"Morning!" Tink said loudly, bursting through the door.
Belle covered her ears, wincing at the sudden flood of light and noise. She had purposefully kept the library dark, closing all the curtains and turning the lights on low. She and Hook had truly outdone themselves at the White Rabbit yesterday.
"What are you doing here?" she grumbled, lowering her hands. Tink tossed a box on a table and swung herself up to sit on the counter. She leaned on her elbow, watching Belle put barcode stickers on new books.
"Blue—excuse me, Mother Superior—" she rolled her eyes—"needs that box of crap—sorry, books—rebound."
"Can you talk a little lower?" Belle said through gritted teeth. "I'm kind of dealing with an epic hangover here."
Tink grinned. "Yeah, I know."
Belle frowned at her. "You're not a very nice girl."
"No, I'm not," she agreed. "That's what makes me such a shitty nun."
Belle had a sudden mental picture of Tink in a nun's habit, with her hair covered by a heavy cloth veil."It just weirds me out, thinking of you as a nun," she said, shaking her head.
"Meh," she shrugged. "I'm not, really. All the other fairies are, and I'm stuck living with them 'til I find my own place, but 'nun' is really only a technical title. Well, at least... that's how I'm choosing to think of it." She blew out a breath. "So. Epic hangover, huh?"
"Yeah," Belle yawned, taking another book from her pile. "Hook's got girl trouble, so I took him out drinking—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tink said suddenly, holding up her hand. She looked at Belle scoldingly. "Why would you let him drink in that state?"
Belle's eyebrows rose. "Because," she said, rather defensively. "It's our thing. That's how he gets over stuff."
"No. That's how he holds onto stuff, so he can keep bitching about it, and have an excuse to get drunk off his ass," Tink said matter-of factly, flipping through a book on trains. "God, this is dull."
"What do you know about it?" Belle said, stung by Tink's dismissive criticism. "You're not on the other side of the phone every day, you're not sitting with him at Granny's every day—I am. I know how to deal with Hook, okay?"
Tink looked up, unfazed. "Well, I spent two hundred years with the guy in Neverland," she said flatly. "So, yeah, I think I know what I'm talking about. And I say, drinking is not how you deal with him." She went back to her book. "The man's an alcoholic."
Belle shifted on her heels, feeling much less certain than she had before. Something about the way Tink talked about him made her feel... distant. As if there was a lot about Hook she didn't know about, and she was suddenly painfully aware. Yesterday, he had been her best friend; at the present moment, he seemed more of a stranger than anything.
"You knew him pretty well, huh?" she said finally.
Tink looked up at the dejected tone in her voice, and offered her a sympathetic smile. "Hey, come on," she said lightly. "Don't take it personally."
"I'm not," Belle insisted, sounding like a petulant child.
"Look—" Tink hopped off the counter and started unpacking the box of books. "I know Hook is the last person you'd expect to have a type. I mean, the man'll sleep with literally whoever—whatever— will let him. " She dropped a stack of worn books on the counter, making Belle wince again. "But when it comes to... you know—" she raised her fingers in air-quotes—"besties ..." She smiled apologetically.
Belle frowned. "What are you saying?"
"You're the Storybrooke me," Tink shrugged. "I'm the Neverland you."
"What?" Belle snorted. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Tink said, raising an eyebrow. "Look at us. We're practically clones." She started counting off on her fingers. "Short. Cute. Heavy drinker—"
"I'm a social drinker."
Tink smiled wryly. "Okay," she said. "Social drinkers. We talk the same. We even have the same name." She dropped her hands. "Belle. Tinker Bell. Come on."
A twinge of anxiety hit her. "But..." Belle blinked rapidly. "But he's my mister-of-honor."
Tink stared at her for a moment, looking confused. "I'm sorry, what?" she said politely.
"My mister-of-honor," Belle enunciated. "It's like maid-of-honor, but it's a guy."
Tink cocked her head, her mouth open as she took a moment to digest the concept."That is....bizarre," she said finally. "I have never heard of a mister-of-honor."
Belle felt a surge of jealousy in her stomach: the longer she looked at her, the more Tink's words sunk in. For some reason, it made her angry, knowing that Hook had done the whole "unlikely friendship" thing before. But not with her; with Tink. For two hundred years. And she knew—she knew—that they probably made adorable best friends. Possibly more adorable than herself and Hook. And that was pretty fucking adorable.
Was she a replacement Tinker Bell? Was she filling a void? Belle clenched her hands into fists. Knowing that Tink had been the her in Neverland—had been the original best friend—was infuriating and heartbreaking at the same time. She didn't know who she was angrier with: Tink or Hook.
But what made her angrier still was how much it upset her. She was Belle fucking French: the most educated person in town who could pull off a mini-skirt. What was she doing, getting all bent out of shape because some lame-ass pirate hung out with some lame-ass fairy for a few lame-ass centuries? She didn't need that dumb jabroni: just because he was her best friend (and the only one tall enough to help her reach things on the top shelf), that didn't mean she needed him.
Even though she kinda did.
And sometimes, she thought privately to herself, it was kinda nice that she did.
And then Tink had to go and ruin shit.
But wait, she thought suddenly, as some of Robin's gossip floated back into her head. He had mentioned something about Tink and Hook...
Belle narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Tink, who was now sitting back on the counter. "Are you sure you're not just saying all this because you like him?"
"Because what?" Tink said absently, filing a fingernail. Belle put her hand on her hip, slitting her eyes icily at the fairy.
"Robin told me about you and Hook."
The file dropped as Tink's head snapped up in alarm. "Robin told you?"
"He most certainly did." Belle smiled in satisfaction.
"That bitch!" Tink gasped, looking outraged. "I told him not to say anything!"
"Aha!" Belle shouted triumphantly, slamming her hand on the table (and making herself wince in the process). "I knew it!"
"Oh, you don't know anything," Tink said scathingly. "I only said that because—"
The door burst open again. Belle covered her eyes and squeezed her eyes shut against the harsh sunlight.
"Sorry," Neal said, closing the door behind him. "I forgot, I'm sorry."
"Neal..." she whined, straightening up. "I told you..."
"I know, I'm sorry," he said in a loud whisper, walking to the counter. He smiled at Tink briefly. "Hey."
Tink went red. Her eyes, which had been wide and staring, now dropped to the floor and she mumbled something through a giggle. Neal raised his eyebrows, smiling bemusedly.
"All righty," he said, sounding as though he didn't quite know what to make of her. "Anyway, uh, Hook called in, so I'm stuck taking over his stuff today." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "Emma needs all these... document-things, whatever they are. Do you know where they are in here?" He looked around the library, as if hoping see signs pointing him in the right direction.
"Mmm... I probably have them in one of the file cabinets," Belle said, squinting at the list. "Let me look."
Neal nodded, and leaned against the counter next to Tink. "So, how are your wedding plans coming along?" he asked as she unlocked one of the cabinets.
"Vow renewal."
"Sorry. How are your vow renewal plans coming along?" She could hear him rolling his eyes.
"Pretty good," she said, flipping through manilla folders. "Actually, too good."
"Too good?" Neal repeated. "God, I wish I had your problems."
"No, see—" Belle paused in her search to explain, sighing. "I got all excited when Rumple gave me the go-ahead to start planning, and I made all these lists and diagrams and shit... And I don't need half of them, I'm realizing."
"Oh..." Neal nodded slowly, then made a face and shook his head. "No, I don't get it."
Tink laughed hysterically. Belle and Neal looked at her, and exchanged a bemused look before Belle went back to explaining.
"You know how I love organizing and planning and all that?" Belle said. Neal nodded; he was more than familiar with Belle's love for administrating everything (last Christmas dinner was still a sensitive issue, during which some strong words were used when Belle's specific schedule was less than strictly adhered to). "Well, I thought this vow renewal would be a gold mine for that. And it's..." She struggled, shaking her head. "I don't know. Too easy? Everything's falling into place perfectly." She shrugged. "I kinda wanted to be a bridezilla."
Neal carefully looked down at the ground, but that didn't stop her from noticing him trying to fight a smile. "So, when is it?" he asked, clearly holding back laughter.
"Why are you laughing?" she demanded.
"I'm not laughing!" he said, even as a laugh escaped him.
"Neal," she whined again, tilting her head. "Why are you laughing?"
"I don't know," he grinned, shrugging slightly. "I've never heard of anyone aspiring to be a bridezilla. Or having a mister-of-honor," he added. "That's weird."
"Agree to disagree," Belle said, going back to her folders. "Anyway, I'm planning on the week before Thanksgiving."
"The week before Thanksgiving?" Neal's eyebrows flew up. "That's in a few weeks. Do you even have time?"
"Like I said, everything's being annoyingly easy," Belle grumbled, pulling some files out. "It's hardly any fun at all. Oh, Tink—that reminds me. I need you to come with me to pick out a dress."
Tink said something unintelligible, tripping over giggles and covering her face in her hands. Neal smiled at her in a puzzled sort of way.
"Doing all right?" he asked kindly. Tink nodded, her hands still squeezed against her face. He looked over at Belle, who was staring at Tink with the same perplexity. What the hell? he mouthed.
I have no idea, she mouthed back, shaking her head. Tink had progressed to trembling now: actually, she looked a little ill.
Neal cleared his throat. "So, how about those files?"
"Yeah, here," Belle said, stacking them up and handing them to him. He accepted them with a smile and a quiet, "Thanks" before easing the door open and closing it behind him, this time trying to be a little more considerate of her hangover. Belle watched him go, the smile fading off her face as he faded from sight.
"Oh, my God," Tink said heavily, still flushed. "Goddamn."
Belle looked over in surprise. "Sorry?"
"He is so hot," Tink said, nearly growling. "I mean... I just wanna—"
"WHOA," Belle said loudly, holding up a hand. "He is my stepson, all right? I don't want to hear anything—"
"But he's so fucking hot," Tink insisted, her eyes wild. Belle's eyebrows jumped.
"Tink," she said warningly. "Don't. Please."
Tink walked around in a circle a few times, fanning herself; Belle eyed her warily, wondering if Robin knew just how wrong he was yet.
"I can't take it!" Tink said suddenly, throwing her arms up. She looked at Belle, still fanning herself, before whispering, "God. Damn."
Belle stared at her with wide eyes, feeling immensely disturbed. "You really are a shitty nun, you know?"
* * * * * * * *
Emma swiveled in her desk chair lazily, looking at the stack of paperwork in front of her. She knew she'd have to do it eventually. She had to. It was her job as sheriff. And she was a grown-ass lady who did her job. Every part. Even the annoying parts. Like paperwork that no one would ever ever read.
She looked up at the sound of laughter coming from outside her office: Neal and Hook had crowded their chairs around Neal's computer, their assignments laying forgotten on their respective desks. Emma frowned: she didn't like it when they were chummy; they never got anything done when they were chummy, especially when they were laughing like that.
"Press 'x', press 'x'!" Hook urged as Neal's fingers moved rapidly on the keyboard, making a pixelated gladiator beat the shit out of another. Pixelated blood exploded on the screen, making Hook and Neal throw back their heads and laugh. Emma let out a disgusted breath. They were like twelve-year-olds: so immature.
Even though she had to hide a chuckle behind her hand. Blood. Now, that was just good comedy.
No, Emma! she told herself sternly, forcing herself back into seriousness. Didn't she just get through lecturing herself on paperwork and being a grown-ass lady? Pull yourself together!
"Oh, shit," Neal laughed, starting another round with a particularly vicious opponent.
"Ooh, he's feisty!" Hook said, leaning forward eagerly.
Emma realized she was half-standing, trying to get a better look at the gladiator fight. "Ugh!" she said frustratedly, throwing herself back in her seat. She had to focus, or this damn paperwork would never get finished.
She peered at the form in front of her, twiddling the pen as she tried to decipher the legal language. Hesitantly, she scrawled a signature on the bottom, then tried to translate the paragraph beneath.
"HE'S GOT A BLOODY AXE!"
"YEAH, I KNOW!"
"That's it!" she said, throwing down the pen. How the hell was she supposed to concentrate with the two of them in the background? She flung open the door, and called out sharply, "Guys?"
They turned around, their smiles fading. "Yeah...?"
Emma faltered, losing her nerve: both of them were still pretty bitter with her. It was like they had made a pact, to hold her admittedly manipulative ways over her head, to get back at her; to make her feel guilty. And to her horror, it was working quite well. "Do, uh... do you think you could get something done?" she asked in a softer tone.
Hook exchanged a glance with Neal before slowly wheeling himself back to his desk. Neal lifted his eyebrows at Emma and turned around, picking up his pen. Emma smiled tightly.
"Thanks, guys."
"Uh-huh," Hook said in a clipped tone.
Emma shut the door and went back to her desk. She couldn't help feeling worse, like they were now telepathically mocking her. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the thought. She didn't have time to worry about this, anyway. This was a workplace. She couldn't think of them as friends now; she had to think of them as her subordinates. The social awkwardness between them didn't matter right now; because this was work.
She scrawled a few more signatures, trying not to think about the fact that if things were normal between them, she'd be right out there with them, cheering on Neal as he slaughtered gladiators with the "x" button. And how after that, they'd probably look up funny YouTube videos. And after that, they'd probably see who could eat the most Saltine crackers. And after that—
Another burst of laughter punctuated the air. Emma's head snapped up to see Hook try to toss Cheerios into Neal's mouth from across the room. She slit her eyes as Neal caught one, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Did you see that?" he said triumphantly.
"Hey, I was the one that threw it, mate."
"Yeah. And I caught it despite your shitty throwing," Neal grinned. "Come on, give me another."
Hook squinted, closing one eye as he aimed. "All right, here we go," he said. "One...two—"
"Stop." Emma glared at them, her arms crossed against her chest as she leaned against her doorframe. Hook slowly lowered his arm while Neal closed his mouth, both looking back at her blandly. Emma snapped her fingers. "Follow me," she tossed over her shoulder, going over to the door. She held it open, and looked at them: they hadn't moved. They were just frozen, looking like two little boys caught goofing off during class. "Get. Up," she said icily.
Obediently, Hook and Neal walked through the door, keeping their heads down as they followed her to one of the interrogation rooms. "Sit," she ordered, pointing to two chairs.
They sat.
Emma shut the door firmly, and turned around. She walked with deliberation to the other side of the table and sat, keeping her narrowed gaze on them. "Here's the deal, boys," she said, leaning with her elbows on the table. "We've got an uncomfortable situation going with the three of us, and I think it needs to end."
They stared back stoically. Emma's eye twitched as she fought to retain her resolve.
"I am willing to admit that I... may have manipulated you guys over the last couple years, and it was wrong." She grimaced; humility left the worst taste in her mouth. "But I'm sorry. And I told you that, at least five thousand times each."
"Exagger-a-tion," Neal muttered. Hook nodded in agreement. Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling.
"Okay, but I have apologized a lot. It was wrong of me. I know. I get it. But I've learned my lesson, all right? I won't try to do that again, 'cause..." She shifted uncomfortably. "'Cause these last few weeks with you guys not talking to me have been pretty shitty."
Neal and Hook glanced at each other. "Give us a minute," Neal said.
Emma crinkled her brow, but slowly stood up. "Okay..."
She tugged the door open and walked out of the room, and straight to the one-way window so she could watch them debate. They spoke in hushed voice, so it was impossible to hear, but at one point, Hook was shaking his head "no" forcefully and folding his arms tightly while Neal tried to explain something to him. She frowned: was Hook refusing her apology? What nerve! She yanked the door open, prepared to give him a piece of her mind—
"—telling you, Arya Stark is going to outlive everyone," Neal said emphatically, barely glancing up as Emma walked back in.
"Danaerys is going to get the Iron Throne," Hook said stubbornly. "The woman's got dragons, Neal. Arya Stark's not going to outlive a dragon."
Emma stared, frozen to the spot. What the hell was going on? This had absolutely nothing to do with her apology.
"Did you guys push me out... so you could argue about Game of Thrones?" Emma asked disbelievingly, dropping back in her seat.
Neal looked up slowly. "Uh... no?"
Emma gave him a withering look. "Really?"
"Well...." He faltered at her darkening glare, and leaned back in his seat, sighing. "Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, we did."
"House Targaryen," Hook said, his eyes not leaving Neal's. "They're the rightful rulers."
"They're insane!" Neal said instantly forgetting Emma.
"They're the rightful rulers," Hook insisted, shaking his head.
"This is unbelievable," Emma said, closing her eyes and resting her head in her hands. "Unbelievable."
"Doesn't matter! They're insane!" Neal repeated, slamming his fist on the table. "That's why they called him the Mad King! That's why Jaime had to kill him in the first place, because he was fucking crazy!"
"And that's why they call him Kingslayer, because he slayed the rightful king!"
"And that's going to happen to your precious Danaerys, too! And then Arya's going to cut down everyone in her way!"
"Guys..."
"House Targaryen!"
"Starks!"
"Targaryen!"
"Starks!"
"Guys..."
"Targaryen!"
"Starks!"
"Guys!" Emma shouted over their arguing. They turned their heads, startled. She looked between the two of them, scoffing. "Is no one rooting for Tyrion Lannister anymore?"
* * * * * * * *
Ruby glared at the little corner table, where Neal, Hook, and Emma sat, laughing uproariously at something on Neal's phone. Two weeks had gone by since the... incident, and Hook still hadn't called to apologize.
So she didn't tell him she was a werewolf. Big. Fucking. Deal. After all, he didn't tell her that he was, like, a billion years old!
She lugged the heavy sugar bag onto the counter: it thudded on the counter, making Belle and Tink shoot her angry looks as their coffee cups rattled from the impact, and dripped.
"Sorry," she muttered, preparing to refill her damn sugar containers again. She looked up as Hook let out a particularly loud laugh, and buried his head in Neal's shoulder, Emma bending over the table as she shook with laughter. Ruby curled her lip.
She didn't know what happened last week, but suddenly, Neal, Hook, and Emma were like the Three Caballeros again, and Hook had gone back to pretty much ignoring her. And he came into the diner every day. And he had the nerve to ignore her?
It was bad enough she had to watch him sit with Belle every day; but to see him sitting with Emma again? That was torture. It was like, he was rubbing it in her face how much he was ignoring her.
"No, why do I have to ask her?" she heard Tink hiss at Belle. "It's your wedding—"
"Vow renewal."
"Okay, whatever it is, it's not mine."
Belle's voice took on a threatening edge. "Maybe I'll ask Neal. Maybe I'll sit down and join him right now. And then who knows what will come up—"
"All right, all right!" Tink said hastily. Ruby immediately engrossed herself in unscrewing a particularly stubborn cap, trying to look as though she hadn't been eavesdropping ten seconds earlier. "Hey, Ruby," Tink called, leaning across the counter.
"You need a refill?" she asked, looking up innocently.
"No, uh..." Tink glanced at Belle, who frowned and nudged her impatiently. "All right!" Tink snapped, and turned back to Ruby. "Belle needs me to ask you if Granny would be willing to cater her wed—ow! Vow renewal." She winced, rubbing her leg where Belle had kicked her.
"Yeah, we do catering," Ruby said absently, watching as Emma pulled a magazine out of her bag and took out a pen. "Talk to Granny to schedule it." Neal and Hook had sobered some, and were now looking over Emma's shoulder at the magazine—both of them looking far too interested for Ruby's comfort. She suddenly realized she needed to clean the windows in that corner.
"...can't decide on a Halloween costume," Emma was saying as Ruby walked purposefully to the windows, brandishing a cloth and a bottle of Windex. "I was thinking about 'sexy policewoman'—"
"Yes," Hook said instantly. Ruby made a noise of disgust, which he apparently didn't hear.
"Hold on, sparky," Emma said, a slight frown on her face she went through the magazine. Ruby squinted, watching their reflection in the window as carefully as a sniper. "I also kinda like the 'sexy cowgirl'."
"I don't know," Neal said. "This isn't a decision you should rush. We should consider all the options carefully."
"I agree," Hook said immediately. "Heed his words, Emma. He's very wise."
Ruby rolled her eyes so much, her contact lens almost popped out.
"How about that 'sexy nurse' one?" Neal suggested, turning back a few pages. Hook's eyes widened.
"Bloody hell," he breathed. "Neal, quick—run me over with your car. I need to go to the hospital."
"I'll do it," Ruby muttered darkly, as she vigorously wiped the already-clean window.
"But there's also 'sexy French maid'," Emma said, flipping to another page. "What do you guys think of—?"
"YES."
Ruby turned around incredulously: Hook and Neal stood perfectly still, their eyes wide as they gaped unashamedly at the page. "Could you guys not be so disgusting?" she snapped. "It's a diner, people are eating."
Emma frowned at her. "Ruby," she said reprovingly, "it isn't nice to eavesdrop."
Ruby's mouth opened slightly. "But it's okay for you to talk about sexy French maid costumes in front of my boyfriend?"
"Not your boyfriend," Hook mumbled, still staring at the picture in awe. Ruby's eyebrows shot up, disappearing further into her bangs when Emma said, "Maybe I should get this one."
"That's a good idea," Neal said, nodding clumsily. Hook murmured his agreement, also bobbing his head up and down.
Ruby slit her eyes at him vehemently. "I need to talk to you," she said, dropping her cleaning supplies to the floor.
"But—sexy French maid!" he protested as she pulled him by the arm to the other side of the diner. Belle and Tink watched with mild interest as she dragged Hook to the back and into the pantry. She slammed the door shut and whirled around, glaring as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. He stared back, looking rather annoyed.
"Well?" he said, raising his eyebrows. Ruby inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the urge smack him senseless.
"What does that mean, 'not your boyfriend'?" she hissed. "And why—why—would you say that in front of Emma? Are you trying to tell me something? Are you trying to break up with me? What's the deal, here? What's going on with us?"
"We're sitting in a pantry, as far as I know," Hook said, glancing around the cramped space.
"Hook." Ruby was not even slightly amused. He met her eyes reluctantly, wincing as the force of her glare hit him.
"Oh, God, I don't know!" he said exasperatedly. "There was a sexy French maid in front of me, do you honestly think I was paying attention to what I was saying?"
She wasn't sure whether to find that comforting or not. "So... where does that leave us?"
Hook raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Where do you think it leaves us?"
She deliberated for a few minutes, studying him as he fiddled with a loose string. "I think it leaves us at you being hung up on Emma or sexy French maid or whoever it is you've been ignoring me for...." Ruby took a deep breath, summoning all her reserves of maturity. "And me forgiving you for it, because I know what it's like to feel like that."
Hook looked up, blinking a few times. "Wait, you're not mad?"
"I'm not happy," she said tensely. "But I get it. I went through the same thing with Jason... and Graham... and Bradley Cooper..."
Hook frowned. "You're right, that is annoying."
Someone rapped on the pantry door. "Ruby!" Granny's voice called out snappishly. "Ruby, what are you doing in there?"
"Ugh!" Ruby yanked the door open. Granny stood there with folded arms and pursed lips, her beady eyes squinting through her spectacles. "What?"
"What are you doing in here?" Granny repeated. She made a move to walk past her, but Ruby blocked her by putting her hands on either side of the doorway.
"Nothing," she said, trying to sound casual. "I'm just... doing inventory."
"Ruby," Granny frowned, trying to get past her. "Why are you...?" She trailed off as her eyes fell on Hook. Her mouth opened, and she staggered, whipping her head back to her granddaughter accusingly. "RUBY—!"
"Oh, honestly!" Hook snapped, getting up to walk to the door. He stopped at the doorway and gave Granny a disgusted look. "You have a filthy mind."
Granny stared after him as swept out the door, then whirled back to Ruby furiously. Ruby put out a cautious hand.
"Now don't get mad—"
"Ruby Lucas, get your skinny ass back out there and finish your shift," Granny hissed in quiet fury. Ruby groaned, tilting her head back.
"Granny, I swear, we were just talking—"
"Finish. Your. Shift." Granny glared at her. "And Mr. Gold and Belle are waiting for you to go over their reception menu with them, so hurry up." She stood still as Ruby made a frustrated noise and pushed past her. "And smile!"
Ruby pulled her lips back in a sarcastic smile and stalked to the counter, where Gold and Belle were sitting, murmuring as they frowned at a menu.
"Hey. Granny said you guys needed some help," Ruby said, leaning her elbows on the counter. Belle closed her eyes at the sound of her voice, but Gold looked up with a smile.
"Afternoon, Ruby," he said pleasantly. "We were just trying to decide between chicken parmesan and lasagna for the entree."
"Isn't it, like, the same thing?" Ruby asked, lifting her eyebrows. Gold looked scandalized.
"Chicken parmesan and lasagna, the same thing?" he said. "Are you mad, woman?"
"I think we should do the chicken," Belle said, looking rather grumpy. "People always bring food to these things, and Regina's going to want to bring lasagna. I don't want there to be two lasagnas."
"Just tell people not to bring stuff," Ruby suggested in a bored voice. "Problem solved."
"That would be rude," Gold said, shifting uncomfortably. "I-I don't want to be rude."
"Then get chicken."
"But I like lasagna," he whined.
"Regina will bring lasagna," Belle said through clenched teeth. "We should get chicken."
"But Belle..."
"Rumple, you said I could decide everything," she said heatedly. "The dress, the venue, the flowers—"
"And those are all fine, I don't care about any of those," Gold said. "But I have to eat the food, I should get a say in what I'm putting in my mouth."
Belle put her head in hands, speaking in a muffled voice. "Rumple, so help me God..."
Ruby's attention wandered as they started a muttered argument. Her eyes travelled back to the little corner table, where Emma and the guys were still looking through her Halloween magazine. Ruby's shoulders tensed and she felt her temper rise again....but then, as if he could feel her eyes on him, Hook looked up and offered her a cautious smile.
Surprised, she smiled back. He turned back to the magazine, joining in a discussion on the merits of sexy policewoman over sexy nurse, but this time Ruby didn't mind as much.
Her smile twitched as Emma turned to another page and Hook wiggled his eyebrows, grinning widely.
"'Sexy pirate wench'. I like it."
"No, no, no," Neal said immediately, reaching over and turning the page. "Come on, dude, I thought we agreed on 'sexy French maid'."
"I do love 'sexy French maid'," he mused, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully against his mouth.
"I still like 'sexy policewoman'," Emma said, turning back.
"But you're 'sexy policewoman' every day," Neal pointed out. Emma smiled and swatted his arm.
"Neal," she said admonishingly, though she sounded rather pleased. Ruby pursed her lips, feeling her temper rise again.
I wonder how she'd feel about going as 'sexy murder victim', she thought to herself bitterly.