1. Resolve.
It was blind stubbornness, she knew that, knew also that it really wasn't likely to get her anywhere with this.
The 'but' lurking at the end of that was why she was here at the door to Moe French's suspiciously private hospital room.
Somehow there's a large check from Gold somewhere at the end of this and that's only going to serve to make everything even more difficult.
Still she has to try.
So deep breath and through the door into the proverbial 'lion's den'...though, truthfully, that'd be the pawn shop, wouldn't it?
Moe French is covered still in bandages, grazes and a myriad of rainbow hued bruises.
He's also, the very moment he sees her, a man very much on edge. A man very, very, aware of the power, the danger, contained in the knowledge he held.
"Oh, Sheriff Swan...I didn't think I'd see you again."
"I just wanted to see how you were doing Mr French."
"You also want me to reconsider, right?" The note of fear is unmistakable and, really, she can't blame him for all he's been through these last few days.
Still it's all the more reason to want to forge on, motivation for the shear strength of stubbornness that is as her heart, her soul, rather than the stumbling block she knows the other had hoped it.
"I've cause enough to push for a trial even without your help, Mr French, but it would certainly make the whole matter simpler. Insure he gets the conviction he deserves rather than simply walking away again."
A look that tells what she already knows so very well, that he fears Gold more than he'll ever respect her or the justice she's serving and it's all she needs to change tact.
To ask, as off hand and casual as she can manage, "Who was the woman he mentioned?"
"No one."
Far too fast, far too evasive and really she's not even certain she'd need her 'power' to see that it's a lie.
Still there's something else there, something that has her shrugging down to the thinnest of layers despite the chill in the air, tossing the shed clothes out into the hall and then shutting the door.
"Tell me the truth," followed by, "I give my word it won't leave this room," and he looks at her, really looks for what seems forever before he responds with.
"My daughter. Alayna." The hitch in his voice as he states the name, the shadow in his eyes tells it's a long, hard, story but it's a little too late to back out now.
Her curiosity's been caught, after all.
"Tell me about her."
"Ah...she was headstrong, brave, kind and beautiful...oh so beautiful. She looked after the libary, had a a natural gift that meant she could find the perfect book for you. The book you needed to read rather than wanted to.
"Everything always had some magical edge to it, every mundane thing special in it's own right, in her world. Dreamer eyes her mother passed down before the cancer rotted that optimism from her.
"Which has why, when it got back to me that she's been seen out and about with Gold, flurting and laughing and blushing, it was all too believable.
"Not to say I wasn't concerned, god I was half out my mind, but arguing with my girl once she had an idea in her head was..." an open handed gesture that his him wincing then, "so I let her be, convinced myself she'd wake up eventually and realise there was no changing a man like that. It was the wrong choice."
"What happened?"
"You've seen the library, that's what happened. You see she got too stubborn, pushed too fast too soon and Gold pushed back. Love was weakness, after all and he loved his power, his reputation, a little more than he loved my girl.
"It broke her, completely and utterly, had her setting the fire that destroyed the place she'd once loved so very much.
"Regina got her out before she could destroy herself also...convinced me to let her deal with Ala and carry on as though that blaze really had taken her from me.
"What sort of reputation would I get if everyone realised what she'd done, after all. Started thinking that maybe there was madness burned deep into my genetic coding? And I listened because it was what I'd needed to hear. Because I too valued reputation, power, above her life."
There is an understanding blooming in her mind, a certain sort of comprehension that settles ice in her blood and prompts her to enquire,
"He doesn't know, does he?"
"No."
"Where is she?" Because the knowledge would give her an edge, or, more importantly, the confidence such knowledge would give her.
A moment, like as he conciders the why of it all, debates again if he's willing to bargin with the safety of his one true treasure and then,
"You know what it is to let your child go because that's what's best for them, I'd see the hurt of that in your eyes even without knowing your past. So I know you'll understand when I tell you that I don't know...that it was better for me not to know..."
The look in his eyes tells he needs that understanding, needs someone to be able to see his actions with even the smallest sliver of sympathy.
So she smiles, thanks him for his time and then let's him be, allows him his silence because, really, he's suffered more than enough.
She's one foot out the door when he calls her back, pushes a square of firm something into her hands and states,
"Tell her I'm sorry...that at least somewhere at the start I meant well."
She waits until she's settled in her room at Mary Margret's...until she's safe...before she looks at what she's been gifted.
It's a studio shoot of a truly beautiful woman with dark hair and laughing eyes of a stunningly sharp sapphire hue. On the back is printed 'see I can sit still sometimes. Ala xx' and a random date from two years previous.
It's more than simply giving her a face to search for, to recognise, it's a silent request to find her, save her as best she can.
A somewhat impossible task if the girl's as lost as her father's made her sound and yet impossible really does seem to becoming fast her 'thing'.