A/n:Missing scene from 4A when Will is locked up in jail.
Elsa glances around the quiet room of the Storybrooke police station, eying the disorganized stacks of paperwork, pictures, and books from the library in a keen effort to avoid making eye contact with the man in the cell. She isn't sure who he is. A criminal, surely. Emma couldn't possibly imprison a man without decent reason, but she also likes to hope that neither would she leave her alone with a madman.
(Not that she can't protect herself, but after all that's happened lately, does anybody truly lack enough excitement to wish to be in another situation where they have to?)
She glances up briefly, pretending to be looking elsewhere, but she fears they both known where her curiosity truly rests. He doesn't appear to notice her at first, so she looks again. She hasn't had exposure to many criminals, but from her experience, he certainly doesn't seem like a murderous, sister-betraying prince or an evil sorcerer.
This time, he catches her looking at him for the briefest of moments, and smiles. Elsa looks away immediately, but her suspicions that he will attempt to speak with her are confirmed when he clears his throat.
"Oi, you come here often?"
She glances up quickly, startled. "What did you say?"
"Ah, come on, I think you heard me just fine, love. What brings a proper lady such as yourself to these nasty parts?"
"To a prison?" she scoffs, wrinkling her nose. She stands, tipping up her chin with what she assumes conveys a regal sort of grace and authority. "I'm helping Emma… why?"
"Prison? What, this?" he shakes his head in mild amusement as a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Nah. This isn't prison. Trust me, love, I've seen me share of dungeons. This itty motel here?" he looks back at his cell, grinning, and then turns back to face her fully. "It's practically a bed'n'breakfast. Sometimes I even get me own snacks the sheriff hasn't tried first. Real classy place."
Elsa huffs, rolling her eyes at his nonchalance, intrigued, yet still wary. She takes a hesitant step closer, tipping her head. "Then why are you here? You don't… seem dangerous."
"Eh, not really, I guess." He shrugs his shoulders. "I can hold me own in a fight, but I wouldn't just start som'fin for no reason. Nah, got meself a bit drunk. Apparently knocked off in a library."
Oh. Well, that very well explains it, she supposes.
"So you're a drunk?"
"Never said that," he says, a bit too quickly, and she doesn't miss the hint of defensiveness to his tone or the way his eyes narrow. "Now that I think of it, there might've been something about a few dollars taken from a register too."
And that truly explains things. She deadpans, placing a hand on her hip, no longer concerned with her safety so much as annoyed (and perhaps a little bit amused). "And you're a thief?"
"Always been one, always gonna be one probably. It's the only thing that's been sure in me life. You wanna eat, you buy or steal it and buyin' ain't always a choice when you got nothin' in your pockets but strings and air."
His candor surprises her and suddenly, she finds herself actually feeling sorry for this man and whatever circumstances have led him to this sad place in life. Hers has been no simpler, quite a bit more complicated than most people's actually, but at least she and Anna have never had to worry about food or shelter.
"I'm sorry," she replies gently. "No one should…" She takes a step closer. "Nobody should be made to survive like that, be forced to-"
It's hard to put it into words. She doesn't quite understand the concept of not having food, at all, or of being forced to steal and never losing the habit, but she does understand the feeling of helplessness. That she knows far too well. She can imagine how terrible it must have been. She pictures a shorter, ganglier Will Scarlet with the same cropped hair and big brown eyes and wonders if he's done this since he was a child.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, love. Now I just feel bad." He grins, looking anything but saddened, as he leans against the bars.
"I'm sorry." She looks down, blushing timidly, afraid that she has offended him, wondering at the same time why she should be so worried about offending a thief that she really has no proof is indeed a good man.
(And yet… she feels that he must be, somewhere deep down.)
"So, you never answered me question. What're you in here for?"
"Hey, this guy bothering you?"
Emma's voice interrupts them, and Elsa quickly turns and smiles broadly at her friend, shaking her head, a bit relieved that the conversation is over, yet simultaneously disappointed.
"Not at all, I was simply continuing to look through the books when he only said hello."
"Good," Emma replies, rolling her eyes in the thief's direction. "Keep it that way."
Elsa meets the thief's eyes, smiling at him, even if she isn't entirely sure why she does it. "Not to worry. I'm sure that he will."