Fic: Stories Yet Untold
Title: Stories Yet Untold
Author: astrogirl2
Prompt: Jarod walks into a bar and meets... Mr. Gold!
Fandoms: The Pretender/Once Upon a Time
Summary: Jarod has ice cream, Rumplestiltskin has angst, and a great many things go unsaid.
Word count: ~2,300 words
Rating/Warnings: Rated G. No content warnings.
Author's note: This is set sometime between "Lacey" and "Second Star to the Right" in OUaT canon, and has spoilers through "Lacey." For The Pretender, it's long post-canon, and not particularly spoilery.
Stories Yet Untold
Jarod watches as the boy he came here to find walks away with his mother -- with one of his mothers -- and feels once again that familiar, complicated mix of warmth and jealousy. He tries to imagine what it would be like, to be Henry's age and to find all the family you'd lost. For all his expertly trained imagination, he's never been able to fully simulate that.
In his mind's eye, he calls up a list of names and carefully crosses Henry's out. The boy is bright and charming, and no doubt special in his own way, but he's not a Pretender. Which, Jarod has to admit, surprises him. Of all the leads he has to investigate, this one seemed by far the most likely to connect to the Centre, or what remains of it. Adoption papers signed by a lawyer with no first name, a baby spirited away to a town not featured on any map only to drop out of sight for eleven years... He'd fully expected to find a child held captive and brainwashed, being used as a test subject or a tool. But young Henry Mills is safe and free and surrounded by family, and he does not appear to need Jarod's help.
He's glad of that. But he also feels certain there's something here worth investigating even if it has nothing to do with the Centre. Something about this boy, this town, these people. Something he's never seen or simmed before.
But right now, he doesn't have time. He has other missing adoptees to investigate. Other children to save.
He stands up from the park bench, more slowly than he would like. He finds himself tiring more quickly these days. Feeling his age at last, maybe, or maybe he's simply tired of traveling, of being anyone except himself. He's not sure what he expected or hoped to be doing seventeen years after escaping from the Centre, or a decade after the place supposedly ceased to exist, but it wasn't that he would still be tracking down its mysteries and cleaning up its evil messes. At least, he doesn't think it was. Some days, it's a little hard to remember.
He should stop for some food before he heads back on the road, he decides. He needs to be sharp, and when he gets in this sort of mood, the best solution always involves ice cream.
**
It's lunchtime, and the diner is busy, but Jarod stops just inside the door and takes a moment to look around. All this time out in the world, and he still doesn't take places like this for granted. He loves the ordinariness of it, the cheerful, noisy bustle of families and friends sharing a meal, the fact that he can simply walk in and be a part of it...
He realizes he probably should have walked in a little farther when a woman bumps into him on her way to the door.
She bounces off of him and sways backwards, teetering on high heels and in sudden danger of a fall. Jarod grabs her shoulders to steady her, automatically sizing her up as he does so: small, late twenties, dark hair, mildly intoxicated, dressed to attract the attention of men. And there's something else, something about her eyes that seems to disturb some Pretender instinct deep inside him, as if the person looking out of them doesn't match the rest of her, somehow.
She gives him an odd, amused little leer. "Careful with the hands," she says. Her mouth is inches from his ear, but her voice is loud enough to be heard across the diner, and Jarod doesn't think he's the one the words are meant for. "Or I might have to have my boyfriend beat you up!"
Jarod releases her. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean--"
She laughs and tosses her hair. "Whatever," she says, and he can see her dismissing him entirely from her mind. She looks back at a man seated at the counter and waves to him with a wink. "See you later!" she calls, and sashays out the door.
The target of her farewell says nothing, but there's a tense, artificial feeling to his quiet, one that alters subtly as the woman leaves his sight, but does not disappear. He's a smallish man, graying at the temples, well-dressed. A gold-handled walking stick leans against the counter next to him, and from the way he's sitting, Jarod doesn't think it's purely decorative. He doesn't, in other words, appear to be physically dangerous. But the look in his eyes makes Jarod think that perhaps that was not an idle threat. Interesting.
Also interesting is the fact that, while the diner is filled nearly to capacity, the other seats at the counter are conspicuously empty. Jarod walks over and takes the one next to him.
The man is staring into a nearly full wine glass now, and glances up with a look of annoyance as Jarod sits down. On the counter on the other side of him there is another wineglass, empty, a wine bottle, also empty, and a plate with an almost untouched cheeseburger and fries.
"I think your girlfriend might benefit from a ride home," Jarod says.
"I think you'd better mind your own business," the man replies, baring his teeth a little. Jarod remembers old films Sydney showed him once, about dominance displays in various species of animals. Although Jarod hasn't seen very many animals with gold teeth. "And Lacey can take care of herself." He takes a swallow of the wine and grimaces.
Jarod knows exactly what alcohol does to one's ability to drive a car -- he was responsible for drawing up guidelines on the subject, himself, after some particularly memorable sims -- but a quick look out a window tells him that he won't have to intervene. The woman -- Lacey -- is leaving the diner on foot. Her gait is steady enough now, but he hopes she doesn't have far to go.
"I'm sorry," says the man, in a tone that suggests he thinks he's the one who should be apologized to. "Do I know you?" He makes a little gesture back and forth between them. His expression says he's honestly not sure whether they've ever met, and perhaps isn't sure he cares.
"No," says Jarod. He gives the man a friendly, innocent smile. "I'm Jarod. Jarod--" He looks around the diner again, at the pattern of trees on its wallpaper. "--Forrest."
"Is that so?" The man looks more interested in Jarod than he has since the moment he sat down. He also looks as if he doesn't believe Jarod's false name for a moment. "Well, Mr. Forrest, if you've come here looking to make a deal, I must warn you, I'm really not in the mood."
"I came here looking for ice cream," Jarod says.
"Well, by all means. Don't let me stop you." He raises his hand and makes a curt come-here gesture at the gray-haired woman behind the counter. She rolls her eyes, but finishes the order she's taking and comes over.
"Get this man some ice cream." He doesn't add, "Because if he's eating, perhaps he'll stop prattling away at me," but Jarod can hear it behind his words, anyway.
"What kind of ice cream?" she says. Her gaze is focused on Jarod as if she's refusing to take any notice of the man beside him.
Jarod smiles brightly at her. He wonders if she's the Granny of "Granny's Diner." He likes that name. It makes him think of lovingly cooked Thanksgiving dinners and kindly words of wisdom. Of all the things he imagines it would be like to know your grandparents. "Do you serve hot fudge sundaes?"
"We do."
"Can I get extra hot fudge?"
She nods, jotting the order on her notepad, and turns to Jarod's seatmate. Instantly, her brusque professionalism transforms into something colder. "You want anything else, Gold?"
"Nothing you can give me, dearie," he says, and she snorts and turns away.
Gold. The name on the adoption papers. For a moment, Jarod finds himself reconsidering his conclusions, and he runs his encounter with Henry through his mind again, looking for anything he might have missed or misunderstood. Because this man sitting here, radiating a palpable aura of power with an undercurrent of pain... This man would fit in at the Centre. He could be one of them.
But Jarod still doesn't think so.
Inwardly, he begins to sim the man, meticulously recreating what it would be like to be the person with that body language, those mannerisms, that look in his eyes. He feels a phantom twinge of pain in his leg, an angry clenching in his jaw, an undefined aching in his chest. It doesn't take him very far, doesn't tell him whether this is a man deserving of punishment or help. He has the feeling Mr. Gold is not a simple person to understand. But one thing is immediately clear: the reason Gold is sitting here next to a man who annoys him being served things he doesn't want by a woman who dislikes him, is because he feels he has nothing to go home to. And that, Jarod can understand.
For a few minutes, they sit in silence, until the woman Jarod has decided must be Granny returns with his sundae. It's a beautiful thing, cool, clean vanilla buried under oozing rivers of fudge. Jarod thanks her with his mouth full.
"I've changed my mind," Gold says to her, pushing away his wine glass. "Bring me an iced tea. Your wine is terrible."
"I'm sorry it's not up to the standards of whatever you're used to having the peasants serve you in your castle," she says. Jarod notes an subtle tightening around his eyes at that, but Granny appears not to. She picks up the plate with the cheeseburger and tsks. "This is just a waste of good food."
"She didn't want it," Gold says. His voice is low and quiet.
Granny's eyes soften a little. She doesn't like Gold, Jarod thinks, but she pities the woman he was with. "I'll get your tea."
Jarod swallows his delicious hot-and-cold mouthful and puts down his spoon.
"What's the matter with her?" he says gently. "Lacey."
Gold gives him a look that's both incredulous and pained. "I thought the whole town knew that by now."
From several conversations Jarod has overheard in his short time here, he's gathered that this town, for reasons as yet unclear to him, is not kindly disposed towards outsiders at the moment. So he says, "Obviously not the whole town. I haven't."
"She lost her memories," Gold says. "Her past life." He's looking down at the wineglass, but his eyes aren't quite focused on it. "She doesn't know who she is."
"I can relate to that," Jarod says softly.
"No doubt," says Gold. He sounds uninterested in the question of Jarod's identity, but looks up at him again, anyway. "Your ice cream is melting," he says. "Although I don't know what sort of meal that is for a grown man." His lip curls into a faint hint of a sneer.
"It's good," Jarod says, picking up his spoon again and digging in. "For most of my life, I didn't know ice cream existed, and now that I do, I take every opportunity I have to enjoy it. I think we need to appreciate the good things while we have them."
Gold doesn't question this piece of personal history, either. "Well," he says, "you may have a point there."
"You should have some," Jarod says.
"Some good things?" He breathes out a humorless little laugh. "No, dearie, I think that ship has sailed."
"I meant some ice cream."
He looks at Jarod's sundae, or what little remains of it, and for a moment, Jarod thinks he's going to agree, that he'll admit that a little innocent sweetness is exactly what he needs right now.
"Yeah," Gold says. "I don't think so." He stands, taking up his cane. "In fact, I think I've changed my mind about that iced tea." He tosses some money down on the counter and limps his way slowly to the door, following the path that Lacey took.
Granny returns with the tea just as he's exiting. She sets it down, picks up the cash, and snorts. "No tip," she says. "Figures."
She looks at Jarod. He swallows the last of the ice cream and licks the residue off the spoon.
"I don't know who you are, friend," she says, "but, a word of advice." She jabs a finger towards the door and Mr. Gold's retreating back. "Be careful around Rumplestiltskin. He may be able to do incredible things, but whatever he offers you, it always comes with a price."
"He didn't offer me anything," says Jarod. And then, "Rumplestiltskin?" Because that's a very odd nickname. But the woman, already bustling off to refill someone's coffee, doesn't hear.
Rumplestiltskin. Jarod feels a strange shiver come over him, one not caused by the ice cream. He remembers discovering fairy tales for the first time. Most of them delighted him, with their exciting adventures and their happy endings, but that one always disturbed him. Hidden names and child-stealers, and being locked in a dungeon and expected to perform miracles... Everything about it reminds him of his childhood.
Jarod puts some money of his own on the counter, with enough of a tip to cover both himself and Gold.
He has to get on the road. He has things he needs to do. But he's going to have to come back to this place. He never likes to leave a mystery behind him. But more than that, something tells him this town needs him. Some Pretenderish instinct he has long ago learned never to ignore tells him that, in some way he doesn't understand yet, he belongs here.
Jarod gets up and heads for the door, savoring the lingering taste of ice cream in his mouth.
Author: astrogirl2
Prompt: Jarod walks into a bar and meets... Mr. Gold!
Fandoms: The Pretender/Once Upon a Time
Summary: Jarod has ice cream, Rumplestiltskin has angst, and a great many things go unsaid.
Word count: ~2,300 words
Rating/Warnings: Rated G. No content warnings.
Author's note: This is set sometime between "Lacey" and "Second Star to the Right" in OUaT canon, and has spoilers through "Lacey." For The Pretender, it's long post-canon, and not particularly spoilery.
Stories Yet Untold
Jarod watches as the boy he came here to find walks away with his mother -- with one of his mothers -- and feels once again that familiar, complicated mix of warmth and jealousy. He tries to imagine what it would be like, to be Henry's age and to find all the family you'd lost. For all his expertly trained imagination, he's never been able to fully simulate that.
In his mind's eye, he calls up a list of names and carefully crosses Henry's out. The boy is bright and charming, and no doubt special in his own way, but he's not a Pretender. Which, Jarod has to admit, surprises him. Of all the leads he has to investigate, this one seemed by far the most likely to connect to the Centre, or what remains of it. Adoption papers signed by a lawyer with no first name, a baby spirited away to a town not featured on any map only to drop out of sight for eleven years... He'd fully expected to find a child held captive and brainwashed, being used as a test subject or a tool. But young Henry Mills is safe and free and surrounded by family, and he does not appear to need Jarod's help.
He's glad of that. But he also feels certain there's something here worth investigating even if it has nothing to do with the Centre. Something about this boy, this town, these people. Something he's never seen or simmed before.
But right now, he doesn't have time. He has other missing adoptees to investigate. Other children to save.
He stands up from the park bench, more slowly than he would like. He finds himself tiring more quickly these days. Feeling his age at last, maybe, or maybe he's simply tired of traveling, of being anyone except himself. He's not sure what he expected or hoped to be doing seventeen years after escaping from the Centre, or a decade after the place supposedly ceased to exist, but it wasn't that he would still be tracking down its mysteries and cleaning up its evil messes. At least, he doesn't think it was. Some days, it's a little hard to remember.
He should stop for some food before he heads back on the road, he decides. He needs to be sharp, and when he gets in this sort of mood, the best solution always involves ice cream.
**
It's lunchtime, and the diner is busy, but Jarod stops just inside the door and takes a moment to look around. All this time out in the world, and he still doesn't take places like this for granted. He loves the ordinariness of it, the cheerful, noisy bustle of families and friends sharing a meal, the fact that he can simply walk in and be a part of it...
He realizes he probably should have walked in a little farther when a woman bumps into him on her way to the door.
She bounces off of him and sways backwards, teetering on high heels and in sudden danger of a fall. Jarod grabs her shoulders to steady her, automatically sizing her up as he does so: small, late twenties, dark hair, mildly intoxicated, dressed to attract the attention of men. And there's something else, something about her eyes that seems to disturb some Pretender instinct deep inside him, as if the person looking out of them doesn't match the rest of her, somehow.
She gives him an odd, amused little leer. "Careful with the hands," she says. Her mouth is inches from his ear, but her voice is loud enough to be heard across the diner, and Jarod doesn't think he's the one the words are meant for. "Or I might have to have my boyfriend beat you up!"
Jarod releases her. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean--"
She laughs and tosses her hair. "Whatever," she says, and he can see her dismissing him entirely from her mind. She looks back at a man seated at the counter and waves to him with a wink. "See you later!" she calls, and sashays out the door.
The target of her farewell says nothing, but there's a tense, artificial feeling to his quiet, one that alters subtly as the woman leaves his sight, but does not disappear. He's a smallish man, graying at the temples, well-dressed. A gold-handled walking stick leans against the counter next to him, and from the way he's sitting, Jarod doesn't think it's purely decorative. He doesn't, in other words, appear to be physically dangerous. But the look in his eyes makes Jarod think that perhaps that was not an idle threat. Interesting.
Also interesting is the fact that, while the diner is filled nearly to capacity, the other seats at the counter are conspicuously empty. Jarod walks over and takes the one next to him.
The man is staring into a nearly full wine glass now, and glances up with a look of annoyance as Jarod sits down. On the counter on the other side of him there is another wineglass, empty, a wine bottle, also empty, and a plate with an almost untouched cheeseburger and fries.
"I think your girlfriend might benefit from a ride home," Jarod says.
"I think you'd better mind your own business," the man replies, baring his teeth a little. Jarod remembers old films Sydney showed him once, about dominance displays in various species of animals. Although Jarod hasn't seen very many animals with gold teeth. "And Lacey can take care of herself." He takes a swallow of the wine and grimaces.
Jarod knows exactly what alcohol does to one's ability to drive a car -- he was responsible for drawing up guidelines on the subject, himself, after some particularly memorable sims -- but a quick look out a window tells him that he won't have to intervene. The woman -- Lacey -- is leaving the diner on foot. Her gait is steady enough now, but he hopes she doesn't have far to go.
"I'm sorry," says the man, in a tone that suggests he thinks he's the one who should be apologized to. "Do I know you?" He makes a little gesture back and forth between them. His expression says he's honestly not sure whether they've ever met, and perhaps isn't sure he cares.
"No," says Jarod. He gives the man a friendly, innocent smile. "I'm Jarod. Jarod--" He looks around the diner again, at the pattern of trees on its wallpaper. "--Forrest."
"Is that so?" The man looks more interested in Jarod than he has since the moment he sat down. He also looks as if he doesn't believe Jarod's false name for a moment. "Well, Mr. Forrest, if you've come here looking to make a deal, I must warn you, I'm really not in the mood."
"I came here looking for ice cream," Jarod says.
"Well, by all means. Don't let me stop you." He raises his hand and makes a curt come-here gesture at the gray-haired woman behind the counter. She rolls her eyes, but finishes the order she's taking and comes over.
"Get this man some ice cream." He doesn't add, "Because if he's eating, perhaps he'll stop prattling away at me," but Jarod can hear it behind his words, anyway.
"What kind of ice cream?" she says. Her gaze is focused on Jarod as if she's refusing to take any notice of the man beside him.
Jarod smiles brightly at her. He wonders if she's the Granny of "Granny's Diner." He likes that name. It makes him think of lovingly cooked Thanksgiving dinners and kindly words of wisdom. Of all the things he imagines it would be like to know your grandparents. "Do you serve hot fudge sundaes?"
"We do."
"Can I get extra hot fudge?"
She nods, jotting the order on her notepad, and turns to Jarod's seatmate. Instantly, her brusque professionalism transforms into something colder. "You want anything else, Gold?"
"Nothing you can give me, dearie," he says, and she snorts and turns away.
Gold. The name on the adoption papers. For a moment, Jarod finds himself reconsidering his conclusions, and he runs his encounter with Henry through his mind again, looking for anything he might have missed or misunderstood. Because this man sitting here, radiating a palpable aura of power with an undercurrent of pain... This man would fit in at the Centre. He could be one of them.
But Jarod still doesn't think so.
Inwardly, he begins to sim the man, meticulously recreating what it would be like to be the person with that body language, those mannerisms, that look in his eyes. He feels a phantom twinge of pain in his leg, an angry clenching in his jaw, an undefined aching in his chest. It doesn't take him very far, doesn't tell him whether this is a man deserving of punishment or help. He has the feeling Mr. Gold is not a simple person to understand. But one thing is immediately clear: the reason Gold is sitting here next to a man who annoys him being served things he doesn't want by a woman who dislikes him, is because he feels he has nothing to go home to. And that, Jarod can understand.
For a few minutes, they sit in silence, until the woman Jarod has decided must be Granny returns with his sundae. It's a beautiful thing, cool, clean vanilla buried under oozing rivers of fudge. Jarod thanks her with his mouth full.
"I've changed my mind," Gold says to her, pushing away his wine glass. "Bring me an iced tea. Your wine is terrible."
"I'm sorry it's not up to the standards of whatever you're used to having the peasants serve you in your castle," she says. Jarod notes an subtle tightening around his eyes at that, but Granny appears not to. She picks up the plate with the cheeseburger and tsks. "This is just a waste of good food."
"She didn't want it," Gold says. His voice is low and quiet.
Granny's eyes soften a little. She doesn't like Gold, Jarod thinks, but she pities the woman he was with. "I'll get your tea."
Jarod swallows his delicious hot-and-cold mouthful and puts down his spoon.
"What's the matter with her?" he says gently. "Lacey."
Gold gives him a look that's both incredulous and pained. "I thought the whole town knew that by now."
From several conversations Jarod has overheard in his short time here, he's gathered that this town, for reasons as yet unclear to him, is not kindly disposed towards outsiders at the moment. So he says, "Obviously not the whole town. I haven't."
"She lost her memories," Gold says. "Her past life." He's looking down at the wineglass, but his eyes aren't quite focused on it. "She doesn't know who she is."
"I can relate to that," Jarod says softly.
"No doubt," says Gold. He sounds uninterested in the question of Jarod's identity, but looks up at him again, anyway. "Your ice cream is melting," he says. "Although I don't know what sort of meal that is for a grown man." His lip curls into a faint hint of a sneer.
"It's good," Jarod says, picking up his spoon again and digging in. "For most of my life, I didn't know ice cream existed, and now that I do, I take every opportunity I have to enjoy it. I think we need to appreciate the good things while we have them."
Gold doesn't question this piece of personal history, either. "Well," he says, "you may have a point there."
"You should have some," Jarod says.
"Some good things?" He breathes out a humorless little laugh. "No, dearie, I think that ship has sailed."
"I meant some ice cream."
He looks at Jarod's sundae, or what little remains of it, and for a moment, Jarod thinks he's going to agree, that he'll admit that a little innocent sweetness is exactly what he needs right now.
"Yeah," Gold says. "I don't think so." He stands, taking up his cane. "In fact, I think I've changed my mind about that iced tea." He tosses some money down on the counter and limps his way slowly to the door, following the path that Lacey took.
Granny returns with the tea just as he's exiting. She sets it down, picks up the cash, and snorts. "No tip," she says. "Figures."
She looks at Jarod. He swallows the last of the ice cream and licks the residue off the spoon.
"I don't know who you are, friend," she says, "but, a word of advice." She jabs a finger towards the door and Mr. Gold's retreating back. "Be careful around Rumplestiltskin. He may be able to do incredible things, but whatever he offers you, it always comes with a price."
"He didn't offer me anything," says Jarod. And then, "Rumplestiltskin?" Because that's a very odd nickname. But the woman, already bustling off to refill someone's coffee, doesn't hear.
Rumplestiltskin. Jarod feels a strange shiver come over him, one not caused by the ice cream. He remembers discovering fairy tales for the first time. Most of them delighted him, with their exciting adventures and their happy endings, but that one always disturbed him. Hidden names and child-stealers, and being locked in a dungeon and expected to perform miracles... Everything about it reminds him of his childhood.
Jarod puts some money of his own on the counter, with enough of a tip to cover both himself and Gold.
He has to get on the road. He has things he needs to do. But he's going to have to come back to this place. He never likes to leave a mystery behind him. But more than that, something tells him this town needs him. Some Pretenderish instinct he has long ago learned never to ignore tells him that, in some way he doesn't understand yet, he belongs here.
Jarod gets up and heads for the door, savoring the lingering taste of ice cream in his mouth.