Just a quick request - anyone willing to give me feedback would be much appreciated.
Chapter Eighteen
Inside Regina's house, Vivien made a beeline for the kitchen liquor cabinet. She'd finished off the vodka in the early morning hours but knew for a fact there was still tequila. She was blocked from her goal by Regina herself, who directed her firmly to a chair while she brought out glasses and a bottle of wine from a different cupboard.
"It's important, at times like this, to be civilized." The former Mayor explained as she uncorked the wine and poured two generous glasses of merlot. A good, rich wine could be a full body experience; every bit as elevating and hypnotic as slamming tequila shots but without the nasty after effects.
"Thank you." Vivien finally spoke after several sips had calmed her breathing.
"Well, hardly anyone else would appreciate this vintage anyway." Regina shrugged as she watched light play through the burgundy liquid.
They drank in companionable silence through the first glass. Both were lost in their own thoughts and worlds, reliving whatever horrors had chosen to plague them most recently. Only when Regina began to refill the empties did the air of the room relax to the point of conversation. They had reached sympathetic misery levels.
"I'd ask about your day but I can tell it matched mine." The brunette remarked, sweeping her eyes over Vivien's haggard appearance. Lake knew she probably looked like she'd been dragged through one of the lesser circles of hell. What surprised her was realizing Regina didn't look much better. It couldn't still be the after effects of the black spell. Not this long and not coming and going the way it did.
"Just what scares you so much that being here seems safer?" Regina started with the obvious. 99% of Storybrooke would maintain that the Mayor's house was the single most dangerous place in town. Mainly because they didn't know about the cave under the clock tower.
"Something bad is happening." Vivien finally said aloud the thought that had been slowly building conviction in the back of her mind. The words made it real.
"Most people would tell you it's been going on for some time." Regina shrugged.
"No. This is new. It's . . .dark. Like the feeling in the air just before the wraith appeared but ten times worse." Lake's hands were shaking a slightly and she spilled wine as she set down her glass.
"Perhaps people like us simply react badly to everyone else being happy?" Mills passed her a napkin for the spill. She did look like she as ready to zap the next person who dared to walk past her whistling. Lake took the napkin and mopped up the wine just before a tiny surge in her fingers turned it into a crimson-stained lizard.
"See? Stuff like that has been happening to me all day." Vivien sighed as the reptile looked at her curiously, licked his own eye and then scurried for the edge of the table. Regina's eyebrow barely twitched. A flick of a finger and the lizard vanished.
"The air has been somewhat charged. I assumed it was the return of Snow and Swan."
"So you can feel it too? The magic buildup?"
"I'm not sure," Regina still looked skeptical, "There has been a feeling of pressure. My temper has been a bit . . .sharp."
"You? A temper?" Vivien teased, earning a sarcastic smile from her companion, "There must be something out there then. It's building up and making control difficult. You know how it goes – the more you rein in one aspect the harder the others become. I'm sparking, you're snapping."
"Delightfully phrased. In fairness, I would've been fine if someone hadn't sent a brace of witches to my front door to babble about hearts and curses and romantic gibberish." The Queen pointed out.
"Oh, crap. I forgot about that," Lake winced, "How'd it go?"
"As melodramatic as expected. They ask for help with a heart and then get wound up when I need to pull it out to have a look."
"What did you find?" Vivien leaned forward, curious despite herself. There might be a magical crisis looming in the air but a poisoned heart was always intriguing.
"It took a bit of groping to find. The poison didn't completely destroy her heart but it's shriveled to about the size and color of a prune." Ever the connoisseur, Regina seemed to have been impressed by the specimen.
"Can it be cured?"
"Ordinarily I wouldn't think so. Except the damn thing had a red spot that glowed every time the blonde one spoke. I sent them to see Blue. Repairing hearts is her job. Along with dispensing saccharine bits of guidance." A tired roll of the eyes conveyed the world of Regina's opinion about hearts, guidance and fairies in general.
"Well, I'm very sorry to have disrupted your day by needing help." Lake smiled and clinked her glass against the other by way of thanks.
"The distraction was useful. I'd already put the lasagna in the oven and finished cleaning the kitchen."
"That's what I smell! I was trying to figure that out. It smells amazing." After the second glass of wine Vivien was realizing that she hadn't eaten all day. The kitchen smelled like heaven in an Italian restaurant. With traces of bleach.
"Pot luck at Granny's. A casserole dish that I'm sure I'll never be seeing again." The sigh and slump of Regina's shoulders suggested a larger story.
"Oh." Vivien wanted to ask about the dinner and what had happened and why it made Regina look sad. But she also really wanted to ask why the woman couldn't have brought the lasagna home! The loud grumble from her stomach asked for her.
"I always make a spare pan. It's in the warming tray." The sparkle came back to her eyes a little as she nodded towards the oven. Lake was off her chair in an instant. It only too four wrong cupboards, three mistaken drawers and a plate that turned into a chess board before she was sitting with a bowl of still steaming food.
"This is really good." She managed to remark between mouthfuls. A woman adept at bureaucratic policy, political negotiations, black magic AND cooking? Vivien was pretty sure no one had ever impressed her more.
"You and Henry are the only ones who think so." Regina frowned. Gradually she explained how the evening went. The suspicions and accusations were difficult but at least familiar. Far more torturous was simply being put on the sidelines, a spectator to her son's life. She wasn't part of their world and the argument with Emma at the end of the evening had only underscored that fact.
"Wow. She said that? Out loud? She needs to learn some tact." Lake wondered that the sheriff had even been able to walk away from the fight. She was damned lucky that Regina had been working on restraining herself.
"I think Miss Swan is the sort of person who believes it doesn't matter what she says, so long as she's being honest. It's all irrelevant anyway. She said she thought I should be part of Henry's life. I thought that was what they all wanted but it's not. They want the person that they think I should be. It's starting to feel impossible. I can't be who I was, I'm not good enough as I am. What do they expect me to do?" the frustration seething off the petite woman was almost enough to mask the pain.
Vivien scraped the last of the sauce and cheese out of her bowl and licked the spoon thoughtfully. This was dangerous territory, however familiar.
"We're villains, Regina, the bad ones that have to lurk around because without us the heroes wouldn't seem so damn great. I don't want to be one of the good guys, their world seems so black and white whereas everywhere I look I see only shades of grey. But whether what we do is good, bad, right or wrong I have seen that no good ever comes of letting others control you. By command or by expectation if you do something because someone else coerced it – it isn't real. It isn't you."
"I'm not sure I even know what I am anymore." Regina rubbed the bridge of her nose, possibly remembering a time when all of this was so much simpler. Kill the hero, burn the village, release the monsters – all the decisions were so much easier when all you had to do was be bad.
"Who does? I sure as hell have no clue where I fall on the spectrum. Am I the person they think I am and have written about in the stories? Am I who I was always trying to be? Or am I just what I was forced to become? I don't know. So I've decided that I don't want to be what they think and I don't have to be what they want."
"Taking everyone else out of the equation."
"Exactly. I guess I'll just be what I need to be and see how far that takes me."
There was a moment of pensive silence as the idea set in.
"Hopefully it will take you to bed. It's getting late and neither of us slept well." Regina had a way of sounding like a mother, even when Henry was nowhere in sight. It was a primal tone and it activated the part of Vivien's brain that made her get up, rinse her dish and put it in the dishwasher before she even realized she was moving.
"Thanks for supper. And for letting me stay." Vivien followed her hostess back upstairs. Tonight she would actually try to sleep in the perfectly made guest bed. With more clothing on; just in case Swan decided to stop by for a middle of the night conversation again.
"Of course, Vivien. You're welcome to stay as long as," Regina paused at her bedroom door, contemplating the thought, "You need."
Lake's cheeks actually hurt from her smile. It was partly because some of her message about identity and choice was getting through. It was mostly because Regina was finally calling her by her name again.
The next morning held a tingling freshness, clean and pure like the air after a lightning storm. Vivien rose early and went to collect a few things from her house that would fit inconspicuously into her satchel. No reason to make it obvious to everyone that she wasn't staying in her own place. What was the criminal element likely to be in a magical town? Would the knave of hearts be running around stealing things? Or would leprechauns and elves start appearing out of the woodwork to vandalize?
At the last minute she also grabbed August's book. It was comforting for some reason. The only pieces of safety Lake could cling to were the things that had remained constant between the curse and after. The hospital was the same, Regina was the same, the book couldn't change and neither could –
She walked into Granny's.
-The smell of coffee and bacon. It had been her ritual on mornings off (few though they were) to treat herself to a leisurely breakfast full of all the best tasting poisons. Caffeine, animal fat, known carcinogens, bleached wheat and sugar; really, the only thing she didn't feel guilty about was the honey she put in the coffee.
Today she faced the prospect not only of the morning off but the entire week. There'd been a voicemail waiting for her when she woke up. She'd been right, Fauna was pissed. Apparently her little athletic trip through the corridors yesterday had caused several contusions, a sprained ankle and a massive run on all the pharmacy's stores of tranquilizers. She wasn't allowed to come back into work until they'd replenished their stock of valium.
It wasn't a terribly bad thing. Even though she was able to pick up a napkin and cup of coffee without turning either into frogs there was still a sense that she was on the edge of something crucial. Possibly a nervous breakdown.
"Toast and bacon- both well done – and coffee until you're climbing the walls, right?" Ruby smiled as she set down a mug and filled it from the coffee pot.
"That's it." Vivien grinned and grabbed the mug. It smelled so divine she drank half the cup black. How the hell did a cursed town in the god-awful recesses of northern Maine get coffee this good?
"Are you feeling better? You didn't look so good last night. Or the day before." Ruby pointed out that she had hardly seen Lake at her best lately. Vivien grimaced, recalling the last few circumstances Ruby had witnessed.
"Much. Thanks for your help. I just haven't been feeling like myself." she wasn't sure if this was one of the mornings Ruby would let her gloss over everything or stick to a question like a dog with a bone.
"Well, pretty sure everyone around here knows what that feels like. My suggestion is don't let those books get to you. The stories don't have it right for most of us. Even what they get right, they make wrong."
Vivien could only nod thoughtfully, the conversation pausing as Granny brought out a plate of bacon and toast, both done to a degree that made the old woman cringe. Then again, a werewolf wasn't one to judge.
"I know I shouldn't let them bother me," Lake admitted, "But they're all I have to go on."
She knew how to find the truth in lies. It was always there, just a hint like the grain of truth in every joke. There was a shadow of truth behind lies, often lurking in the silence of what went unsaid.
"You need the real stories and so far I've only seen them in Henry's book. His is the only one that explains everyone and gets it right." Ruby shook her head to reject the option of any other source.
"Right, because he's sure to lend me the sacred tome that he doesn't let out of his sight for a second. The thing might as well be handcuffed to his wrist." Vivien frowned. She'd seen the famous book peeking out of the corning of Henry's back pack or sitting next to him at the table with his hand protectively resting on the cover. After all, it had shown him the truth of his life, his family, his home – it was his prized possession and there would be no separating them.
"Actually he did lose it for a bit. Turns out August had stolen it to make a copy. I'm sure if you asked-,"
"August made a copy? A complete copy? That he still has?" Vivien's spine snapped straight so fast it pulled her to her feet.
"Well, I guess but no one has seen him since the curse lifted. What I was going to say-,"
"Thanks, Ruby. Gotta go!" Vivien threw money on the counter and bolted out the door.
"-Henry would show you the book if you asked." Ruby offered the last of her suggestion to an empty stool. She wasn't used to anyone running away from her that quickly. Not in this form, anyway.
Vivien stood in the most vacant area she could find: an empty parking lot behind an abandoned building. It had been badly damaged in the wraith attack and was a low priority for repairs. Hardly anyone was ever out here, which was what she needed. Finding Spells were like blood hounds, excellent so long as they didn't get too many confusing trails. Pulling out the book August had given her she thumbed the pages, realizing that in the last two weeks they'd gotten more wear than most novels get in a lifetime.
The small, florid inscription couldn't be more than three sentences. Not a single one of which was any suggestion of ever meeting again. He couldn't possibly have known that was exactly what his gift was now making possible.
Vivien traced her fingers over the words like skin. The ghosting touch would've raised the small hairs on any human flesh and in response the ink began to lift. Blue. The ink was blue. Not quite the blue of his eyes though, they were more crystalline. The words circled off the page, following the swirling gesture of her fingers as she made them spin and dance higher and wider.
Books all have a particular smell. For some it's industrial adhesives used in the binding, others have the strong odor of a paper mill, old ones reek of dying dust and new ones smell of the cardboard boxes they were shipped in. August had smelled like . . .motorcycle. Oil and gasoline and wind. Under that had been the smell of aftershave, the kind that mimics the smell of a lumberjack out in the woods.
The words had blurred into nothing but blue smudges in the air now, circling around her like a small blue whirlwind. In her hair, her skin, on her breath the ink and the magic twirled together as she honed the spell.
Except that wasn't aftershave was it? He was Pinocchio for goodness' sake. So he smelled of wood. Made of wood. From dust you are and to dust – Vivien's eyes flashed for a moment in vibrant blue before the color shot out of her and straight into the forest. Really, where else would he go?
She followed the trail of blue smoke as it spun around boulders, dove under branches, leapt fallen trees and in general just put boot camp workouts to shame. She was breathless, sweating and had fallen twice by the time the magic stopped at a clearing. The beat up trailer sitting by the brook looked like white trash invading a Thomas Kincaid painting.
She was still ten feet away when the door opened and August stepped out. Except she couldn't think of him as August, not like that. He was very clearly Pinocchio, knotholes and all.
"Vivien? What are you doing out here?" he stepped down, movement amazingly fluid for someone whose joints had once been carved.
"Looking for you." Lake stayed at a distance, not sure what reception she was going to receive from a man who so clearly wanted to stay away from people. The only reason to live in a broken down trailer miles from civilization was either to be a hermit or a meth cook. Either was dangerous.
"How did you find me?" he approached with just as much hesitation. The wisp of blue smoke was idly spinning in the air, occasionally reaching out to explore the campsite before returning to circle Vivien. Somehow, magic always managed to remind her of a dumb pet. Right up to the moment it was killing her.
"You left me help." she opened the book to its blank inscription page and with a snap of her fingers the diffused ink scribbled itself back onto paper. The words settled back into cursive lettering as though they'd never left.
"You did that with a book? What would you have done if I'd left underwear?" his smile hadn't changed. It was still lopsided like his expression couldn't balance the arrogance and insecurity at once.
"Hunted you down a lot sooner because that would just be disgusting." She shuddered at the thought.
"I'll remember that for the next time I want your attention. My place isn't much but come on in." he held the door open, ushering her in.
Men liked caves. They liked hermitages and dens and tents and hunting stands up in the trees. Vivien knew this but she still couldn't quite understand how anyone (male or not) could live in the tiny space she'd just stepped into. The bed was three feet from the hot plate which you could reach from the toilet if you left the door open. She wasn't sure if it was claustrophobia or hygiene issues knotting up the muscles between her shoulders.
"How long have you been out here?" Vivien pushed her inner germ freak to one side and sat down. She managed to sit right in the middle of the tiny bench, which put her equally distant between the shower and the small pile of dirty socks in the corner. Hopefully all socks.
"Since the curse broke. I didn't want anyone to see me like this." Pinocchio sat down beside her, elbows on his knees, back slumped under invisible weights.
"But they know you're made of wood. Why is it a problem?" she only knew sketchy details of the story about the puppet boy. Compared to werewolves, witches and evil imps, being a reincarnated tree seemed harmless.
"Because I was given a chance to be something better and I couldn't do it. It isn't what I was made of but what I went back to. I made a lot of bad choices, Viv." He sighed, running fingers over the back of his carved hand.
"Ok, so you get a lump of coal for Christmas. It's hardly a reason to be hiding out here in the middle of nowhere. Your father has been looking everywhere for you."
"This goes way beyond being naughty," he smirked at the suggestive word, "I was selfish. I let everyone down. Emma, the kingdom, my father . . .Compared to that failure my moral lapses since have been nothing more than indiscretions. I was supposed to be honest, brave and true. I just ended up being weak."
"Just like every other real human." Lake summarized. Ironic, it was probably the very flesh that he'd wanted so much to keep that made him prone to temptation.
"Anyway, I doubt you came looking for me out of sentimental reasons. What do you need?" he decided to stop his pity parade and leaned back, crossing his arms to wait for her answer. For a moment she hesitated. It did seem calloused. In the face of his pain and sadness was she really going to tell him the only reason she'd cared enough to find him was for a book he might have?
Screw it. He was a one night stand.
"You copied Henry's book. I need to see it." She felt free, knowing she didn't owe him a single damn thing.
"I don't have it." He shook his head, any surprise immediately folding under helplessness. He'd wanted to help. He wanted to give her something she needed, maybe to assuage his own guilt or in a microscopic way make up for every other shortcoming. This just added another failure to the list.
Ok, he was pretty good. Not the best but still a lot of fun. And nicely built, don't forget.
"What happened to it?" Lake tried to keep her voice neutral. She didn't need to make him feel worse.
"As soon as the curse broke I left – I'd started to change. I imagine my bike and everything on it ended up with Gold. That's where everything winds up."
"Why Gold?" Vivien hadn't had to deal with the man since before the curse broke but she knew she didn't want to. He was a bastard under the curse, heavens knew how much worse he'd become since.
"Where else does every obscure artifact and magical knickknack end up?" the question was half rhetorical and half sarcastic.
"Of course." Vivien groaned and buried her head in her hands. It had been naïve of her to think that the copied book would still be out there. Nothing magical remained unclaimed. That meant she was going to have to deal with Gold and that hadn't gone well with her in the past. He knew her weak spots.
"I'm sorry." Pinocchio started to reach for her hand but hesitated. Perhaps he feared wood wasn't as comforting?
"It's not your fault." Lake met his hand half way, lacing her fingers with his. The moment they touched the wood grain of his fingers faded back into skin. Vivien mentally cursed and tried to pull her fingers away but his grip was too strong. They both watched as the magic flowed from her hand and coursed up his arm.
"How are you doing this?" he was breathless, looking at flesh tones on his hand that he must have never expected to see again. The hope was more heartbreaking than his sadness.
"It's overflow. Temporary. I'm sorry, August, I can't change you back." Vivien knew the moment she let go he would be nothing but wood again. She couldn't heal him because he wasn't actually sick, he had merely returned to his nature. She raised her other hand to rest against his cheek, watching his face turn back to the pale outdoors complexion she'd known. There was the face she recognized.
"It's ok. It just feels good to feel." August swallowed any disappointment and raised their hands to where he could clearly look at the two mingling skin tones. Touch. Possibly the most powerful sense that existed. It was hard wired to the brain for desire, fear, pain, pleasure – touch did everything that every other sense could only accomplish in pieces. She couldn't imagine what life would be like without it.
"It isn't fair that you have to give this up. You made the same mistakes everyone else makes." Lake frowned, angry at the arbitrary judgment. He'd simply been a man – how could they punish him for that? She'd forgotten just how easily she could fall into the depth of his eyes. They were like the bruises of saints, doorways to pain and salvation.
"I was given more than anyone else to begin with, Viv. So it's taken away and I go back to being a puppet. What temptations could I possibly face now? The biggest indulgences for me are some varnish and the occasional sandpapering."
"You still manage to make that sound absolutely wicked." She chuckled, realizing when she felt her breath on his cheek just how close they were. He was holding both her hands, foreheads touching.
"I'll survive. But if this is my future? Maybe I could have one last memory?" his mouth teased near hers, waiting for permission. Vivien looked over his face, wondering how he managed to make such a proposition sound so noble.
"A final indiscretion, you mean?" she corrected without drawing away, her smile taunting his lips.
"Final, perhaps. Indiscreet? Never." He smiled. He always did know the perfect words. Vivien laughed and rewarded him with a kiss. She could feel the magic pour out of her and into his frame, every hard edge and joint turning to soft muscle and warm skin.
It's been too long. Cursed isn't the same.
The feel of him was better than she remembered. More than she could imagine. She pulled him to his feet without breaking the kiss, hands warring between the choices to grope or undress. They fumbled with clothing in desperation to find one another. He was gradually walking backward, pulling her towards the almost-bedroom.
"You're sure we're far enough away from town that no one else can find you?" she pulled away from the kiss. He busied himself with exploring the rest of her skin. Kisses along her jaw and cheek challenged her concentration.
"Positive." The promise was as breathless as her question and when whispered into her ear sent a shiver over her skin.
"Good. Because I am not getting naked this close to that toilet." She grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him outside.