fic: to confide in wolves at night
to confide in wolves at night
he kisses her like he's trying to devour her
Once Upon a Time. Ruby (Ruby/Sheriff Graham + ensemble)
2833. R. general spoilers for what has aired and some speculation.
[AN: yup, this was pulled out of no where. there was a glance in episode two and now I'm shipping it. also, kind of because of speculation as to who Sheriff Graham's fairytale alter ego is (which I won't really touch here, but will become obvious in the fic). also, it's kind of hard to write when the guy doesn't have a first name. alas, I made do. title taken from Manchester Orchestra's Wolves at Night. oh, minor characters. i do enjoy making my own canon indeed. hope you enjoy, this fandom is quite daunting.]
Her car stalls a mile from the town border. A sharp curse on her lips, she turns the key, only to have it stall again.
This is the fifth time she’s tried to leave. This is the fifth time the universe has stopped her.
Shifting the gear into reverse, she turns the key and it starts instantaneously. Ruby wants to scream.
Once upon a time there was a young woman and all she wanted to do was leave this town and never, ever come back.
“The clock started working last night.”
Ruby doesn’t care. Has never cared and she bites her tongue before she tells Archie exactly that.
“Is that so?” she tries to look interested, but her heart’s not in it. If the shrink wasn’t staring down her top, he’d probably notice that too.
“Funny, these old machines,” he murmurs, his gaze hard, “how the slightest change can bring them back to life.”
And she thinks that perhaps there’s a double meaning there, like she’s brought him back to life. But Ruby isn’t stupid and she knows the only part of him she’s brought to life needs to remain firmly where it belongs.
“How about that” Ruby says, distracted by the chiming of the bell and the always-good timing of the local Sheriff.
Her heels are too high and her hemlines too short and sometimes she does it to piss off her grandmother, forever acting like her keeper when she’s too old to need one.
Most of the time, she’s dresses the way she does and acts the way she does because it distinguishes her. She’s not powerful like the Mayor, or a living saint like Mary Margaret.
You wield a different kind of power, he murmurs and she hisses his name through her teeth. And sainthood is overrated.
Is that so, Sheriff.
Oh, it is.
“You’re playing with fire, girl.”
Granny’s full of sage wisdom and unwanted advice that Ruby doesn’t have the patience to heed. Her bags have been packed for months, everything else is just circumstance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ruby plays dumb and Granny tuts while she dusts.
“The Shrink and the Doctor.” She gives her a pointed glare, “The Sheriff. You’re playing with Regina’s pawns and that’s bound to attract unwanted attention.”
“It’s not serious,” Ruby protests, throwing her red scarf around her neck, “not enough to get Regina’s attention.”
“Maybe not now,” Granny warns and Ruby hates her in this moment, “but soon enough, she’ll get wind of what you’re up to. And it will not end well.”
Archie gets drunk and tells her all his secrets.
Correction: Archie gets drunk and tells her everyone else’s secrets.
She takes great glee in this; just the right amount of Sambuca and it all comes pouring out. For the most part it’s boring: marriages in trouble, housewives with depression. Sometimes it’s interesting; fetishes and obsessions and phobias and she relishes every detail.
And then there’s the Mayor’s screwed up son, with his fairytale fantasies and the townsfolk filling various roles.
“And who, pray tell, am I, Archie?” and there’s a feigned giggle and a hand on his knee while she nudges another shot in his direction.
“Little Red Riding Hood,” he slurs, “how about you and I get out of here?”
It’s here he passes out.
She does the research. And she’s not impressed.
Impressionable babe in the woods she is not. Damsel in distress, she is not. Bringing fucking flowers to Grandma?
The kid is definitely crazy.
“What, no tip?”
She slides into the booth opposite the Sheriff, batting her eyelashes for good measure. He chuckles, draining his mug.
“Well, let me make it up to you.”
“With what?”
“What do you want?”
Ruby slips off her red high heel, sliding it up the inside of his leg. He visibly squirms and she’s triumphant because she’s forced him to react this way; not Regina, not Emma Swan, not any woman in this stupid town.
He swallows hard and his eyes grow dark.
“What do you want, Ruby?”
“Information.”
Ruby watches Emma Swan and Mary Margaret whisper conspiratorially in the corner over the top of her novel. Princes and Princesses, Evil Queens and Villains; she’s slowly putting together the pieces of their puzzle.
“Ruby?”
She glances around, and then down.
“Henry?”
“Three hot chocolates, with cinnamon, please.”
“Your mother know you’re here?”
Henry visibly pales and she feels bad for the kid she used to babysit. She doesn’t really remember her parents, but she’s pretty sure her mother didn’t treat her like an accessory.
“Are you going to tell her?”
The kid looks at her pleadingly and Ruby shakes her head, smirking.
“Nah. She’s a bit-” Granny shoots warning glare and Ruby catches herself just in time.
“-Witch. She’s a total witch.”
“More that you’ll ever know.” Henry grins and Ruby chuckles because, yeah, she does know.
She knows well enough.
Granny yells and Gold collects his money and she keeps fucking the Sheriff because yeah, time keeps ticking on. And she still can’t leave this god-forsaken town.
Do you want to leave that bad?
And sometimes she doesn’t, when it’s 2am and she’s lying in Sheriff Graham’s bed and he murmurs her name in his sleep. Or when information just sort of falls in her lap because she might not be a main player in all this, but if she’s stuck here she wants to know why. She wants to know how to get out.
He asks her questions while he strokes her hair and she traces patterns on his chest. He catches her hand in his, plants a kiss upon her palm.
Don’t you?
She whispers her response into the dark and she’s met with only ghosts.
Granny insists on closing late on Friday nights, something about people and their problems and escaping them and Ruby, who knows a lot about escaping, knows that these type of people don’t choose coffee as their beverage of choice.
She keeps a bottle of whiskey behind the counter, tucked behind the syrups. Just in case.
Just in case turns into 9.45pm on Fridays; Irish coffees with the Sheriff and his mouth hot against hers, hand inching up her thigh. She likes this side of him, this animalistic side, where his eyes turn dark and he kisses her like he’s trying to devour her.
She’s so lost in this she doesn’t register the opening of the door.
“Sheriff.”
He springs away from her like he’s on fire and she catches the curse that falls from his lips.
Then this:
“Regina.”
“Sheriff,” her face remains emotionless, but her eyes betray her. Disdain, and Ruby plasters on a fake smile, heels making a smacking sound against the linoleum as she lowers herself from the counter.
“My son is missing. Again.”
Sheriff Graham doesn’t say a word as he saunters out of the diner, doesn’t throw her a backward glance or murmur an apology. Regina scrutinises her for a moment and Ruby doesn’t back down from her gaze.
“Good night, Madame Mayor.” Ruby’s so sweet she could rival Mary Margaret. “Hope you find your son.”
The door slams and she feels like she's won.
You’ve made an enemy, Gold is hard lines and sly grins that don’t reach his eyes and linger far too long. She hands him the rolled up bills and his hand catches her wrist. His nails dig into her flesh and she shivers.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister Gold.
Ah, my sweet, pretty girl, his stare is hard but his voice is light, didn’t your Granny tell you not to play with other people’s toys?
He smiles again, all teeth and Ruby’s eyes widen in fear. Gold releases her from his grip, tips his head and leaves without another word.
A wolf howls in the woods.
“I want to show you something.”
She knows the woods at the back of the inn almost as well as he does. The weather’s grown cooler and she abandons stilettos and hot pants for jeans and hiking boots. There’s a red cloak she found in the attic; it’s far too familiar to be a coincidence and she fingers the material fondly.
It fits better than anything she’s ever worn before.
There was once a path; it’s long overgrown. Cabins secluded for romantic getaways, it was an idea that never saw fruition, they built one and a half before Granny got cancer and any expansion plans were sacrificed for medical bills. So they sit, unfinished and abandoned, a wooden tomb for every dream she’s ever had that’s died.
“Where are we going?” he asks like he doesn’t know the answer and her laughter echoes through the trees.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know where I go when I’m alone,” she scoffs, “don’t pretend you don’t know my every move.”
Through the trees they spy the cabins, desolate and haunting. The door is boarded up and Ruby pulls a small crow bar from her bag, prying it loose. She produces a small brass key from under her cloak and the hinges creak when she opens it.
“Don’t pretend I don’t know that we’re in the midst of a war.”
The Sheriff shines his torch over the contents of the small cabin. There’s not much of anything; a kitchen bench and stove tops with no stove. A camp bed in the corner, several tables littered with oil lamps. Ruby turns them on and in the dim her secret comes to light.
Pictures upon pictures; internet clippings and pages from books. Photographs of everyone in Storybrooke; Regina and Mary Margaret, Gold and Archie, Emma Swan and Henry. Ruby and her Grandmother. Sheriff Graham and a question mark.
“It’s not hard to work out who most of these people are,” Ruby murmurs, “Once I ‘borrowed’ Archie’s file, half the work was done for me. Fairy tale characters trapped in this world…do you know that I can’t remember my parents? Like, I know that I have them, well, had them. But I can’t remember them, can’t remember their faces, or their voice. There’s no photos, no records online. No birth records, no death records. There’s nothing.”
“Ruby…” the Sheriff whispers and she makes her way to his side.
“I’ve tried to leave this town, I’ve tried so fucking hard,” her tone is bitter, “and I can’t. My car stalls at the border, or a hurricane hits, or Granny takes a turn. No matter how hard I try or all the precautions I take, something happens and I can’t leave. A curse would do that, don’t you think?”
“Ruby, this is madness!”
“I thought so too, for the longest time,” she runs her fingers across the clippings, pausing at his picture, “your eyes-” she turns to him, “they’re so big.”
There’s a beat and then she kisses him.
His mouth is cold against hers, forceful, and he presses her into the wall, pins digging into her back, paper crunching under her weight. His grip is tight on her waist; her hand is pressed firmly against his jaw, the other tugging at his hair.
The cloak falls to the ground, the red fabric pooling at her feet and his teeth scrape along her bottom lip, biting down with enough force to draw blood.
“Oh god…” she whimpers, rocking her hips against his. He walks them clumsily to the kitchen bench, furiously discarding garments in the process.
“Ruby,” he groans, his mouth moving from her neck to her breast and she throws her head back, nails sinking into his shoulder.
“Call me Red,” she hisses.
It’s here he loses control.
It’s light when she hammers to board back to the door. He watches carefully as she does so, ready to offer assistance if needed.
She doesn’t need it. Won’t need it. Of this she is sure.
“Does this make me a villain?” He murmurs, a playful note in his voice. Ruby chuckles, entwining her hand in his.
“Perhaps,” she grins, “should I be scared, Sheriff?”
“Perhaps I should be,” he laughs, “if the stories are anything to go to.”
“Perhaps we should create our own stories instead.”
He kisses her hand lightly.
“Yes. Perhaps we should.”
Silence falls and they focus on the overgrown trail ahead.
There’s a break-in at the inn. Her room is turned upside down.
Ruby scoffs while Granny frets, speaking frantically down the phone. The Sheriff arrives and Granny mutters a figures while she shows the Sheriff to her room, full of nervous pacing and ridiculous theories.
“I’ll need to examine the scene,” Ruby stifles a laugh, “dust for prints, the usual.”
“Of course, of course,” and Granny leaves to worry more elsewhere, while Ruby leans against the door jam.
“Any leads, Sheriff?”
He ushers her in and shuts the door.
“Regina.”
“Or one of her goons,” Ruby rolls her eyes, “doubt she’d get her hands dirty.”
“Anything missing?”
Ruby glances around. It’s hard to tell; she’s never been the neatest of people. Draws tipped upside down, books open, CDs scattered on the ground.
“Just my laptop,” she shrugs, “but there was nothing important on there.”
“Nothing important?” he presses.
She sighs, moving to sit on the bed.
“Bus timetables, train ticket prices. Nothing important.” She falls back with a groan, “See that floorboard, near the desk. Pry it open.”
She hears him shuffle through her belongings before the sound of wood hitting wood.
“Booze, cigarettes, condoms…” there’s a smile in his voice, “quite the stash of sin.”
“Granny used to search my room,” Ruby chuckles, gazing at the ceiling. Glow in the dark stars that have long lost their glow - she can’t recall when. She can’t recall them ever glowing, and that bothers her more than this gross invasion of privacy.
“Back when she thought that it would make a difference, anyway.”
“Youth in revolt?” he grins and she shifts to face him, pillowing her head on her hands.
“Something like that.”
He retrieves the final two items; a small pillowcase and a notebook. Glancing at her, Ruby nods before he opens both.
“Christ, Ruby,” he whistles, “there’s at least ten grand here! Why do you have this?”
“Easy access. Don’t know when I’m going to have to make a run for it.”
“Ruby…”
“Regina knows I know. How much, I’m not sure, but she knows enough to trash my room. Who knows when she’ll discover the cabin? Or anyone, for that matter.”
There’s a pointed look and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up awkwardly and she wants to smooth it back down. Scratch that: she wants to make it worse.
“You know I would never -”
“Gun to your head, Sheriff,” she cuts him off midsentence, “my secret or death.”
“I’m implicated, Ruby,” he nudges her elbow, “when this comes out - and it will come out, we’re not the only ones playing this game - we’ll all be in the crossfire. It will not be because of me.”
“Jesus,” Ruby breathes, “how is this such a mess? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I should have listened to Granny.”
“The Mayor has bigger problems,” he murmurs, “Emma Swan, for a start. When her kingdom starts to crumble, we’ll run.”
“What if we can’t leave?”
“Well then, I guess we’ll die trying.”
The clock in the square chimes on the hour. It still makes her jump; this reminder that time doesn’t stand still. And it doesn’t, not anymore; there’s still that haze, but she can remember exact details of last week, last month. She remembers the day Emma Swan booked a room at Granny’s Inn and everything after.
She remembers. Time moves forward.
“Your Grandmother hates me.”
He whispers in the dark and she laughs into his neck. His breath tickles her ear, followed by a kiss and she turns to look at him in the dark.
“My Grandmother hates when I have men sleep over.”
“And do a lot of men sleep over?”
Ruby chuckles.
“Jealous, Sheriff?”
“Maybe.” He growls and she barks a laugh before remembering that her grandmother is sleeping just down the hall.
“I don’t bring random men back to my grandmother’s house,” she grins playfully. The night is cool and moon makes the most familiar of objects look menacing in the dim glow.
His teeth are bright and big and she shivers in his embrace.
“So I’m the only one then.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, “you’re the only one.”
She watches Mary Margaret pine and Regina plot and Emma slot together the pieces of this puzzle that never ends. All from her side of the counter; she’s bored and seductive and impertinent and a million other adjectives to avoid suspicion.
(Once upon a time there was a woman who wanted to leave her life behind…)
“More coffee, Sheriff?”
Her arm brushes his as she pours it. He smiles and murmurs thank you.
The next time she tries to leave town she’ll remember this.
Ruby will remember all of it.
he kisses her like he's trying to devour her
Once Upon a Time. Ruby (Ruby/Sheriff Graham + ensemble)
2833. R. general spoilers for what has aired and some speculation.
[AN: yup, this was pulled out of no where. there was a glance in episode two and now I'm shipping it. also, kind of because of speculation as to who Sheriff Graham's fairytale alter ego is (which I won't really touch here, but will become obvious in the fic). also, it's kind of hard to write when the guy doesn't have a first name. alas, I made do. title taken from Manchester Orchestra's Wolves at Night. oh, minor characters. i do enjoy making my own canon indeed. hope you enjoy, this fandom is quite daunting.]
Her car stalls a mile from the town border. A sharp curse on her lips, she turns the key, only to have it stall again.
This is the fifth time she’s tried to leave. This is the fifth time the universe has stopped her.
Shifting the gear into reverse, she turns the key and it starts instantaneously. Ruby wants to scream.
Once upon a time there was a young woman and all she wanted to do was leave this town and never, ever come back.
“The clock started working last night.”
Ruby doesn’t care. Has never cared and she bites her tongue before she tells Archie exactly that.
“Is that so?” she tries to look interested, but her heart’s not in it. If the shrink wasn’t staring down her top, he’d probably notice that too.
“Funny, these old machines,” he murmurs, his gaze hard, “how the slightest change can bring them back to life.”
And she thinks that perhaps there’s a double meaning there, like she’s brought him back to life. But Ruby isn’t stupid and she knows the only part of him she’s brought to life needs to remain firmly where it belongs.
“How about that” Ruby says, distracted by the chiming of the bell and the always-good timing of the local Sheriff.
Her heels are too high and her hemlines too short and sometimes she does it to piss off her grandmother, forever acting like her keeper when she’s too old to need one.
Most of the time, she’s dresses the way she does and acts the way she does because it distinguishes her. She’s not powerful like the Mayor, or a living saint like Mary Margaret.
You wield a different kind of power, he murmurs and she hisses his name through her teeth. And sainthood is overrated.
Is that so, Sheriff.
Oh, it is.
“You’re playing with fire, girl.”
Granny’s full of sage wisdom and unwanted advice that Ruby doesn’t have the patience to heed. Her bags have been packed for months, everything else is just circumstance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ruby plays dumb and Granny tuts while she dusts.
“The Shrink and the Doctor.” She gives her a pointed glare, “The Sheriff. You’re playing with Regina’s pawns and that’s bound to attract unwanted attention.”
“It’s not serious,” Ruby protests, throwing her red scarf around her neck, “not enough to get Regina’s attention.”
“Maybe not now,” Granny warns and Ruby hates her in this moment, “but soon enough, she’ll get wind of what you’re up to. And it will not end well.”
Archie gets drunk and tells her all his secrets.
Correction: Archie gets drunk and tells her everyone else’s secrets.
She takes great glee in this; just the right amount of Sambuca and it all comes pouring out. For the most part it’s boring: marriages in trouble, housewives with depression. Sometimes it’s interesting; fetishes and obsessions and phobias and she relishes every detail.
And then there’s the Mayor’s screwed up son, with his fairytale fantasies and the townsfolk filling various roles.
“And who, pray tell, am I, Archie?” and there’s a feigned giggle and a hand on his knee while she nudges another shot in his direction.
“Little Red Riding Hood,” he slurs, “how about you and I get out of here?”
It’s here he passes out.
She does the research. And she’s not impressed.
Impressionable babe in the woods she is not. Damsel in distress, she is not. Bringing fucking flowers to Grandma?
The kid is definitely crazy.
“What, no tip?”
She slides into the booth opposite the Sheriff, batting her eyelashes for good measure. He chuckles, draining his mug.
“Well, let me make it up to you.”
“With what?”
“What do you want?”
Ruby slips off her red high heel, sliding it up the inside of his leg. He visibly squirms and she’s triumphant because she’s forced him to react this way; not Regina, not Emma Swan, not any woman in this stupid town.
He swallows hard and his eyes grow dark.
“What do you want, Ruby?”
“Information.”
Ruby watches Emma Swan and Mary Margaret whisper conspiratorially in the corner over the top of her novel. Princes and Princesses, Evil Queens and Villains; she’s slowly putting together the pieces of their puzzle.
“Ruby?”
She glances around, and then down.
“Henry?”
“Three hot chocolates, with cinnamon, please.”
“Your mother know you’re here?”
Henry visibly pales and she feels bad for the kid she used to babysit. She doesn’t really remember her parents, but she’s pretty sure her mother didn’t treat her like an accessory.
“Are you going to tell her?”
The kid looks at her pleadingly and Ruby shakes her head, smirking.
“Nah. She’s a bit-” Granny shoots warning glare and Ruby catches herself just in time.
“-Witch. She’s a total witch.”
“More that you’ll ever know.” Henry grins and Ruby chuckles because, yeah, she does know.
She knows well enough.
Granny yells and Gold collects his money and she keeps fucking the Sheriff because yeah, time keeps ticking on. And she still can’t leave this god-forsaken town.
Do you want to leave that bad?
And sometimes she doesn’t, when it’s 2am and she’s lying in Sheriff Graham’s bed and he murmurs her name in his sleep. Or when information just sort of falls in her lap because she might not be a main player in all this, but if she’s stuck here she wants to know why. She wants to know how to get out.
He asks her questions while he strokes her hair and she traces patterns on his chest. He catches her hand in his, plants a kiss upon her palm.
Don’t you?
She whispers her response into the dark and she’s met with only ghosts.
Granny insists on closing late on Friday nights, something about people and their problems and escaping them and Ruby, who knows a lot about escaping, knows that these type of people don’t choose coffee as their beverage of choice.
She keeps a bottle of whiskey behind the counter, tucked behind the syrups. Just in case.
Just in case turns into 9.45pm on Fridays; Irish coffees with the Sheriff and his mouth hot against hers, hand inching up her thigh. She likes this side of him, this animalistic side, where his eyes turn dark and he kisses her like he’s trying to devour her.
She’s so lost in this she doesn’t register the opening of the door.
“Sheriff.”
He springs away from her like he’s on fire and she catches the curse that falls from his lips.
Then this:
“Regina.”
“Sheriff,” her face remains emotionless, but her eyes betray her. Disdain, and Ruby plasters on a fake smile, heels making a smacking sound against the linoleum as she lowers herself from the counter.
“My son is missing. Again.”
Sheriff Graham doesn’t say a word as he saunters out of the diner, doesn’t throw her a backward glance or murmur an apology. Regina scrutinises her for a moment and Ruby doesn’t back down from her gaze.
“Good night, Madame Mayor.” Ruby’s so sweet she could rival Mary Margaret. “Hope you find your son.”
The door slams and she feels like she's won.
You’ve made an enemy, Gold is hard lines and sly grins that don’t reach his eyes and linger far too long. She hands him the rolled up bills and his hand catches her wrist. His nails dig into her flesh and she shivers.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister Gold.
Ah, my sweet, pretty girl, his stare is hard but his voice is light, didn’t your Granny tell you not to play with other people’s toys?
He smiles again, all teeth and Ruby’s eyes widen in fear. Gold releases her from his grip, tips his head and leaves without another word.
A wolf howls in the woods.
“I want to show you something.”
She knows the woods at the back of the inn almost as well as he does. The weather’s grown cooler and she abandons stilettos and hot pants for jeans and hiking boots. There’s a red cloak she found in the attic; it’s far too familiar to be a coincidence and she fingers the material fondly.
It fits better than anything she’s ever worn before.
There was once a path; it’s long overgrown. Cabins secluded for romantic getaways, it was an idea that never saw fruition, they built one and a half before Granny got cancer and any expansion plans were sacrificed for medical bills. So they sit, unfinished and abandoned, a wooden tomb for every dream she’s ever had that’s died.
“Where are we going?” he asks like he doesn’t know the answer and her laughter echoes through the trees.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know where I go when I’m alone,” she scoffs, “don’t pretend you don’t know my every move.”
Through the trees they spy the cabins, desolate and haunting. The door is boarded up and Ruby pulls a small crow bar from her bag, prying it loose. She produces a small brass key from under her cloak and the hinges creak when she opens it.
“Don’t pretend I don’t know that we’re in the midst of a war.”
The Sheriff shines his torch over the contents of the small cabin. There’s not much of anything; a kitchen bench and stove tops with no stove. A camp bed in the corner, several tables littered with oil lamps. Ruby turns them on and in the dim her secret comes to light.
Pictures upon pictures; internet clippings and pages from books. Photographs of everyone in Storybrooke; Regina and Mary Margaret, Gold and Archie, Emma Swan and Henry. Ruby and her Grandmother. Sheriff Graham and a question mark.
“It’s not hard to work out who most of these people are,” Ruby murmurs, “Once I ‘borrowed’ Archie’s file, half the work was done for me. Fairy tale characters trapped in this world…do you know that I can’t remember my parents? Like, I know that I have them, well, had them. But I can’t remember them, can’t remember their faces, or their voice. There’s no photos, no records online. No birth records, no death records. There’s nothing.”
“Ruby…” the Sheriff whispers and she makes her way to his side.
“I’ve tried to leave this town, I’ve tried so fucking hard,” her tone is bitter, “and I can’t. My car stalls at the border, or a hurricane hits, or Granny takes a turn. No matter how hard I try or all the precautions I take, something happens and I can’t leave. A curse would do that, don’t you think?”
“Ruby, this is madness!”
“I thought so too, for the longest time,” she runs her fingers across the clippings, pausing at his picture, “your eyes-” she turns to him, “they’re so big.”
There’s a beat and then she kisses him.
His mouth is cold against hers, forceful, and he presses her into the wall, pins digging into her back, paper crunching under her weight. His grip is tight on her waist; her hand is pressed firmly against his jaw, the other tugging at his hair.
The cloak falls to the ground, the red fabric pooling at her feet and his teeth scrape along her bottom lip, biting down with enough force to draw blood.
“Oh god…” she whimpers, rocking her hips against his. He walks them clumsily to the kitchen bench, furiously discarding garments in the process.
“Ruby,” he groans, his mouth moving from her neck to her breast and she throws her head back, nails sinking into his shoulder.
“Call me Red,” she hisses.
It’s here he loses control.
It’s light when she hammers to board back to the door. He watches carefully as she does so, ready to offer assistance if needed.
She doesn’t need it. Won’t need it. Of this she is sure.
“Does this make me a villain?” He murmurs, a playful note in his voice. Ruby chuckles, entwining her hand in his.
“Perhaps,” she grins, “should I be scared, Sheriff?”
“Perhaps I should be,” he laughs, “if the stories are anything to go to.”
“Perhaps we should create our own stories instead.”
He kisses her hand lightly.
“Yes. Perhaps we should.”
Silence falls and they focus on the overgrown trail ahead.
There’s a break-in at the inn. Her room is turned upside down.
Ruby scoffs while Granny frets, speaking frantically down the phone. The Sheriff arrives and Granny mutters a figures while she shows the Sheriff to her room, full of nervous pacing and ridiculous theories.
“I’ll need to examine the scene,” Ruby stifles a laugh, “dust for prints, the usual.”
“Of course, of course,” and Granny leaves to worry more elsewhere, while Ruby leans against the door jam.
“Any leads, Sheriff?”
He ushers her in and shuts the door.
“Regina.”
“Or one of her goons,” Ruby rolls her eyes, “doubt she’d get her hands dirty.”
“Anything missing?”
Ruby glances around. It’s hard to tell; she’s never been the neatest of people. Draws tipped upside down, books open, CDs scattered on the ground.
“Just my laptop,” she shrugs, “but there was nothing important on there.”
“Nothing important?” he presses.
She sighs, moving to sit on the bed.
“Bus timetables, train ticket prices. Nothing important.” She falls back with a groan, “See that floorboard, near the desk. Pry it open.”
She hears him shuffle through her belongings before the sound of wood hitting wood.
“Booze, cigarettes, condoms…” there’s a smile in his voice, “quite the stash of sin.”
“Granny used to search my room,” Ruby chuckles, gazing at the ceiling. Glow in the dark stars that have long lost their glow - she can’t recall when. She can’t recall them ever glowing, and that bothers her more than this gross invasion of privacy.
“Back when she thought that it would make a difference, anyway.”
“Youth in revolt?” he grins and she shifts to face him, pillowing her head on her hands.
“Something like that.”
He retrieves the final two items; a small pillowcase and a notebook. Glancing at her, Ruby nods before he opens both.
“Christ, Ruby,” he whistles, “there’s at least ten grand here! Why do you have this?”
“Easy access. Don’t know when I’m going to have to make a run for it.”
“Ruby…”
“Regina knows I know. How much, I’m not sure, but she knows enough to trash my room. Who knows when she’ll discover the cabin? Or anyone, for that matter.”
There’s a pointed look and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up awkwardly and she wants to smooth it back down. Scratch that: she wants to make it worse.
“You know I would never -”
“Gun to your head, Sheriff,” she cuts him off midsentence, “my secret or death.”
“I’m implicated, Ruby,” he nudges her elbow, “when this comes out - and it will come out, we’re not the only ones playing this game - we’ll all be in the crossfire. It will not be because of me.”
“Jesus,” Ruby breathes, “how is this such a mess? I can't believe I'm saying this, but I should have listened to Granny.”
“The Mayor has bigger problems,” he murmurs, “Emma Swan, for a start. When her kingdom starts to crumble, we’ll run.”
“What if we can’t leave?”
“Well then, I guess we’ll die trying.”
The clock in the square chimes on the hour. It still makes her jump; this reminder that time doesn’t stand still. And it doesn’t, not anymore; there’s still that haze, but she can remember exact details of last week, last month. She remembers the day Emma Swan booked a room at Granny’s Inn and everything after.
She remembers. Time moves forward.
“Your Grandmother hates me.”
He whispers in the dark and she laughs into his neck. His breath tickles her ear, followed by a kiss and she turns to look at him in the dark.
“My Grandmother hates when I have men sleep over.”
“And do a lot of men sleep over?”
Ruby chuckles.
“Jealous, Sheriff?”
“Maybe.” He growls and she barks a laugh before remembering that her grandmother is sleeping just down the hall.
“I don’t bring random men back to my grandmother’s house,” she grins playfully. The night is cool and moon makes the most familiar of objects look menacing in the dim glow.
His teeth are bright and big and she shivers in his embrace.
“So I’m the only one then.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, “you’re the only one.”
She watches Mary Margaret pine and Regina plot and Emma slot together the pieces of this puzzle that never ends. All from her side of the counter; she’s bored and seductive and impertinent and a million other adjectives to avoid suspicion.
(Once upon a time there was a woman who wanted to leave her life behind…)
“More coffee, Sheriff?”
Her arm brushes his as she pours it. He smiles and murmurs thank you.
The next time she tries to leave town she’ll remember this.
Ruby will remember all of it.