warned.
"It'll be like a reverse potato masher," he finished, grinning wickedly at the grid of beams below them.
She grimaced, shivering again, trembling against the chill in the air, and he frowned.
"Oh, I forgot how weak humans are. Here -" he unzipped his hoodie, shrugged it off and handed it to her.
Sabrina blinked, amazed, but took it without protest, muttering a stunned "Thanks".
"Whatever," he replied carelessly.
She carefully slipped it on - one arm at a time, and then the hood - gradually relaxing as she realized she wasn't likely to slip off her perch anytime soon. His scent unexpectedly enveloped her, wafting out from the still-warm fabric around her body and face. It wasn't the stink of sweat on Eleven-Year-Old Boy; this was the sweet smell of skin and soap and strength.
And it was intoxicating.
When had he leapt over the divide between boy and man? When had his body started to betray hers?
She groaned inwardly. The timing couldn't have been worse. She'd finally gotten over him, finally overcome her embarrassing childhood infatuation, could at last look him in the eye and call him just friend, was now safely able to be around other, normal boys without her thoughts drifting back to the way his smile made her heart ache.
Used to make her heart ache, she assured herself. True, it had taken her a few years; he was her first, after all - and it was common knowledge that those first flames always burned the brightest and longest - but she'd done it. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she actually liked him even more this way - when her heart wasn't aching, wasn't doing backflips; when he wasn't perfect, wasn't something to possess.
But now, sitting with their shoulders together, looking out at the unsleeping city, wearing his warmth like a drug, she sensed herself crumbling.
No. Sabrina Grimm did not crumble. She'd saved the world, hadn't she? And she was on a mission from the Queen of Faerie, wasn't she? Which was already successfully underway, she having lured the target out of hiding and coaxed a laugh out of him, albeit at her own expense?
Wasn't it?
"So," she pulled herself together, all businesslike, "here we are on a rickety playground attraction in the middle of Central Park, at -" she checked her watch, "-4:32 am, because you locked yourself in your room for a month, cranking out party tricks. Spill, Puck."
He sighed. "Way to spoil a good thing, Stinky."
Sabrina, her jaw set, kept staring, although not (she firmly clarified with herself) at his profile, proud and beautiful against the city lights.
He risked a glance at her, and looked quickly away. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Like?"
"Like. . . did I ever tell you about the time Jake and I were in Hawaii?"
Sabrina blinked, confused, but Puck went on. "We were looking for this statue of the king . . . what was his name now. . . Kamehameha or something. It was supposed to bestow power on animals and make them talk, not that I thought it was a big deal, you know, since I can turn into animals that talk. Anyway, it turned out to be inside this volcano, right? Extinct, supposedly. So I flew into the crater to find this lava cave where it was supposed to be stashed away, and whaddya know - the thing erupted!"
"Like Pompeii." Sabrina made a valiant attempt to engage in his account.
"If only! Sadly no, nowhere as wonderful as. But yeah - smoke and fumes and ash and screaming - not mine - and all kinds of horrible things. Almost got my wings singed off. It was awesome."
"And did you get the statue?"
"No. Hovered for a while, watching the fun, hoping the lava would blast it out and I could just grab it, floating conveniently out to sea or wherever, but . . . nothing. I guess everything melted away."
"And where was Uncle Jake, while all this fun was going on?"
"Yelling his head off for me on some rock. He'd teleported himself close by because he was worried about me. As if I'd be in danger! In fact, he was so distracted trying to find me that he was clueless his rock was about to go under. He'd have been yesterday's boiled sausage, but I saved him in the nick of time." Puck puffed his chest out, grinning at the memory. "Extinct, my foot. That's the last time we're ever trusting the Frommer's Guides."
"Um. . ." Sabrina frowned as she worked out how to tie this harrowing account to Puck's sudden desire to live like a hermit. "It's a good thing no one got hurt, then. I suppose the rest of your adventures weren't quite as death-defying?"
"No way! They were all like that! Well, some were pretty lame, like that time we were in Istanbul and went shopping at a bazaar and bought a ship in a bottle that turned out to be cursed, and half the people in our hotel ended up with the plague. But there were loads of other times when it was really exciting, and twice. . . no, three times we thought Jake actually died, but it turned out it was just black magic."
"Uncle Jake almost died?"
"Only three times! Once in India, and another time in New Orleans, and the third - this was the best - we were in Haiti and there was this priestess. . . "
Sabrina listened, her eyes widening as he told her story after story of breathless quests and daring rescues. She'd always wondered what had happened during those years when he'd traveled the globe with her uncle, searching for magical artifacts and wrangling magic from continent to continent. Whenever he came home, he'd acted as if it were merely a necessary pit stop between laps around a world so exciting that he couldn't wait to return to it. She'd always felt a little hurt that he hadn't been more thrilled to see her, hadn't missed her even half as much as she'd missed him. She'd wondered if he'd met other people on his journeys, if they were more interesting than she could ever be in her small town, living her normal life, the one she'd chosen over marvel and magic.
Now, at last, she was hearing about those journeys, hearing him paint pictures of freedom and eye-opening discovery, of camaraderie and culture, of collecting life experiences without putting down roots, of growing up under the stars and gilded ceilings and colorful canopies alike.
And if he were exaggerating some of the details of his own courage and ingenuity, she didn't care to call him out on it; she'd seen enough of it during the war to know he was perfectly capable of everything he'd claimed to have accomplished. She was just glad for the spark in his eyes as he talked.
"It must've been . . . different . . . to come home and live in a palace again after all those adventures, huh?" She said when he had at last run out of stories and grown silent.
He didn't answer at first, only looked out at the dark sky.
"It took some getting used to," he eventually said, noncommittally.
"I bet your Mom was glad to have you back, being King once more. I still can't bring myself to call you 'Your Majesty', by the way. Sorry, but you'll always be just 'Stinkbutt' to me."
"I don't care what you call me."
"Really? No! Whatever happened to 'I'm a king! I'm royalty! You're just the dirt trapped in the soles of my bejeweled boots!'?"
Puck frowned at her. "I never said that."
She grinned. "You're right. Because you didn't know the word 'bejeweled'. But come on, Puck. You were all 'King this' and 'I deserve that' and 'How Dare You Make Me Sleep On The Floor?' Remember? You've finally got what your father kept from you. You're finally king."
"Well, maybe I don't wanna be king."
The words fell from his lips like a plea, and hung in the air between them. Sabrina's head swam with the implication of it. She silently counted to ten before reminding him that five years ago when they'd met, it was all he'd ever wanted.
He turned to her, his expression hard.
"Yeah, but then it was fun! I could do whatever I wanted and order people around, and conquer who I liked and everyone obeyed me! Even Mother!"
"So what changed?"
"What changed was there's more to being king than just telling people what to do. There's. . . laws and fairness and poor people and people who've lost homes and jobs and . . . treaties with other kingdoms, and budgets and decisions about criminals. And traditions. Oh, my word, the cursed traditions!"
His eyes, blazing as he'd delivered his tirade, looked away once more, upward at the stars.
Sabrina was quiet, listening.
"But surely you've always known about all those?" She prompted at last.
"Duh! You'd have to be blind and deaf and stupid not to notice all those happening around you in the court, every day, every minute!" He ran his fingers through his hair.
"And . . . but . . .you've been doing them all these years since Oberon . . . since you took the throne . . . right? As far as I've heard - Mom and Dad talk about Faerie sometimes, I mean - you're doing a pretty okay job."
"Of course I've been doing them! I watched Father do them for centuries. It was all we were ever taught, Mustardseed and I. Drilled into our heads by boring tutors and books and those horrible meetings with other courts. I could do them in my sleep."
"So. . . what's the problem?" Sabrina ventured, genuinely puzzled.
"The problem -" he spat out, "- is that I always . . . I never . . . they never meant anything to me. It was just something kings and princes did. Every one, in every generation. I did them because my parents said to, because they were the right thing to do. But actually caring how they turned out? Actually feeling like the kingdom was important? Never! Until one day I realized my kingdom was important to me, and that I was caring about Those Things - those useless old ways, the laws that didn't work, the people with no homes - things only adults give a damn about."
His voice died away to a whisper. "Not boys."
Sabrina inhaled as it hit her - what was really torturing him. It all made sense now - his despondency, his claims of being tired of everything, of wanting a break, the way his face had lit up when she'd suggested escaping, and his hopeful clarification: "for good?"
"It's not just about being king, is it? You don't wanna grow up."
He breathed out noisily, screwing his eyes tightly shut, the muscles in his jaw cording and relaxing.
"I don't want to care about my kingdom. I don't want to be a king . . . like him." He turned to Sabrina, his face twisted in anger. "I don't want to be like my father."
Oh.
Sabrina leaned away, pushed back by the weight of his burden, an involuntary action that caused her to wobble slightly on her seat, and she flung out an arm for balance. Reflexively, Puck reached out and grabbed her.
And didn't let go.
She slid her hand down his arm until her fingers found his.
"You are nothing like him." She said quietly.
"How do you know? You hardly knew him."
"I know that holding on to his kingdom, even if he was making a mess of it, was more important to him than his own son."
Beside her, she saw Puck wince, but she ploughed on.
"While you're trying to push it all away, because you'd rather not have it than screw it up."
Puck said nothing.
Sabrina bit back everything else she wanted to say - that it was just cold feet, that he was overthinking, that he was having a panic attack, that he was trying to live too far ahead in his career, because he was really just a boy, still allowed to dabble in the innocence of youth; only sixteen.
Then he looked at her, and her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps it was his face, uncharacteristically serious and missing its trademark smirk. Or perhaps it was the intensity in his eyes, glistening too-bright and threatening to spill over from under a furrowed brow. Or perhaps it was even the sudden, stark reminder that he was really much older than that, had seen other kingdoms rise and fall, had lived history like a storybook, insulated from its harsh reality by the shallowness of an unevolving childhood.
Had growing up stripped away more from him than just years? Now that he was no longer immune to time, had time caught up with him and exponentially inundated him with centuries' worth of hindsight and wisdom?
"As long as I stayed eleven, I couldn't be him," Puck finally broke the silence. "But I'm growing up, growing older. I'm getting more like him every day."
Sabrina cocked her head. Now he was definitely wallowing.
"Puck, you're not turning into your father. And anyway, it's not like you need to become Mr Wise Old King tomorrow. I mean, your Mom's still acting Queen, which means you can take your time and just grow into it over the next couple of centuries, right?"
"Next spring."
"What?"
"My coronation. It's in the spring. That's when I'll take the throne. Officially. For real. Mother's retiring. Says she can't do it alone anymore, not without Father; can't keep up in these modern times where anything goes and everyone's on technology and everything's moving so fast." Puck sighed heavily. "We decided last month."
Last month.
Just about the time he cracked and went AWOL.
And regressed to childhood.
And started his side business of DIY pranking supplies.
And took up his old Trickster mantle.
And failed.
Because he'd already moved on, had already grown up, was no longer the boy who lived in a bubble of frivolity and mania.
It wasn't just cold feet. The King of Faerie was having a midlife crisis, and it was a real doozy.
Sabrina told him as much.
He reacted with all kinds of disbelief, and twice as much outrage.
She let him gripe and grouse, and then coolly held out her palm. "And before you ask, no, it's not a virus. It's not gonna kill you, and it's not gonna turn you into someone you're not, least of all your dad. People just go through this sometimes, when they're not sure they're who they want to be. You've gotta just pull yourself together and face things, see where that takes you and know that we'll be here for you and not let you screw up, okay?"
He stared at her in grudging awe.
"Wow. That's actually a worse pep talk than the one you gave Charming during the war."
She shoved him, then cursed at herself as the recoil made her overcome with sudden vertigo.
"I mean it. I know you''ll be a good king. You're smart and good with people when you want to be, and you've got more common sense than you pretend to have. I know it's saved me from doing some real stupid things when we were younger. Maybe you should just listen to your own common sense sometime. It might save you."
Puck was quiet for a while, thinking. Then he said, almost to himself, "I hate to say it, but that actually worked. Who would've thought that Sabrina Grimm, who couldn't save the world without ticking off every single person in her own family, could actually talk sense?"
He threw his head back and laughed. "At some point after I become king, remind me to hire you as my royal adviser. Or court jester. Or, if being on staff doesn't work out, just marry you. That way, if I need a break from the madness, you're close by, and a whole lot easier to escape to the top of the world with."
Sabrina's breath hitched.
Did he just freaking propose? Again? She should've known better than to assume he'd outgrown that phase.
And yet . . . maybe she didn't want him to outgrow that phase, because why else would her heart have done that funny fluttering thing at his words?
Dang. She'd have to pull herself together, quick.
"Speaking of 'top of the world', we really need to do something about your communication. Moping for an entire month just to get me to come talk to you? Not how it's done, stupid."
"Well, it worked, didn't it? You came, and looky - here we are, communicating."
"Missing the point. Next time, call me. Or send a text. Or email. Without waiting weeks and freaking out your entire kingdom."
"Text you? What would I say? 'I need to talk'? No way! That's the lame thing couples say when they wanna break up! Or when they want to go from Just Friends to . . . ew."
"No, dummy. That's 'we need to talk'; 'I need to talk' is completely different."
"Big difference. You still have to talk about feelings and stuff! Ugh! I'm getting a rash just thinking about it."
Sabrina shook her head, then straightened as an idea came to her.
"Code word!"
"Huh?"
"We use a code word! So, I had a couple of friends in middle school who were completely boy-crazy. Everything else about them I loved, but they had this thing they did that drove me nuts. Whenever they saw a cute boy walk in a room, they'd point him out to each other and rate him, but in code. Like, '10 o'clock: hawk.' Or '6 o'clock: falcon.' "
Puck wrinkled his nose like he'd just smelled something funky. "So you want to talk in code about boys? What the -"
"No! I was just getting to it. It was easier for my friends to talk that way about boys they liked, instead of saying their names, right? They picked birds because . . . oh, I dunno why they picked birds. So, anyway, what if you had some kind of code word you could text me when you wanted to talk about something, and I'd see and know because we pre-arranged it?"
Puck considered this.
"So . . . like . . . 'Code Red' For when someone died? And 'Code Yellow' for I-Couldn't-Find-My-Socks-Again, and 'Code Puke Green' for Come-Over-So-I-Can-Rub-Slime-In-Your-Hair?"
"Don't you dare. Also, I probably wouldn't remember what each color meant, but yeah, that's the general idea."
"Wait. Backtrack. On second thoughts, too obvious; people would figure it out. Okay, what about 'Ferris Wheel'? Because of tonight."
"Er, okay . . . I guess; something like that. Mind you, I'm hoping that eventually you'd just say you wanna talk, and not need to use the code word forever. It's just, you know, for emergencies, and in the beginning."
"Works for me. And so when you see the code word, you'll hop on the subway and come to Faerie right away, and we can fly off to Coney Island and sit on top of the Wonder Wheel?"
"Why the Wonder Wheel?"
"Because it's awesome, and way bigger than this one, duh! Pity we didn't end up there tonight, but just as well - you're already freezing in the middle of Central Park; can you imagine Coney Island? You'd be a Grimmsicle."
"Whatever."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, and Sabrina suddenly felt the first fingers of sleep reach for her. Not a good idea to zone out while sitting on air, she warned herself.
"So," Puck began again, "if you had to pick a code bird for me, what would it be?"
Sabrina sat up in astonishment.
"Seriously? You wanna play that dumb game?"
"What - you've never played it? Are you sure 'couple of middle school friends' -" he made air quotation marks with his fingers "-isn't code for 'me, myself and I?' "
"No!"
"So you're not in love with anyone right now?"
"What is this, Puck?"
"Didn't answer the question."
"It's none of your business."
"I just spilled my innards and talked about my problems, and you're clamming up about stupid boys?"
You're right about 'stupid', Sabrina thought, and sighed. She'd have to lie.
"No. There isn't anyone now."
"Oh, so there was?"
She gritted her teeth.
"Come on!" Puck whined. "Name a bird."
Freaking crow, she wanted to say, because you never shut up. Or rooster, because you're freaking keeping me awake when I'm half asleep and want to stay that way.
But she rubbed her hands over her face and made herself think: he was right - he had opened up to her tonight, and it wasn't a small deal for him. But it wasn't fair - she'd been doing so well, keeping him at arm's length, convincing herself she was over him, the stupid, vulnerable, beautiful boy.
"Phoenix." She said at last.
"Magical and gorgeous. Good one. Although I'm slightly offended you didn't pick 'eagle' - you know, like, king of the birds."
"Not magical and gorgeous, but because you're impossible to get rid of." And because just when I'm sure anything I feel for you is dead, you find some new way of rising from the ashes to wreak havoc in my life.
Puck grinned at her, but Sabrina's eyes were closing of their own accord, fatigue stealing into her body now that her mission was over and he was himself again.
"It'll be sunrise soon," she slurred into a yawn, "We should probably leave before the tourists and fitness freaks spot us." And before something disastrous happens, like I lose consciousness and fall to my death. Or kiss you.
I didn't just think that!
She huffed, disgusted with herself. "Fly us home, Your Majesty."
"As you wish." He stood suddenly and pulled her up with him. She grabbed at him to keep her balance, and fell against his chest.
She gulped, suddenly wide awake.
They stood together, his arms loose around her, her own crushed between them. She felt him tense and then, when she didn't push him away - how to, she rationalized, without tipping us both over? - he relaxed and drew her in. She was acutely aware of his hands on her back, her waist; of her heartbeat - and his -; of her head tucked under his chin. This was not a casual farewell hug, or a Welcome Back tackle; this was No Reason At All holding.
She groaned again. Not fair. NOT FAIR.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Uh," was her brilliant response.
Still he held her.
And, fighting down a despairing whimper, she snaked her arms around him and surrendered.
They stood for a long time, giving each the moment when the other crossed over, becoming us.
It was as frightening - and as glorious - as she'd imagined.
"Operation Phoenix." He rumbled into her hair. "That's our code."
She laughed against his body, lulled by endorphins, even while her heart was still drumming on adrenaline. "Way better than 'Ferris Wheel'. I like it."
He finally drew back to look at her.
"I noticed you forgot the drinks, by the way. But I'm pretty sure this counts as a date. Our first."
What the hey - she'd lost the battle already. She grinned at him, heady in the moment. "Does it?"
He arched his eyebrow, his gaze intense as it dropped to her lips.
"You want me to prove it?" He dared her.
"Unless you aren't the sort to give out kisses on the first date?" She recklessly returned.
"Ah, but it wouldn't be our first kiss, would it?" He countered, lightning-fast.
She froze.
Then he shook his head. "Although . . . I don't know that I want to waste a kiss this awesome when you're practically in a coma. When you swoon, I want it to be perfectly clear it was because of me. I think I'll wait till you can keep up."
And the next thing she knew was that they were soaring once more through the air, she bundled awkwardly in his arms, while her jaw remained stuck to the criss-crossing beams of the ferris wheel.