He watches the realization spreading across her face. She falls forward, bracing herself on the piano. He moves quickly, catching her before she can come to any harm. He lays her in the sofa as her eyelids flutter closed. Asleep, her face is much more gentle and open. Now he feels bad for deceiving her, but it was necessary. So he doesn't feel too bad. The ends, in this case, will justify the means. He feels restless, unsettled. There is another person, another person in his house. He paces. He stops.
He looks down at her, from just the right angle she looks a bit like Alice. Blond. She acts a bit like Alice too, she has that assertive calm that he always found so attractive. Not in her. No. Never. Never Ever Ever. He would, will, never find anyone attractive ever again, not after Alice. Jefferson sits, then thinking better of it, gets up. Perhaps this plan was a mistake. He doesn't like having another person, another woman here. It's unsettling. He has been alone for so long, even the sound of her breathing is deafening. The room suddenly feels too small and too large all at once.
Warm hands are jostling her awake. Emma can hear a voice, softly calling her.
"Graham?" she says, still half asleep. Were she in full possession on her mental faculties, that admission would be terribly embarrassing. As it is, her splitting headache is enough to keep her focused on the matter at hand.
"You have work to do, the sooner your done the sooner you can go"
She remembers where she is, and more importantly who she's with, well, who she thought she was with. Apparently Storybrook, as idilic as it looks, isn't exempt from real danger. God, how could she have been so stupid! She knows not to trust men, knows better than most. Emma scoots back across the couch, away from the mad man with his hat. For he is indeed holding a top hat, and beckoning. This would not be very threatening, but the other hand is holding her gun. Emma gets up, she's stiff, her head aches and her ankles and wrists are lightly bound. She wonders if she could disarm him. Maybe a quick assault, the element of surprise? No, she shakes her head, no that would be stupid. Slowly, arduously, she walks in front of him towards God knows what. For now, until she knows what's going on, it's a good idea to obey the psychopath with the gun.
The first thing she notices is that the house is eerily quite. And neat. Nothing is out of place. There are no photos, no personal effects. No phone. The fog is finally lifting in her head and Emma stops dead, rounding on the man.
"Where's Mary Margaret? " She looks around wildly as if her friend might be hiding behind the curtains.
He chuckles, a dry, disused noise. "You mean 'spot'? I let her go. I need you focused, not distracted by whatever plight has befallen your friend. She'll make it back to Storybrook." His voice holds no malice, but the calmness with which he describes the kidnapping terrifies Emma.
Jefferson remembers, Alice was always eager to help any friend in need, a laudable trait. But not in Emma, in Alice. Only Alice.
The rest of the walk is silent. The house is large, and every footfall can be heard echoing along the disused hallways. Jefferson watched her face as she enters the hat room. He misses people's reactions. He loves seeing their awe. The hat room is indeed a sight. She reaches over and lifts a half finished to hat, carefully as if it were a wounded bird. She isn't as afraid, he thinks. He waits till she sets the hat down, turns towards him.
"Emma, I need your magic. You have to make it work" He tries to communicate how important it is, how much he needs her to do this.
She looks at him. He wonders if she didn't hear somehow. He tries again.
"The hat, I need it to work here, you have the magic I need, use it "
She looks blankly at him. Jefferson signs and tries to explain. He's not sure that he really understands it himself.
"This house, my knowledge, it's my cures. If I can make a new hat, a magic hat, I can go back through the rabbit hole, I can see my daughter" She looks at him, she is studying him. He suppresses the urge to shift on his feet or move away from her bright stare. He waits. He's good at waiting.
At his explanation Emma feels her hear constrict. Henry. She knows, for once, how this mad man must feel. Emma stares at him, if he is lying about this, well, she'd have no way to know. His face looks sincere, guilty even. Regardless, this may be her way out. If she can convince him she'll help, get him to leave her alone, then she can make her escapee.
"What do I need to do?" She asks. His eyes widen, and he advances on her. Emma wondered if she'd made the wrong decision.
"Make a hat, then, here"
He stopped advancing and picked up a hat, giving it an expert whirl. Nothing happened and his shoulders slump.
She picks up the scissors and begins to hack at the black velvet. Jefferson leaps forward, grabbing her wrist. He feels a jolt of electricity.
Emma grabbed the scissors, wondering which would be faster, cutting her wrists or his neck. He grabs her wrist, she feels a connection, she doesn't like it.
"I'll cut, you sew"
Emma looked nonplussed "I have to make it myself or else the magic fails"
He nods curly.
"fine, I'll make one, then you make your own."
He loves making hats, he can get lost. He's home again, working on his old butcher
block making hats, Alice perched by his when he looks, it's not Alice at all. He cant tell how much time has passed. The windows are dark and the hatter can see the moon glimmering in the picture frame corner. Did Alice look upon the same moon? He stood, his back ached And his fingers were cramped. Emma was slumped over. He hurried to her side, her stillness scared he touched her shoulder she jolted awake, horrified by his touch. For some inexplicable reason that hurt the hatter.
"there's a bedroom, over there" he said, his voice gruff.
Emma stood and almost fell. She felt a pair of arms steadying her, she could feel herself, against her will, melting into the embrace. Jefferson reached to catch her. She was light in his arms, so fragile, he pulled her unnecessarily close, steadying himself as much as her. He could feel her relaxing, she swayed, her head coming to rest on his chest. Jefferson jumped back as if scalded. Alice, his Alice, had put her head just there, told him that she would always love him, that nothing would ever change that. He had kissed the top of her head and told her she was the best thing that could have ever happened to him. He looked away, he could feel Emmas eyes searching, scrutinizing his features. "goodnight" it's a terse dismissal. She turns and leaves. The first door she try's is locked. The second is definitely the hatters room, bolts of cloth cover every surface, and the walls are covered in sketches, pinned with drawing pins. Although a natural snoop, this room, with it's technicolored collage of fabrics looks to mad, to personal. As she turned Emma saw a painting, done one what looked like a scroll of parchment. A beautiful girl is looking out into the canvas, she has blond wavy hair and is seated on a mushroom the size of a dinner table. Emma could feel the sadness emanating from the picture. She turned on her heel and continued to the next door. This one is worse. It's a little girls room. One wall of the room hold a collection of animals, all painstakingly hand made. On the bed lays a care worn bunny. The emotions hit her before shes ready. The loss, the grief the empty hole inside. She crumpled by the door frame. When she finally stood, Emma could see the stairs, and at the bottom, a door. She had to get out of this house. Away from her memories, away from the broken man and his sad broken hat.