Disclaimer: Don't own Once, or any of its characters. I'm just here to play.
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Wrath
His madness sometimes manifests in uncontrollable rages; when the howling in his head putrefies in his heart and works through his lungs, eventually to be expelled in words only half formed when they are uttered. He howls for justice, for Grace, and for all the things he has been denied since he was trapped in Wonderland. He had thought that there could be no worse hell than the Queen of Hearts' domain. He was wrong.
Storybrooke is worse… much much worse.
Everything he longs for is out on display and yet further out of his reach than ever before. In Storybrooke no one remembers who they are, and they call Jefferson ugly names for telling the truth.
"Insane" They say.
"Eccentric" Is the kinder version, but said with no less of a warning.
"Hospitalization." Is the general opinion on what to do with him.
"Treatment." And "Lock him up!" are also frequently mentioned.
"Mad." Is the one thing that everyone agrees on… but for all the wrong reasons.
It's the frustration that gets to him when it's not the grief. Either way, they both get mixed into the emotional Molotov that he will one day use to burn the Queen's pretty little castle to ashes. They say that hell hath no fury as a woman scorned… but whoever says that hasn't tasted a mad hatter's wrath.
The destruction he causes in such episodes stupefies even himself when he finally snaps out of them. The morning after the first time he met Emma Swan was no different. He feels that he should go and apologize to her at some point, but he doesn't think that she'd be terribly receptive to seeing him again.
He settles for leaving an anonymous bouquet of flowers and a box of her favorite cookies from Granny's sitting on her front stoop for her to find the next time she steps out her door. He realizes that it might come off as a little crazy, but he hopes that she'll forgive him… for everything.
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Emma drinks to forget.
She's spent long nights in many a police station holding cell when the drink doesn't provide the amnesia as it's supposed to. Or at least the distraction.
Emma has plenty to be angry about; absent parents, abusive foster families, back-stabbing lovers, etc. She drinks to forget, because if she didn't she'd spend every waking hour taking it out on the world and ultimately, on herself. That's why she became a bounty hunter, she could beat the crap out of a guy and no one would blame her, the money isn't too bad either. Ultimately she does it for the pleasure, for the catharsis of bringing a sonofabitch to justice.
She doesn't tell anyone, but she especially enjoys bringing in the parents who skip out on their child support bills, and the guys who cheat a woman out of her money… Not that there's anyone to tell, but that's a part of being a creature of pain and wrath; no one sticks around for too long, not that she does either.
If she's honest, all the whiskey and all the fugitives in the world would do little to quench the fire in her guts that was kindled by the various betrayals in her life. She realizes she should probably be in therapy or something… an abandoned kid's version of AA, but as far as she knows that doesn't actually exist, and even if it did she doesn't stay in one place long enough for it to make a difference.
It isn't until she's drinking to forget a man who called himself the Mad Hatter that she really mulls over his words. Whether Mary Margaret is her biological mother or not, is irrelevant. Mary Margaret has become the closest thing to family she's ever had… And then there's Henry; sweet, brave, slightly delusional little Henry whom she couldn't be more fascinated by. And some of the anger starts to slip away. Her parents abandoned her and her boyfriend screwed her over… but that was the past, it couldn't be changed, but Emma did have control over her future and whether or not she wanted the family that Storybrooke was offering. Whether or not she accepted it was entirely up to Emma.
So she downs the remains of her drink, leaves a few crumpled bills on the counter and goes to see about not dousing the fire in her heart per say, but instead using a different sort of fuel to feed it. And she admits to no one in particular, for no one is around to hear her, that it would be a welcome change. She does wonder about the flowers and the cinnamon cookies sitting on her doorstep when she returns home, but they are beautiful and delicious respectively, so that is as far as her thoughts on the subject wander.
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A/N: I'd love to hear your feedback, if you have only one word to give or many! But thanks for reading all the same! Hope you enjoyed.
Next up: Greed.