Author's Note: Just a tiny thing that's been in my mind for quite a while. I truly hope Dreamy and Nova get back together again in Season 3. I have a feeling that they haven't because Grumpy still thinks she'll loose her wings, and I'm sure the Blue Fairy's resurgence will help address that issue in the coming months. Bless all my readers, and please forgive my mistakes and such! I've never been drunk, so I kinda played around with the symptoms.

Meet Me There

He was hungover. As usual. Again. Clutching the brown paper bag to himself, he shifted his heavy legs ever so slightly, letting blood flow back into his left foot, which had turned numb. He froze as the rest of him began sliding sideways and he wondered just how painful it would be if his body fell to the ground and dragged his swollen, aching head with it.

In fact, he wasn't sure just how far he actually could move without falling off the bench. It wasn't the right kind of bench for sleeping on. Not like the wooden ones that creaked under his weight and bent ever so slightly to fit his body like a stiff hammock of timber. This was one of those freezing cold, skinny iron contraptions. No matter how much he turned, he couldn't lie still for five seconds without getting stabbed somewhere.

Of course, the hangover would soon take care of that. The fire in the bottle had passed into his veins. He could feel it writhing through him even as it clutched his brain and shook it like a maraca. Headache, bad. But being warm was good.

He sure wished he could turn off the streetlamp above him, however. The one that kept shining right into his face, stabbing his sensitive brain with its light. He'd love a shovel or a…a pickaxe, to smash it with. Heck, it might even get him a free night or two in jail. But then again, he doubted he'd even be able to reach it in his state.

And no, that wasn't a reference to his height.

Why did he even do this? It wasn't like he didn't have some nice shack to go to, complete with a bed and a gas-stove and a dozen unanswered handyman requests, requests that could give him enough money to buy a substantial dinner for himself at Granny's, not the swill he was hugging so tightly to himself like some kid-sister's doll.

Maybe he liked being the town drunk. Maybe he liked being the guy nobody believed in, cause then he didn't have to believe in himself. Made things easy. Cold, hungry, but easy.

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to let his mind slip past the pounding headache and latch onto some dream to carry him through the night. Wasn't working.

He felt something push his arm. He realized it was Sheriff Graham, evicting him from his twelfth bench this week. He sat up with a snarl and a storm of curses that would have made any civilized soul blush, while Graham would've just laughed it off and taken him into custody. He and Graham knew each other real well; they had an arrangement.

But it wasn't some tall Irishman with a weird accent and a gun standing over him. It was a woman. He squinted at her, blinking back his blurry beer-vision and the rotating double-outlines that often followed his nights and days. "Sh….shishter?" he muttered finally. Dang. She was wearing a habit.

"Yes…and you…what's you're name?" She sounded a little scared.

There wasn't any need for that. Not like she wanted to take his bench from him. He tried to pull his mouth into a gruesome smile. "Leroy."

She smiled. At least, Leroy thought she did. "Hey! I was just passing by and, well…are you hungry?"

Leroy clutched at his roiling stomach automatically, remembering the lunch he'd already left in the dumpster in the alley behind them. "No."

"Thirsty?"

"Sishter," he smiled condescendingly, lifting up the bottle. Now, he expected her to say, oh, I see. I understand. So sorry to have bothered you. Drunkard.

There was a moment's silence. Then, "oh, I see. I understand. Are you cold?"

He stared at her. Her face seemed to loom closer and become clearer. She was pretty. He rubbed tiredly at his forehead, feeling the fire burn deeper and deeper inside him, becoming a lump of dead coal in his stomach that left the rest of him frozen and exhausted. And still, his head throbbed. "Nah, not me."

"Oh. Ok," he could hear the disbelief in her voice, "you think you could walk?"

"What?"

"Just for a little bit. I'm such an idiot…I made so much more coffee and soup than we actually needed. You think you could help me use it up? If you do, I'll let you sleep in the back room for the night."

What was this? A setup? A job? He muttered something, he wasn't sure what it was. The nun seemed to take it as consent. She smiled and grabbed his arm, beginning to gently pull him up.

The hell was she doing in a place like this? Nice little nun like her, pulling drunks off benches and offering them a place to sleep? She wasn't an idiot, he was pretty certain, but she was sure acting like one.

"Just come with me…oh, thank you for this! At least now the others will know I didn't waste all that coffee and soup. You see…you can call me Astrid, I'm Sister Astrid… anyone will tell you I'm the worst person to be trusted with anything. I'm just not very good at numbers and planning things or writing things or even just delivering things. I always mess up."

Through her chatter, he remembered that she smelled like soap. Not the clean, penetrating soapy smell most nuns had. Hers was sweet and spicy, like fairy dust born on the wind as it blew warmly over a thousand lands. He realized it was the liquor talking.

Finally, the light got closer and he managed to drag his feet through the doorway. The smell of good soup flooded the air and his headache seemed to die down ever so slightly. Astrid let him sit in a folding chair and he peered around stupidly, looking for other diners…but there was no one there.

It took ridiculously long for Astrid to get that leftover soup and coffee…he could have sworn he heard a can opener and the tick-tick-tick of an electric stove turning on, and maybe the hiss and bubble-brew of a coffee maker…but he didn't want to offend the nun by pointing this out. It wasn't like she was making this stuff fresh, just for him…was it?

She kept talking as she worked. "We had a dinner here earlier, for the homeless. But not just for the homeless, also for the depressed, and the heavyhearted, and just…just people who were hungry, I guess. People who needed it."

She came towards him and he blinked at her. He saw her even better now. She had brown eyes, peaked eyebrows, and the oddest, cutest little smile he'd ever seen. There was something open, something trustful in her face that made him want to never disappoint her, in fact, made him want to protect her from all disappointment.

She handed him a mug. He sniffed at it and made a face…coffee. But when she pulled up her own chair and sat across from him, her hands clasped in her lap, her face so…hopeful, Leroy felt like he just had to swallow the stuff. So he did.

After a while, he realized it was easier to talk, and the lights weren't so bright. He could even read the calendar on the wall. It said June 24th.

Astrid brought him the soup. And they talked. And talked. He told her about the job he had…used to have…would have again…the tenses got mixed up there. But she seemed pretty impressed. She wondered how he stood the cold so amazingly well, and how on earth he could have a boat and bear to stay in Storybrooke any longer. She thought he had a lot of dedication, a lot of nerve. She thought he was gonna do great things when he got his job back.

And, seeing in her eyes that she absolutely, one-hundred-percent believed it…he believed it too. He'd be gormed if he wasn't going to get his job back in order, fix up that boat, and sail the world. The soup left a lasting warmth in his belly that wasn't at all like alcohol fire…more like contentment. It wasn't heavy enough to throw up. By the time he was ready to fall into that cot near the back and have the first real sleep he'd had in weeks…by that time, he'd promised Astrid to come back and tell her all about his job once he got it started again. He'd tell her how much he'd made, how close the boat was to being finished.

Except he forgot. A vague sort of energy stirred him for a few more days, but then, sure enough, he was sleeping on a bench again. Or if it wasn't a bench, it was a curbside. Or a rubbish heap. Or maybe in that shack he called home. Once in a while he'd get a job. He passed by a hundred faces, all staring at him with the same pitying, disgusted, distrustful look in them, and he was sure he'd never seen a face that actually believed in him.

Then, one day, he realized he was wrong. He saw a nun walking down the street with an armful of bags. Normally, he wouldn't care. Today, for some reason, he pulled his hands out of his pockets, got off the wall where he'd been slouching, and followed her.

He could hear the strange little whimpers she made as she got bumped about by the crowd. Indignation stirred in his chest. It was okay for everyday folks to trample drunkards and harlots and the like, but this nun deserved way better. He shoved his way towards her, ignoring the yelps of outrage. He knew no one would dare take him up for it…he was solidly built. After a fight, he always ended up in jail…but his opponent ended up in the emergency ward.

Just as he reached her, she tripped over thin air and landed with a shriek on the cement. The crowd just left her behind, like a fish abandoned on the shore as the tide drew in. Leroy squatted down beside her and, without a word, began gathering up her groceries.

The nun pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked at him in wonder. Brown, Leroy thought, sister, don't look so surprised. I do have a little human decency in me.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered, getting up on her knees. She had thin, dainty arms and legs and her odd little smile was bright and cheery as she stood up to receive her recovered burden from his arms. She looked so flustered and nervous, he could easily see her springing a pair of wings and taking off into the sky.

"Hey, no problem," he said gruffly, trying to sound kind. She blushed. He took the bags back from her suddenly. "Here, lemme carry them for you…where to?"

"The Home," she smiled suddenly, "I'm Sister Astrid…one of the nuns."

Leroy smiled. It was a strange feeling, but he really couldn't help it as he nodded towards her habit. "I can tell."

She blushed again. "I was supposed to get these on the 14th of June, but I misread it as the 24th. Classic me." She bobbed nervously on her feet, chastising herself for her own stupidity. Leroy didn't want her to talk like that, didn't want her to even think it. The fact that she knew she wasn't perfect made her a lot smarter than most folks.

"Aww, could've happened to anybody, sister," he said, hoping she'd believe him. Not many people did.

She smiled. "You're awful sweet to say so…"

Oh, that was even better. She believed he was sweet. He smiled at her and let her sling her arm through his. Together, they made their way to the Home. On the way, they chatted about what she was going to make out of the food, what a good cook she was, and wouldn't Leroy please come over that Saturday and try her pie? Leroy said he wouldn't miss it for the world.

Saturday came around, and he didn't show up. But it didn't matter, because Astrid had forgotten all about him.

Another time, Leroy fell flat on his face outside the pharmacy. A bottle of pills rolled out of the ripped paper bag he'd brought with him. Painkillers. For the twisting in his guts. He hadn't thought about healthy, wholesome food for the lethargic weakness weighing down his system. Hadn't thought about himself for a long, long time.

It had been a bad year.

The bell above the shop door tinkled. At the same time, he heard the clickety clack of shoes racing along the sidewalk. A warm, soft shadow covered his face as hands pulled him onto his back.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, I found him like this!"

"I'll call the ambulance. It isn't the first time they've come for Leroy."

Steps leaving. Good old Walter. The new voice that belonged to the shoes whimpered sympathetically above his head. "Leroy, Leroy…" she tried the new name out on her tongue, "you haven't been taking care of yourself."

"Too busy." He mumbled, his dry lips barely moving, his voice barely strong enough to make it into the air.

Somehow, she heard. "No, no…well, you should be eating! Who's going to, to replace you, hmm? Who can ever replace you?"

Anybody. Leroy thought bitterly. No, nobody would want to. They'd be grateful if I was gone. I'd be grateful if I was gone.

"Now, don't go thinking you're horrible. I don't care why you let this happen…I just want you to not do it again! I want to see you again, Leroy…I want to see you walking tall and strong." Her hands squeezed his shoulders comfortingly and she chaffed his cheeks, trying to get some warmth into his pale face. "Next time you're out, come to the Home, and I'll let you be the first one to taste the best apple pie ever baked! You can come on the 24th…no, today's the 24th…I'm so scatterbrained! No, come any time you like, as soon as you're well! Promise me, Leroy!"

I already promised…don't think I came.

"Just ask for Sister Astrid."

Astrid?

"I can't wait to see you, Leroy!"

The ambulance arrived. Strong arms bundled him into a cot, tore his sleeves off, and stabbed needles into his arms. But all he wanted was the voice again. He wanted to hear her speak to him with that tone…like she believed he could make it, believed he could crawl out of the dirt and walk upright like a man once more.

As the roaring darkness swallowed his senses and the dull weakness swarmed his insides, he fought to remember her name…Astrid. Cause he was gonna meet her, and he was gonna try that pie.

But when he regained consciousness in the hospital, he couldn't even remember how he got there, let alone the kind nun who helped him.

Finally, on a day that seemed to fly by as any other day did, intolerably, Leroy strolled along the street, whistling. He'd just been paid for a job. He'd purchased a healthy breakfast at Granny's and was actually on his way to more employment around the old Gingerbread House. And he was walking on his own two feet.

Then he heard the cries. More like whimpers of terror, really. They made his gut turn cold with fear and turned on every protective instinct he had as he turned and pelted towards the garbage-alley the sounds were coming from.

A guy, a big, tough guy, pulling at a woman, laughing at her, pushing her around before he made his real attack. Nope, not in his neighborhood. Like a human battering ram, Leroy pelted forward and hit the thug in the stomach, bowling him over. He grabbed the woman and yanked her behind him, still shrieking.

As the guy struggled up with an oath, Leroy clenched his hands into fists. "Run, sister!"

She didn't. The thug raced forward and grabbed Leroy around the shoulders. He obviously thought Leroy was small enough to just toss aside into the garbage. But the drunkard was heavier than he looked. Solidly built. Leroy kicked the guy hard in the knee and heard it crack. Then two swift, bullet-hard punches hit his abdomen.

And then a wooden board cracked over his head. Eyes rolling up until you could see the whites, the guy collapsed as swiftly as if his strings had been pulled.

Stunned, Leroy turned to stare at the nun. The other half of the board, still clenched tightly in her hands, concealed part of her face. But he could see how she was swelling with every breath, swaying like she was about to faint.

Darnit, that was the last thing he needed. To be seen carrying an unconscious woman out of an alley. Slowly, he took the board and tossed it away.

The nun looked at him with wide eyes, and he realized she was shaking with adrenalin, not fear. She blinked, started to speak, failed, and then blinked a few more times. "I…thank you…so much!"

"It was nothing," Leroy confessed, glancing down at the eight-foot monster stretched out on the ground.

"Nothing?!" She shrieked, making his ears hurt a little, "you…you were amazing! You're my hero!"

The words took him by the heartstrings, while at the same time something brittle inside him just seemed to shatter. Amazing. Hero. Her hero. His cheeks grew hot…was he blushing?

She leaned sideways a little, peering into his face with eyes that he suddenly realized were very brown and very beautiful. "Have we met before?"

Oh shoot. Not a drunken acquaintance, please no. Please God, she hadn't seen him in the bag or anything…"I don't remember."

She smiled. What a bright smile, a cheerful smile. "Oh, never mind…" she laughed suddenly. Leroy couldn't remember anyone laughing from this close before…he stared at her open mouth with awe. Suddenly, he realized he was beginning to smile, too. He stared dumbly at her as she laughed, just smiling for all he was worth.

She noticed. "Oh, how stupid I am! I'm Astrid…Sister Astrid. And you are?"

"L-Leroy," he stuttered, his tongue tripping.

"Well, Leroy, my hero," she was still smiling as she suddenly took his arm. Leroy resisted the urge to take his hat off before this beautiful woman, this woman who trusted and believed in him so suddenly and completely. Astrid seemed unaware of his inner turmoil. "It is the 24th of June, and Granny has a special on her Fairy Fruit Shakes…I want to buy you one."

"Oh no, sister, you don't have to do that…"

"Oh, please!" She bounced on her heels suddenly, squeezing his arm like a pleading little girl, "It's the least I can do, I mean, you saved my life!"

"And I was happy to do it, sister," Leroy grinned. He knew, somehow, that it was very important for this woman to make people happy, that it made her happy to do so. And to make her happy, Leroy would gladly take his pride, chew it into oblivion, and then eat it.

"Let's do it. Tomorrow night. After I drop off the dust, let's meet back here."

As they walked towards Granny's together, ignoring the stares and whispers from various bystanders, Sister Astrid began chatting about nonsense. Leroy listened with a blissful expression, hearing nothing but her voice, her pretty smile, her lovely brown eyes as she strode next to him, bouncing on her heels like an excited little girl.

"We'll run off together. We'll see the world."

June 24th. Fairy Day. A day for wishes to come true. Although tomorrow, he wouldn't even remember this day, it didn't matter. Because he'd meet her again. Next year, every year, always on that same day, he'd meet her.

"Sounds like a dream come true."

Because he promised he would.

FINIS