A/N: Wow this took forever to write! It's the longest chapter I've ever written to date, and still I'm not completely satisfied with it. Might go over it and update it sometime if I ever get the feeling I should tweak a few things. I would've posted this sooner but I've been having a silent wifi battle with some new neighbors. Oh yeah, I'm that one asshole that doesn't like to pay for internet. :) They'll break soon. Alright, I wrote this out like in... several different ways... but I kinda liked how this turned out. I hope you enjoy and review!

**Warnings**: Tame sexual situations (non-graphic), unhealthy love/hate relationship, angst, some slapping... yeah that's about it.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own squat. Not even my internet.

Looking back on it, it's almost funny the amount of time she spent when she was younger thinking about how her first experience with her True Love would go. What poetic words of beauty and love her rescuer would whisper in her hair; an endless night of just holding someone and watching the stars fade in their eyes with the coming of the sun... Of course, he didn't whisper sweet words of love and devotion. There were no stars in his eyes. Just a filthy cell with the lingering scent of sex and mildew. And she expected no less; she's long grown out of the childish fantasies of sonnets and tokens of affection. The very thought was laughable. There was just a half naked, little man with straw caught in his hair and looking just as confused as she felt about it all.

"Stiltskin... what are we doing?" Fiona had whispered, just to say something in the silence as his fingertips traced through the sweat that still clung to the dip of her hips; the chains long forgotten and tossed in the corner. It was hard to say how long they've been down there, locked in their new embrace and gasping words of hateful longing for each other. Everything felt so... so unreal after they crashed in their exhaustion... like they were just now waking up to the fact that they were the only two still alive in the world and were vainly trying to wrap their minds around it.

Fiona didn't dare open her eyes and look at him, afraid that she'd find a reason to hate herself somehow. She hoped if she could match her breath or even her heartbeat to his, she might trick herself into believing that this was normal, that they belonged there in a heap on the floor together. Like a zombie reflex still alive in the mind, her fairy tale surfaced and gripped her heart with a growing insistence that – no, not all was as it should be – and she swallowed it down; folded away the musty pages and locked it away in the lonely tower that still lives and breathes inside her. Curious... what you can grow accustomed to. She missed the blind certainty hope. Perhaps he was right about keeping fairy tales forever... maybe he had his own dungeon, forever spinning spools of gold in his heart as well.

"I dunno..." he had said thickly, his hair tickling her waist as he wrote secret words against her skin and she vaguely wondered if he was writing a contract when she felt the curly, over the top way he wrote his name. The 'R' burned into her skin at the edge of his nail before he blew it dry with a cool breath of air like wet ink. It was almost an affectionate gesture – almost – but not quite. She wouldn't have it any other way.

And that was that. They dressed slowly and not altogether as awkwardly as she would've first imagined, but with a mutual asphyxiation to be elsewhere. She smoothed out his hair and plucked the last few straws of hay that he hadn't managed to shake out, he kissed the tender part of her wrist, and left the door unlocked on his way out. No goodbyes, mumbled apologies or death threats. No plans to see each other again. Just two enemies after an unexpected, short lived truce and acting quite sheepish about it all. They were like two scolded children who were forced to shake hands while bidding their time, still imagining in vivid detail the others misfortune. Just a one time thing after all... just enough to sate the thirst of what if...

But it wasn't, of course. It's never enough.

She took form in his mind and slowly unfolded; growing into another addiction, possibly an obsession that bordered or exceeded her own. Every word, every sideways glance – all showed that he thought of her endlessly and somewhere in the deep secluded corner of her mind... she smiled. For her lack of compliance against his tyranny, she presented a compromise and he took it greedily. It gave her a twisted kind of satisfaction that she could get under his skin so easily, despite how much she loathed it as well. Maybe it wasn't healthy... maybe she was just as bad as he was... but whatever it meant, they shared something together and it flourished despite how flawed their secret motivations were.

They met again not long after, and again many times after that. Sometimes twice in one week if she felt the need to indulge him... or perhaps indulge herself. He was so damn greedy... his wants taking over her completely and trying, testing her own. And so, she proved to do just that: satisfy the insatiable. Her own inclinations had grown to even match his and they had forgotten which of them had broken the other, where love and hate began and ended; twisted and fastened together. Nothing mattered just as long as she forgot about everything. Forgot about princesses and ogres or how her life was measured by hours; mere degrees as the sun sank below the horizon. Forgot about the faces she shielded herself with and just let go. He'd cut away the young girl she used to be, the woman who blossomed, the ogre who withered and hardened; examined the spaces in between and desired her regardless of her flaws. And she desired him that he would still desire her because of them.

Sometimes when she thinks of him... she could still feel the ghost of his name. It aches whenever they spent too long apart and his lips always managed to find the same exact spot with a wicked grin she found eerily attractive stretching over his face each time they managed to get away from the daily grind of their lives. Perhaps in some perverse way, he loved kissing his name on her skin. Like he had stolen something precious and beautiful and claimed it as his own... and maybe he did. Strange but... she didn't care. With every breath of her name as she drove him over the edge, with every touch that ignited her desire... they owned each other. It wasn't True Love... no ... but it was enough. It was something and it was better then nothing at all.

But it wasn't enough for him. Nothing ever was. He had to break the second rule and claim something more of her, still unsatisfied with what she gave him willingly. She still can't understand why he did it. Maybe he foolishly believed he could break her curse or... spitefully did it to break her fully when it obvious that it wouldn't work. She couldn't help but resent him for it because she couldn't decide which was worse.

It was easier to believe that he didn't love her. She wasn't so sure she'd let herself get over it if he did.

"I like it when I make you squirm..." Fiona had whispered into his ear, vaguely amused and pondering why she's always in some state of undress first. It was like game they played but she didn't mind being the loser in this case. "I think it's cute."

"I squirm 'cause I know you think it's cute," Rumpelstiltskin murmured back as his fingers expertly undid the buckle of her blade before Fiona had a chance to untie his scarf from where they were tangled together on his bed. "Didja find that thing I left you?"

They didn't often speak before taking the edge off their desires in one way or another and left the idle chitchat for after. He was such a chatterbox, saying the most ridiculous things ... even so far as being the butt of the joke to make her laugh. She never quite did, but he knew she liked it. It was all just to amuse her; to make-believe that they weren't enemies, if only for a little while before she had to go. A brief spell of normalcy in their lives over a light lunch or a few drinks. Fiona didn't mind, in fact, she liked hearing him speak. He had such a devil-may-care prose she envied at times. So confident and charming, easily making everyone comfortable no matter the situation. It wasn't all that surprising that many adored him despite his debauchery. He just had that natural talent at convincing others to like him with a strange sort of magic that rolled off his tongue so many admired. It was shame he was such a greedy bastard since he had the makings of a great king. Basically made for the game of politics. In essence, a king is nothing but a grand manipulator of men with a crown anyway.

But that gift... it … it surprised her that he bought it up. He never did before. She found it at the foot of the stairs that led to the passageway she now often visits whenever they meet in the castle. Fiona nearly tripped over the package before the flickering flame of her oil lamp brought it into view. Against her better judgment, she unwrapped it to find a dress neatly packed inside. It was beautiful; stark white with brilliant gold designs etched into the silk as if with magic. It shimmered under her fingertips, iridescent like a beetles. Scarlet slippers and matching a choker dripping with rubies completed the vision of luxury before she slipped it back into it's box again. She left it there, in that dark staircase. It'll likely stay down there long after she's gone.

"I don't like nice things," Fiona tied his scarf around her wrist for safe keeping with an arch of a brow.

Fiona didn't like much of anything anymore. He knew this, of course. They knew each other so well, they never had to say anything at all. That didn't stop him from treating her however. Every so often when he's in one of his sweeter moods, he might give her a small trinket. He never gave them to her personally, but left them were he knew she'd find it, as if he believed it wouldn't be considered a gift that way. A necklace here... some jewels there ... She liked to think he did it to remind her in some asshole way that it was with her kingdom's gold he bought it with. Fiona made a habit of finding the first beggar she saw on her way out to hand off such items and somewhere, a little boy was in all probability playing with the most expensive set of marbles imaginable. But a dress... there was something much more personal about it.

"Humor me and wear it anyway," he kissed his name on her skin she could feel her blood quicken and her body pulse with heat in response. "Tomorrow?"

Finally he decides to bring up whatever he's been expecting lately. Right beneath the surface of his cool smile, he's been restless for the past several weeks, almost to the point of barely restrained anxiety. At first, she thought nothing of it. Just another of his many eccentricities or perhaps he had grown too attached to her like another one of his possessions. Whatever it was, he had grown more insistent with their meetings. They spent longer days in the many inns they meet or in his carriage for a drive to nowhere. Oftentimes, he merely watched her sleep as he scratched away with his quill at new contracts when the exhaustion from her nocturnal life wore on her, but he didn't complain and she didn't either. Perhaps a part of her knew that something had changed and ignored the warnings she felt as she spent more and more time with him... or perhaps, she was just as selfish as he was. It helped... getting away from it all. Getting away from herself. It helped her believe she wasn't any different then anyone else.

"What's so important about tomorrow?" Fiona prodded gently while she undid his buttons one by one to just have something to do with her hands to mask her curiosity. What could he be planning? It must involve her in some way if he thinks he could convince her to visit twice in a row.

"Oh, I dunno ... maybe nothing ..." Rumpelstiltskin said airily. "... maybe the end of the world."

Fiona paused at the last button and laughed softly. "That's... inconvenient," she pushed his shirt back off his shoulders and felt him shiver when she pressed her lips to the boyish freckles that dusted his shoulders.

"You have no idea," he said with a snort of laughter as his hand crept into her hair, fingers curling and tangling themselves with a rare tenderness that surprised her. At first she thought he was merely brushing the unruly mess out of his face to keep it from bothering him, but as the sensation of being caressed slowly tingled down her spine, she realized he was doing it intentionally.

"Fiona..." he began and she felt a hesitance through his body. "Tell me... tell me you don't hate me."

If it was obvious that Fiona was physically stunned, he didn't let on that he noticed. Here was the man responsible for her parent's absence in her life, the economic murder of her kingdom, the very man who hunted down her kind with no better reason then to amuse himself – sitting in her lap – and he expects her to not hate him? What more could he possibly want from her? Wasn't the fact that she warmed his bed willingly enough? Fiona didn't know whom she hated more – Rumpelstiltskin for being such a slimy bastard or herself because she desires him regardless.

But... but not like this, she couldn't. She couldn't hate him when it was just the two of them, their petty squabbles forgotten. Fiona couldn't hate him when he made her bite back her smiles, when he took as many cutting remarks as he gave out and challenged her at every turn, when his touch ignited a passion the likes of which she's never known before...

But she hated him still because she couldn't hate him...

"No. I still hate you, Stiltskin."

And she did... of course she did. She had to. They'd met as enemies, what more could he expect? No matter what she felt in the small moments where she forgot about the anger that fueled her life, you just can't forget for long. Fiona felt, rather than heard him sigh against her as he kissed the shell of her ear. The gesture was unexpected since she half anticipated him to get angry when he had just barely … asked her to love him.

"It's kinda funny, y'know?" She didn't, but let his lips kiss their way along her jaw without argument. "It's one thing to … to want something that didn't belong to you in the first place and lose it..." She felt her eyes close as his breath hovered over her lips. "But it's another thing entirely to still want it knowing you always will. Damn me for not gettin' it before..." His lips brushed hers with every word, silky soft and so very alien against her skin. "For never getting what either of us really wanted."

Fiona tasted his scent on her tongue, breathed in his very breath. A long ago and familar feeling of asphyxiation clawed up from inside her to get away, escape – do something – but she couldn't find it in herself to move. A rush of silence fogged her senses as a finger, a single solitary finger, traced the curve of her lips and her world froze. It wasn't the touch of an enemy anymore, it's the touch of a lover, and she knows this. He knows this. The last thing she saw was the rise of his smile from beneath her lashes before his lips closed over hers. She wanted to tell him how much she hated him, probably would have if his mouth hadn't devoured her own. If his hands hands hadn't ripped away at her body, ridding her of what was left of herself. She should have since the very idea of a kiss filled her with such rising disgust, she could have screamed it aloud to the world. She could have... but she didn't.

A kiss is all she ever wanted anyway.

She knew he needed this too, needs it to make himself feel just as much as she does. She pulled away slightly just for him to press harder still and groan into her lips, knowing full well if she gave in too easily it wouldn't count. His lips never left hers as she blindly pushed him down onto the feathered bed. All she felt was the slide of skin against skin, his touch heavy and demanding and just as desperate as hers. Somehow, they both knew that if one of them tore away to take that gasping breath of air they both urgently needed... the spell would be broken. They were both running on empty and yet they selfishly wouldn't surface out of fear or anger... or love. One will cave in first, they reasoned.

And one did.

Perhaps Fiona wasn't as strong as she thought since she was the first to pull away and take that dizzying, gulping breath of air that burned down her throat. The sound of their ragged breaths filled the room as Fiona's blood ran cold in her veins when she caught his eyes beneath her. Instead of a warmth she expected to flow though her, a chill crept through her body and for just one heart stopping moment, she believed her curse was broken; that something was happening. The moment came and went and with it's passing, she realized what it was. He wasn't her True Love. And she hated him for it. Hated him with every tear she's ever shed in her life. With every passing night and stolen afternoons. With every secret that clouded her eyes. Maybe she had been deluding herself all along into pretending she never loved him. There's no other reason why she felt as if a plague were eating away at her heart.

He didn't love her. Not Truly. Maybe it's beyond him.

"Fioan-" She struck him hard across the face because she hated the sound of her name on his lips. Stuck him again just to be sure. "The hell was that for?"

She ignored him as his face flushed; a perfect impression of her hand glowed on the surface of his skin and in one swift movement, she half stumbled out of the bed to get away. Go anywhere – safe and far away – back to that lonely tower with the smell of brimstone in the air because even that sounded like a better alternative. Fiona rushed to find where he had discarded her clothes and tried to ignore the tingling ghost of his lips on hers. One boot under the bed. Skirt draped over a chair. She tugged them on with shaking fingers while Rumpelstiltskin slowly slipped back into his own shirt.

"Where are you going?" He said as his eyes following her around the room while she hunted down the last of her clothes. There was no anger in his tone, but a touch of something she's never quite heard before and it struck a chord of fear though her heart. "Nothing's changed."

No, nothings changed. That's the problem. "Everything's changed," Fiona forced out against a burning that rose up her in her throat. "We're done here." She scanned the room, trying vainly to find her other boot while she rushed to lace up her top.

"C'mon, get over yourself." Whatever momentary emotion buried itself again with a mocking tone; familiar and welcome right now. She needed to get angry because it was better then feeling anything else. "This about your 'True Love' phobia thing, right?" He knew this, of course. He's always known.

"You shouldn't have kissed me." Once upon a time, there was a Princess named Fiona who couldn't quite forget there was once upon a time... "It wasn't meant for you." Our endings... they are what they are, she didn't argue with that anymore... but he didn't have a place in her ever after.

"There's hundreds out there that never find their True Love and live just fine without them," he was making a good case, but hundreds weren't cursed to live the life she does. "You think that just 'cause of your – your thing – you can piss and moan about it forever? I don't care! I just want... want us to be -"

"Just what do you want, Stiltskin?" Fiona finally faced him, before stepping into the lost boot she found under his desk. "Because you seem to want everything and I can't give it to you!"

She waited for his answer, and for a moment, she wondered if she even wanted to give him everything. There wasn't much left inside to kindle the flame of love; only anger to burn away the air of resentment. Maybe an idiotic sliver of her youth believed he would admit some sort of love for her, that he'd spew forth his longing for a better life at her side. That they'd make their own ever after... as hopeless as it seemed. Despite all that, she needed to hear something – just anything to know that this bitterness won't last forever. That the world will turn and things will get better if she just once heard him say he loved her. Maybe then... could she try to write their own story.

"I dunno what to tell you..."

An honest answer, but not the answer she wanted. It crushed that feeble hope within her and no matter how much she hated him for it... she silently thanked him. She could thank him for everything in her life it seemed.

"This is goodbye Rumpel," Fiona said to door, her hand on the handle and her eyes drifted down the scarf tied to her wrist like a promise. She'll wear it for the rest of the day and long into the night before she'll burn it in her fireplace, thoughts with her once prison and the beauty of it's destructive lake of flames.

"Fiona -"

Fiona simply left and shut the door behind her before she could give him a chance to say anything further. She never did let him have the last word. Didn't want to take the chance that he'd ask her to stay and wasn't she so confident in her ability to argue in the state she was in. In a way... she didn't want to go. Never wanted to in the first place. Perhaps everyone secretly yearns to never have the things they truly want. She comforted herself with the idea that things will go back to how they were supposed to be before this whole affair. That the world will turn, regardless if it wasn't for the better, and she'll go back to working like before. Whatever happened will be forgotten in time as soon as she busies herself with planning for what tomorrow will bring. And for a whole day and night... things did... until she met a stranger the following night that changed everything with another kiss.

Perhaps was he right about the end of the world as well... it certainly was the end of their own.

And so, their story ends with two kisses. One filled with desperation and desire, the other a sad goodbye with the longing for the love she's always wanted. It tore their world at the seams but that still didn't break the connection the two shared. It passed over into another world where they had many conversations in the small hours of the night. He, a story telling prisoner and she, his curious jailor who couldn't help but harbor a secret fascination about the warrior she once was in that strange and bitter world of what ifs. Not long after, he was grudgingly freed and they parted ways. She had just barely started to live out her ever after, and he still had to go make his own. It's just how their story's written... never together... but always crossing. If only for a few chapters. They just weren't meant to have an ever after together.

Years after their parting, the two would happen to meet by chance one afternoon. She, an ogress close – but not quite – like the woman she could have been, and he – unchanged but in a different line of business with the same ends. A bell rings when she steps back into his life to have a necklace repaired in a shabby jewelery store filled with nicknacks and curios. Her children will gasp and marvel at the baubles on display and tug at her dress to inquire about them, distracting her momentarily as she waves her husband off with the promise to meet later. Her son would tap impatiently on the bell to bring assistance and a familiar voice would greet them as he rolled into view from atop a ladder.

His trained smile would freeze in recognition and her world would grow blissfully silent, her children's voices muted. For one breathtaking second, it was as if their two worlds crashed and merged into a new one full of what ifs and the possibilities stretched on for a million ever afters. One moment... before their reality reminded them otherwise in the form of a loud squeal from her daughter that they were never meant to have their own world.

"It's the bird man, momma!"

Fiona would shush and tell her daughter to mind her manners and Rumpelstiltskin would laugh it off. It's nothing, really. He's glad to see them and how are things? The 'you're looking well's' and 'how's business going'. The usual pleasantries they're allowed to say in front of curious ears and loose lips before he winks at her son and asks if he's old enough to mind the counter for a bit while he steals his mother away to catch up on things. Her son nods enthusiastically, proud and excited and Fiona will silently marvel at the way his words always charm the hearts of others so easily.

"I'm the boss now!"

Her son's voice follows her as she steps behind the counter where a curtain is pulled aside to a small room, just as cluttered as the store behind her. Dozens of jewels, rare stones, and strange artifacts send the soft hum of magic her way from every shelf and covered glass dome. Rumpelstiltskin sat down comfortably at his desk, a spool of golden thread dancing at his fingertips as he just looks at her for a long moment, as if he wasn't quite sure if he's mistaken her for someone else. Fiona could relate since he looks so different to her eyes... and yet the same. The same smile curling his lips; crooked and full of the same mischief. His hair is still just as unruly, if a tad shorter and not a gray in sight despite the years they spent apart. Eyes just as brilliant and full of promises and good humor. But when looked at from afar like a painting... there was something about him that struck her as different and she'll struggle to put a word to it through their whole conversation.

"So, how's the ass?" he asks finally, and they both know he's not talking about Donkey.

"Still as stubborn as ever," she laughs and she shares a few things to bring him up to date in the goings on in her life. Not much had changed. No more adventures or what ifs for her. Still taking care of her children, still the wife and never the warrior. Still the pleasant idyllic life she's always wanted. "Complacent." Like he once said long ago.

The soft laughter of her children drifts in from the other room and he asks, "That's enough for you?"

She remembers how he once told her that having enough never stopped anyone from wanting more and wonders if – always 'if' – he had meant that just for her.

"I'm happy," she nods, even though that wasn't the answer he wanted.

"Good," he says, even though that wasn't the response he wanted to voice.

Both lied, and both of them knew it; they understood each other too well to pretend otherwise.

"You never finished your story," she said, eyes downcast and that familiar rush of excitement ran through her veins like an old friend. It was silly, she knew, to try to live through the stories of others... but she couldn't help the pull of his words when he spoke about her. Their deal's dead and buried by now, but she can't help but want to hear it's end.

A slow shake of his head and a wan smile greets her before he responds. "It doesn't have a happy ending."

"Sometimes... it's better that way."

He held her gaze for a moment, spool turning in his fingers before he abruptly pushes his hair back. "Alright... gonna close shop for a bit and I'll tell you everything. It won't take long."

And he did. He told her everything she only suspected before. Of what ifs and whispered words of desperate longing and passionate loathing. The countless days of their own kind of chess game the revolutionary and the tyrant shared in secret. How Fiona shivered when he kissed the small of her back and always denied it. How the graceful arch of her neck would fit perfectly against his and the soft scent of her hair never had a chance to leave the room. It was a curious feeling... having someone who had never laid a hand on her, know her so intimately... and possibly even more then her husband. Instead of the ratty little man with the childish temper she knew him for, sat a lover who could describe in perfect detail the beauty mark on her shoulder and how she giggled when he trailed his feathered quill down her spine.

As he neared the end, he told her of his worries whenever he saw the days sink below the horizon, a constant reminder that one evening... she might be taken away by another if his plans failed and the growing dread of a kiss that would destroy his world and take away everything he's worked for. How he tried to soak it up as much as he could before the inevitable. It was almost ironic how once he decided to take their story into his own hands and steal that very kiss himself, only for it to bring about the same ends regardless. It's cruel... the way love sometimes works. No matter how much you strive to make it True... it's never enough if you're not Loved in return.

"But she did love you..." Fiona said softly after the story came to a close. She knew it. She felt that love within her as well whenever he spoke... it was small and feeble... but it was there. Like the whispers of a half remembered dream you can't forget for days.

There was a silence and his eyes were trained on the spool in his fingers, unwavering and strangely cold. "Just wasn't enough I guess," he sighed, as if suddenly tired. "That night she walked out... I planned to make her my queen," he chuckled for a moment, the kind of laugh when someone plans to do the unimaginable and knows how foolish they are for still trying. "I thought – hey – that's perfect y'know? I get what I want and it would've been great to see the look on Shrek's face when he saw Fiona by my side..."

"What would Fiona get out of it?" She asked, still unaccustomed to speaking about herself in that way.

"A truce... no point hunting down ogres to keep Shrek away from her if I won that kiss," he shrugged. "She'd win... and I wouldn't care. It was enough for me."

"Do you still hate her?" For everything that happened or never had a chance to happen between them. She's not sure why she felt the need to ask since she wasn't sorry at all. "Do you... hate me?"

"I stopped hating her the moment I stepped into that dungeon," he met her eyes with a growing smile. "Every time I tried to hate her, I loved her more for it. And you... I never could as much as I wanted to. You don't see it, but you're just like her... you just got all – all this – " he gestured the whole room in an effort to grasp the whole world " – holding her back. That's the only thing... I could hate you for."

He said it so simply, as if it were a merely an observation about the weather, and for some reason... she wanted to be sorry. She wanted to live the life of that warrior he described so passionately with his words. She wanted to fight everything and nothing at all, feel the rush of a fight ring through a blade in her hand. No longer the nagging wife to a stubborn husband, but listened to and spoken about with the whispered awe that so many did in that far away world of what ifs; wild and free. A prison, no matter what form it takes … be it a cozy home in the swamps or a desolate tower … is still a prison just the same.

"Momma, Farkle won't let me run the register!"

Somewhere, deep inside her heart... she hated herself as well for wanting such a life. She loves her jailors too much to ever leave them. She wondered if Rumpelstiltskin ever used to shudder when the thought that he might be stuck in that cage forever threatened to break him and instead, found himself shuddering at the the thought that he might not be. It's what she felt at that moment, that split second of regret and longing and acceptance mixed with some unknown anger at everything. She wondered if that's what Fiona might have felt... and almost envied her for it. It sure as hell was a lot more then she's feeling nowadays.

"You gotta go," he said and scraped his chair back once more. "Your kids are gonna start a riot and I'm not insured."

He was right, about their story not having a happy ending. The need for such a petty thing is so etched into our being, we hardly notice it until he hear the opposite. Happily ever afters are told over and over again, it's almost a part of us whether we like it or not. But unrequited love and never afters aren't so appealing once you've had a taste for it, no matter how real it is... and for a moment... she wished to re-write everything. Magically erase all the what ifs and could've been's and write over how it should be with golden ink that never faded.

"I don't have something to pay you with like before," she said as she followed him back into reality, children tugging at her dress again. It might not be what she wants... no ... but it's enough and she's happy with that. "I guess this one's free?"

"Nothing's free, haven't you learned? You owe me lunch next week when you come back and pick up your necklace."

"That's not such a good idea," she said, and they both knew she didn't care.

"Nah, it's not. But bad ideas never stopped me before, so why change now?" he said, and they both know he's right. She'll be back... and next time, she'll get a sitter.

Maybe they could still write their own happily ever after.

A/N: I wanna give a great big thanks to everyone that reviewed and to those who didn't, your silent numbers helped me keep going anyway ( I saw those hits, don't deny it)! I just wanna say that I in no way promote unhealthy relationships, no matter how interesting or passionate they might look... it just sucks too much in general and I'm personally too laid back to have much patience with them. Hope to see everyone review for whatever it is I might write in the future and... I guess that's it. I'll go back to working on my other thing now... might update next week. Maybe. Thanks again!