Ruby bounced up to the recently occupied table, already putting together the order of hamburgers and milkshakes that was the usual for this particular couple.
"Morning, Weaver. Belle," she said, nodding to each of them. "Left the munchkin at home today?"
Weaver raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with the nickname for his child. Belle, always the easy-going half of the pair, smiled. "Henry's baby-sitting," she offered. "It's a special occasion, you see. Five years since our first meeting.”
Ruby smiled back. She didn't see the appeal of Weaver, but he must be a good husband to put that much joy on Belle's face. That alone placed him above most men in Ruby's circle. "Congratulations!" she said sincerely, and then lowered her voice. "This calls for free cake, don't you think?"
Weaver frowned. "And in exchange?"
Ruby pretended she didn't notice Belle's elbow connect with her husband's side. If that was how he wanted to play it...
"Well," she said sweetly, aware that nobody - outside from Emma and Henry - knew much about the couple from before they'd settled in Storybrooke, "in honor of the date, how about you tell me how you met?"
The two blinked, mouths twitching, and before Ruby could tease them further, they met each other's eye and broke into laughter.
A self-proclaimed cynic since he'd learned the meaning of the word, and having lost any faith in goodness or justice the day his son died and his murderer walked free, Ronald Weaver still hadn't expected that his first thought upon seeing the love of his life would be -
Well, crap. There goes my day off.
He was equally certain that Belle, kind and polite soul that she was, had never dreamed that the first words her future husband heard from her would entail the removal of human body parts dear to the male of the species.
True Love, Weaver often thought, must have been snickering in the background that day.
~Five years ago.~
The rain poured onto the streets, a regular phenomenon in Seattle that emptied the streets. However, only the unwise assumed that the police got a respite in this weather. Troublemakers forced to stay at home meant that domestic trouble tripled and the force was often spread thin answering the many urgent calls.
It made a man damn glad to be off duty, even if he'd gotten soaked in the unexpected shower after barely half a block's trek. Weaver's trip to find a birthday gift for his grandson had to be cut short in favor of escaping the bout of pneumonia he was sure to catch if he remained under the rain for long. The open flower shop across the street had seemed like a godsend.
Weaver hurried to the promise of shelter, and stepped inside just in time to see a scowling brunette lift her gun.
Crap.
"You better get the hell out of here, or you'll be missing one appendage," the girl said, her hand never wavering. The man she was threatening failed to look worried - until she shifted her aim "And it won't be one of your limbs."
A broader man behind her, older and anxiously clutching a cap between his hands, mumbled something along the lines of caution, but the girl ignored him.
"No, Papa. You're almost out of business, keeping up with this scumbag's demands." If looks could throw daggers, the man on the wrong side of the gun would already be mincemeat - and he'd be lucky if the first knife didn't cut between his legs. "They might have bought the entire police department, but they won't be playing their 'protection' game here anymore."
Weaver had enough experience with wrathful women to know that the brunette meant business.
Not on my watch.
The paperwork would be hell.
He cleared his throat loudly, satisfied when three heads snapped toward him. The would-be extortionist paled in recognition, which made Weaver relax a fraction. Reputation could be so very handy...
"Right," he said, taking control of the situation. "Nobody do anything stupid." He nodded when the would-be extortionist froze, then turned to the other half of his new headache, disbelieving that he actually had to say the next words. "Lady, lower your weapon."
The girl glared at him.
Weaver tried to remember the last time someone had disobeyed him. Patience almost at a breaking point, he fished out his badge. "I said, put the damn gun down."
The girl jutted out her chin, and it took another three seconds - and a pleading look from her father - before she pointed her gun at the floor.
Weaver didn't remark on the tension in her arm that screamed she was ready to pull it up at a moment's notice. "Make your choice, dearie," he told her calmly yet firmly. "Shoot this guy and figure out how to scare off his buddies from behind bars. Or play nice and I'll handle this here and now."
"You're a cop," she shot back, looking disgusted. "What do you want in exchange?"
He cursed every corrupt officer in the area. He was hardly a shining example of public service, but mountains of gold couldn't buy him. "A fucking day off without hauling in a prospective murderess and her accomplice."
Her cheeks burned with anger. "Leave my father out of this!"
"Gladly. Just do as I say." He met her glare dispassionately. "Unless you prefer to spend the night in a cell?"
She took a deep breath, eyeing him with distrust, but nodded at last.
Smart girl.
With measured steps, Weaver sauntered to her side, then lowered his voice. "You mess this for me, there'll be hell to pay."
The warning had no visible effect. Instead she measured him boldly. "My father, his employees. They'll be safe?"
He grunted a confirmation.
"Then I'll follow your lead."
Their deal struck, he turned to the thug. "This is how the next five seconds will go," he instructed. "You will walk away and head straight to your boss. Tell her that Detective Ronald Weaver has grown a fondness for roses and this flower shop is permanently off her hit list from now on. Got it?"
"You can't-"
Weaver took out his own weapon, aimed it between the man's eyes, and ignored the small gasp that the girl let out.
No, lady. I don't bother with limbs.
"Not. A. Suggestion," he sneered. "Just present your report, dearie. Leave the important decisions to the people in charge."
The man licked his lips, and Weaver saw the moment he realized he was being held down by a man half his weight. "Please do something stupid," he drawled, allowing himself a smile. "The captain hasn't given me a lecture on human rights in weeks."
The man scowled, but a flick of Weaver's finger against the trigger had him dipping his head reluctantly before he hurried out of the store.
That left Weaver with the shop owner and his daughter. "Well, congratulations on your little war," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Stunts like this got civilians killed. "Are you insane?"
The girl's eyes widened, but she didn't break into tears or hurl insults at him. Instead she glanced at the gun he'd holstered at his hip, then at the smaller version hanging from her hand, and burst into giggles.
"I can't believe this," her father whispered, having recovered his speech now that the danger had passed. "Belle?"
And that was how Weaver discovered his future wife's name.
Life in Storybrooke was every bit as boring as Henry constantly complained. And Weaver loved every second of it.
Belle's suggestion to move closer to his grandson and raise Gideon in the quieter coastal town, was his favorite idea after the day she'd come into the precinct to thank him for his intervention.
Their life together was a dream neither the angry woman nor the exhausted detective they'd been five has ago could have imagined. Today's small celebration encompassed much more than their actual meeting, but they hadn't explained that to Ruby before she'd popped her question.
Just thinking of an honest answer amused Weaver, and it became obvious to him that Belle shared the sentiment.
"Oh, Rubes, don't get mad," Belle said, since the girl was starting to look vexed. "It's just... well. I was helping my dad at his work, and," She bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully to phrase what had happened next. "Ron, a little help?"
Weaver passed an arm around her shoulders, then smirked at the curious waitress. "I guess I offered her a deal she couldn't refuse."
"And I accepted!"
Looking confused, Ruby settled for an expressive eyeroll. "Fine, don't tell me," she groused, "but you don't need to speak in code!"
