A/N: Well, hello! Is anyone still with me? I find myself with a lot of free time and reasonable amounts of inspiration, so I'm trying to put it to work reviving all of my stories and giving them an update or two within the near future. The ones I haven't touched in years are kind of funny to look back on—so much about my life and sensibilities has changed since then, and especially with this story it seemed like I was just throwing ideas around to see what might stick.
So in moving forward I'm trying to focus my intention a little bit more, and that will eventually require me to edit previous chapters, but for now I'm going to press forward a little bit. I hope that you will enjoy and share your thoughts—thanks for sticking with me if you have!
Chapter 4 — The Puppet Master
"Gold, you sick son of a—"
"Madame Mayor," Gold cut her off smoothly. "Always a pleasure to hear the dulcet tones of your voice."
"We need to talk."
"Why, whatever would the esteemed head of this fine township want with a simple small business owner?"
Conniving little shit. He'd been dropping hints like it was his job since Emma came to town, just these little, nagging hints that he remembered who he was in the Enchanted Forest, small enough that to anyone else they would seem just one of many loose threads in the patchwork of his strange and unsettling personality, but substantial enough in content and timing to drive Regina completely up a wall.
"Cut the shit, Gold. I know you remember." It was a bold move. She didn't know, not for sure. But Regina had never been the type for subtlety.
"Remember?" he echoed, the faintest hint of that sing-song mockery he'd deployed so liberally back in the Good Old Days. "Why, you'll have to be more specific than that, dearie. I'm an old man, after all."
Regina's mood had fluctuated wildly from deep concern for her friend to mild irritation at the necessity of dealing with Rumple's smooth-talking alter-ego to fire-hot rage that blurred her vision. She didn't have time for this, the mind games and the scheming that all led to the same end result. Regina needed answers.
What was the worst that could happen, Regina realized? Gold thought she was crazy? Most of the town already did. "Fine," she spat. "I'm going to continue this conversation, and if at any point you decide you have something helpful to add to it, please, by all means, feel free. Belinda Irving was in here just now. You know her?"
A long pause.
"Irrelevant. It's a—it is a—" she was so angry now that she could hardly form coherent thoughts. It was the Evil Queen's anger ruling her now, fueled by a strange kind of righteous indignance she never knew she possessed. "—fucking. Sick. Twisted. Situation you stuck her in. I won't stand for it anymore."
Another heavy silence. "Well, Madam Mayor, as a woman with...considerable power...I'm certain there's something you can do for a friend in need."
"Oh, believe me, Mister Gold—" hissed the s, lingered on the l "—I tried to do something. But your tragic little snowglobe of broken dreams stopped me."
Gold chuckled, so different, so much more sinister than his Enchanted Forest counterpart's deranged cackle. "The friend I was referring to," he said silkily, "was of course myself. When two people need something from one another, Madam Mayor, a deal can always be struck."
He was making all these little digs, Regina realized, because he still held the power. He had his crafty mind and his one final request to get anything he wanted in this world with a "please," and the illusion of a man without power to act as a shield for the shady business he engaged in. What he had perhaps forgotten after a few decades of comfort bordering upon luxury—something Regina herself could never in a thousand lifetimes forget—was that there was a certain kind of power that came with having nothing left to lose.
"Of course," she said, defeat in her tone. "What do you want?"
"Fancy running into you again."
It wasn't an accident. Carrie had all but trailed her to the grocery store, which seemed to be the only place she ever went alone. It was creepy, and weird, and definitely bordering on insane behaviour, but Carrie hadn't had a good night's sleep in a couple of weeks now, and she was feeling like the insane option might not be such a bad idea after all.
Ms. Irving looked up from the frozen meats, and offered her a brief and unconvincing smile. "It occurs to me I don't recall your name," she said. "Carla, Catherine..."
"Carrie." Her voice is too bright, too eager, almost frantic, and Ms. Irving immediately sense sthat something is off. Carrie can see it in the subtle quirk of her carefully-lined eyebrow.
"Have you a particular topic of conversation on your mind, Carrie?" Ms. Irving wondered.
Carrie had heard her name spoken a number of ways throughout her lifetime, but she'd never heard it sound so fragile, so icy, so...wrong. "I, uh...it's just...it can get lonely, working the late shifts at the hospital all the time," she attempted and failed levity, sounded entirely pathetic. "I was just...excited to see a familiar face. I'm sorry if I...bothered you..."
She was fully prepared to skulk off into the socially awkward swamp from whence she'd come, but Ms. Irving replied, in the same flat, neutral tone. "No, it's not a bother. Forgive me, I have a habit of mistaking interest with ulterior motives." She gestured that Carrie should follow her and headed down another aisle. "It must be trying to work all night, especially for someone so young,"
"Oh, it's not so bad," Carrie offered halfheartedly. "It's good money, and it's not like I'm doing anything else with my time."
Ms. Irving scoffed quietly. "Isn't that always the way. 'I'm not doing anything else with my time.' Mightn't it be rather wonderful to be relieved of the obligation always to fill one's free time?"
Carrie almost laughed at the notion. "I guess, but my experience of free time is mostly just...too much time to think."
"Hmm," Ms. Irving responded. "True enough." SHe turned her attention onto Carrie with a kind of piercing intensity. "But if one cannot bear to be alone with one's own thoughts, she might find herself running until the day she dies, and never getting any further."
Carrie floundered for a response, found none. Ms. Irving scanned her, and in a way, seemed for the first time to truly see her.
"So tell me, Carrie," she said as she returned to contemplating bags of rice. "If you could do anything you wanted to, what would it be?"
"Leave town, go to college, see a big city, study...anything." Answers she'd known since her earliest days. Answers that fell from her lips like she hadn't even chosen to speak them aloud.
Ms. Irving nodded solemnly, contemplatively. "So you work long hours, forego personal enjoyment, in hopes that one day you might fulfill your dream."
Carrie's quiet sigh was answer enough.
"There is considerable merit in long-term planning," said Ms. Irving as they moved to the next aisle. Mercifully, she hadn't yet commented on the fact that Carrie wasn't even attempting to pretend to shop for food. "Great honour in pursuing a goal with no immediate benefits. But you're very young, Carrie. You've an entire lifetime ahead of you, and..." she paused, seemingly for no reason, and her brow furrowed subtly, "...and so much more time than you realize. Perhaps it wouldn't be utterly devastating to your master scheme if you took a night off once in awhile."
Carrie considered this for a long moment before she wondered, "What would your dream be, Ms. Irving?"
Ms. Irving's long fingers paused, hovered just shy of a jar of peanut butter. "Truthfully, I thought I had already achieved it."
Ruby stood outside the door of Lacey's apartment, positively shaking, though it wasn't cold. She clutched a small bouquet of flowers she'd bought on a whim in front of her chest very unnaturally, like she was using them to shield herself, and when Lacey emerged from behind the door, Ruby thrust the flowers at her before a proper greeting had fully formed upon her lips.
"Hi," she managed, eloquently.
Lacey smiled, and Ruby's heart leapt. "Hi, yourself," she responded, and took the flowers. "Wow, these are...wow." She gazed at them for a moment. "No one's ever given me flowers before. Let me put them in some water before we go..."
"I didn't know what your favourite would be," Ruby babbled nervously while Lacey dug around for a vase. "I thought roses might be a little too cliche, so I, uh." She gestured to the flowers ineffectually.
Lacey smiled, coy and enticing. "They're lovely," she said. "I do like roses, but I think my favourite flowers would have to be...lilies. What about yours?"
Oh, anything red for me, Ruby almost said, like a reflex. It was an old joke, that Ruby had always loved all things red, and it wasn't untrue, but she realized in this moment that she couldn't remember the last time someone had asked her for her preference in anything. Ruby had known almost everyone in her life for as long as she could remember.
A memory came to her, vague and shimmering, almost unreal. Maybe it wasn't real. Snow and trees, somewhere in the forest, and the same longing for freedom she'd felt for as long as she could remember. Tiny white bulbs that bloomed as winter finally came to a close, brought with them the promise of spring. "Snowdrops," she said at last.
They went to the bar, because it was the only place open after eight in the evening, and Granny wouldn't set foot within a block of the place. Ruby had asked Lacey if there was anyone she particularly needed to avoid, but she'd waved her hand dismissively, and Ruby hadn't pressed the matter.
They ordered fruity drinks instead of the usual straight liquour, and every greasy snack that struck their fancy. They exchanged favourite colours (Lacey's's was blue, Ruby's was red, of course), favourite animals (Lacey had a fondness for horses, though she'd never personally seen one, and Ruby shared her fascination with lemurs), childhood memories, every feeling, every memory, every preference no one had ever thought to ask of them, because everyone already assumed they knew.
Lacey told Ruby a little bit about her father, a troubled man with whom she hadn't been able to get along since she was very young, and Ruby shared her frustrations with her loving but overbearing Granny. They shared dreams of leaving Storybrooke, the fear of staying here forever, the abject terror of growing old and waking one day to find that they'd done nothing of any note in their entire lives.
After they'd eaten their fill of french fries and fried pickles and onion rings, they wandered arm in arm down the street, around the corner, through the park and back, sometimes happily chatting, other times lost in a cheerful silence, until the both of them stopped cold at the sight of a foreboding shadow standing just shy of a street lamp ahead of them.
"Good evening, ladies," there came from the darkness the voice of Mr. Gold, the creepy pawn shop owner.
"Hi, Mr. Gold," said Lacey with forced friendliness.
"Hey," Ruby was slower, more reluctant to respond.
"It's hardly safe, is it, two beautiful young ladies such as yourselves, wandering the streets so late?" He took a step into the light, but the effect was even more terrifying. He looked somehow inhuman, dangerous.
"We were just heading home," Lacey assured him.
"Oh, now," Gold crooned with sickening sweetness. "I know for a fact that Miss Ruby Lucas lives in the opposite direction. She'll want to be getting home to her Granny. You know how Granny Lucas worries about you, dearie."
Ruby set her jaw, but her grip on Lacey's arm tightened instinctively. "I can take care of myself," she said, though her tone did not sound very convincing.
"Of course you can, dearie," said Gold, and took another step forward. Ruby just barely held her ground, but only because she felt Lacey tense. "And whilst you walk yourself home, I should be delighted to escort Miss Lacey to her own abode."
Mr. Gold might at first glance have appeared a simple old man who walked with a cane, but there was something deeply foreboding about him that kept everyone in town at a safe distance. Ruby wasn't certain she wanted to find out what that foreboding feeling might be, but neither was she willing to let Lacey face him alone. "Yeah, I don't think so."
"You...don't...think...so." Gold echoed, slow, deliberate, and menacing.
Ruby was shaking from head to toe. She knew how to put up a tough front, sure, but she'd never actually had to come to blows with anyone. She squared her stance, though, and held her chest high, and took a step towards Gold.
"Well now. There's no need for...beastly behaviour, Miss Lucas. Whenever two people want something from one another, a deal can always be struck."
He advanced on her like some kind of predatory animal, small and sly and too quick to stop, and Ruby felt like she might pass out, but out of nowhere, there was a flash of blonde curls and a muffled oomph, and suddenly Gold was flat on the concrete and his cane was clattering off into the gutter, and Emma Swan stood in front of Ruby and Lacey like some kind of grungy angel, and Ruby almost passed out anyway from sheer surprise.
"Holy..." she caught herself from years of habit, but Emma happily supplied enough expletives for the both of them.
"Fuckin' creepass."
"Emma, where did you even come from?" Ruby asked her.
"Oh..." Emma rolled her eyes, ran a hand through her hair. "An angry, annoying bird in a pantsuit tipped me off. Anyhow," she glanced down at Gold as he struggled to regain his bearings, "enjoy the rest of your night. I'll deal with creepazoid."
The rest of the walk home was considerably less jovial.
"He's always like that with me," Lacey confessed. "Sometimes it's like...like he follows me, or like he knows when I'll be working."
"Man, Lacey, you should have told someone!" Ruby cried, but she knew the situation all too well. "I mean...you could have told me, at least."
"It's never enough, you know? Never enough to warrant a real complaint..."
Until one day it was. But neither of them would say that.
"Anyway," Lacey continued as they rounded the corner onto her street. "Gold has spoiled enough perfectly fine evenings to last a lifetime. I won't let him have this one." She looked up at Ruby with wide, warm eyes, and Ruby felt weak in the knees. "I had a wonderful time."
Ruby felt like her world was falling apart, like some fundamental pieces of her reality were being torn asunder. She wrapped her arms tightly around Lacey's waist and kissed her, and the rest of the world around them disappeared. They weren't in Storybrooke, Maine, trapped in dead-end jobs with hopeless dreams and troubled families. They were somewhere outside the city limits, maybe even somewhere out of this world, out among the stars.
Ruby felt a shockwave through her entire body, from her head to the tips of her toes, and suddenly something about the memory of snowdrops seemed very important to her, and she couldn't place any sort of reasoning behind it except that Lacey had asked her what her favourite flowers were, and she had been able to respond in a way that felt...uncommonly truthful.
"Good night, Lacey," Ruby breathed, not yet quite separated from Lacey's lips.
Lacey tugged at her sleeves. "Wait," she said, equally breathless. There was something alight in her eyes, like a fire within. "One more?" Not quite coy and enticing, the way she'd previously delivered such lines. More...searching, reaching.
This time, Ruby threaded her fingers through Lacey's hair, and Lacey's fingers dug into Ruby's hips. For some bizarre reason, a thousand shimmering half-memories flashed before Ruby's eyes, things she'd barely given a second thought to in the course of her entire existence. But she didn't have the wherewithal to question them just now. She had never felt more alive, more present, or more real.