Title: All The Time In The World
Paring: Jefferson (Mad Hatter) X Reader
Warnings: there is not child!reader X Jefferson. He is just acting like a family friend, or estranged uncle early on.
Spoilers: not if you've watched the origin stories episode in I think season three Once Upon A Time!
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Mr Jefferson had all the time in the world. He had so much time, that it saturated his entire mind and drove him very nearly mad. Well, he was mad before the curse, but that wasn't the point. He had nothing. Just hats and material, rows and rows of failures and sleepless nights, and a little telescopes to keep his restless mind racing.
He watched the years go by. At first, they went slowly; he knew it was because he was aware of it. But it wasn't until the third year of the curse when he noticed something. Or, someone.
The kind teacher at the school, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard, had a baby. He'd not noticed a bump or a her acquiring a partner in the three years. The curse made a sort of groundhog day, for everyday. He watched Ruby fight with her grandmother about her clothes, and Mayor Mills stroll down the street at the same time everyday. He watched his daughter Grace - not Page! Her name is Grace! - go to school and get her homework done on time.
But this baby...
It aged different. For the next near decade, Jefferson watched with not an interest, but a confusion. While Dr Hopper went on his way without any lines ageing his face, here was a little kid, splashing around in gumboots in puddles, only to be cautioned inside from their mother Miss Blanchard. In fact, it was the eighth year of the curse when he decided to venture out. See what this kid was actually like.
It wouldn't have been too bad an idea if his umbrella hadn't broken and the worst storm Maine had seen in thirty years rolled in. Jefferson knew the kid and their mom Mary Margaret visited the hospital to read to the patients, but now stuck inside the long term care wing from a low branch down, he can see more.
You're eight years old, wearing overalls and a long sleeve blue shirt and bright red gumboots. Hair all over the place, eyes bright in wonder. And wide in fear as the thunder starts to rumble.
"Mister? Will it be okay?" Jefferson's attention is brought back to the kid in front of him. You. You're trembling, lip bitten in an attempt to keep it from wobbling. He can't help but remember Grace like this, on her first thunderstorm.
He nods slowly. "Uh, yeah, it's okay. It's just the clouds talking to each other, you know," he tells you.
You blink in interest, "Talking? It sounds like when you drop all the pots and pans in the kitchen, not talking!" You tell him in ernest.
Jefferson, for the first time in a while, smiles. "Well, it's like this," he explains, "there's a hot cloud, and a cold cloud in the the sky. And they don't much like being together, and they make a ... a fuss about it."
Your little head bobbed in understanding. "Like in The Hobbit?" You asked.
Jefferson paused. "I don't think I've read that one," he says.
From a satchel on the ground by your feet, you draw out a copy. "I've already finished it, it's mine. You can borrow it if you like, but take care please." You hand it to Jefferson. He can't remember the last time he spoke to someone so long, and so openly (even if to a child, the child of Snow White and Prince Charming, at that!) and for a moment, he's glad that he's stuck out in Dr Whale's wing.
"_________! What are you, I'm so sorry, sir, I told them to not run away from me -," Mary Margaret gushes, rushing to him. "Did they bother you?"
Jefferson shakes his head. "No, no, your child wasn't bothering me, they were just a little scared of the thunder."
Mary Margaret grins. "You're a parent, too?"
What smile he did have on his face manages to finds its way from him. "I was, once."
It's ten years later that he gathers the nerve to go properly into public again. Even if he won't be remembered by the people - a testament to when he met Mary Margaret a week later after the hospital incident and she had forgotten about him - he would be remembered by __________. They had grown up; now eighteen years old, and studying online and with Dr Whale to be a paediatric nurse.
Jefferson couldn't deny that he felt something inside when he looked at you. Was it wrong? He was so much older than he looked. He was frozen in time, and didn't look a day over twenty nine when he should look nearly double. He'd known you as a kid, and yet, it was like you were not the excitable _________ who was glad he'd read The Hobbit.
But it also happened that on this fine day, when he was out and you were out and even Mayor Mills was out, that the mayor had a surprise to shock those who could be shocked. She'd adopted a baby. He was a newborn - not even named. Well, as far as Jefferson heard, she'd named him Henry.
"He won't stop crying!" She protested.
Jefferson took the day to get flu shots, and couldn't help but overhear the conundrum. The glass wall in front of him was one sided; he could see out, but those looking in could not. He saw Regina pacing with her crying baby, flipping her phone to complain to someone else about her problems.
It wasn't until she handed the baby to ___________ that the little Henry stopped crying.
Jefferson frowned. He knew of the chosen one, the saviour, but could that be you? _________ Blanchard ... child of Snow White? Hadn't heard of there being another kid - did that mean you had a twin?
"Ready for your shot, sir?" A nurse asked, entering the room.
"I - yeah." He nodded.
Jefferson focuses on the words he can hear through the glass, Mayor Mills upsetting you and handing the baby back to her. Only to start crying again.
"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, Mayor Mills -," you gushed, somehow louder than the crying Henry. "Do you want me to page Dr Wh-,"
"Hold my son again," she handed the baby to you.
He was silent. He was now a quiet, placid baby who could be easily mistaken to be sleeping.
"Consider yourself hired, Mx Blanchard," Jefferson hears the mayor tell you. "When you're not working here, you're at my house, taking care of my son. I pay per hour, forty dollars an hour. You start tomorrow."
"All done, sir." The nurse attending Jefferson beams. "If you don't feel well after this, don't drive, but that's all for today, yes?"
He nods blankly. "Yes, that's all."
Another ten years pass quickly. He tries his best to stay out of your business, of the business of the town. But then little Henry - now a decade old! - runs off, and brings someone he hasn't heard the name of in a while. Emma.
Jefferson would apologise for all the things he does, he truly would, but he's a desperate man. He begs to see his child. Have a part of his life back that isn't madness.
It isn't until you find him underneath the hospital in stolen scrubs that he realises, that he does not have all the time in the world. That he's been wasting it and making little of himself and he's just committed a crime.
"Jefferson! What are you doing down here?" You interrogate him, and see the empty room. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, I'm going to get fired, I'm in a crime scene. Where's - where is that person?"
"I let her out," he explains simply.
You take a hand and muss your hair up. "Oh my - you just did that? That's illegal! Why - why do I always find you come into my life when it's a little a lot crazy?" You blurt out. "I'm a nurse now, and everything started going mad when you came!"
Jefferson shrugs. "You're all mad, here."
You cross your arms. "So are you. Me, I must be the most crazy of everyone. I swear, nobody has gotten older! In my whole life, in all my pictures of my childhood, my mom looks the same. You do to! You haven't aged a bit since I leant you The Hobbit or when you came for flu jabs ten years ago." Your voice cracks. "Henry ages, like me...I'm crazy. I'm crazy."
Jefferson can't tell you what's going on. If he does - he knows what Regina Mills has already done to your sister, Emma. The results lie in the hospital bed, along with little Henry.
Suddenly, a wave of light beams across, knocking you toward Jefferson and into his arms. Suddenly, your mind clears; and Jefferson looks down into your face.
"It's broken," he whispers. "Twenty eight years."
You tremble.
What's broken? You're twenty eight. What's going on? "Jefferson, what - what do you mean?"
"It'll all make sense, I promise," he whispers to your hair, kissing your brow, drawing your quaking form nearer to his. "I promise."