(love will see us through these) Dark Days [CSRT; 1/7]
Summary: A century ago, the United Realms of Pomem had been a land of peace, prosperity, and magic. Until war tore the land apart, leaving behind cruel leaders and even crueler laws regarding the use of magic. And each year, the youth of each realm are subjected to a fight to the death, both for entertainment and to weed out anyone capable of wielding magic. In the 99th Magic Games, past victors Emma Nolan and Killian Jones find themselves serving as mentors, while Alice Gothel and Robyn West end up representing their realm. Everyone has secrets; everyone has something to lose. Who will win? Who will die? Just don’t forget: all magic comes with a price.
rated M | 2.8k words | AO3
A/N: In case this sounds sort of familiar, this is a reworking of Once Upon A Time in Panem, which I've done as part of the Captain Swan Rewrite-A-Thon (@captainswanbigbang). Thanks to the mod crew for putting on this awesome event! And to @optomisticgirl for being the greatest beta in the history of betas.
A note before you read: in this story, Alice is Killian's daughter with Eloise. But the circumstances surrounding her conception are NOT what they were in the show; while Gothel isn't exactly a great person, she's not the main villain and every effort has been taken to illustrate consent. But if the Knightrook relationship isn't your thing, it might be best to pass this one over. Also, as it was inspired by The Hunger Games, there is some mild violence.Story title comes from "Dark Days" by the Punch Brothers; chapter title from “Run Daddy Run” by Miranda Lambert + Pistol Annies.
part 1: Oh how I've dreaded this god forsaken day
Alice fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. It was a nervous habit and she knew what her mother would say about it—what she was probably trying to say telepathically from her seat on the stage. But Alice had never mastered the cool composure of Eloise; her emotions tended to carry her off with them.
But even her mum had to have some nerves today. It was the Reaping for the annual Magic Games, and at 16—and the daughter of Sherwood’s only past Victor—she knew the odds weren’t in her favor. Statistically, she didn’t have a higher or lower chance of her name being drawn than any other 16-year-old, but Olympus loved a good story, and one they could never resist was seeing how a Victor’s child fared in the Games.
It was why her mother never really wanted to have her. Not generally something a parent told a child, but it’s not like there was anything all that normal about their relationship anyways.
So she continued to tug nervously on her skirt, her mother’s thoughts be damned.
“Welcome, welcome all,” announced the district escort from Olympus, Victoria Tremaine. She’d been in that role for years but was seemingly ageless; Olympus had some skilled plastic surgeons, apparently. “Thank you for joining me today at the Selection for the 99th Annual Magic Games.” As if they had a choice: attendance was mandatory for everyone, no matter how young or old. Even the textile factories were shut down from their normal ‘round-the-clock grind; the air was eerily quiet without their constant hum. “Before we get to the main event, allow me to present a brief program on the history of the Games, so we can reflect on where we’ve been, and see just how far we’ve come.”
Alice sighed and shifted her weight impatiently; it was the same video every year—the same propaganda.
“Once upon a time, the realms of magic were at peace, and a harmonious existence was enjoyed by all,” the narration told. “It was so idyllic that they decided to join as one so as to better share their prosperity.”
She probably had it memorized at this point.
“And so the most skilled magic users in each realm got together and wove the strongest spell anyone had ever seen, joining the worlds in one land: the United Realms of Pomem, from the Latin for apple—representing their hopes to share knowledge and for a fruitful future.”
Alice shivered; she was always leery of apples.
“There was a land without magic, though, which had landed in the middle of Neverland, one of the most magical. This was decided to be the capital of this new world, and it was given a name that all the realms knew as mythical: Olympus.
“For years, Pomem flourished, sharing ideas and trade and becoming one of the most technologically advanced civilizations in history. Eventually, it became hard to tell where the magic stopped and science began.”
And this was where the video took a turn for the worse, as far as Alice was concerned.
“Those with magic grew jealous of the advancing technology, despite the fact that it put everyone on equal footing. They preferred to be seen as higher than their peers, and more skilled; they didn’t want to lose their power. What once had brought people together was now a point of division.”
Oh, someone was definitely clamoring for power, Alice knew; but it certainly had not been magic-users.
“Harsh penalties were put in place for anyone caught practicing or using magic—a fair law—” Alice couldn’t suppress her snort of derision “—which many didn’t appreciate, even if they didn’t possess it themselves. Tensions built, and the ungrateful citizens of the realms revolted.”
I would have, too, Alice thought; she didn’t dare voice that opinion out loud, though—not when the armor-plated Black Knights from Olympus were standing guard over the proceedings.
“Four leaders emerged in the rebellion: sorceresses known as the Wicked Witch of the West, the Evil Queen of the East, the Guardian in the North, and the Savior in the South. They led the insurrectionists against Olympus.” The grainy image of four women in old-fashioned cloaks, standing together in a defensive pose, was the only part of this that Alice even sort of enjoyed. She always wanted to know more about them, but any record of who they were outside of the rebellion had been destroyed.
“But they didn’t stand a chance. Olympus knew something they didn’t: how to destroy magic. Through their advanced technology and incredible force, Olympus obliterated the insurgents, and nearly rid the realm of the offending sorcery. Completely destroyed was the realm of Wonderland, which had been another stronghold of magic.”
That part always bothered Alice the most—as if genocide wasn’t enough, the fact that an entire realm had been destroyed...god. There was an image of the annihilated ruins on the projection—burning shrubbery, charred homes, and what she could only imagine had been plants of a fantastical nature reduced to ashes. What a waste.
“So, to make sure the citizens remembered their place and that magic never gained power again, Olympus took two known magic users from each realm and locked them into an arena in the depths of Neverland, forcing them to fight to the death. The inherent magic in the land made it all the easier to determine who was the most powerful—and ensure they couldn’t unleash their sorcery on the world again. The lone Victor was granted immunity, and was rendered safe for the world by wearing a computerized cuff that blocked their use of magic.”
That part always hit too close to home; Alice glared at the bracelet her mother had to wear.
“To ensure the continued suppression of magic, the Magic Games continue each year, with each of the realms—Phrygia, Oz, Arendelle, Agrabah, Sherwood, Atlantica, Erebor, Misthaven, DunBroch, and Stormhold—” the scenic views of each that flashed overhead were definitely altered; she’d never seen a cotton field in Sherwood look so photogenic “—required to send two tributes each from their young people. Only one can emerge victorious—and those with magic rarely survive.
“Now, Pomem is once more that land of expanding knowledge and growing prosperity, with no magic to be seen. We continue the games to ensure our lasting peace. Now, let the Reaping begin, and remember: All Magic Comes With A Price.” The crest of Olympus—an apple hanging off a branch—appeared onscreen, along with the strains of the anthem, and then faded away. A few government officials clapped, most enthusiastically being Tremaine, who took the mic again.
“Let’s not drag this out any longer, shall we? Let the Reaping for the 99th Magic Games commence!” How she could be so cheery when she was essentially sentencing children to death was something Alice couldn’t comprehend.
The woman placed her well-manicured hand in the bowl that held the name of all the youth of the realm, everyone from age 12 to 18. Everyone around Alice joined in her restlessness; they all had their names in there five times—once for every year since they became “eligible” (as if it was some kind of honor—ugh).
Carefully, Tremaine pulled out a slip and made a production of opening it. Alice held her breath.
“Our first tribute is...Robyn West.”
“No,” Alice gasped under her breath, and her eyes darted around to find the other girl. Robyn was her classmate, though they weren’t all that close. The thing was: she wanted to be close with her—had for ages—but never worked up the nerve. The butterflies she felt whenever she looked at the strawberry blonde girl were dancing a sad flutter in her stomach as she watched the other girl confidently march up to the stage. God, that sucked.
“Thank you, Miss West,” Victoria said once she’d reached the podium. “And now for our second tribute...Nicholas Zimmer.”
Okay, that was worse; it may not have been her name called, but she felt no relief. Nicholas was only 12, and he and his twin sister were probably the closest thing she had to friends—at least, they were the only ones to take pity on the weird girl who lived practically alone in Victor’s Village. Well-socialized, she was not. That, and she knew the family was struggling—she could see his mother breaking down in tears as he shyly stepped forward to head up.
No, she wasn’t okay with that at all. But there was only one thing she could do about it.
Good thing everyone already thought she was crazy, because what she did next was pure insanity.
Steeling her nerves, she squeezed her hands into fists, tamping down the sparks of magic that were trying to escape. Then she stepped into the aisle between everyone.
“I volunteer!” she shouted. Gasps surrounded her, and Nicholas froze in his spot.
She jogged up to him, placed her hand on his shoulder, and gave him a look that she hoped told him it was okay. Then she faced Tremaine and said again, “I volunteer as tribute.”
Behind the escort, her mother was giving a stern look that she couldn’t exactly read. But Victoria carried on. “Well, this is quite the surprise! Come on up, then, and tell us your name.”
Before her mind could catch up with what she’d just done, she ran up the steps to the microphone. “I’m Alice; Alice...Gothel.”
“Why, you must be Eloise’s daughter!” Tremaine exclaimed. “How wonderful!” That wasn’t the word Alice would have chosen.
In no time at all, Alice was being escorted off the stage and into the city hall behind them. She threw a glance toward Robyn as they entered the building, only to find the other girl nearly gaping at her. Maybe she would get a chance to tell her how she felt after all. Not that it would do much good.
Neither of them had great chances of getting out of this alive, coming from a poor realm like Sherwood. But Alice was the daughter of not one, but two victors; that had to count for something, right?
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Emma Nolan could hear her mother gasping from downstairs.
“David! Look at that—she volunteered to save that boy! No one ever does that!”
“I’m sitting right next to you, Snow.”
“I know, but—oh my god, isn’t that Eloise’s daughter?”
“Damn, I think it is.”
God, it was like they’d never seen a Reaping before, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. Not that anyone’s lives were free of the annual anguish, but her family in particular was extra intimate with the affair.
Snow Nolan and her husband, David—who were victors in back-to-back years, and were basically local royalty—had long served as Misthaven’s mentors, with one main exception: the year their daughter, Emma, was reaped (one of their former mentees, Graham Humbert, had the honor that year).
Which made her wonder—why would the child of a victor who hadn’t been selected enter the Games voluntarily? If she somehow managed to escape that fate, why go chasing it? She didn’t need Henry seeing stuff like that; his odds were terrible enough as it was. At least he was still only 11.
God, even the thought of that made her magic prick at her fingertips. She took a few calming breaths until it subsided; few knew about it, least of all Olympus, and she needed to keep it that way if she was going to have any success this year.
Her mother had been chosen as Mayor of Misthaven a few months ago, which was how Emma found herself rushing to pack a suitcase in anticipation of her first year as a mentor, alongside Graham, who had come to be one of her closest friends in the ensuing years. To the rest of the world, they were more than that—as far as Olympus and its citizens were concerned, Emma and Graham were True Loves, capital letters and all, just like her parents, living happily with their son, Henry.
And she did love Graham, but more as a brother than a lover, and she knew he felt the same toward her. Their shared experiences in the Games brought them together as friends and Henry had united them as parents, but she had long since vowed to never fall in love again; not after what happened with Neal.
“Mom, hurry up! Dad’s already packed. You don’t want to be late!” Henry shouted from downstairs. Truthfully, she was supposed to be watching the other realms’ Reapings before attending Misthaven’s, but she wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t procrastinating. It was as good an excuse as any to avoid the inevitable crowd shots of weeping parents and terrified kids.
Henry apparently gave up waiting and just ran into her room. Despite Graham not being his biological father, he looked more like Graham’s son than Emma’s, with their shared dark, messy hair; she’d hoped Henry would inherit her green eyes, but they were definitely Neal’s deep brown. He knew the truth about his father, but Graham was as much his parent as Emma was.
“I’m almost done,” Emma replied, zipping up her bag. “Just missing one thing: a hug.” She walked over to her son and wrapped him tight. “I’m going to miss you, kid.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Mom. Are you sure you have to go?”
“You know I don’t have a choice, Henry; it’s my turn,” she answered; there were only a handful of other Victors in their realm, but they had all done the mentor thing before her parents. “Plus, I think your grandparents are looking forward to having you to themselves for a few weeks.” Henry laughed at that, but hugged just a bit tighter. “I love you, Henry.”
“Love you, too.”
Graham poked his head into the room. “Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Shall we, then?”
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From his home in Atlantica, Killian Jones, victor of the 82nd Magic Games, watched the events in Sherwood as they were broadcast. He was about to make his way to his own town square for their Reaping, and from there would head with this year’s tributes to Olympus as one of their mentors.
He was nursing his glass of rum with extra careful attention this year. The Reaping always had a way of bringing up unpleasant memories—being reaped twice will do that to a man—but it’d gotten worse each of the past few. The rum didn’t really help, but he supposed it didn’t hurt either. It wouldn’t change the outcome, but he’d gotten so used to the vice over the years that it was something of a comfort—especially given that his only true source of comfort was presently out of reach.
The same familiar churning in his gut began to coil as he watched the mouthpiece from Olympus stick her fingers in that bowl. The image was nearly identical to the one 23 years ago, when his 12-year-old self was first called up. That one was clearer in his memory than the one six years later, because of what followed.
But he shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory; as much as it still hurt, it was in the past. He turned his focus back on the television, and let out a deep breath when the first name was called, even if it was slightly familiar. It wasn’t the one he was most concerned with.
It was the same with the second name, and he finished his drink. He stood to start to make his way out, but then an all-too-familiar voice rang out from the television, and that memory that had threatened to take over played through his head without restraint.
“I volunteer!” the voice shouted, and its echo rang out in his head—his brother’s voice, all those years ago.
He watched in horror as the blonde girl from Sherwood took the boy’s place, just like Liam had taken his. No—no, this couldn’t be happening, not again. Gods, he couldn’t watch.
“I’m Alice; Alice...Gothel,” the girl said.
(“I’m Liam Jones,” the memory echoed.)
In a weird way, being chosen again for—and then somehow winning—the games when he was 18 had ended up giving him a reason to go on, instead of the aimless drift he’d been on in those intervening years. But in one moment—one more absurd display of nobility and bravery—that was all at risk of crumbling again, and spectacularly so.
With a primal yell, he punched his tv with his hook, shattering the screen and cutting his clothing, but that was the least of his cares.
The Games had already taken his hand, his love, and his brother.
They weren’t taking his daughter, too.
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thanks for reading! the rest of the chapters will be much longer, I assure you. tagging some people who might be interested; please let me know if you/don’t want a tag! @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes
Okay, so admittedly, this is a KnightRook ff and not technically CS, but I read it and LOVED it and wanted others to be able to enjoy the little jolt to the heart it gave me. So hopefully you will enjoy it too - I simply had to recommend it! :)
This one shot is set in OuaT’s S7 and gives us a moment of introspection, love, longing, and fatherly feels for Rogers as he takes Tilly under his wing. It’s really more a missing moment fic than anything else, as it feels like it could have happened in canon and might have really been going on in our beloved detective’s head right then. Lovely, lovely, LOVELY from beginning to end!
I have a vague idea for a KnightRook fic, but no time to write it, but I wanted to share some feels anyway.
So I imagine when Killian started feeling that Alice was reciprocating his love. He loved her from the first moments, but he knew it would take time before Alice would have the ability to express any kind of emotion for someone else.
But then, babies giving their first smiles is the cutest thing ever, and usually there's a reason behind those smiles. So when he'd pick her up, and just for that, she smiled... it melted his heart. She was happy to be picked up in his arms. She was happy to just see him. She was happy, with him.
And like, it was the first sign, and then others came, but it was always... vague. Her reactions made him very happy, of course, but they weren't clear declarations of love, so maybe that little voice in his mind told him that maybe she'd never show that.
But after some time, especially after she'd started trying to speak, when he tucked her in bed and sang her to sleep, he whispered "I love you" then kissed her forehead as she fell asleep.
And he never expected any response. It was just him wanting her to feel loved.
Eventually, there comes a point where she asks what it means, and he just doesn't know how to respond. What is love? Baby don't hurt me
He conjures up a response, with very simple words since she's still little and learning, and she seems satisfied by it, but he doesn't expect anything again.
Then, the same night or a few nights after, when he finished the lullaby, before he can say anything else, she whispers to him "I love you."
He carefully picks himself up, whispers "I love you too" and kisses her forehead, then leaves.
And collapses on his knees as soon as he turns the corner, barely containing in his sobs, indescribably surprised by the effect of those little words from his little girl.
She loves him. With her pure, young heart, she's giving back to him what he's been giving her all along without any expectation or demand for a payback. And it's exactly because of that that he's so shaken by her words. He didn't expect it, he hadn't sat to think when she'd be old enough to express her feelings with words, and he'd been unloved for so long that it just shakes him to the core and he's left a sobbing mess within seconds.
He can't say he gets used to it; more like he gets used to controlling his emotions and accepting it as nothing new. But since then, every time she told him or showed him she loved him was a moment he treasured.
Note: This is more of an outline than a fic. I couldn’t be bothered to polish it but maybe I will later xD. This is based on my headcanon: ‘What if Rogers had cursed memories of having a daughter?’ The last part is canon divergent where the curse doesn’t break and Rogers and Tilly don’t see anything magical when kidnapped.
Trigger Warnings: Character death, Child Death, Mentions of Child abuse
Rogers was a mere 16 years of age. He dwelled in a run-down cottage passed on to him by his older brother. It was his own, personal fortress of solitude. But then, the diminutive building could hardly be compared to some grand structure.
He’d been marginally managing to muddle through school, with the death of his brother just 2 years prior. Rogers was all alone in the world now, with no one to counsel him and no one to verbalize his frustrations with or share precious moments with. The dark-haired teenager was an orphan who’d been raised in the foster system and subsequently by his brother.
One night, on the anniversary of his brother's death, he found himself incredibly drunk at a club. He met a girl there who was in a near identical state to his own. After the last stars had faded into black, he resolved to ask her to join hands and journey to his home with him. Things went further than he ever intended for them to go and by morning she was lost from sight, never to be laid eyes on again. The whole night had blurred into confusion. He couldn’t recall the girl’s features. They were distorted in his mind and her name was an even greater mystery. After much rumination on the matter, he opted to never ponder over it again.
Around eight months later, Rogers received a letter addressed, bizarrely enough, to someone christened James. But he was James. He could hardly trust his eyes. He scarcely got letters from anyone. Who would write to him when damn near no one concerned themselves with his existence?
He opened the letter. It read, ‘Dear James, I am writing to inform you that our baby girl was born yesterday on the 1st of August. She’s still on the ventilator and is being closely monitored but there’s hope she’ll make a recovery. I hope this letter reaches you in good time, regards, E.G.’
Rogers’ eyes steadily began to well up without consent. A baby girl? He had a daughter? But how? Surely not that night. Was this some kind of cruel trick? Was the girl plotting some kind of revenge or was she after something from him? But then, he thought to himself: what if she was telling the truth and he had a baby daughter- a daughter born prematurely, who needed the love of her father? So many questions ran through his mind, more briskly than he could contend with.
He had to find this girl who’d crept into his life, into his bed and had supposedly given birth to his child. He had to be with his daughter somehow. He prayed to God she’d be alright. She was going to make it. She had to. He was a father. He smiled to himself thinking of all that that meant as he pulled on his coat and raced outside. He wasn’t completely sure where he was going.
He decided to head to the post office, anticipating that they would somehow know the address or name of the person who’d sent the letter. After hours of waiting and internal contemplation, they informed him that there was simply no way of discerning who the sender was or where it had hailed from. He promptly dashed to the police station and beseeched them to decipher what they could from it. He simply told them that the person it was from might be in grave danger and reminded them of the fact that he was the brother of a once well-respected officer. They gave their word that they’d look into it.
A few days later, Rogers was met by another letter, telling him, in a paragraph, no less, that he’d never find the child or mother and that he should not bother wasting his efforts attempting to do so. This incensed Rogers. Why would this girl enlighten him with the knowledge that she’d borne his child, only to forbid him from ever seeking her? And what was perhaps more unsettling, was the fact that she unfathomably knew he was trying to track her whereabouts? She could have maybe surmised that that’d be his next move, but the letter’s subtext suggested she knew exactly what he had done and what he was planning on doing next.
A week had passed and he’d acquired no answers from the police station. This was in spite of his persistent questions he’d raised to them. He resolved to take matters into his own hands. If the mother of his child knew of his every move, perhaps she was having him watched. He had to take advantage of this. He wrote a letter which said, ‘Dear E.G., I fear I don’t know who you are and you’ve no idea how much this is affecting me, or perhaps you do? I want to know, is the baby alright? I only wish to see her. What is her name? Regards, James Rogers. He then proceeded to deposit the letter on his front porch.
The next day, he saw that the letter had been displaced- either that or it had been swept away by the treacherous winds. He hoped it was the former.
Days later, he came by another letter from E.G., telling him that the baby was indeed alright and asking him what he would name her, given the choice. He breathed a sigh of relief when he bared witness to those wonderful words. She was alright. She was going to be alright! His daughter was evidently a fighter, as his mother and brother had been.
What would he name her? He sincerely doubted that this vengeful girl would take his answer seriously, no matter what he settled on. Matilda. That's what he would name her; Matilda Alice, after his mother. She’d have been so happy to learn she had a granddaughter. Though with a pang of guilt, he wondered how she’d feel about him becoming a father so young. He jotted down his response and placed it on the porch.
Over the coming months, he received countless letters telling him about his daughter. He was never given a response on what her name was to be, but he delighted in reading about all the things she’d been up to. She was a mischievous little thing by the sounds of it. He didn’t like the way the mother had told him she had handled these situations. She seemed overly strict- cruel, even. According to the letters, the mother had locked the child in a room for extended amounts of time, several times, as punishment for crawling in the wrong places. And furthermore, the mother had confessed to never letting the child out of the house. He had to do something. He’d be damned if he let this girl treat his daughter like that. Why would she write to tell him about her cruelty? Was she trying to torture him further? But despite how much it hurt him, he was glad she had divulged this disturbing information to him. That way he was even more motivated to get the baby out of her custody and into his own. He went to see lawyers, offered to pay them more than he could afford, and showed the police the letters but as long as the envelopes lacked an address from the sender, there was little hope in locating the mother and child. He even went so far as to knock on the doors of strangers to ask if anyone recognized the penmanship but it was all to no avail. Rogers never stopped fighting to find his little girl- his little Matilda.
A harrowing thought threatened to consume Rogers, an itching, biting thought that always played at the back of his mind; what if she wasn’t real. What if he was childless and this girl was playing some twisted game with him? What if all his efforts to find Matilda were pointless because she simply didn’t exist. This thought cut away at him. It hurt too much to bear thinking about. He wouldn’t entertain it. He couldn’t. He knew in his heart he had a daughter out there. He didn’t know how he knew but it was the sort of gut feeling that only a person who’d been through hell and high water to get to their child could comprehend. It was something he sensed within his very soul.
One day, in the midst of waiting for his tea to brew, his eyes settled on another letter. Inside it was a photograph of who he could only presume to be his daughter. She had to be nearly a year old now, and still he hadn’t seen her in person, he hadn’t yet embraced her and told her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. But this picture meant everything to him. She was beautiful. She reminded him of her grandmother. She had his mother's eyes- his eyes and his mother's smile. He tried to survey the image to see if he could find the girl’s mother in her features. He wanted to see if such an exercise would help him remember the mother’s face. Maybe then he’d have better luck tracking her down, but his attempts were fruitless. He had the small photo framed and hung it up in his kitchen, where he could see his little girl every day. What he’d give to see her face to face on a daily basis. He inscribed ‘Matilda Alice Rogers’ on the bottom of the picture. If he couldn’t know her name, he would damn well decide on one for her.
Wherever he went he saw her. He saw her blonde hair and her smile in so many girls that he passed. Some were toddlers. He wondered what it would be like to care for a toddler. Matilda would be a toddler soon. He saw fathers playing with their young daughters on the street and it killed him. It killed him that he couldn’t be there for his girl. He saw her in the young girls at his school, and eventually in the young women at his college. He wondered what kind of woman she’d grow into. It didn’t matter, as long as she was happy, he’d be proud of her either way. He imagined that, when she grew, she’d be mischievous, a little cheeky, maybe a little eccentric, she’d have a kind heart, but maybe she’d be missing her Papa. He hoped she wasn’t lost without his guidance, like he had been without his brother’s. He hoped her mother was treating her well.
He couldn’t go anywhere without seeing her. It was destroying him from the inside. He had such a pain in his chest when he thought of her that he felt crimson must be seeping from his skin. He was still doing everything he could to track her down but he was as close to finding her as he was to finding out who was taking the letters from his porch. Was it the child’s mother? Why couldn’t he catch her, even after the countless nights he’d stayed up watching the door. And still he received the letters and still he wrote back. She was two now. Apparently, she thrown all her toys outside to passing strangers and had spent all week mimicking her dog. Crimes apparently horrendous enough to warrant being left completely alone in her room for two days.
Then one day he arrived home from the police station, where he’d just sent over the letters for analysis, when he found a sealed envelope at his feet. Rogers took it to his kitchen table, where he sat down. He unsealed it, smiling to himself, so excited to hear what little adventures his child had gotten herself into. It read, ‘Dear James, I am writing to inform you about our daughter. Something has happened. Our daughter has passed away.....’ Rogers read the last part again, ‘Our daughter has passed away’. Passed away? No-. Rogers fell from his chair and crumbled to the ground, his vision was beginning to blur, his heart pounding ferociously in his ears. “No, no, no.” He screamed a blood curdling scream. He’d never made a sound like that before. He felt sick to his stomach, he was in pain like he’d never experienced. His heart was threatening to tear itself from his chest. He couldn’t see through the tears cascading down his sodden cheeks. “No!” He cried for hours in a heap on the ground, his whole body shaking violently.
Rogers’ ears were still ringing, his vision still obscured by tears but he had to read on. He had to know if it was true. He had to know how. The letter continued, ‘She fell down the stairs. Regards, E.G.’ This final statement made Rogers’ blood boil.
“Fell! She fell down the bloody stairs, did she?!” He yelled. He didn’t know how but he knew that his daughter’s mother could hear him. He knew she’d been watching him since the baby was born- since his baby girl was born. He could barely breathe through his sobs. Had he done this? He’d done something to upset the girl and she took it out on his daughter. Did she kill their daughter?
“Was this real?! Was this all some bloody cruel ruse?! You wanted to hurt me? Well, you got what you wanted, witch!” Rogers was shouting from the top of his lungs. Rogers spent the whole night crying on the kitchen floor. He didn’t care how cold it was. He had to be near the photograph of his child. He’d done this. It was all his fault.
The next day, Rogers dragged himself to the porch, expecting another letter. He hadn’t slept all night. There was indeed a letter. By the time he’d opened it, it was soaked by fresh tears. It read, ‘Dear James, I assure you, our daughter was quite real. I won’t write to you again.’ Rogers felt weak at the knees. He couldn't deny it, his daughter was dead. He sat on the stairs where he wept. This couldn’t be happening.
Rogers never got over the death of his daughter. Every time he looked at the picture of her hung on his wall it caused him great pain, but he could never bring himself to take it down. He stopped seeing her in other people, it was too painful to imagine who she would’ve grown up to be.
Later in life, he became a police officer, vowing to never let anyone get separated from their loved ones again. And on the anniversary of his daughter’s death he drank too much and Eloise Gardener went missing. He became obsessed with finding her. Maybe this was to be his redemption? His redemption for being the cause of his child’s death. He began to feel like Eloise and himself were family. He imagined her journal was just how his little girl’s would’ve been, had she grown old enough to write in one.
And then, years later, he met Tilly. He saw the blue of her eyes and part of him wanted to keep his distance. He couldn’t allow himself to see his daughter in her. It was too much. She told him Eloise was dead and it felt like losing his child all over again. And when he found out she was lying he felt incredibly betrayed. How could she have let him go through that again? But he realized Tilly was troubled and hadn’t had a good upbringing. She’d been alone for most of her life, like him. He got to know her and then he couldn’t help it. She was just who he’d imagined his daughter to grow up to be; mischievous, a little cheeky, kind-hearted and lost without a father’s guidance.
Then when Tilly became a suspect in the baker's murder, he found out her first name had been abbreviated from Matilda and he just knew he had to absolve her of any crimes. He had to help her no matter what. A connection had formed between himself and this girl that he couldn’t begin to explain. He just felt he had to do all that was in his power to protect her.
He asked if she’d like to live at his place of residence and in time, he became somewhat of an older brother-type figure, or perhaps even a father figure to her. He watched her free animals from restaurants and get excited over the smallest of things and his heart swelled with affection. He thought that his daughter would be proud of him when Tilly asked who’s picture that was on his kitchen wall. But he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t bring himself to share the tale.
Soon, Eloise had claimed to be Tilly’s mother and Tilly and Roger’s ended up being kidnapped by a cult. He’d never felt such trepidation in his life. It was a primal fear for only Tilly. He didn’t care what happened to him. He couldn’t lose her. And then Eloise uttered to Rogers the most life-changing words anyone had spoken to him since that fateful day. She revealed to him that Tilly was his daughter. It was all too overwhelming. His daughter was dead. But what if-? No. She couldn’t be. Tilly seemed to believe it but then, Tilly believed a lot of impossible things.
Rogers somehow managed to escape, but Tilly was in some kind of trance, perhaps something to do with her upside-down thinking. He couldn’t get to her so he promised to get help for her. He told Weaver about what Eloise had said and when he thought about it- really thought about it, it made sense. The letters were from an E.G.; Eloise Gardener, perhaps? But surely, he was grasping at straws. He couldn’t let himself hope. But he knew he had to save her. So, with her girlfriend Margot’s help they rescued her from the cult but Eloise and her minions ran away before they could apprehend them.
Rogers was overjoyed that Tilly was alright- physically at least. She had been traumatized by the kidnapping and the reveal that Eloise her mother. He promised her they’d get a paternity test to make sure but he wasn’t certain what to think. A large part of him believed it could be true. He hoped more than anything it was but he just couldn’t think it because, what if he was wrong, what if he had to lose his daughter again. It was too much to hope for. The thought of his daughter being alive brought him so much joy and sorrow. No matter the outcome, he’d still missed a lifetime with her and he’d spent all those years grieving for what could well be a lie. Rogers and Tilly took the DNA test and were told to wait a few weeks for the results.
Rogers noticed Tilly’s increasing anxiety over the results and he tried to reassure her. She didn’t want to get too close to him for fear it wasn’t true. Then one day he went down for breakfast and she wasn’t there. She’d taken her back pack and had left through her bedroom window. He immediately called Weaver and the two of them and Margot went on a search for her. She wasn’t in her shipping container or by the troll. She was nowhere to be seen and no one had seen her. Rogers felt sick with worry. Eloise and her cult were still out there and they wanted Tilly as part of their plan. The three of them were in a state of panic by nightfall. They looked for her all through the night.
Days passed, gradually turning into weeks. They all attempted to call her constantly but they never received a reply. Terror was beginning to wash over them now. They searched every day for her but they didn’t get anywhere. They filed in a missing person's report and pinned missing person posters to every tree and lamppost. Rogers couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t felt an ache like this in years. Was she okay? Was she sleeping alright? Was she eating? He felt a pang in his chest. Had Eloise taken her? Was Eloise the woman who’d sent the letters? Was Tilly indeed his daughter.
Weeks later, Rogers received a phone call in the middle of the night. He heard a girl crying on the other end of the line.
“Tilly, is that you? Are you safe?” He bolted upright in his bed. “Tilly, I want you to know that it’s okay, Love. It doesn’t matter if I’m your father or not. It’s not all about blood. Do you remember what you said about not having a tether to the world?” He could almost hear her nodding. “Well, I’ve found mine and it’s you, Tilly. Come home, Love.”
“Okay,” Rogers heard her sob.
The next day Tilly appeared on his front porch. He embraced her. Thank God she was alright. She looked down; he had a letter in his hand. It was the paternity test results. Rogers promised her that it didn’t matter what it said and offered to tear it into fragments but she desired to know the truth. He took a deep breath and opened it, it read ‘Paternity test results: Positive match. James Rogers is the biological father of Matilda Alice Charles.’ Rogers read it again. He hardly dared believe it. He gave Tilly the tightest hug he’d ever given in his life. He cradled her head, closed his eyes and allowed himself to just cry. He could hear her weeping too. But by God, she was alive! His Matilda Alice was alive and had been all these years. He had to keep himself from sinking to the ground. He felt light-headed, like he could just float away. He hadn’t been this happy since he’d first been told he had a daughter. Nothing mattered anymore, he was at last holding his baby girl and telling her he loved her.
“It’s ok Papa, you don’t have to worry. We can trust her, she’s just like me,” She says holding his hand. “She can hear the stars. She’s just like me.” she repeats, a look of wonder on her face, pure belief in what she’s saying. Killian looks down at her. His little girl, his Starfish, and isn’t sure. He still isn’t sure if rescuing Emma Swan is the best thing he’s ever done, or their undoing.
AN: This is the last chapter, and honestly it's been written for weeks but I was holding on to it. Didn't want it to end, then had to work on my CSRR. Honestly, I'm going to miss this story a lot. But all good things come to an end. :)
Ao3 FFN
Six weeks later…
Emma’s dress was pink. That was the first thing Killian saw when she opened the door for him. She looked surprised to see him, or perhaps it was surprise at the suit he was wearing. He’d wanted to surprise her.
Her hair was up; she had a gold chain on her neck. She smiles.
“Hey.” She says. “Are you ready?”
Killian nods. “Of course.” He throws in a smirk, presenting her a rose. Emma smiles at the sight of the flower. He loves seeing that unrestrained joy on her face. It had been a common thing ever since they decided to move to Storybrooke.
“I told you, you needed a flower!” Alice announces behind him, a book bag filled with her pajamas and favorite books. She always tells him he needs a flower, so he never disappoints.
“You look really pretty Emma.” Alice says, looking at her dress with wide eyes. “Is pink your favorite color?”
Emma brightens when he sees Alice. “Thank you, kid. It is today. Are you going to be good for Zelena?” She asks, inviting them both inside. Alice nods enthusiastically looking around the small living room, before she bolts past Emma. He hears her yell for Robin.
“Don’t run in the house!” Killian calls after her.
“Don’t bother.” Zelena drowns from her seat on the couch, a martini in hand. “Those two are wild children apart, together they’re walking tornados.” She takes a sip of her drink. “You should be thanking me for my last minute babysitting.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “You know you love them.”
She did. Zelena mostly kept to herself, so having the added entertainment of the girls plus Emma seemed to always brighten up her mood.
It didn’t take long for Killian himself to notice how much Zelena appreciated the girls’ spirits. It was a little odd at first getting to know the red head, she was quick tempered and rather snarky, but he’d warmed up to her. She loved Alice so that was enough for him.
Especially since it was her who called in reinforcements to get all of Eloise’s ex-coven to the sea side town; under the supervision of Mayor Nolan they got everyone reunited with their loved ones. The ones who had no loved ones looking for them were introduced to Mother Superior, the head nun at the orphanage who matched the young ladies with families who wouldn’t bat an eye at their magical talents.
It helped that Mother Superior was in fact a fairy, and said mayor also had a magically gifted young son.
Apparently the town was a little bit different than most towns. It made it special, it made it home.
“How was the farm?” Emma asks, breaking through his thoughts.
“Good. Some of David’s pigs escaped so we had a good time rounding them up.” He says with a laugh, closing the door, leaving Zelena to the girls.
He could hear Zelena threatening to turn them both into monkeys, then a round of giggles.
“Leo and Alice worked pretty well together when they weren’t arguing.” He murmurs, hooking his arm around Emma’s.
The Mayor and her husband had taken them all under their wings since the moment they met. Mayor Nolan had invited them all into their home, wanting to make them feel as comfortable as possible. It wasn’t long before their son; Leo Nolan had butted heads with Alice.
It started with him telling her that the tooth fairy wasn’t real and had gone downhill from there.
“Did Alice make Leo levitate again?” Killian nodded.
“But it was only after he turned her hair blue.” That made Emma laugh, leaning into his side ever so slightly.
Her perfume smells of flowers.
“How was the station?” Killian asks.
“Good. Someone broke into Elsa’s Ice cream store; they got drunk at Bullseye and came in looking for something sweet.” Killian nods in understanding.
Most of the refugees and their families ended up starting new lives here in Storybrooke. It wasn’t a hard decision for most, given how understanding most of the residents were to the unusual. Everyone here either had magical talent or related to someone with such abilities. The families, after having lost their loved ones for so long relished the opportunity to make them feel at home.
Everything just fit here. It was the perfect place to settle down. After everything that happened, Killian had no intention of returning Alice to their solitude.
Not to mention that Robin was moving here, thus a perfect friend for Alice.
“Ready?” Emma asks. He gives a nod before she snaps her fingers, whisking them in front of the town square right by their favorite Italian restaurant. Emma’s magic was now nearly—if not completely—under control.
Once everything settled down, they were finally able to talk about everything, about Emma’s magic, about her fears of telling anyone, about her dedication to both him and Alice.
“We could have driven.”
“I want to share a bottle of wine.”
“I’m guessing no drinking and poofing isn’t a thing?”
“Not that Zelena’s mentioned.”
“Do you think Zelena would have mentioned it?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
He smiles, leaning forward and kissing her, kissing Emma Swan shamelessly in the middle of the street. She giggles, pulling him in for another kiss. He feels elated by her, by this, the life they’re building. He picks her up; the fabric of her dress is soft in his hand.
“I love you Emma Swan.” He tells her. He never thought he’d have this, have her, have a home again.
“And I love you Killian Jones.”
They’re nearly bursting when they head inside the restaurant.
//
He orders the chicken picatta, Emma orders the lasagna. She gets tomato sauce on her cheek. He kisses it away.
They do in fact drink the whole bottle of red wine. He’s learned that red wine makes her gigglier than usual.
“Can we go see it?” She asks as they stroll out of the restaurant. His jacket was snug around her shoulders. He smirks.
He knew she was going to ask that.
“Of course Swan.”
//
He once wondered if rescuing Emma Swan was the best thing that ever happened to him or if it would be their undoing.
He was glad she was both.
She changed everything that day. She still changes things every day. Like this morning when Alice came home with braided hair, talking a mile a minute because Alice loves braids now. Emma had done it in a booth at Granny’s before school.
She takes his hands, and they teleport. The landing is rocky, courtesy of a bit too much wine.
“Sorry.” Emma says, swaying slightly, but smiling regardless. “Maybe coming here was a bad idea…” She says uncertainly. He steadies her, pulls her against him and walks her inside.
“It’s never a bad idea.” He takes out his key; the one Marco had given him when he made the down payment.
The door opens to a deserted house, free of furniture, the kitchen in the midst of being gutted. There were half painted walls, the stairs missing a step. It was in far worse condition when he bought it, nothing remotely safe enough to live in. Thankfully Marco, the local contractor, offered his services to remodel it at a discount.
Killian wanted it perfect.
“How long?” Emma asks. She’s been practically counting down the days since he signed the paperwork.
It doesn’t help that while they waited, he was staying with David and Mary Margret Nolan. Emma was crashing with Zelena.
They had felt it was a good way to both not impose too much on one person as well as gain some healthy distance to properly explore their relationship. It wasn’t like they had the most ordinary of relationships to begin with.
It meant meeting up for lunch, talking on the phone, sneaking make out sessions in the car. It felt juvenile and sweet and perfect for a pair of people who had been on the run from the world for so long.
“A few more weeks.” He replies. “Alice still hasn’t picked out what color she wants for her room.”
“I thought she picked pink?”
“Apparently pink is lame, now she wants rainbow colors.”
Emma laughs. He grips her hand. “Want me to give you the tour?”
She does. She always does.
“There’s the living room, where we’ll have a TV for family nights, a large coffee table where we can play games like Monopoly.”
“Alice is totally going to cheat at that.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Are we going to have a lumpy couch?” He nods. He thought about getting their couch from the Lighthouse, but decided against it. He wanted to create newer happier memories.
“The lumpiest of couches.”
He takes her towards the kitchen. “We’re replacing the worn out appliances, getting some new stainless steel ones.”
“Fancy.”
“There’s going to be a small kitchen table and an island.” He adds. “And granite.”
“Granite.” She repeats. “What about upstairs?”
He takes her in his arms, so her back is snug against his chest and he just hold her. “A master bedroom.” He says pointing, “It has big windows overlooking the docks, a master bathroom, plenty of closet space.”
“Sounds like a lot of space for one person.” She teases.
“It is. Perhaps you know anyone who’d like to share it with me?”
“Perhaps.” She hums.
“There’s the guest bedroom for Liam, Alice’s room, even an office.”
“Where’s Liam at these days?” Emma asks suddenly, turning in his arms. He’s honestly not sure. Things with Liam had been tense once the initial shock of everything had faded. It had started with a few biting comments he threw Emma’s way, and ended with a blowout fight that he is absolutely not telling Emma about.
He did not need to tell Emma that Liam didn’t approve of her. It would break her heart.
He hadn’t heard from his brother since, just knew from Zelena that he was off in search of more lost souls looking for a place like Storybrooke.
Liam will come around. Killian knows. He always does.
“I think in New York, last I heard.”
//
They show up the next morning bright an early at Zelena’s door.
The woman looks grumpy when she opened the door. Her red hair in a messy bun, an emerald green robe tucked tightly around her body; he can see Robin sulking from here.
Robin’s usually grumpy in the early mornings. “Finally.” She muttered impatiently, letting them inside.
“Hey Little bird.” He says with a smirk.
“I’m not a little bird.” She replies instantly, arms crossed even tighter. “I’m Robin.”
He laughs, going over to pat her head. “Of course.” Robin shoots him a glare.
“Why does Alice always have to go to breakfast? Why can’t she have breakfast with us?”
Emma takes a seat at the table. “Because family time is important.” She replies. It does nothing to fix Robin’s sulking.
“Alice! Your dad’s here.” Zelena calls. “Is it me or does she take longer to get ready every week?” Killian shrugs. He’s not sure, and he doesn’t want to think about his little girl growing up.
Thankfully, Alice picks that moment to skip into the kitchen, glitter in her hair and her bag around her shoulders. “I’m ready for pancakes!” She announces. “Can Robin come over for dinner? Mary Margret says she’s making apple pie!”
“I hate apple pie.” Robin says back.
“You’ll love it.” The little blonde assures her. “Plus with you around Leo will stop being a jerk.”
Killian shares an amused look with Zelena. “Come on Starfish, time to go, Granny is expecting us on time.” Alice nods in agreement, and follows him and Emma out the door.
“How did your sleepover go?” Emma asks once they’re in the car. It’s only a short drive to Granny’s, and while they could teleport freely, it’s always nice to bring a little normalcy into their lives.
“Good.”
Things were good. Things were right, they were home. They were together, they were a family. He reaches out for Emma’s hand; she gives it gladly, squeezing tightly. He wonders what her ring size was, it’s a distant thought, something to think about after their house is ready, but a thought none the less.
“Papa?” Alice asks out of the blue. She’s looking out the window thoughtfully.
“If boys give girls flowers when they like them, what do girls give girls when they like them?”
Because @icecubelotr44 left a G sized gap in chapter 3 of Trouble with a Capital T so.... here is the ambulance scene that she left out!
1. I know you’re in there 2. Buried Alive (All these whumplets are also in a collection on FF )
The shrill noise was making his head ache. Someone was screaming.
Not screaming.
Sirens.
Ambulance sirens.
Liam! Killian bolted upright, or tried to. Something held him down and he broke out in a cold sweat, fighting against the restraints with a groggy groan that was supposed to be a threat. Someone had taken him, someone had him tied down someone- where was Liam, had she taken Li- He tried to kick and screamed. Someone put something over his mouth and Killian turned away from the strangling gag, fighting to stay conscious as pain ripped through his leg.
"Please... please stay still-" The voice was barely a whisper; tremulous, with evidence of tears in each syllable. Killian's eyes snapped open.
She'd taken Alice too.
"No- Run, love, you have to run-"
"They're trying to help," Alice whispered, "Please just stay still." She was clasping at his hand and Killian blinked, looking around her, around them. Paramedics, ambulance, Alice. They took his stillness as an opportunity to shove the mask over his face again and Killian shook his head futilely-
"Where is he?" Killian begged, his voice was garbled by drugs or the mask or both. Alice understood.
"He's in another ambulance- he tried to come with us but he passed out."
No. He needs protection. If he's unconscious anything could happen, anyone could take him. She could find him. She could take him-
"I'll find him, Alice promised, "as soon as we get to the hospital." Killian relaxed marginally, "I'm sorry", Alice whispered, tears on her cheeks, "you were looking for me, weren't you? If I hadn't been-" Killian squeezed her hand tightly trying to speak. His leg didn't hurt so much anymore, its agony faded enough that he no longer felt like he was going to be sick, though his head was muddled and passing out didn't seem like such a bad idea.
It was a moment longer before he realized the mask was not oxygen, but by then he didn't care.
Liam blinked blearily at the face hovering over him, an officer from the precinct. His name was … Liam shook his head to clear it but the name eluded him. He couldn't think, his mind was full of molasses… Probably not his real name anyway.
Real name.
Killian.
"Rogers, where is he?"
"Rogers is in the other ambulance, Captain."
Other ambulance- "No, No, I need to stay with him, I need to-"
"Sure thing cap, maybe they'd have let you if you didn't pull a Snow White and fall on your face in the snow.
"Can you tell me your name and birthday?" One of the EMT's broke in and Liam's eyebrows furrowed.
"It's the day we bring in cake and pretend to like you," the officer offered lightheartedly.
"What?" Name and birthday. Liam Jones… His head was just clear enough to remember that Liam Jones was not the name these men would know.
"Just a joke, Ca-"
"William… Jewell, March. Umm… 27th." Was that right? He looked to the officer who nodded in affirmation.
"Do you know where you are?"
"In the back of a moving vehicle, what the bloody hell kind of question is that? Is K… Rogers. Is Rogers alright?"
"Just try to relax, Captain, we'll be there soon-"
"Is he alright? Where is… Tilly. The girl who found us where-"
"Riding with him, Sir. She's an odd duck that one. Said if she had two names she should be able to ride in two ambulances."
There was a buzzing in his ears that wouldn't go away, something in the machines knocking around in his mind until he wanted to put a pillow over his head and drown out everything.
"Make sure Killian is alright," he slurred.
"Captain?" the call echoed in his mind and Liam covered his ears to block it out. The damn buzzing… Was making everything go bright and stars danced in his vision. At least this time he wasn't going to faceplant in the snow.
Tagging the competitors @icecubelotr44 @hollyethecurious @pirate-owl @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable and the peanut gallery @killian-whump
If you’d like to be tagged as part of the peanut gallery (said with utmost love and affection I assure you) mention it in a comment and I’ll tag you in future whumpetition posts. Sometimes I forget who follows for the anggggst :P
summary: I'm in the world forever, she had said. How true those words were now.
-
Rumplestiltskin's change of heart comes a moment too late and Alice's fate is forever altered. The Dark One is no more, but Alice finds herself burdened with power and eternal life she didn't ask for. Her quest to rid herself of them leads her down a path that tests her and her loved ones more than any curse could.
a/n: happy 1 year anniversary of 7x22! this is the fic I keep mentioning off and on that I’ve been trying to start for the better part of a year! this is a very self indulgent AU that I hope people will like? I got inspired by a couple questions Rose was asked at cons about how Alice would handle the guardian's power - her answers were interesting and got me fitting a whole season 7 rewrite around them, oops
Curious Archer and Knightrook are the obvious focuses here, but definitely expect Robin & Zelena, Tremaine family shenanigans, some coven lore, me attempting to poorly salvage Rumple's character arc, a rarepair that literally no one ships (YET), an uncomfortable amount of 5a callbacks, [REDACTED FOR SPOILERS], and Alice Jones just being iconic in general, as she does.
I was reminded of a ghost story that happened when I was little. So I decided to turn child hood trauma into a fanfiction. :D Tagging @hollyethecurious and @killian-whump since I’d discussed it with them lol.
Whether you believe ghosts or not I swear to you on my life these events did happen and I was thoroughly freaked the hell out when my mom had told me a few years later. I hope you enjoy my fic, and i’ll always be more than happy to hear and discuss any and all ghost stories ya’ll have.
Alice had spent most of the day running around while Papa and Uncle Liam helped him with moving into his new house. She’d played with the few toys he had for her, but spent most her time doing little crafts, making a few shoelace necklaces for herself and Papa and her friends at school. She had looped her own over her head, tucking it under her hair before moving on to some coloring pages Grandpa had got.
It had gotten late into the night when Liam and Papa were on the couch sharing a coffee as they joked about old times, Grandpa was in the kitchen making some dinner, but was still calling out corrections to the stories being told that often led to arguments about how events really had gone. Papa had laughed when Grandpa had Agreed with him instead of uncle Liam, but she hadn’t noticed when the room had suddenly gone quiet.
Alice had just started to finish up her drawing when she glanced beside her. Doing a bit of a double take as she realized the necklace she’d been wearing was now on the ground beside her. She sat up on her knees, grabbing the string of beads and holding it up for her papa and uncle to see. “How did this get on the floor? I was wearing it!” “You uh, you took it off starfish.” Papa answered, a strained smile on his face. She narrowed her eyes at the piece of jewelry, before just shrugging and looping it back around her neck and moving on to another craft project.
It was a few years later, Alice and Her papa were going through old pictures and Knick Knacks. She’d held up the necklace from a box, giggling at the little wooden fish and rabbit charms she’d carelessly strung together, along with a few beads that spelled her name. Killian couldn’t hide his disgusted face as she held it In the air. “What’s wrong, papa?” She asked confused, he always loved her little crafts and art work. “That necklace just reminds me...Do you remember that night at Grandpa’s?” “Hm?” Alice hummed, her brows knitting together, trying to understand what his point was. Killian plucked the necklace up. “Well, that night had certainly been a strange one...” He started, before telling her the story from his point of view
He and Liam were sitting on the couch, taking a break from moving boxes to share a drink for the night. Their father was in kitchen, making some sort of dinner with the limited food supplies he had from the move. Every so often he would correct their story. Killian laughed a bit as Papa had called Liam out for misremembering something, and glanced at Alice. He gasped, reaching over to grab Liam’s arm and attention.
Both men watched in utter horror, as Alice’s necklace started to float upward around her neck. Killian's first thought was that the piece of jewelry would choke his little girl. But before he could really react, it slowly inched forward over her head and just floated there for a moment. Liam turned to his brother, as if to confirm what he was seeing was really true. When they turned back the necklace flew off and landed by Alice’s arm, like someone had just picked it up and pitched it aside. Killian and Liam looked at each other, glancing between one another and the necklace. Alice’s lack of awareness making the whole situation worse, as they felt like they were going crazy. Eventually the shock had worn off, and the two of them let go when they realized they were clinging to each other.
Their conversation slowly progressed forward, the two of them constantly pausing to check on Alice. Both her and their seemingly having no idea what just occurred, until Alice sat up and asked why her necklace was on the floor. “You uh, just took it off starfish!” Killian lied, hoping his smile didn’t seem fake. He felt nervous when she scrutinized it, before just shrugging the whole thing off and returning to coloring. He sighed with relief, feeling a little guilty for lying to her, but he didn’t want to scare her either. Thankfully the necklace had stayed put for the rest of the night, and Killian completely forgot about it entirely.
Alice stared at her father, her jaw having dropped in the middle of his retelling. “And, you didn’t bother telling me till now?!” She practically yelled. “Well, you loved your grandfather at the time, I didn’t want you afraid to go over to his house.” “So you just let your daughter walk into a haunted house???” Killian threw up his hands. “You were like... Seven! What the hell else was I to do? You’d never even heard of a ghost before.” “I don’t know, maybe not let your child play in a house with demons?” She answered, throwing her hands on her hips. The two glared at each other for a moment, before bursting up into laughter. “I still don’t know how in the hell you didn’t notice that bloody thing literally float over your head.” Killian chuckled, tossing the necklace back into the box.“I was clearly working on a masterpiece.” She answered sarcastically, holding up the Bratz Doll coloring page, where the only thing that had been colored was her clothing, in a strange pattern of colors.
“I’m so glad your grandfather moved out of that damn house.” “Yeah?” Alice giggled. “It was so bloody haunted it was un real...” “Did any other weird things happen?” He shook his head, falling back onto the floor, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Nothing like what had happened that night, but the atmosphere was always... unnerving.” He sat back up, starting to put everything away. “Any other ghost stories you can tell me Papa?” She asked curiously, biting her lip in excitement. “Of Course, When you’re older.” Alice groaned. “Lame.” Killian just laughed, tucking all the memory boxes safely back into their place in his closet. Where they would remain until one night he grabbed a large glass of rum, sat in his comfiest chair and told Alice every ghost story he could remember.
