Hook blearily opened his eyes, raising a hand against the offensive rays of sunlight that had the audacity to shine right in his face. He looked around himself, puzzled: why was he lying on the floor? Usually when he woke up there, it was because the night before he was too drunk to remember how to get into bed. But his head wasn't pounding the way it usually did when he was hungover. In fact, he felt surprisingly well rested, for sleeping on the floor.
Maybe the pillow had helped. Hook frowned, pulling it out from under his head, and stared at it. Had he done that? It seemed odd: if he'd bothered to make himself comfortable, wouldn't he have just slept in his bed?
He raised his left arm against the obtrusive sunlight...hold on, why was he still wearing his hook? No matter how drunk he got, he always remembered to remove it. Hook knew himself, and he wasn't too proud to admit he was a restless sleeper. If he started waving his arms around in his sleep, he could very well scratch up that pretty face, and he wouldn't be able to get out of half the things he did.
And then he saw something that made his heart drop.
His sleeve.
Was.
Gone.
* * * * * *
There is a quaint little town in Maine, where everyone knows everyone. Each day, the sun rises to give warmth to the crisp cool air. The sky softens to a pale, but unmistakeable blue. Birds chirp, serenading the early risers as they start their day, nodding Good mornings's to each other.
Today is like any other day. The townsfolk are awake, cheerfully preparing for the day ahead. The breeze weaves in and out of windows, delicately fogging the windows. The birds sing greetings to each other as the sun rises to bring light to the world.
And then a scream shatters the silence. Hell has come to Storybrooke.
* * * * * *
"NEAL!" Hook pounded on the door, struggling to breathe through his fury. He'd been less upset when his brother had died. Briefly, he wondered if that made him a bad person (he was leaning toward "yes"), but then the door opened and he could only think about the fact that some monster had destroyed his beautiful coat.
Neal looked far too innocent and surprised for Hook to believe he was either. "Hey, buddy," he yawned. "What's up?"
Hook shoved the coat in his face. "What's up?" he hissed. He strode into the room, forcefully enough to make Neal stumble back. "WHAT'S UP?"
Neal tried a nervous smile. "So you saw the coat."
"Yes, I saw the coat."
"And you're clearly upset."
"Yes, I am upset."
Neal nodded. "Well," he said finally, clearing his throat, "just so you know..."
Hook glared at him. Neal seemed to be gathering his courage.
"It was Emma's fault," he said quickly, throwing the coat back. Hook stared down at it, breathing unevenly. Slowly, he raised his eyes. Neal must have seen the rage in them because he met his gaze for a brief moment—then flicked his eyes to the side, and back. Hook knew what he was going to do and lunged forward, but Neal darted out of the way and raced for the door. Hook caught him around the ankle, and he dropped like a stone.
"YOU'RE DEAD, CASSIDY!"
"NO! GET OFF!"
"YOU'VE KILLED IT!"
"IT'S A COAT, GET OVER IT!"
"I WILL HAVE VENGEANCE!"
"NOBODY TALKS LIKE THAT, YOU IDIOT!"
For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sounds of struggle, incoherent threats, and Neal's gasps as Hook tried to pierce a hole in his eye. "Okay, stop it, stop it— STOP IT!" he shouted, pushing Hook off. They glared at each other, catching their breath, until Neal held up a hand, still panting. "Look...killing each other isn't going to fix anything."
"Are we sure about that?" Hook raised an eyebrow menacingly. He had a fairly extensive range of eyebrow-raises in his repertoire: the height of the raise, degree of the arch, and the angle direction were all important variables that combined to create anything from full-on slutty to I-shall-feast-on-your-bloodied-corpse.
"And maybe..." Neal looked at him cautiously. "Maybe this is a good thing—now, don't get mad!" he scrambled as Hook's eyes widened in rage. "Calm down...breathe...breathe..."
"I'm breathing."
"No, you're not breathing,"Neal said impatiently. "You're turning purple."
Hook forced himself to breath normally. Neal waited and, apparently deciding he had reached a normal-enough color, resumed. "Maybe it's time you settled into this world a little more, you know?"
"I have. Neal, I own a talking phone."
Neal closed his eyes exasperated. "Okay, again," he said, struggling for patience, "it's just called a phone."
Hook rolled his eyes. How utterly ridiculous.
"You've made progress," Neal allowed. "You're starting to get the hang of that phone...you haven't stabbed any more T.V.'s..."
"Those are the...?"
"You called them 'demon pictures'."
"Oh, right."
"And," Neal continued, "you've been surprisingly accepting of microwaves."
Microwaves...The first time Emma had introduced the curious little box to him, he'd been rendered speechless. She'd tugged at the little door, and it was instantly flooded with light. Hook had spent twenty minutes opening and closing it, transfixed by the light that disappeared and reappeared without fail. And then after she had showed him how it actually cooked food, she spent a week trying to convince him not to worry about the price of magic every time he wanted a Hot Pocket.
"Like I said, Neal, I've more than settled into this world."
"But..." Neal trailed off cautiously. Hook narrowed his eyes.
"Go on."
"But...maybe it's time you start dressing a little less pirate-y."
There was a puzzled silence. "A little less pirate-y," Hook repeated.
"Yeah..."
"So, you're asking me—" Hook raised his eyebrows, pointing to himself—"an acknowledged pirate...to dress less pirate-y?"
"That's right."
Hook pinched his forefingers to the bridge of his nose. "I'm lost, again."
"All right, get up." Neal tugged him to a standing position. "I'll get Belle to take you to Old Navy or something today. You can borrow one of my hoodies in the meantime."
"Hoodie?" Hook creased his forehead.
"One of these," Neal explained, tugging on the hood of his shirt. Hook sighed exasperatedly.
"I don't need a hood, Neal, I need a coat."
Neal blinked a few times. "The hood is attached to the coat," he said quietly. Hook raised his eyebrows in dawning comprehension.
"Oh..."
Neal bent down to rummage through his suitcase. "Here," he said, tossing something over his shoulder. Startled, Hook caught it and looked down.
"It's red!"he said, looking up indignantly. Neal raised his eyebrows.
"So...?"
"So, I don't like red," Hook said, tossing it back with a little more force than necessary. "I like black."
"Well—" Neal tossed it back, also forcefully—"I don't have black. I have red."
"But I—" Hook smiled through clenched teeth as he passed it back—"don't like red."
"Well, that—"Neal threw it back—"really sucks for you, doesn't it?"
For a moment, they eyed each other, testing the other's will power. Hook raised his eyebrow; Neal twitched his eye.
"Fine!" Hook relented finally. "My God, you're stubborn."
Belle shot Hook a sideways glance as she started the car: he was wearing the familiar tense expression that appeared every time he rode in "the metal beast". For once, though, she was as tense as he was in the car. There was something unnerving about seeing Hook in modern clothes. It just seemed... wrong.
Honestly, the entire morning had seemed wrong. Neal's voicemail hadn't seemed real, and she had been convinced it was an elaborate prank—right up until the minute she'd pulled up to Granny's and an extremely unhappy Hook sat on the steps, glaring at the road.
Ruby had been too stunned to press him for the I.O.U. money from his late-night binge-drinking, but that had done little to cheer him up. He regarded the hoodie with a strangely intense hatred, as though it had personally offended him. Even as they pulled into the parking lot, he glared down at it, still squirming against the foreign fabric.
"We're here," Belle said, looking at him cautiously. Hook shook his head.
"I can't be seen like this," he muttered.
She sighed. "Everyone dresses like this. You have to cooperate, sooner or later."
"Why?" he said petulantly.
"Killian Jones," she said sternly, and he flinched at the sound of his full name, "you are a grown man. Stop. Whining."
He fumed silently, glaring at his folded arms.
"Now stop stamping your little feet, and walk them into that store, so we can find something that doesn't look so damn silly." Belle slammed the car door shut and walked around to Hook's side, yanking it open. She cleared her throat; he didn't budge. Belle raised her eyebrows. She cleared her throat again, more deliberately this time. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering curses.
"Fine!" He swung himself out of the car, gritting his teeth. Belle tried to keep up with his furious strides, but her heels slowed her down too much. She was forced to scurry forward on tiptoe, her feet cramping against the narrow tips of her shoes.
Hook stomped all the way up to the entrance...until a very pretty girl walked out, bags hanging from her hands. Oh, for the love of God, Belle thought, rolling her eyes as he slowed considerably, straightening up. She caught up to them as he flashed a smile, "shyly" ruffling his own hair. Just as he extended his arm to take one of the bags, Belle hooked her own elbow around it and whirled him inside.
"Belle!" he sputtered, nearly tripping over her.
"What?" she said innocently, wincing against her aching feet.
Hook looked behind them hopefully, but the girl was already gone. "Damn it," he muttered. Belle made an exasperated sound and dragged him away.
The further they walked, the slower Hook went, pausing to stare open-mouthed at pretty much everything (she had to steer him in the opposite direction of the "women's delicates" section). Belle released her hold on him at the men's department.
"Now," she said, clapping her hands together. "This is your chance to try something completely different, so why don't we try to avoid—goddamn it," she muttered as Hook walked straight toward the leather jacket she'd hoped he wouldn't see. He grabbed it off the rack and turned around.
"Okay, let's go."
"Hook," she said warningly, seizing his arm as he moved to walk past her. Hook rolled his eyes as though he were exchanging an exasperated look with the Almighty Himself.
"Yes, Belle?"
"Don't you want to look around a little?" she wheedled. "Maybe find something else?" Hook stared at her incredulously.
"Belle," he said slowly, "I don't think you understand." He held the jacket up. "I just found my soulmate."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Your...soulmate."
"My soulmate," he repeated emphatically.
"But it's...." She shook her head, a scoffing smile on her face. "I mean, it's a jacket."
"No. You don't understand." Hook looked at her intensely, as if to emphasize the enormity of the situation. "An hour ago, there was only one thing in this world that I thought would always be true. Even if the stars fell from Heaven, and Hell lifted through the earth, it would remain unchanged. Nothing—not destiny, not fate, not the gods themselves— could change this...that I loved Emma Swan more than anything I had ever loved before, or ever would again." He dropped his gaze to the jacket, then back to Belle, something close to desperation in his eyes as he held it closer to his chest. "I was wrong."
Belle blinked several times. Hook stared back, searching her face for a sign of understanding. Belle glanced at the jacket, then slowly raised her eyes back to Hook's.
"It's a jacket," she repeated.
Emma tapped her pencil listlessly on her desk, bored out of her mind. She rested her head in her other hand, looking at the stack of paperwork in front of her, and sighed.
The clock ticked.
Neal flipped a page.
Leroy snored softly from within his cell.
She glanced at Neal reading his magazine. He raised his cup. Took a sip. Swallowed... Set it back down. She looked over at Leroy. Back at Neal. Back at the clock.
Emma cleared her throat. "So..." Neal glanced up, raising his eyebrows. "S-so, is it...hand-kerchief, or hank-kerchief?"
Neal's mouth opened uncertainly. "I'm sorry?"
"I, uh... I-I was just wondering if you knew if it was hand-kerchief or hank-kerchief," she said awkwardly.
Neal shook his head, eyebrows still raised bewilderedly. "I'm... not... sure."
Emma nodded slowly.
Neal blinked a few times, then went back to his magazine.
Leroy snored.
The clock ticked.
"What's the difference between a pickle and a gherkin?"
Neal slowly raised his head to see Emma frowning at him. "I ...don't know that one, either."
Emma inhaled, nodding her head again. "Right..." She blew out her breath slowly.
Neal flipped a page.
The clock ticked.
Leroy snored.
Emma tapped her pencil.
"So—"
"Sorry to interrupt, guys!"
Emma twisted in her seat at the sound of Hook's voice and the door swinging open. It took her a minute to sort out why he was smiling so wide, or what it was that seemed jarringly different about him. But then she realized...
"Are you—?" she frowned, wondering if she was hallucinating. "Are you wearing...jeans?"
Hook beamed, looking immensely proud of himself. Belle walked in behind him, her steps slow and deliberate, clearly annoyed. Neal gave him a once-over, nodded approvingly with a "Huh", and went back to his magazine. Emma stared at him open-mouthed, her eyes still squinted in suspicion. Hook raised his eyebrows, grinning.
"So....?" He spun around, showing off his new clothes the way a five-year-old shows off a picture they drew. "What do we think?"
"I think you're wearing jeans," she said, standing up to get a better look. It was bizarre, to say the least. She never thought she'd live long enough to see Hook part with the pirate coat; she'd half-expected him to continue walking around with whatever he could salvage after they shredded it last night.
"Hell, yeah, I am!" he said triumphantly. Belle folded her arms, unimpressed as she leaned against the doorframe.
"Yes, we're all so proud of you," she drawled. "You've really branched out. Reinvented yourself. Become a changed man."
"She hates my jacket," Hook explained in a loud whisper, leaning closer to Emma. He glanced at Belle over his shoulder before adding, "I think she's jealous."
"Yes, that's exactly what it is," Belle said witheringly. "I'm jealous of your stupid jacket."
"Oh, don't be upset." Hook put his good arm around Belle, a wicked glint in his eye. "Come on, Belle... you're still my second favorite..."
"Get off," she said in annoyance, trying to shrug him away as he laughed uproariously. Emma raised her eyebrows.
"I have never seen you like this," she said, still trying to process this new Hook. "You're so...different."
"Good different, I take it?" he winked. Emma twisted her mouth in a bemused smile. Who was this guy? He looked like Hook. He spoke with Hook's voice. He wore Hook's earring. He had Hook's weirdly flexible eyebrows. But he wasn't Hook. He couldn't be. Hook was a tortured, angst-ridden pirate, perpetually on the verge of tears, alternating between bitter humor and tearful declarations of love. This guy was just...something else entirely.
"Uh...sure," she grinned, still not sure what to make of him.
"And how about this jacket?" he asked, adjusting it in the reflection of the window.
Emma bit back her laughter. "You're really pulling it off."
"I know, right?" he said in a hushed voice, apparently in awe of himself.
"Yes. You're beautiful. We know," Neal said loudly. Hook glanced at Neal and for a minute, Emma was afraid he was going to do what he usually did and toss out a biting retort that would end up sparking a battle. He surprised her by holding his hands in mock surrender.
"All right, point taken," he smiled. Neal blinked rapidly, as if struggling to compute what just happened—or rather, what didn't happen. Emma stared, wondering if this was a dream after all. Even Belle's jaw unhinged, forgetting her irritation to stare at the weirdly cheerful pirate.
"So, listen," Hook said, breaking them all out of their reverie. "I got to go. Got some things to take care of. So—" he gave Emma half a hug—-"I'll see you guys later—" he fist-bumped Neal's idle hand—"and call if you need me. I, uh—" he laughed—"I can't guarantee I'll pick up, 'cause I'm still working on remembering how to work the answering button. But if not, I'll just see you tomorrow, 'kay?"
"'Kay," Emma said, still stunned. She raised her hand as he strolled out the door, humming under his breath. "'Bye."
All three stared after him, even as he disappeared down the hall and out the door. Slowly, Emma turned around to look at Neal. She jutted her thumb behind her.
"D' you know that guy?"
Neal raised his eyebrows and slowly shook his head. "Never seen him before in my life," he said, and turned back to his magazine.
____________________________________________________________________
"Order up!"
Ruby muttered under her breath as she stalked over to the counter to pick up Dr. Whale's pancakes. Granny gave her a stern look over her spectacles, and mouthed, Smile. Ruby lifted the corners of her lips and showed her teeth, more of a grimace than anything, as she lifted the plate onto her tray, and sauntered back to Whale's table.
Why he sat at a table every day was beyond her: it wasn't like he had any friends to sit with him. The doctor always sat alone, with only his "newspaper" (she was fairly certain he was hiding a PlayBoy in there) to keep him company. Ruby suspected he came every day, so he could leer at her, probably hoping she would flirt with him the way she did with David and Jason and Neal and Jason and Hook and Jason and Billy and Jason and Sean and Jason—
"Thanks, Ruby," Whale smiled as she set the plate down. "Hey, listen, I was thinking—"
"Awesome. Anything else? No? Great." She walked away, tottering on her heels, and went to work on refilling the sugars at the counter. She flicked her mascara-heavy eyes at the corner table, where Sheriff Graham used to sit every morning and drink his coffee before heading for the station. Ruby concentrated on holding back the tears in her eyes, so those twenty minutes in front of the mirror that morning wouldn't be wasted. She really missed Graham: she missed the way he smiled; the way he talked to little Henry so kindly when he thought no one was listening; the way his uniform fit...
Ruby smiled dreamily, not realizing that she was overfilling one of the sugar containers. She missed the way his hair curled around his too perfect face; the way his eyes managed to be innocent and extremely-not-innocent at the same time; the way he got drunk so easily... And yet—she frowned indignantly—and yet, he hadn't shown the slightest interest in her! Ruby had put in countless hours at the gym so she could wear her tightest outfits around him, and all Graham could do was mope around, thinking about Emma. Ruby growled. Emma. It always came down to Emma! Every remotely hot guy in town went after Emma: Graham, Jefferson, Neal, Hook...Meanwhile, here Ruby was in booty shorts, for God's sake, and no one gave her a second glance!
"Ruby!" Granny said sharply, rapping on the counter. Ruby looked down at the mountain of sugar on the counter.
"Shit!" she cursed under her breath. She looked for the dustpan or at least a towel—
"Order up!"
"Give me a second!" she said testily. Towel, towel, towel...?
"Can I get a refill?"
"Hang on!" she said through clenched teeth. The voices rose, her own personal hell coming to life.
"Where's my order?"
"Ruby, pay attention!"
"Where's my check?"
"I asked for home-fries!"
"I ordered scrambled, not poached!"
"Where's my refill?"
"I said, GIVE ME A SECOND!" she shouted. With a sweep of her arms, she knocked most of the sugar to the floor; then puffed out her cheeks and blew the remnants away, using the palm of her hand to wipe away whatever was left behind. She stomped over to the counter and filled her tray with plates.
"Here!" she snapped, slamming the plates down.
"What about my—?"
"Yes, I know you want your home-fries!" she hissed at the balding man as she shoved the check at the couple by the entrance.
"My eggs—"
"What?" Ruby spun around, putting her hands on her hips. She glared at the woman who had been bitching at her for the past ten minutes. The woman pursed her lips.
"I asked for scrambled, but you gave me—"
Ruby snatched her fork and mutilated the poached eggs. "Happy?" She threw the fork down and stalked over to the coffee machine to make refill rounds. She went around to every table, glowered at the customer, and—making it sound more like a threat than a question—snarled, "Refill?"
Granny waited until the morning rush had died down before dragging Ruby into the back so she could lecture her.
"Listen, girly," she said, glaring at her granddaughter. "This is a business establishment. I give you too much leeway as it is—" she gave Ruby's skimpy outfit a meaningful look of disgust—"so I suggest you get your act together."
"Or what?" Ruby challenged, raising an eyebrow. "You going to fire me?"
Granny narrowed her eyes. "You don't think I will?"
"Nope."
"Ruby, believe me when I tell you that your only job security is me not wanting to hear about you dancing on tables, or hanging off of stripper poles—"
"OH, MY GOD!" Ruby covered her ears. "GRANNY, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO USE THE WORD 'STRIPPER' IN MY PRESENCE!"
"Ruby!" the old woman snapped, pulling her hands down. "I'm not kidding about this! You're going to have to make some changes, or you can start looking for another way to pay for your...outfits." Granny turned on her heel, leaving Ruby to stare after her, fuming. "And you can forget about your concert tonight!"
Ruby's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?" she screeched, pounding after her. "Granny, you can't do this to me! I've been waiting to go out with this guy for months!"
"Billy will understand—"
"Not Billy!" she cried exasperatedly. "Jason!"
"Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to sabotage my diner's reputation." Granny looked at her sternly over her spectacles. "I expect you back behind the counter in five minutes for the lunch shift with a smile on your face."
Whale glanced over at the counter as he entered the diner, smiling at Ruby. She was resting her cheek in one of her hands, glaring at the counter as she tapped her pen.
"Hey, Ruby," he said. She glanced up, rolling her eyes when she saw it was him.
"Back for lunch?"
Whale checked at her hostility. Eeesshh. But he shrugged, chuckling slightly. "Well... it is lunchtime."
She was not amused.
Whale's smile faltered. "I was just...uh...yeah, okay. Can I get a coffee?" He slid onto a stool as Ruby let out a heavy groan and trudged over to the coffee pot. "So..." he said, clearing his throat as she started to pour him a cup. "I've been meaning to ask you—"
The bell tinkled, and a horribly familiar voice filled the room. "Ruby, darling, I'm going to need two of those orange-colored bread things!"
Ruby looked up. "Oh, my God..." She dropped her jaw, ignoring Whale's yelp of pain as she overflowed the cup and poured scalding coffee on his hand.
"Gah!" Whale stared in horror at his blistering skin as Hook pulled out a stool.
"Ooh," he said cheerfully, looking on with interest. "That's a nasty one. You'll want to get that looked at, mate."
Whale struggled not to roll his eyes. "Thank you," he said, turning to look over at him. "I'm sure I'd be lost without—" Oh.
So that was why Ruby had just treated him to a round of coffee and second-degree burns: Hook had finally gone out and bought himself some normal-looking clothes. Somehow, Whale knew that this new development was going to be the topic of interest among his nurses, come Monday morning. Great, he thought miserably.
"Can I also have one of those..." Hook frowned, snapping his fingers. "I think it's a beef...bread...thing?"
"You mean a hamburger?" Whale said dryly. Hook looked at him in surprise, then threw his head back and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Yes, of course ! A hamburger!" he said, as if it were the most hilarious thing in the world that he should forget what a hamburger was. "Can I have a hamburger?"
Ruby beamed at him. "Honey, you can have whatever you want."
"Honey, you can have whatever you want," Whale mimicked under his breath. Hook watched her go, grinning in delight.
"Ooh-hoo-hoo, she likes me," he chuckled, elbowing Whale. "Don't you think?"
Whale smiled through clenched teeth, forcing a laugh. "Oh, I'll bet." Asshole.
Ruby returned, carrying two bags. "Here are your—" she smiled conspiratorially—"orange-bread-things..."
"Thanks, love, " Hook grinned, quirking an eyebrow. Whale rolled his eyes with his whole head.
"And your hamburger is still on the grill, so..." Ruby raised her eyebrows a few times. "You're just going to have to wait a few minutes."
"Oh. Well..." Hook leaned forward, arching an eyebrow. "At least I'll have some company."
Ruby raised her eyebrows again, giggling. Whale rubbed his temple, staring at them dryly.
"You two training for the eyebrow Olympics?" he said finally, dropping his hand. "Or are you having a localized seizure?"
Hook laughed, sitting back in his seat, and clapped Whale on the shoulder again. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Wouldn't be the first time," he muttered.
Hook suddenly slapped the counter. "Nearly forgot," he said, taking something from one of his inside pockets. "Here's the money from my I.O.U—" he dropped a drawstring of what sounded like heavy metal coins, and grinned apologetically. "I'm afraid I don't know the exchange rate between my doubloons and your green paper."
Whale sourly watched Ruby prance away, drawstring in hand. Somehow, I doubt that's the first time she's taken money for acting slutty. He snorted as his own joke. Snap! Whale, you've outdone yourself!
"Here you go," Ruby said, returning with the drawstring. Hook stowed it away in his pocket, glancing up when the cook called, "Order up!" Ruby didn't budge; she just kept smiling and twirling her hair...
Hood nodded toward the counter. "I think that's mine, love."
Ruby walked half-backwards, never taking her eyes off the pirate, to the counter. She took the plate—and promptly tossed the burger on the floor. "Oops," she smiled. "I guess we'll have to make you a new one."
Whale raised his eyebrows as Hook let out a bemused chuckle. "Smooth, Ruby..."
Ruby apparently didn't hear him. "So," she said, propping her chin on her hands. "I hear you've been working at the sheriff's station."
Whale cleared his throat. "Hey, Ruby, how about a refill?"
"Sounds great," she said, pushing an empty cup toward him, her eyes not leaving Hook's. "You were saying?"
"Well, I don't do much," Hook said, with a shrug that implied he did very much indeed. "I'm a fair researcher, so I usually split my time between the station and the library..."
"I saved a life today," Whale said loudly. "If anyone's interested..."
"No one is. Wow, the library, huh? That must be really interesting." Ruby's eyes sparkled.
"Oh, very," Hook nodded. "Belle is teaching me to bend those magic boxes to my will."
"Magic...? Oh, you mean computers!" Ruby giggled.
"I know how to work an MRI machine," Whale put in.
"So, uh—" Ruby cleared her throat, looking down shyly—"h-how are things with you and Emma?"
"Things are great," Whale shrugged. "Emma's awesome."
Ruby and Hook both turned to look him, Ruby irritated and Hook pitying.
"I think she was talking to me, mate," he said quietly. Whale waved an apologetic hand.
"I'll just blend back into the background. You two go on. Please."
Hook turned back to Ruby. "I suppose I'll love her to my dying day," he shrugged, as casually as though they were discussing his grocery list. "But we've been trying the 'just friends' thing, and I have to say, it's been working quite well for us."
"Oh?" Ruby said, trying to not look too interested and failing epically.
"I'm still not entirely clear on what's going on..."
Whale rubbed his eyes. How long could it possibly take to grill a cheap burger?
"...don't know what's going on with her and Neal, but apparently, it's none of my business," Hook was saying, rolling his eyes.
"Or mine," Whale said, getting up. "I've got to get back to the hospital. You know. People dying," he shrugged, stopping at the door. "Depending on me to save them. Whatever." He waited, but they were too engrossed in each other to see him leave. Whale heaved a sigh and walked out the door, remembering a certain car accident from a few years ago.
Goddamn it. Why did he have to be such a good doctor?
Regina offered Dr. Whale a brisk, but polite nod as she walked up the diner's steps. "Afternoon, Dr. Whale."
"Yeah, whatever," he grumbled.
Regina's eyebrows rose, but she didn't reply. She pulled the door open and glanced around, looking for Robin. Of course he wasn't there—that would have required him to be punctual, for the first time in his life.
She walked toward the counter, refraining from rolling her eyes at the sight of Ruby giggling over something Hook said (she had yet to hear the joke that would justify that much laughter).
"Take care of yourself, love," Hook said, getting up from the counter. Noticing Regina, his face split into a grin. "Ah! Regina! My favorite bloodthirsty queen!"
"Hook, my favorite herpes-infested pirate," she said in a bored voice, barely registering his modern attire. "Ruby, I need two coffees. I'll be sitting over there—" she pointed at the same table she used every day, the second from the left next to the window—"and make sure Robin's is decaf."
"Psst, Regina," Hook said, pausing at the door. Regina closed her eyes exasperatedly and slowly turned around.
"Yes?"
"What do you think?" he asked, tugging at his jacket proudly. Regina raised an eyebrow.
"I think your earring is silly,"she said disdainfully, and walked to her table. She sat down carefully, smoothing her skirt. "Any day now, Ruby," she called, not looking up.
Ruby came over just as the door clanged open and Robin rushed in looking around wildly. "Has anyone seen—?"
Regina cleared her throat. Robin's head swiveled toward her, and he broke into a nervous smile.
"Ruby," he nodded, sitting down just as she was leaving. "Regina, look—I know, I know I'm late—"
"Yes, you are." Regina carefully poured cream into her cup. Robin covered his eyes helplessly.
"I know. I'm sorry. It's just Roland was giving me a hard time—"
"At five years of age, Henry was making his bed, dressing himself, and preparing his own breakfast." Regina raised her eyebrows, regarding Robin coolly. "Your son can barely manage to feed himself."
Robin looked at her, somewhat impatiently. "Are you breaking up with me, or Roland?"
"I'm not breaking up with anyone," Regina said, dabbing her mouth. She put her cup down and fixed Robin with a stern look. "But we do need to talk."
Robin gulped.
"It's Henry."
"Henry?" Robin frowned, thinking. "Well, I don't know what I did to Henry—"
"Robin, please." Regina held up her hand. She frowned down at her cup before speaking. "He's pulling away from me."
Robin was silent for a moment. "I don't follow."
"He's pulling away from me," she repeated louder, enunciating every word. She held his gaze for a moment, then sighed tiredly, dropping her head in her hands. "I don't know what's going on with him, but he barely speaks to me anymore. He spends all his time in his room on his computer—he hasn't picked up his book in months."
"His book?" Robin's forehead creased. "As in, the book?"
"The book," Regina confirmed. "And I asked Emma about it, and she said he's been acting weird with her, too." She knit her brow in worry, looking out the window. "He won't talk to me about it."
Robin nodded slowly. "Well, Regina, I'm sorry, I know it must be difficult...but I'm confused. Is this my fault?"
Regina frowned in confusion. "How would this be your fault?"
Robin blinked. "I'm sorry, I just assumed—"
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "I just need you find out what's going on with him for me."
"You mean... spy on him."
"Of course I mean spy on him!" Regina snapped. "He's almost fifteen, who knows what he's doing? I just need you to weasel it out of him, then run back to me and report absolutely everything that happened!"
"Are—?" Robin shook his head. "Are you asking me to spend time with Henry... purely so I can violate his trust and tell you everything he confides in me?"
"No. I'm telling you to spend time with Henry so you can violate his trust and tell me everything he confides in you." Regina picked up her purse and stood up, looking down at Robin. "I expect a full report by the end of the week."
Tink looked over from her seat at the counter as Regina gathered her things, leaving Robin to stare worriedly out the window. She sighed heavily, and picked up her drink.
"Robin?" she said tentatively as she approached him. He looked up and smiled.
"Tink!"
"Oh—we don't have to hug," she said as he stood up. Robin's smile faded slightly, but he didn't look terribly offended as he took his seat.
"So...what can I do for you this fine day, milady?"
Tink cringed at the endearment. "Actually, Robin..." she began, but up close, she realized Robin probably had bigger worries than his outdated jargon. His smile looked strained, and he kept playing with the edge of his frayed scarf in a nervous gesture. "Never mind."
He nodded absently. "Oh—Ruby," he said, stopping the scantily clad waitress (who Tink had decided she did not care for, especially after the way she had fawned over Neal the other night). "Could I trouble you for something stronger than this?" He indicated the coffee.
Ruby knit her eyebrows together. "You mean, like, full caffeine?"
Robin's smile faded. "N-no, I...I meant, like alcohol."
"Oh...." Ruby nodded slowly.
Robin raised his eyebrows. "So...?"
Ruby blinked at him. "What?" she said. "I'm sorry, I was thinking about something else."
"Bring the man a drink," Tink said loudly. Ruby raised an eyebrow at her tone, but promised Robin she'd be back in a minute. Tink watched her go, rolling her eyes at Robin once she was out of sight. "She's such a slut."
Robin coughed, trying to hide a laugh. "Oh, Tink, that's—" he shook his head, pressing his hand to the corners of his mouth—"that's terrible."
"She is!" Tink insisted as he concentrated on not smiling. "I mean, my God, you should have seen her with Hook earlier today!" Or Neal, the other night.
"Yeah, but to be fair..." Robin shrugged.
Tink crossed her arms, frowning. "What?"
"Well—" Robin scratched the back of his head awkwardly, looking around. "I mean, it's Hook," he said in a low voice. "Do you really think he minded?"
"That's beside the point," she said, shaking her head.
"And what is the point?"
"The point is, I don't like the way she was hanging over Ne—over Hook!" For some reason, she felt reluctant to share her growing fondness for Neal with Robin. Well, maybe the reason wasn't so vague: after all, if she told Robin, he'd tell Regina; Regina would tell Emma; Emma would either laugh and tell Neal, or laugh and vow to crush Tink to pixie dust if she got within a hundred yards of her man.
Robin looked surprised. "Oh..." he said tauntingly. "Oh, I see...."
With a horrible sinking feeling, Tink realized what she'd just done: if Robin told Hook, not only would she be forced to look at his smug, smirky face incessantly, but he'd never give her a moment's peace. On top of that, Hook's ego already took up half the room; she couldn't bear to be responsible for encouraging it.
"Oh, shoot," she said, snapping her fingers. She gave Robin a tight smile. "Well, I guess you got me. So—tell you what—let's never speak of this again."
"Now, hold on," he grinned, wagging his finger. "I've never seen our little Tink behaving like a maid in spring."
Like a what in what? Tink bared her teeth in a smile, forcing a laugh. "Right. Those...crazy maids."
"I should have known," Robin went on, beaming. "Fairies are jealous little creatures, aren't they?"
"Mmm, very jealous. So, listen, if you could not tell him about this..."
"Fear not," Robin said, giving her a pompous little bow. "I would never dream of spilling a lady's secrets."
"Great," she said, letting out a relieved breath. There was an awkward silence: Robin continued to smile at her fondly while she scanned the room, desperate to change the subject. She drummed her hands on the table. "So..."
"So..." Robin grinned, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "So how long has this been going on?"
Tink shook her head slightly. "Uh..."
"Oh, come on, don't be shy," he pressed, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Hey, how's Regina?" she said suddenly. The smile slid off his face, replaced by a worried frown.
"She's having problems with Henry," he said sadly. "She wants me to find out what's going on, because he won't talk to her."
"What kind of problems?" Tink frowned. From the little time she'd spent with Henry, she'd gotten the impression that he was an annoyingly perfect child. Robin sighed.
"To me, it just sounds like he's growing up. But you know how Regina is..."
"A manipulative control freak," she nodded. Robin gave her a strange look.
"I was going to say... 'overprotective.'"
Tink froze. "...That, too."
"Anyways, she says that Emma's been having the same problems, so she knows it's not her; it's Henry." Robin frowned suddenly and twisted in his seat. "Hey, didn't I order a drink?"
They both looked toward the counter, where Ruby was giggling over a text. Tink smiled apologetically at a betrayed-looking Robin.
"I don't think you're getting that drink any time soon."
Robin tensed. "Damn, I really needed that drink," he said, clenching his jaw. He began tapping his fingers anxiously. "I could really have used that drink."
Tink raised an eyebrow. "Would...you...like...mine?"
Robin looked up. He blinked rapidly a few times, then broke into a tearful smile. "Thank you so much," he sniffed, wiping his eyes with one hand, and taking Tink's proffered drink with the other. Tink watched him awkwardly as he gulped it down.
"You seem extremely not okay," she said at last. Robin put his head in hands.
"It's Regina," he sighed. Tink's eyebrows shot up: she had been the one who set them up, after all. "Pixie dust doesn't lie," she'd insisted. "He's your soulmate." She'd spent God-knew-how-many years trying to get them together, convinced that Regina finding love again would bring light to the darkness that made its home in her heart.
"I thought things were going well."
"No...I mean, yes, they are," he said quickly, seeing Tink's stricken face. "I love Regina. I care about her, I want her to be happy. And I love Henry like my own son, I do..." He paused, gathering courage. "But she is a tad high-maintenance."
"Well..." Tink shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. Maybe a little."
"And now she wants me to spy on Henry!" he cried exasperatedly. "I mean—that's insane, right?"
"She's just being a mother."
"And Henry's just being a teenager," Robin argued. "I..." He shook his head. "I can't do this to him. He needs a chance to breathe. That boy has been through so much, he's pulled so many people together... He deserves his own life."
Tink looked at him, thinking very hard about what she was about to do. She looked around them, then leaned forward. "All right, look," she said in a low voice, still shifting her gaze around. "I am going to write a suggestion down on a piece of paper. You are going to read that suggestion. And then you are going to eat that paper, and never speak of it to anyone ever."
Robin looked puzzled. "W-why exactly am I eating paper?"
"To destroy the evidence, of course." Tink leaned back, still sweeping her gaze around the diner as she reached into her bag, and pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper. She scratched a few words out and pushed the paper across the table. Robin frowned at it, slowly picking it up to read.
"'Lie—'"
"SHH!" Tink said furiously. She looked meaningfully at the paper, and back to Robin. Go on!
Robin looked at the paper reluctantly, pulling a face. He forced himself to put it on his tongue... He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and chewed and swallowed, fighting his gag reflex. "Gah!" he coughed, sticking his tongue out. "Oh, God, that was horrible!"
"Yeah, I can't believe you just did that," Tink snorted. "But seriously, don't tell."