Chapter Text
Murtagh Gold did not want to be awake right now. His head felt like fine china that had been repeatedly cracked and repaired. His mouth tasted like last week’s bile. Waking up sounded like the worst possible thing he could do. But consciousness seemed to have other ideas. Grudgingly, he cracked one eye, then the other. Luckily, the curtains in the hotel room shut out most of the light.
He groaned and rolled over onto his back. The back of his hand brushed against something warm and soft. He blinked rapidly in the low light, just able to make out a shapely silhouette under the sheet next to him. Suddenly, he was very, very awake.
What the fuck had he gotten up to last night?
Murtagh was not generally a heavy drinker. But coming back to Storybrooke just had that effect on him, not to mention that he hated flying. He had wanted to turn down the invitation to speak at the 10 year reunion of Storybrooke High, but his son had managed to talk him into it.
An honor, Neal had called it.
Murtagh had finally agreed, since he had business in the next town over, anyway. Two birds, one stone. Didn’t stop him from downing every mini bottle the flight attendant put in front of him. He’d get in that evening, crash at the hotel. Business during the day, Reunion at night, and back on the plane by the next morning.
Murtagh took deep breath, trying to remember who the woman was in his bed. At least he was fairly certain it was a woman. He inched closer to see if her face was visible through her dark curtain of hair. She sighed in her sleep and shifted slightly. The blanket fell off of her shoulder, revealing a tattoo of an open book with words floating off of its pages.
The memories came flooding back.
He’d stopped in the hotel bar for a nightcap and noticed the tattoo on her shoulder. She’d smiled at his compliment and asked if she could join him. There was something so familiar about her, but he couldn’t place it.
He bought her a drink and they talked. She was lovely and bright. Even in his cups, she seemed to find him charming. He remembered her running her nails through his hair, at some point her hand had been on his knee. Sometime later, he had worked up the nerve to kiss her and somehow they had made their way to his room. Or perhaps it was her room. It was too dark to tell.
But he remembered that she had tasted of strawberries and felt like heaven in his arms.
Except for that awkward moment when he was trying to make sure she wasn’t a prostitute, he felt he had done rather well. The fresh scratches on his back indicated he had hopefully managed to make up for the prostitute thing.
The woman began to wake and he wondered if perhaps he ought to get up and get dressed, leave her in peace. But curiosity was eating away at him. If nothing else, he needed to know her name. So, he’d have at least that for the lonely nights ahead.
She rolled over, her eyes blinking slowly open. “Morning…”
His breath caught in his throat. She was stunningly beautiful, even half in shadow. He also realized why she had seemed so familiar before. He’d known her once before, 10 years ago.
When she’d been the star student of his English class.