I wanted to repost it here and dedicate it to all my favorite writers sadly I only know 2 of my absolute favorite writers here so thank you so much for your stories. Keep me going!!
This was SUPPOSED to be a "welcome home" present for riseandshinedearie but, seeing as she's been home for awhile, I'm not sure what this is for. Anyway, I finally finished it. There were a lot of complications, combining two universes, especially with such a large age gap. Hopefully it comes off as cute as was intended instead of mildly creepy.
Prompt: (Real Boy) Figgy dating Mariana (Katja's kid).
Note: The poem that Mariana recites is "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell. Interpret that as you will.
IIIII
Figaro should have seen this coming. Maybe not this exact thing, but something similar. He knew Mariana had been going through what Papa called “mental puberty” and Katja called “hell”; starting this past summer Mari had started to distinguish herself away from her brothers. Her hair was growing out of the short boyish cut she had always styled it in, and she started to wear more feminine clothes. While her brothers had continued their adventures with mud and assorted power tools Jefferson forgot to lock up, she had branched off into her own activities.
Between reading “Seventeen” and hanging around him for no particular reason, he should have figured it out.
“Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way, to walk and pass our long love's day…” she recited dramatically, standing on a bench so that she was eye level with him, one of his hands clasped fervently in her own.
It was the last day of school before winter break, and Mari had caught him as he passed the elementary. Her albinism was striking even in December, wisps of escaped hair waving lazily in the breeze. Figaro shifted awkwardly, only half paying attention to the poem. Mari didn’t seem to notice the other kids her age snickering, or flat out staring, as she laid her heart bare before a senior. Figaro both wished the moment would end and that it would drag on forever, so he wouldn’t have to break her heart.
“…thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run!” Her chest swelled proudly as she waited for his reaction.
Figaro smiled nervously, clearing his throat, “Wow, Mari, you uh… Memorized that for me?”
Mari nodded vigorously, “I thought it portrayed my feelings for you quite well.”
“That’s, ah, sweet of you, thanks. I’ll see you later, then?”
“Wait!” She exclaimed, “Aren’t you going to answer me?”
Figaro tilted his head, “I didn’t know you asked a question.”
Mari pouted, “It’s the entire reason for the poem, to ask you to be my boyfriend.”
The other kids were definitely giggling now but Mari was only paying attention to Figaro, her tail swaying behind her. Figaro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Mari, you’re too young to be thinking about boys like that. You’re nine.”
“Sixteen in werecat years,” she promptly countered.
“I’m still twice your age.”
“Physically. Mentally we’re the same age.”
“Mental age doesn’t matter much,” he ruffled Mari’s hair, “Sorry, squirt.”
Mari stared after him, and Figaro was unable to look back at her heartbroken expression. It had to be done, he kept telling himself. It’s not like he could actually date her.
Katja may not have always been on top of things, but she knew she was missing a kid. There were only the boys, who were modifying their marshmallow shooters to try and further their distances.
“Babe do you have a kid?” She called towards the kitchen.
“You’re the parent today, remember?” Jefferson called back.
Katja growled. Being a parent was only fun until stuff like this happened.
“Alright boys, where’s Thing 3?”
Responding to her usual title, the sound of angry little feet came down the hallway. Toulouse and Berlios grinned at each other, crouching on their chairs and taking a deep breath. They waited until their sister went storming past the dining room before launching twin bits of sugary fluff at her.
One hit her head. One hit her shoulder. She turned to face them, pink eyes lit up in fury. She let out an enraged squeal before charging at her brothers.
“Hey! Not in the dining room! Living room! Living room!” Katja barked. Chairs were knocked over, Berlios pinned to the ground while Toulouse tried to knock her over. She swatted him down, taking turns beating the snot out of one brother and then the other.
Katja ferally snarled, leaping down and smoothly separating the children. She bared her fangs at Mari, who instantly backed down and mewled submissively. Once she felt she got her point across, and World War III didn’t seem imminent, Katja slid back into her human nature.
“Mar, what have I told you about ladies and fighting?”
Mari bowed her head and recited dully, “Ladies don’t start fights…but if they have to they can finish them.”
“Good girl. Berlie, Tutu, clean up.” The boys obeyed, setting the chairs upright and picking up their ammunition to save for another day.
Katja glanced at Mari, “What’s gotten into you, kitten?” She murmured sympathetically.
“I hate boys,” she growled.
She rolled her eyes, “Yup, you are definitely growing up… Someone pick on you today at school?”
Mari sighed heavily, “No, there are greater pains than being antagonized… And unrequited love is the greatest of all.”
Jefferson appeared in the doorway, wooden spoon in hand, “Has someone been reading Aunt Belle’s books again?” He wondered.
The twins grew interested in their father’s utensil…until they realized it didn’t have anything tasty on it. They returned to recalibrating their weapons.
Mari’s eyes brimmed with tears, “I thought he loved me back…”
Katja’s face softened and she opened up her arms. Mari obediently crawled up onto her mother’s lap, curling up into her and crying into her shoulder. Katja cradled her close and even the boys were silent, watching their sister helplessly. Mari wasn’t a crybaby; they’d seen her bones break with hardly a sniffle out of her. Whatever had happened must’ve been bad.
“I, I recited a poem to, to Figgy to as-ask him to be my bbbboyfriend… And, and he said “sorry, squirt”!”
Toulouse and Berlios exchanged a look, then left the dining room, marshmallow shooters in hand.
Jefferson sank down into a chair beside his wife and daughter, concern of a father battling with the concern of a papa. He hated to see his daughter cry…but honestly…
“Sunlight…” He started delicately, “…aren’t you a little young for boys? You’re only nine…”
Mari bristled, glaring at her father, “I’m sixteen!” She declared indignantly. Jefferson glanced at Katja for backup but she shook her head.
“And yet you were saying I was twenty two…pick a type of age and stick with it.” Honestly it gave Katja a headache trying to figure out her kids’ actual age. They were only half werecat, so did that mean they still have a full seven years ahead mentally, or were they docked a few years because their dad was human?
All she knew was that she popped them out nine years ago.
Mari buried her face in her mother’s neck, whining softly. Katja purred soothingly, kissing the top of her head.
“Trust me on this, kitten,” she murmured, “If it’s real love, it can wait.”
III
“Oh my god Figgy!”
“I know, I know! I’m a horrible person…” He muttered, running his fingers through his hair, “But what am I supposed to do?”
“Well for starters you shouldn’t have called her “squirt”,” Belle muttered, shelving her latest book buys.
Figaro sat in her reading chair as she tried to find more space in her garage-library. Even though he kept expanding and expanding the garage for her, she always seemed to fill it up faster than he could build.
“Well it’s not like I can go back and change what happened,” he insisted, “I mean, what was I supposed to do when she did it in public like that?” He leaned back in his seat, “You should’ve seen her face, Mom… You would’ve thought I’d told her her pet died.”
Belle shrugged, “Well, first love is quite impressionable,” she pointed out.
“So I might’ve scarred her for life,” he muttered.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“What I’m implying is that you should apologize.”
Figaro glanced at her, confused, “For what? I did the best I could given the situation…”
Belle bit her lip, “…I just think it would help to let her know that you do care about her… Just not in that way.”
“Mom that’s only going to-“
Figaro was cut off as something small and soft hit his cheek. He glanced down, only to be hit in the forehead with another one. Several more were shot before he recognized the small bits of white as mini-marshmallows. He glanced into the driveway to see his attackers.
Berlios and Toulouse stood, each of them with one foot on the ground and one foot poised on their bike pedals, holding their marshmallow shooters and glaring at their new arch enemy. Toulouse very purposefully pointed two fingers at his eyes and then turned them to point at Figaro. Berlios just slowly shook his head in disgust before the two of them pedaled off, maintaining their glares as long as possible before Toulouse almost ran into a lamp post and they had to watch where they were going. Figaro brushed the marshmallows off of his shirt, a little queasy at the display.
“I wouldn’t fall asleep tonight if I were you,” Belle advised.
He should’ve just gone to Dad.
Mari trudged along the next day, a stack of Nicholas Sparks/Nora Roberts books in arm. She would not let Figaro’s dismissal keep her down; she would continue to hold her head high, go out in public, and spend the majority of her winter break at the Storybrooke Library. She could imagine the girls whispering about her, sympathetically replaying the scene of yesterday where Mari’s heart was thrown to the ground and kicked like a soccer ball on the playground. In truth almost every observer had gotten over the scene within fifteen minutes, but Mari was still convinced they were bemoaning her tragedy.
And then, as though walking right out of her dreams, Figaro appeared, hands in his pockets.
“Hey Mari…”
Mari clutched her books tighter as though they were her armor, moving to shuffle past him. He stepped in front of her.
“Mariana…”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she lied, trying to move around. He wouldn’t let her.
“I just wanted to say…that I’m sorry yesterday happened the way it did. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…”
Mari bowed her head, her throat aching as he brought up that embarrassment. Figaro rubbed the back of his neck.
“…and I was also wondering what you were doing Friday night.”
Mari’s head jerked up, fighting back hope, “Well…the boys and I were going to see if Uncle Rum was right about trolls living under the toll bridge… Why?”
He shrugged one shoulder, “No reason. I was just wondering if you wanted to have dinner at Granny’s with me.”
Mari’s breath caught, “…just you?”
“Just me,” Figaro promised.
“Like a…date?”
“Exactly like a date.”
Mari couldn’t help the giant smile spreading across her face, “…okay… I can make it work.”
Figaro smiled, “Great, so I’ll pick you up at six thirty?”
“Make it seven,” she said, her bold self shining through again, “I can probably convince my parents to postpone my bed time, seeing as I have a date.”
“Alright, see you then.”
He knew instantly that he had done the right thing, Mari lighting up like a Christmas tree though trying to play it off. He continued walking away, smiling softly as he heard a soft squeak of excitement slip out of Mariana.
Despite Mari’s insistence that it wouldn’t, Friday eventually came. Berlios and Toulouse still weren’t over their vendetta against Figaro, but after Mari’s threats of calling Ms. Hunter to come and skin them alive they decided to be the bigger felines and stay out of her business. They sat on either side of Jefferson on the couch, the three of them completely immersed in combat.
“Alright, I’ll blaze in,” Jefferson murmured, only his thumbs moving as he spoke, “Cover my back. Toulouse, left flank, Berlie-“
Jefferson was cut off by screeching, Berlios smashing frantically at his controller. But it was too late; he was infected.
“Told you not to go into the nest alone,” Jefferson said unsympathetically. Berlios growled as he set his controller down, forced to watch his brother and father play until they both died too, or they reached the next level.
“…think you’ve got everything; chapstick, breath mint, some money in case your date bails, my phone, mini-hairbrush, pepper spray in case of an evil warlock or something, I dunno, this is Storybrooke, better to be safe than sorry… And remember, ladies don’t kiss on a first date.”
“I know, Mama.”
Curious about the conversation, Berlios turned around and peered over the couch. He was startled by what he saw, and reached over to paw at Toulouse.
“Knock it off, Berlie, don’t be a poor sport! Da-a-ad!”
Jefferson diplomatically paused the game and Berlios tugged at Toulouse until he finally glanced over as well. He was stunned into silence and Jefferson, wondering what on earth could silence the boys like this, turned around as well.
Mari wasn’t in her usual jeans and a t-shirt; she was in a pink dress that they both vaguely recalled she’d been forced into for a fancy party at one point. Her hair was tied back in a pink ribbon, and she was wearing dress-up white shoes instead of sneakers. In her hands was something that took the boys a minute to identify.
A purse. She was holding a purse.
Mari caught her brother’s stares and was immediately defensive, “What?” She snapped.
“Nothing,” Berlios insisted, “…you just look like a girl.”
“I am a girl, idiot,” she hissed, smoothing her dress self-consciously.
Jefferson smiled, “I think you look lovely, princess.”
Mari flushed, “Thank you, Papa.”
Before Toulouse had the chance to comment on his sister’s alien appearance, the doorbell rang. Katja grinned, ushering Mari towards the door. She glanced at her husband.
“You wanna threaten him, babe?”
Jefferson shook his head, “I’ll wait until she’s in a bra and shaves her legs before I play the overprotective father… ‘Sides, you’re scary enough for the both of us.”
“Frick yeah I am.”
He turned back around, tugging his partner down so that they could continue their attack upon the zombie-like eight-limbed fleshgnawers. Berlios contemplated the dress for a moment longer, then settled back down to coach the rest of the team on.
The door opened to reveal Figaro in slacks and a button up shirt, holding a pale yellow rose. He smiled and bowed as he offered it to Mari. Mari’s accompanying smile could have lit up the night sky, and she managed a lopsided curtsy before taking it.
“Are you ready, milady?” Figaro asked. Mari could only nod excitedly.
He offered her his hand and she took it, carefully balancing the chain of her purse in the crook of her elbow. Figaro glanced at Katja.
“Is ten alright?”
“Ten’s fine.”
He hesitated, but Katja didn’t speak up. “Isn’t this the part where you threaten me if I hurt your little girl?”
“It’s redundant,” Katja explained, “You know me, former mercenary. You know her father, infamous Mad Hatter. You know she’s got two older brothers, and you know she’s just as capable as them in beating you to the ground. You’re also aware that none of us are afraid of your parents and that if anything happens to our baby girl we’ll have you wishing you were never born. You’d be an idiot to forget any of that. Besides,” she shrugged, “I’ve known you since you were a cat. Yes you’re taking my kid out on a date but I trust you to some degree. You drop her off on time, uncaffeinated and happy and it’s all good.”
Figaro nodded, “See you then.”
Katja watched as Figaro walked hand-in-hand with Mariana, opening the passenger door to his P.O.S. car for her and closing it once she was inside, tail twitching all the while.
“They raised their cat right,” she finally declared before turning to join the rest of her family, having to wait her turn since their fourth controller was still lost.
Granny’s was quiet for a Friday night, and no one paid attention to them as they took a booth and Figaro ordered a bottle of sparkling cider for them. It didn’t matter; Mari seemed completely thrilled just that she was here alone with him on a date, perusing the adult menu for the first time in her life. And yet she was oddly quiet, simply watching him with a soft smile on her lips.
She finally spoke her mind after their orders had been placed (a burger for him, lasagna for her).
“So how many kids do you want to have?”
Figaro managed to cover his mouth and nose before he could spray sparkling cider out of either orifice. He blinked back tears from the sensation of carbonation in his nose as Mari continued.
“I’ve always wanted a big family, but I could settle for only three or four if you don’t.”
He picked up the napkin, wiping off his hand and swallowing roughly, “Mari, don’t read too much into this… It’s only a date.”
Mariana smirked back at him with an alarming amount of coyness, “All true loves have to start somewhere,” she sipped at her glass, “I’m not going to give up easily, Mr. Figaro Gold; love has to put up a fight sometimes. But I think one day I’ll convince you that you should marry me.”
He was unnerved by how sure she sounded, either like a crazy lovesick nutcase…or a prophet gazing into the future.
The Things I Write For Others... (Fic: Mad Kat Triplets)
So one of my nearest and dearest was...upset by the end of "The Golds", and felt tricked because I promised her nothing but good for the last two chapters. Apparently past angst counts as much as current angst and I accidentally sent her spiraling into sadness and anguish. The ends do not always completely justify the means.
So she waited until I was begging for her forgiveness before she came up with the fic for which I could redeem myself; Katja having babies. Normal people want smut as restitution, she wants the product of smut. So yeah, werekittens happened (AND THEY'RE FREAKING ADORABLE TO PICTURE).
I dunno which parent named the boys, but you suck at naming and shouldn't be allowed to name anymore. Totally wasn't because the author wanted to make a reference, nope.
So after a long wait (not nearly as long as some other waits, but she's persistent), here it is; Belle and Bella meet Katja and Jefferson's triplets.
~~~~~
“Daddy, are we going to go see the kitties today?” Bella asked hopefully, as she had every day since she had overheard her parents that the babies in Katja’s stomach had come out.
Belle took a deep breath, preparing to hold Bella and try to explain that her father was visiting Katja for business, not to play with the kittens. Werecat triplets were apparently quite rare and the runt of the litter almost didn’t make it. Rumplestiltskin had been periodically checking on the babes and their mother to make sure they were all healthy (though she suspected he only spent half of his time actually working and the rest of it fawning). Belle had been miffed that an invitation hadn’t been extended for her to see the babies thus far, but someone had to watch Bella.
Rumplestiltskin grinned down at her, “As a matter of fact we are,” he announced. Bella squealed excitedly, doing an impromptu dance that was mostly composed of jumping and wriggling.
He glanced over at Belle questioningly and she grinned, putting her book down and joining them.
“This should be a treat for you, dearie,” he remarked, linking his arm with hers, “Little werekittens.”
“I’m sure they’re adorable,” she said.
Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes and shook his head, “They certainly take after their parents… Why did we let those two breed again?”
“Because you can’t make decisions about other people’s true loves.”
“Ah, right.”
Bella’s hand slipped into his free one and they magicked out of the Dark Castle, coming to a little cottage in the middle of the woods. The same one that had just housed Jefferson and Grace back before Regina meddled. They had built on a few extra rooms, but the surrounding woods were a perfect environment for a half-werecat family. A little fenced in area was put around out back, where Grace’s garden was in full bloom. Yowls, mewls, and general ruckus floated over the gates and Bella eagerly tugged her parents forward.
“Werekittens are quite a bit more active than human babies,” he warned Belle. She still wasn’t prepared when they made their way through the gate and she got her first glimpse of the boys.
They were the size and shape of human babies, without the waifish appearance of an older werecat. And they were frolicking, hopping about on their hands and knees as if they were playing leapfrog. Overgrown shirts kept them decent but able to move freely, holes cut out for their little tails to stick through. Two of them were taking turns chasing each other around the garden, one with black hair and tail while the other was a dull orange. The dull orange tripped over his shirt and faceplanted into the grass. The black-haired one took the opportunity to pounce his brother and gnaw on his shoulder with a triumphant purr.
“I mean it, Rump, if you don’t stop checking up on me I am going to take them and strategically place them around your castle so they create optimal damage. Oh hey Bluebelle, Bella, didn’t see you guys.”
Katja was seated at the tea table in the corner of the garden, slumped in her chair. There were dark circles under her eyes but a content smile on her face as her eyes kept glancing at her kids. Belle instantly recognized the exhausted-but-happy look of a young mother and empathized.
Most days it was all she could do to keep Bella from playing with her father’s potions, or keep her from bringing home a pet cockatrice.
“You sure I’m not here to collect from a deal?” He asked, “You’ve made a lot of promises…”
“I think I’d remember trading away my firstborn,” she insisted, “Besides, you had enough trouble with me.”
Bella trotted over towards the kittens, who paused in their frolicking long enough to consider the new person. She knelt down and patiently held out a hand towards them. The ginger hopped over first, stared at the hand for a moment, then started licking her palm.
“That’s Toulouse,” Katja said, “He’s special. His brother, Berlios…”
The dark-haired kitten was currently trying to see how well Bella’s sleeve functioned as an instrument of tug-o-war.
“And Gracie’s holding little Mariana.”
Belle glanced over to see Grace beaming down at the little white bundle on her lap, the kitten contently dozing on her big half-sister’s lap. She wasn’t as big as her brothers, or a normal baby for that matter, and Belle wondered if she was looking at the little miracle kitten.
“I think she’s the only one I’d bother with,” Rumplestiltskin said gruffly, earning him a glare from both Belle and Katja.
“Do you want to hold her?” Grace asked and Belle nodded, sitting down at one of the free chairs.
Little pink eyes blinked open as Grace gently adjusted her, picking her up and setting her on Belle’s lap. Belle smiled and gently stroked her soft hair. She just about died as the little kitten started purring.
“No, we’re not getting a kitten,” Rumplestiltskin said flatly at his wife’s reaction, “And especially not a werekitten. More trouble than they’re worth.”
“Oh, come on, you liked having me around,” Katja insisted.
Rumplestiltskin wrinkled his nose, “…occasionally,” he admitted.
Bella squealed in delight as the boys clambered all over her, gumming on her hair, her clothes, her face, practically anything as little fingers grappled and little feet pushed. Rumplestiltskin watched them like a hawk, fully aware that the kittens wouldn’t have teeth or claws for another few months…but still concerned they may bruise his precious girl.
Belle scratched underneath Mariana’s chin, “So where’s Jefferson?”
“Market,” Katja replied blandly, “He’s actually not trying to avoid you guys, you just decided on a bad day to visit.”
The boys took off hopping, chasing each other around. Rumplestiltskin parted his legs. Grace and Katja swung their legs up underneath them. Bella tried to follow her new playmates around, but was a little too big to crawl under the chairs (though she could probably manage passing between Daddy’s legs). Mariana’s eyes were half closed in delight, her fingers kneading into Belle’s thigh happily.
Then Toulouse tugged on her tail and in an instant Mariana went from happy little kitten to an enraged werecat. She yowled and spun around, leaping from Belle’s lap and effectively pinning her attacker down. Berlios was right there ready to defend his playmate, and Bella watched enraptured as the three became a blur of tails, hands, and hair.
Katja grinned, “Yup, those are my babies,” she said proudly.
Rumplestiltskin just stared in horror, realizing that there was no escaping the fact that these little monsters would be in his life. It was a sweet torture, admittedly, and one he couldn’t say he’d change if he had the ability to turn back time and stop the conception.
He’d just have to lace the alchemy tower with silver to keep the doubtlessly magically inclined children from wrecking havoc where they were most likely to hurt themselves.
I'm really starting to like what I'm doing with this, working on my brevity and yet convey what I want to convey. I love how unconventional this couple is, how instead of mushy romantic things they just try and tick each other off to show they care.
Summary: A basis for the relationship between Katja and Jefferson; the first five prompts of what may very well turn out to be a series.
Run
Katja’s tail swished as she stared out at the forest. Jefferson had figured she’d like the sun room the best, with glass walls overlooking the acreage he hadn’t been grateful for until he had Grace and her. Her head cocked as she heard him enter the room and she promptly started towards the side door, actually opening it. She held it ajar for a moment, met his gaze, and then continued outside. He followed her.
She glanced back again as Jefferson’s pace quickened, trying to catch up to her. She wouldn’t allow it to happen, jogging into the forest. The minute he broke out into a run she did as well. Soon they were both laughing, chasing each other through the dense undergrowth. It was Wonderland all over again, minus the White Rabbit.
Hobbies
((Correction: The guitar is in the hat room, not the living room, if it’s the same set-up as 1x17. Just go with it.))
“Look at this,” Katja murmured, picking up the guitar. Jefferson glanced over as Katja fitted the strap onto her shoulder. She glanced at him, “You’ve got three, four instruments just in the living room. Do you seriously know how to play them all?”
Jefferson nodded, “I needed to do something while I waited for the curse to break,” he insisted, taking a seat on the piano bench.
Katja picked out a couple of chords, guitar a little harder to play now that she didn’t bite her nails to the quick, “We should start a band.”
Jefferson snorted, “A band? With a guitar and a piano?”
“And a cello, if Gracie wants in, or she could sing vocals.”
“Sounds like a weird band,” he snickered.
Katja shrugged, “We’re a weird family.”
Scarves
Jefferson didn’t like it when Chessa decided to disappear. He was no calmer about it in this world.
He had searched all the other rooms of the house before coming upon the final one…his. The soft cooing and thuds of pouncing told him she was in there, and he dreaded what he would see. He slowly opened the door.
One of the dresser drawers had been pulled open, all of its contents spilled out onto the floor. Katja was tossing them about and pouncing on them with open-mouthed joy, rolling around in the various fabrics and colors like some jumped in piles of leaves, or snow. She was wrapped up in a half dozen of them when she saw him standing in the doorway. She didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed by her behavior.
“I found your scarves,” she announced proudly.
Jefferson tried and failed to keep from smiling, “That you did, you overgrown kitten.”
Vacuum
Grace had sensed the tension from the moment she came home from school, Katja stalking around and glancing over her shoulder every time she entered another room. She thought about asking what her problem was, but wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.
Katja glanced around before entering the hatting room…only to yowl and jump back as the vacuum roared to life. Her obscenities were almost drowned out by the vacuum’s noise, but her kicks and slashes towards it let her feelings be well known. She retreated to the hallway and Jefferson followed after her, laughing his head off as he bumped it playfully against her heels.
“PAPA!” Grace yelled over the pair of them.
The vacuum cut off and Jefferson looked innocently at his daughter.
“Place needs to be cleaned somehow,” he insisted.
Katja let out a sharp hiss, then stalked off towards her room.
Outside
Mary Margaret, like almost everyone else in town, didn’t know what to make of Jefferson dating. There were many reasons that the relationship seemed out of place; they hadn’t known about the Puss in Boots’ adventures to other lands, hadn’t pictured Jefferson in love, hadn’t pictured Katja doing the monogamous relationship thing, the awkward age gap with Jefferson and lackthereof with Grace. Mary Margaret simply didn’t know enough of either of them to have an opinion.
But the image of them strolling along the docks, her head bending to lean against his shoulder, his body angled towards her as they were deep in conversation, was adorable. They paused at the end of one of the docks, watching the sun set over the inlet Storybrooke enjoyed. She nuzzled his shoulder; he rested his head on hers. They were just another couple enjoying post-curse bliss, with their own challenges to face in order to pursue true love. Mary Margaret smiled to herself and sighed gently.
Then, without warning, Katja shoved Jefferson into the water, laughing like a maniac. Jefferson came back up screaming at her and Katja sprinted away, giggling all the while to herself.
It started out as substance and character development...and then it just kind of fell apart into mild comedy once Katja tried to sleep with Jefferson.
Summary: Katja moves in with Jefferson and Grace, torn between her wild nature and the desire to belong to a family.
Everyone had irrational fears. Some were afraid of spiders. Some were afraid of clowns (which actually seemed pretty rational, those creepy motherfuckers). Some were afraid to leave their house. Katja was claustrophobic to an extreme degree.
Maybe it was because she had grown up outside, canopies her ceiling and grass her carpet. She figured it was more of a control issue because she had been fine in her tent and even spent a night or two inside the house she had lifted from Mr. Gold. She had lived in the Dark Castle, but it had been the size of a small town and Rumplestiltskin didn’t bother with telling her when she had to be inside. Katja could manage to stay indoors for a few hours so long as it was her own choosing. School, for that reason, had made her want to claw the door down.
It didn’t make any sense why the large house coming into view was making her heart race like she was fighting giants. This was going to be her home now; she shouldn’t be afraid. She was just being…well she was being a giant pussy, to be honest.
“This’ll be great,” Grace beamed, leaning up from her spot in the backseat, “Like a sleepover every night.”
“You’re gonna get sick of me,” Katja joked, though she couldn’t quite get the humor into her voice.
Grace squeezed her shoulder, “You’re family, Ches,” she reminded the werecat. Because Katja constantly needed a reminder.
She glanced back to check her expression (as she did every time Grace referenced her as “family” or “belonging” with them), but that same knowing sparkle was in them. That same acceptance that even though they were a little over four years apart in physical age, Grace didn’t mind her being in a relationship with her father. “You two are happy together,” she insisted whenever Katja pressed for her feelings (she did a lot of spot-checking on Grace’s feelings, because she wasn’t about to screw up with her like she did with her mother), “It’s nice…to have the two people you love love each other.”
Grace had no idea how incorrect that could be but, so long as she gave their relationship her blessing, she couldn’t stay away from Jefferson. Not when she had finally accepted that the bastard was her true love and, even if it would kill her, she couldn’t stay away any longer. Most of Storybrooke saw a man dating a girl young enough to be his daughter; her, Jefferson, Grace in all of her loveliness, and a few assorted others saw a twenty-six year old werecat in a nineteen-year-old’s body, a girl who had already been a woman and already knew that she loved this man even when realm-jumping turned back her biological clock.
Even knowing that they were in true love, they had decided to take it slow. The moving-in step that might’ve taken some couples a few months had taken them over a year to agree on. Grace was their priority, her comfort their utmost concern. Grace took full advantage of the situation whenever she could, and had been hinting at how nice it would be if there was another girl in the house and how empty it felt with just the two of them.
It was either having Katja move in or getting a pet rabbit, and a pet rabbit wasn’t obligated to help around the house.
Grace bounced out of the back seat and headed towards the porch, taking the steps two at a time. Katja watched, moving to follow. Jefferson’s hand rested gently on her own.
“It’s okay if you need to run,” he murmured, “Just leave a note so I know you’re alright.”
Katja smirked, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly, “It shouldn’t throw me off, how well you know me.”
Jefferson shrugged, “You’re not as big of a mystery as you think you are,” he teased.
Katja rolled her eyes and slid out of the truck, tossing her one backpack of possessions onto her shoulder. She glanced at the surrounding woods and thought she could definitely get used to living on some acreage.
Grace insisted on a tour of the house, even though Katja had visited on almost a weekly basis. It was a weird thought that she’d have some ownership over it now, though. Like it would belong to her, so she couldn’t technically steal anything. Well that took the fun out of things.
The tour ended with her room, which was across the hall from Jeffy’s hat making room and near Grace’s. She eased herself down on her bed, tossing her single backpack of belongings onto the floor. She was going to live here for an extended period of time. It was a weird thought for someone used to camping out in the woods.
“You need to relax, Ches,” Grace giggled, “You look scared.”
“It’s probably just my face,” she insisted and Grace rolled her eyes.
She was left alone to unpack her few things, and they both told her goodnight before going to bed. The house went quiet and Katja fidgeted on her bed. She hadn’t felt like this in a long while; her Storybrooke self had hated getting attached and she’d been living on her own for even longer than that. But she didn’t want to be alone tonight, not when she was so scared of letting herself and her new family down.
She wanted so badly to have a family, but her first instinct when she loved someone was to run. No more running, she had promised herself. She would love, and they would not hurt her, and it would be amazing.
She slipped out from underneath the covers and went down the hallway, pressing through the door. She couldn’t tell if Jeffy was sleeping or not; his eyes were closed, head lulled to one side and one arm thrown up onto the pillow. She tiptoed closer, slowly slipping underneath the covers to curl up next to him. He was only wearing a pair of flannel p.j. bottoms, a fact Katja could appreciate.
Jefferson stirred, then jerked upright with a gasp. Katja mewled her displeasure and sat up as well.
“Godsdammit, Ches… Scared me to death,” he growled.
“If I scared you to death, then why are you still alive?” She taunted.
He rested against the headboard, studying her, “This isn’t your bed, kitty,” he mumbled sleepily.
Katja frowned, “No,” she agreed, “But it could be ours.”
“I thought we agreed baby steps.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to do the horizontal mambo with you,” she objected, “Just sleep with you.”
“Yeah, and what would Grace automatically assume we were doing?”
She wrinkled her nose, “Your daughter has a dirty mind.”
He nudged her with his leg, “Go back to bed, Ches. Give it a few months and then maybe.”
Katja did not like it when she didn’t win. She growled as she slipped out of the bed and left…
…only to return a half hour later.
“Ches…” Jefferson hissed.
“It’s a new house; I’m scared and need cuddles!” Katja protested, burying her face in his chest.
“You’re twenty-six years old. You are perfectly capable of sleeping alone.”
“I’m capable. I just don’t want to.”
Jefferson nudged at her, but she hardly moved from her spot curled up next to him. He sighed and continued to push her until she fell out of the bed. He swung himself onto his feet, picked her up by the back of her neck, and roughly escorted her out of the room.
“I need to sleep,” he grumbled before releasing her, shutting the door behind her.
Katja rubbed at the back of her neck as though he had hurt her, waiting a moment or so before trying to make her way through.
She couldn’t. The bastard must’ve put some silver on the doorknob.
She mewled shamelessly a few times as Jefferson pointedly ignored her, then stopped when she realized she might wake up Grace. Shoulders slumped, she retreated.
Jefferson was oddly proud of himself for resisting Katja last night. Of course he would’ve loved nothing more than to hold her, listen to her purr in her sleep. But Grace came first, and his girlfriend spending the first night in their house in his bed did not look good. He smiled as Grace came down for breakfast, Katja trailing behind.
“How’d you sleep, Grace?” He asked.
“Really good,” she said, smiling, “Ches was a little lonely so we had a sleepover.”
Jefferson shot Katja a glare. Katja just smiled smugly.
