This chapter was written while I was staying in the hospital. So, I dedicate this chapter to my Nurse Dayna, who doesn't know what fan fiction is.
I want to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited this story. I appreciate you as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time because if I did it would just be Sydney and Mr. Gold having a bitch off for like 42 minutes. And they would also solve crimes. Crimes that Mr. Gold committed.
Chapter Two: "Just Another Day in Idyllic Storybrooke"
Emma pulled the stiff bristled brush through her hair, wincing each time it ran against a particularly impenetrable snarl or tangle.
She flipped the brush into the sink, a non-verbal agreement with her hair that she was submitting to its whims. She pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked tired. But she also felt tired so she wasn't going to begrudge her image for telling the truth. It was the only thing in this entire town that seemed to be on the level, and she appreciated that.
She quickly wiped the sleep from her eyes and headed to the kitchen.
Mary Margaret was sitting at the kitchen island looking morose and nursing a stone cold cup of coffee and an equaling depressing bowl of oatmeal.
"Hey roommate how is it going?"
Mary Margaret looked at her. She was surrounded by the remnants of the congratulations for not committing pre-meditated murder party. Emma noticed that she was looking at the giant card Henry had given her.
"Not so good." She said as she closed the card. "Do you want to know why my class made me this card?" she asked Emma.
Emma fished a semi-clean mug out of the cupboard and answered, "Because they all care very much about you."
"No." Mary Margaret said as she dragged her spoon through her oatmeal, "They made me a card because Hallmark doesn't sells 'Congratulations on not committing murder' cards."
Emma stopped pouring her coffee and set down the battered carafe onto the wooden counter top. She pulled Mary Margaret into a tentative hug. "No, they made it because they missed you. Everyone in this town cares a lot for you Mary Margaret. I know this hasn't been easy for you but it hasn't been easy for Storybrooke either. They all wanted to support you but they've never had to show support for a friend who was being charged with murder. They're trying to make it up to you in the only way they know how, by making homemade cards, coffee cakes, banners, and awkward yet good intentioned parties."
"You're right." Mary Margaret said as she scooped up her breakfast dishes and placed them into the sink. "I'm just having a hard time dealing with everything."
"You were just framed for murder; it's perfectly natural to be upset." Emma said as she took a long sip from her coffee mug. She instantly felt better as the bitter black coffee rolled its way through her system.
"You've been cooped up in the apartment for too long, Mary Margaret. Why don't you take a walk and I'll take care of the dishes." Emma said.
Mary Margaret looked hesitant. For a moment Emma wasn't sure if she was going to accept her offer. She anxiously ran her fingers through her short black hair. She let out a small sigh and finally responded, "Ok. That would be nice."
Emma could tell that she was lying but didn't stop Mary Margaret as she put on her coat, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Mary Margaret had been sequestering herself in the apartment ever since she'd left her jail cell, trading one prison for another. It would be good for her to leave the apartment and get some fresh air. Emma was the self-professed champion of solitary brooding and didn't want to see her roommate's cheery disposition permanently scarred by a self-imposed imprisonment.
Emma was just beginning to scrub the oatmeal that had cemented onto the ceramic bowl when her cellphone rang.
She wiped her damp hands against her jeans and pulled out the phone. The phone number read 'Unavailable'.
"Emma Swan speaking." She said.
"Ah Ms. Swan, so glad I was able to reach you." She suppressed a groan as Mr. Gold's pleasant Scottish accent invaded her ear.
"You're actually calling me? Normally you just barge into my apartment, what warrants the house call? Have you been robbed, again?" She asked. There was a slight pause and then Mr. Gold chuckled.
"You've hit the nail on the head, Ms. Swan."
"Again?" She groaned, "You've really got to invest in a better security system Gold because you seem to be on everybody's shit list. What went missing?" she asked. She was positive that Mr. Gold wasn't going to directly answer her question and in fact was going to make up some excuse about how it was a private matter, discretion was the name of the game, he didn't feel comfortable using a phone (or any piece of technology made after the 1880s) and wouldn't she be a dear and come down to the shop.
"My utmost apologizes Ms. Swan but I don't feel comfortable discussing this matter over the phone. Could you come to the shop? We can discuss the matter in length there." He said.
Emma was sure if she felt triumphant for being able to successfully predict Mr. Gold's response or uncomfortable that she was able to successfully predict Mr. Gold's response. She looked at the dirty dishes in the sink and decided that they would have to wait.
"I'll be there in half an hour." She said as she grabbed her sheriff's jacket off of the coat rack.
"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you then." Mr. Gold said before hanging up.
Emma looked at her cellphone in disgust; Mr. Gold always had to have the last word. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and set about getting ready for the day ahead.
A robbery at Mr. Gold's pawn shop, just another day in idyllic Storybrooke.
She carefully wiggled her way through the dog door that had been careless left unlocked. She straightened up and looked around at her surroundings. The house was quiet except for the low thrum of the heater. The kitchen clock, a smiling cat whose tail ticked off the seconds, grinned at her and read 3:37. She stared unblinking into its glassy plastic made in Taiwan eyes until her eyes watered.
Or had they already been watering? She wasn't sure but she was certain they weren't tears. We don't shed tears she thought.
She briefly considered stealing the clock so she could throw it off the troll bridge but caution beat out wrath in the emotional turmoil tournament, so she left it there on the kitchen wall to smile its stiff cat smile.
She was careful to be quiet least she wake up the house's occupants. She wished that people in this town actually left to go on holidays or vacations so that she could thieve in peace but that seemed to never be the case here in Storybrooke.
She began randomly opening cupboards, searching for the one item she truly needed. She quietly high fived the air when she stumbled upon several tins of cat food. She stuffed them into her forest green knapsack, they clicked together as she stood and arched her back.
She then went over to the drying rack and grabbed a large plastic bowl that was still damp from its recent cleaning. She also slipped that into her knapsack as well. It sat awkwardly in her pack and she could feel it digging into her shoulder blades.
She made her way to the refrigerator which she opened with slight trepidation. She recoiled back slightly as the light beamed directly into her eyes. The cool breeze of the refrigerator rolled over her skin. She could feel goose bumps beginning to form on her arms. 'It feels like someone's talking about my grave.' Her mother used to say when ever she'd get goose bumps. Her mother never met an expression that she couldn't mangle; she had been the patron saint of malapropisms.
Just thinking about her mother made her heart tighten as if squeezed in a vice. She tried to shake off the feeling as if she were a dog casually shaking off fleas. It didn't work. She could still feel it deep within her, burrowing into her skin.
"You've got a job to do. You've got to move and groove." She whispered to herself as she looked over the contents of the fridge. She grabbed a few apples and carrots from the crisper and took the loaf of insubstantial looking white bread as well. She then proceeded to open a few Tupper wear containers and scarfed down a few pieces of ham that didn't smell too off.
It was at that moment she realized that she was being watched. She looked over and saw a portly chocolate lab staring at her. Its brown face was speckled with gray fur and it looked at her through watery, curious eyes.
She tentatively reached out her hand and scratched the dog behind its velvety soft ears. She then offered it a piece of ham which it happily ate. It pressed its wet nose against her neck and clumsily hit her with its tail as it happily basked in this unexpected midnight attention.
"Aren't you sweet?" she softly cooed as she ran her hands through the dog's coarse coat. "Oh, I could eat you up I love you so." She said when the dog unfurled its clumsy pink tongue and began to lavish wet sticky kisses on her cheeks. As soon as the dog began to cover her in moist undivided affection, she quickly launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around the dog's neck and pulled it close. She shoved her face into its soft musty fur and sobbed.
After a minute she pulled away and composed herself. She wiped away the loose strands of the dog hair that were clinging to her cheeks and slowly stood up. She gave the dog one last pet on the head then closed the refrigerator and let herself out the back door and into the cool night.
Sorry if it seems a bit slow moving. I promise that things are going to pick up in the next chapter. Also this chapter would have never been completed had EnigmaSphynix not spurred me to action. Thanks Enigma! I do appreciate reviews, so please review. Or don't. Whatever floats your metaphorical boat.