Don't Look Back

It was a treacherous drive up the hill as the snow started to settle, but Emma was determined to make it. After turning her back on Jefferson and leaving him there, hurt and alone in his mansion, she regretted her actions every second driving home. Three days had passed and she'd convinced herself that going back was for the best, even if just to make sure there wasn't a suicide note by a body left there.

When she pulled into the drive, skidding a little, she got out the car and pulled on gloves. The winter evening had a biting chill to it, so despite the coat, the gloves and the heating in the bug, she was still shivering when she approached the door, taking hold of the large brass knocker and thumping twice.

The door opened almost immediately, and Emma breathed out a relieved sigh - visible in the minus temperatures - when she saw her Hatter still alive.

He gave her the same vacant look as he did last time. "Good morning, Miss Swan."

Emma clicked her fingers in front of his eyes, making him blink. "Jefferson, it's after nine." She paused. "In the evening."

"Good evening, Miss Swan," he corrected dazedly.

Stepping sideways, he gestured sweepingly for her to come in. "I'm afraid I fell behind in my cleaning . . . Do excuse the mess."

She stepped inside politely, slipping off her shoes and looking around. "Jefferson, there's no mess. You tidied it only days ago."

Silently, he took her hand and led her into the room next to them. "I said mess . . . I promise you, mess."

She looked around at the room he'd led her into . . .

. . . Mess? It was destruction.

Emma looked around in mild horror at the room she stood in, unsure how to reply to him. Torn leather covered the overturned sofas, photo frames lying in shattered pools of glass. The ground was littered with drops of blood and smashed ornaments. A telescope, still attached to the tripod it usually stood on, hung out of a smashed window. Curtains ripped from rails, paintings owned gaping holes, books had pages pulled out and scattered round.

She covered her mouth with her hand, stepping backwards and bumping into him. "Jefferson," she whispered, "what have you done?"

He looked almost as grim as her when his eyes scanned the room. "I - I kinda flipped out," he admitted softly, hanging his head. She felt his forehead press into her hair but she didn't move away. Whether it was her still-stunned mind or the comfort that feeling somebody else actually there gave her, she didn't know, but she wasn't about to step away.

"I'm sorry, Emma." There it was again. The whining voice that made her want to cry. "Don't go. Everyone always leaves me behind." There was a short pause as neither said anything. "I don't want you to go."

She turned round and put a hand under his chin, lifting his head up so he could look at her. "Jefferson," she mumbled, losing herself in the depths of his eyes, "you don't have to do this to yourself."

"I can't help it," he replied in a whisper. His fingers reached out and grabbed at the sides of her loose-fitting shirt, merely trying to find something to hold onto. Something to keep him standing, to keep him on the ground. Frantically grabbing at the sanity he had left.

Emma sighed, her own eyes filling with hurt. "Things will get better," she said, feeling hopeless.

"You can't promise that!"

"Shh, shh . . ." If there was anything she could've done then to lessen his pain, she would've. It was built into Emma; putting others first no matter what. And whether that meant stepping in front of a gun, or pushing her own misery to the back of her mind, or sacrificing herself to save another, then she'd do it without thinking twice. She was the Savior. She had to help him.

The problem didn't come when she tried to forget Henry for a moment. The problem came when she had no idea what to do to help Jefferson.

So she looked round the room, and then back at the man. "Grab your coat," she instructed, "and some shoes that will survive the snow."

He eyed her warily. "Why?"

"We're going on a walk."

As soon as they stepped outside, the chill of the winter air swept over them, causing them both to momentarily freeze in their places. It was nearing ten o'clock, and an eerie fog had started to settle on the rising snow. Emma's gloved hand took hold of Jefferson's and squeezed slightly, leading him down the steps. "Careful," she said, "they're icy. Don't fall."

Jefferson looked round his surroundings like he'd never left the house before in his life. His free hand floated up, catching a snowflake and curling his fingers over it. He stared around in wonder at the scene around them.

"Emma . . . it's beautiful."

She grinned, relieved, and it felt so good to smile. She hadn't smiled since Henry - well, since Henry. Tugging Jefferson forward stiffly, she steered him out of the driveway and into the forest.

He froze at the entrance to the trees. "Grace," he mumbled, almost mouthing the word. "She loved the snow on the trees. She'd point up and say 'Look, Papa, isn't it pretty?' ever since she could talk. When she heard about Snow White, the criminal, the first thing she said was 'How could she be a criminal if her name's Snow?' and I laughed, but I never answered her." Jefferson's lips remained parted as his gaze flickered from the treetops to Emma's face and back up. "If only I could answer her now."

Emma kicked the thin layer of snow, finding dead leaves still buried underneath, and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. "I have to say, I know what she means." She gestured up with a flick of her head. "It's a stunning view."

They trudged through the silvery-white cluster of trees, feeling like they'd walked into a Christmas card. Occasionally, one of them would trip up on a hidden danger or slip where the ice was starting to form, sparking up a brief flame of conversation, but generally not talking. That changed only when Emma was walking ahead, and she glanced round.

"Jefferson?" she called, but the man was nowhere in sight. "Jefferson!"

She started retracing her steps, when an arm wrapped round her waist. She froze. "Who's there?" she whispered, her breaths billowing out in clouds in front of her.

"If we're going to be out here, Miss Swan," the rough voice whispered into her neck, "then why not have some fun?"

She swallowed. "Jefferson, don't you dare -"

Her next words were cut off when he spun her round in his arms and jumped up, grabbing hold of a branch above her head and ultimately showering her with snow. She squealed, stumbling back and hitting the tree, wiping the snow off her numb cheeks and laughing. "You idiot!" she cried as he started running, and went to follow him, scooping up snow from the ground and chucking it at his back. "Jefferson!"

"Can't catch me!" he sang, bouncing up and down. When Emma saw his face she saw a light in his eyes like nothing she'd seen in him in a long time, possibly ever. He was wild; he was insane. And she loved it.

"You're going to regret doing that, you know!" she shouted back, still following him at a sprint. Instead of throwing another snowball at him, she aimed at the branch above, knocking a huge pile onto him. He yelled in shock, shaking his head and brushing the snow off his shoulders.

As he'd stopped running, she crashed into him and went falling to the ground. Before she could hit the bottom, though, Jefferson swooped down and caught her, gathering her in his arms.

Both of them shivered in the winter woods. Icy-cold trickles of water ran down the backs of their necks. She wrapped her arms round him, eyes closed and just embracing the feeling of another person, of human contact.

Ten minutes passed. Possibly an hour passed before Emma pulled away reluctantly, just dusting off the snow that had begun to settle on their shoulders and backs and ruffling his hair.

He smiled down at her, offering a hand silently. Curious, she took it, and he placed his other hand on her waist, pulling her round. At first she had no idea what he was doing, but then it clicked. Her eyes widened. "Jefferson, I can't, you haven't seen me dance. I'll end up killing you."

"Hey," he murmured softly, tugging her closer. "Don't talk. Just trust me."

She breathed out, resting her head on his chest and listening to his slow, steady heartbeat. She was pretty sure her heart was racing a mile a minute, but she didn't have the energy to figure out why. They just moved in slow circles, lost in their own thoughts but painfully aware of each other's touch.

And the snow kept on falling, blanket upon blanket covering them until they could no longer see their feet when they stepped.

Maybe it was nice to finally be peaceful, no matter how short-lived the relief would be. Maybe it was worth it.

This won't be the first time that I'll give it all I've got,
I promise I don't mean for everything to turn out wrong.
I'm not a complex person: wind me up and watch me go.
You'll always be second to my love for the unknown.

It's late and your nose is turning red from the cold,
Our feet are walking rhythmically, crumpling the snow
and I have got myself a question, that I would like to ask:
When it gets to midnight, will you take my freezing hands and dance?

It's too late for me, but you can still be free if you leave now,
And don't look back, my love.

I'm a sucker for stability, which might come as a surprise,
But I can't help but love the way you smile to one side.
We don't need the music to remind us what we've lost -
I can barely move my fingers and I'm slipping on the frost.

Now the dark is all around us, but for the full moon in the sky.
The world is silent to me; we're the only ones alive
and I can see my breath in front of me, dancing in the air with yours.
We both know what we want, but we can't, 'cause we're so unsure.

It's too late for me, but you can still be free if you leave now,
And don't look back, my love.