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Rumple
Rumplestiltskin cried thinking of all those times when he made ridiculous plans to do something evil and it never went well. Every time he tried to do something shady it somehow backfired spectacularly. It seemed that not been able to complete the cast of the dark course had created some sort of karma now his plan, the darkest plan ever planned by the dark one would work.
Unless he did the unthinkable, unless he paid the ultimate price to save everyone… he had known the moment he discovered the plan of the dark one that the only one who could stop him would be him. But at his core, he was what he had always been, a coward…
His tears are bitter, and he knows that if he does this he would never see her again, he has failed her again. He can’t do this; he needs her comfort and love, her faith on him. He doesn’t deserve her but he needs her. He needs to see her face, to hear her voice, once more.
He feels drained and empty. As he sees in the dream catcher his memories of the wedding, how beautiful, how utterly perfect she looked, he cries for the time he wasted with her, for the time he could have been happy and was wasted.
He thinks in the words he heard of unknown source, infinite combinations… he heard it somewhere, somehow, he is not sure, was it Henry? Or has his Belle who told him? Maybe it was Gideon in one of his breaks from the academy. He is not sure about it but he remembers some words:
Infinite realms, similar, yet completely different. Like this “Whish Realm” that have turned oh so real, where the curse was never casted. One universe where we exist, one where we don’t. Infinite alternatives.
He sees the dream catcher and an idea comes to him. Those universes connected by the tiniest of threads, but connected nonetheless. He should be able to call them, it could take more magic that he is comfortable with but he has nothing to lose at this point.
He tries to call them, this alternatives, to his dream catcher, those other times he met her and tries to see happiness even if is only a little.
He knows he would do whatever it takes to stop this man, this beast that represents the worst of him, the man he tried to forget he was and the man he could have become without belle, without the memories of her love and her kisses, and he would never saw her again so he want the memory of her smile to give him strength because that’s what she is, his strength.
It’s working, he could feel it, the images are coming…
Tess
She needed to get pregnant or all of this would have been for nothing, Nassedo was dead and now all the responsibility to carry their plan to fruition was in her shoulders. It had been so difficult! Zan, her beloved Zan was in love with a human girl uhgg, that stupid Liz!
But she had been working, time and charms would get her the prize, after all for all that she loved Zan, he didn’t need to love her back to get her pregnant. She just needed one night, or day, one night when his defenses were low enough so feelings from his previous life would resurface and she would be there to comfort her and show him her undying love.
She needed one opportunity and she needed to do everything right when the opportunity present because she was under no illusions that she was going to have more than one try.
That was the reason she was here in this horrible city instead of Roswell, another horrible city in this backward planet, with Zan, looking for the only creature that would help her to fertile the moment when she and Zan got together.
She heard the sounds getting closer and closer, a childish laugh that crossed her back and gave her goosebumps.
-Oh, oh. What do we have here?
A reptilian, one of the last survivors of an ancient race now almost extinct, famous for their knowledge… and their deals. It was rumored they could give you whatever your heart desired… for a price.
Tess stilled herself. She had come to this point and she wasn’t going to go back to Roswell without the means to complete her plan.
-I have come to make a deal.
The image was cut abruptly, the reminder of the other him, the dark one, completely unwelcome. Even if the images make him remember his first encounter with his beautiful Belle. No, this wasn’t what he wanted to see; he wanted to see something else, something better. He concentrated in his wish calling the visions of the times he wanted to see…
Hierophant
It was official. There was a new serial killer in the Heights.
After the roller-coaster that was the investigation about the candy killer almost two years ago Weaver was thinking he would have a little peace and his life would go back to normal after hearings, testifying in court and an endless pile of late reports to catch up. And now he had a new serial killer case in his hands.
Worst was that he didn’t think this was going to be over anytime soon. There was little evidence to go by, the last three months or so there had been six murders, all had been men; some had faced charges of sexual assault. All murdered in the same area in the same way.
Some officers believed it was a woman, Weaver had his doubts, while a woman would fit in the profile, she would have to be quite skilled to get the job done, and while Weaver didn’t want to be sexist but there were more probability it was a man, the father, brother of even the partner of some rape victim if someone asked him, and he decided to answer, which he didn’t think was bloody likely. After all it was best to keep things close to the vest in ongoing investigations and the press would likely distort anything he said.
What Weaver didn’t understand was why so many people praised their efforts, saying that they were cleaning the streets of the scum the police ignored.
But a murder was a murder and also a crime and his job, whether the people believed he was dedicated to it or not, was to purse and arrest criminals.
He had to question the shop keeper of one of the stores nearest to the site of the crime, a small flower shop, with an even smaller shop keeper, not that Weaver had much moral height to make jokes about short people. But the woman was petite, with luscious blonde curls and an easy smile. She had been sad about not been of much help to the police but the day before the store had been close and she hadn’t witness anything. She had been just a little coquettish and in the end Weaver left the flower shop with a little paper with her phone number, in case he needed to question her further, of course.
Without knowing it, Weaver had just met the hierophant killer.
- One last time -he whispered sounding hoarse even for his ears, the sound was defeating, and the stories seemed to not have a happy ending, was that their destiny? To know each other but never be truly happy with each other. No, he needed to see something, to recover the hope that somewhere, somehow, he and Belle where happy, safe and sound.
-Just one more time…-He could feel the magic accepting to his wishes, looking for an image of hope and happiness.
Claire
How much time the ETM were supposed to take to arrive? The lady was having that baby RIGHT NOW! And they need a doctor. They been him, Det. Weaver, and the pregnant lady. She for obvious reasons, and Weaver so they could check out his hand, he was sure the lady (most like a girl she was too fucking young to be having a child of her own) had already broken one or two bones by holding his hand so freaking tight.
Tears were silently falling from her eyes, and her teeth were pressed together trying to withstand the pain the contractions must be causing her. Weaver has sort of an informal expert in pain and none of the things he had braved seemed to hurt as much as she was hurting right now. And he had been shot once! But all of that would be worth it if the girl delivered the baby safe and sound. But for that they needed the fucking ETM! Why were they taking so long?
Funny thing was that even though the ETM came the lady refused to liberate his hand and he ended accompanying her thought the birthing of her baby, who was a little boy, healthy and rosy pink.
After the ETM had checked out his hand and assured him there was nothing wrong with it, he noticed the new mother waving at him and asking him to come to her.
They talked a little bit, she thanking him for his help and apologizing to him for crushing his hand, Weaver dismissed her concerns, telling her it was part of his duties as a detective.
-And may I know the name of my savior? -She asked smiling. Weaver was still a little dazzled from the whole experience that he didn’t notice to obvious sinister intentions behind her questioning.
-Weaver, Aaron Weaver, -In that moment his reasoning came back and he understood her evil plans- No, no way. Don’t even think about it.
Her smile was proof enough to fundament his fears.
That moment he decided that Roger should never learn about this, the Boy Scout would never let him leave this down.
At the end the snap shot of him with Claire and little Aaron, cut from a newspaper, graced his desk at the station.
He smiled, he had missed the birth of his sons, but that moment was, as Belle would say, a new beginning. He thought of Gideon, and the sadness his passing would cause him, but there was no going back, this was to save him, to save everyone of the corrupted version of himself. He would be okay; at the end everyone would be okay.
Rush & Gideon
For Gideon this is unexpected. After going to the Wish Realm to retrieve the body of his father, he had decided to put him to rest in the same place as his mom, in the rose garden by their home in the Edge of the Realms. After that he had to take care of the house, and some other properties his father still owned.
It had been Alice, a nice girl that reminded him a little of his mother, and he could see why his father had been fond of her, she must have been like the daughter his parents never had, that told him about the apartment his father was given by the course in Hyperon Heights, and about the many objects of sentimental value that could still be there.
He opted for going alone, at list this first time, to be there for the first time, with the belongs of the man his father was cursed to be.
Something must have been wrong with the magic bean, because he hadn’t ended in Hyperon Heights, as planned, but in a big room, with many people and a man that looked so much like his father but wasn’t his father. There was no recognition when Gideon called to him and he had thought this a dream, a strange dream, brought by the pain, but he had fainted before he could do something more and had woken up to the most interesting reality.
He was questioned by a mild mannered man in front of a lot of people, who keep asking about a gate, which gate he wasn’t sure, maybe the portal he had used, maybe not.
It had taken him a while to understand; apparently he was on a ship in space, in space of all things! With a man that looked and sounded like his father but wasn’t his father.
But maybe he is, because the second time he met Rush, the man that looks like his father, after his so embarrassing little unplanned nap, in his confusion and amaze he had dropped his things and the travel book his mother so loving filled with photos of their travels, fell to the floor, and one photo, not glued well enough came lose, and him, Rush picked it up.
It was a favorite of his father, the one where he is a baby and his mother looks slightly annoyed and it’s a little blurry. His mother hated the photo, but papa had always loved it. And Gideon thought it was funny.
He examined the photo for some moments before giving it back, and rushing out of the room, his eyes looking the tiniest bit wet.
So Gideon still guards hope in his heart because he understand what this means, that his father is still alive somehow in this doppelgangers of his. Because he must have recognized his mother and he cried because he is separated from her and looking madly for a way back to her. Maybe there are dozens or hundreds of other doppelgangers in other universes, and times and places where his father is still alive and happy somewhere, with his mother, his brother and him.
The pain of his father’s passing, still fresh, became a little less sharp after this discovering. Because maybe, and just maybe, happy beginnings never end.