It's not the best of mornings when Emma Swan all but curses her way into the Sheriff's Department. The paper cup in her hand is leaking coffee through her fingers, the remnants of annoyance are still running through her mind after her encounter with the mayor, and it's hardly 8am and she's already set to investigate a break in at the newly-opened library.
So when Emma, her paper cup leaking and fingers subsequently blistering, fumbles with the locked door to the department and enters only to spot him sitting there in a chair, arms folded and looking for all the world like he belongs there, she's understandably pissed. And terrified.
"No, the front and back doors were locked." A pause as the brunette librarian waits for a reply. "I don't know, but someone's definitely been here." Belle balances the phone between her ear and her shoulder and sighs, moving forward as far the phone cord will allow with a handful of books to be placed on a shelf colourfully labelled Geography.
"You sure you didn't just take them home with you? No one checked them out?" The voice on the other end asks, and Belle bites her lip as she surveys the shelf. It needs to be painted, preferably in a shade of blue.
"I'm sure, Emma, my memory is perfect." She's certain to stress the last word; she'll not give anyone an excuse to throw her back in the mental ward, but her memory of everything is crystal clear, and she's not sure who could be listening to her side of the conversation. Belle knows all she'd need to do is even think of the possibility of her forgetting something and Regina would jump at the chance to send her back to the mental ward.
"So what, someone breaks in, steals a couple of history books and then locks the door behind them? Isobel, why would someone steal history books?" Automatically pushing down the urge to correct Emma –they all know her as Isobel here, and if she did correct them then she'd probably mention the other place and Regina would have a field day- Belle shifts her footing and shrugs to no one.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, everyone here knows the history of Storybrooke, there's no reason to steal my books." Belle can't help the possessive tone in her voice as she speaks, but someone has stolen books under her care and she wants to know why. And the books are definitely missing; she'd left them on the front desk so she could place them on their proper, freshly painted, shelf in the morning. Belle hears Emma call a goodbye to Mary Margaret through the phone, and she gives up on trying to place the books on the shelf in favour of holding it properly. Emma sighs heavily into it, and Belle can't help but feel a little guilty at calling so early.
But she'd been worried; the wooden boards covering the windows had shown signs of being pulled off and then hastily pressed back into the pane, and with the books missing she'd needed to let someone know to make sure she wasn't actually going insane. It wouldn't surprise her; with her nature, twenty-eight years locked in an underground cell would have to have done some damage. Mostly, she had been bored out of her mind, left in that cell for days at a time with barely any human contact.
She'd been the ace up Regina's sleeve, alive and coherent to barter with if Regina needed something she could get only through Rumplestiltskin, and the Evil Queen had had no qualms about letting Belle know that when she was preparing to cast the curse. Belle wonders, briefly, of the possibility that this is a set up, designed to make her question her own sanity. Another sigh breaks Belle from her thoughts.
"I'll be down later to have a look. Try and find those books if you can." Belle smiles as the line goes dead and, after only a moment of contemplation, manages to put the phone down properly and without tangling the cord.
Yes, she'd been the ace up Regina's sleeve, but she was trying her best to adapt to this world of technology, and she'd be damned if a small break in would dampen her spirit now.
Almost the moment Emma had ended her conversation with Isobel, she'd reached her car and been surprised –perhaps she should get used to this- at the sight of the Mayor standing next to it and looking down at it in disdain.
"You going to make a habit out of ambushing me at my car?" Emma's glad that she's no longer on the phone to Isobel, and as Regina turns she, unsurprisingly, doesn't look amused at Emma's words.
"Miss Swan. I'm hardly ambushing you."
"Oh yeah? Why are you here?" Emma leans against the car, guarded, and keeps her eyes on Regina. The dark haired woman is all cold eyes and icy smiles, and she looks at Emma as though the answer should be obvious.
"There's another stranger in town-"
"You are making a habit outta this. Listen, if you're going to corner me every time someone new waltzes in here-" Regina holds her hand up to cut Emma off. The blonde refrains from scowling and opens her mouth to continue, but Regina beats her to it.
"This stranger arrived yesterday afternoon, Sheriff, but didn't spend his night in either his car or the inn." The use of her position irks Emma, and it must show on her face for Regina's icy smile only seems to widen.
"How do you- never mind, I don't want to know. What the hell do you want me to do about this guy? Doesn't he have a right to pass through?" Emma's eyebrow rises sceptically to kiss her hairline, and though Regina answers, she doesn't even acknowledge the final question.
"I want you to find out who he is. And when you find out, you will tell me who he is, and why he is here." And with a smile that's all too sugary and icy, Regina saunters off before Emma can even offer her a sarcastic retort. She's been doing that a lot lately; leaving with the last word and it grates on Emma's nerves and drives her up all the wrong walls. Emma throws her phone onto the passenger seat of her car and climbs in, grumbling under her breath.
"Don't think so, Madam Mayor."
Emma honestly doesn't expect to see him. He's sitting in a chair, clothed in dark jeans and a dark brown jacket, with his arms crossed and his elbows gently resting on the arms of the chair. He's not facing her when she enters, but she knows immediately who he is. The instinct to flee clashes with the urge to level the gun on her waist at him –protection only of course- and for the first time in months she feels completely torn. She hates it, wants to run to the apartment and pack up and go, but her pride wills her to stay.
She almost falters at the look of utter surprise and bewilderment on his face when he notices her, but by this point she's already noticed the stolen library books on the desk next to him and he gun is drawn and aimed. The safety's on, but he can't know that. He holds his hands up, palms facing her, and she takes a step back. There's no wedding ring on his hand, she notices distantly, but her focus switches to his face and Emma knows that, like her with him, she's the last person he'd expected to walk in through the door. She motions to the books.
"Adding thievery to our arsenal of skills now, are we?" Emma hates how she sounds like the wind has been knocked out of her, hates how surprised she is; she hates surprises for a reason, and this is one surprise that she really, really could do without. Eyeing the gun, he stands up slowly and, as he does so, Emma lowers the gun slightly and trains it on his knee.
"Emma?" She tightens her grip at the sound of his voice – there's no mistaking it now, he's him and not just an unfortunate lookalike- and takes another step back.
"What the hell are you doing here?"