i don't condone corporal punishment in rl, but i also think it totally jives with the ftl way of life. tw for talk of child abuse in this chapter. as always, thanks for reading!


When Emma and Mary Margaret pulled up to the school the next morning, Emma began to feel a bit sick.

"It'll be alright, Emma," Mary Margaret vowed. "Henry will forgive you."

They locked eyes in the rearview mirror, before Emma turned away with a frown. Mary Margaret sighed, and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Ready?" She asked brightly.

Emma nodded, and hopped out of the car behind her teacher. Each step that brought her closer to the school doors filled her with dread, and it took everything that she had not to run away again. She wasn't so used to people being understanding, and she was subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When Emma had awoken from her nap the previous afternoon, Mary Margaret took her back to the school to pick up her things, and then they'd gone to Granny's to have dinner and "talk."

"Emma," Mary Margaret had begun, fiddling with the peridot ring on her middle finger. "Now that you're living with me, I think we need to establish some ground rules."

She'd paused, trying to gauge Emma's reaction, but Emma had busied herself with sucking the whipped cream off her cocoa with her straw. Shaking her head, Mary Margaret continued.

"School will be different than home, as I hope you can understand. At home, you can call me Mary Margaret, but at school, you'll still have to call me Ms. Blanchard. Does that make sense?"

"Uh-huh," Emma said through a mouthful of foam.

"Good! Um, you'll, of course, have your own room upstairs. And I won't require you to keep everything spic and span all the time, but just general tidying up after yourself is expected. Do your homework, and get a decent amount of sleep, but unless I feel you need me to, I won't set a bedtime or anything like that. Does that sound fair?"

Emma had never really had someone ask her opinion on things, so she just nodded and smiled. The smile Mary Margaret returned made her heart sing.

"Lastly, and I hope it never gets to this point, but if you ever put yourself in danger again like you did today or, heaven forbid, even worse - don't think I won't hesitate to punish you more harshly. Today was different, because we're still getting used to each other, and you injured your backside, but so help me..." Mary Margaret took a breath to calm herself. "Have you been spanked before, Emma?"

Emma gulped. The sweet, warm liquid suddenly tasted bitter in the back of her throat. If by "spanked," she meant beaten with a belt or slapped around until her nose bled and she passed out, then yes. She'd been slammed into walls, tossed down the stairs, held under cold water until her vision burst into metallic stars, but she wasn't quite sure which variation her teacher had in mind. "Yes," she answered meekly, not knowing what else to say.

Mary Margaret smiled grimly, then, as if aware of Emma's internal turmoil. "I truly hope we don't reach that point, Emma. But if we do, I promise - once punished, all is forgiven."

Emma felt a frustrated scream rise in her throat. 'Maybe for you,' she thought angrily. 'Maybe you'll buy me presents and give me candy to try and make up for it, but it's never enough to take away the scaredness.' Emma felt like an idiot. She should've known that this time would be no different than any of the other times. All foster parents were exactly the same - they didn't care about the kid, just the check.

It didn't occur to Emma that Mary Margaret was not legally her foster mother, and as such, received no monetary supplement from the government. She was just feeling mad, and hurt, and betrayed. She picked at her chicken fingers when they came, suddenly not feeling very hungry at all. She could feel Mary Margaret's eyes watching her worriedly.

"What?" She snapped, jabbing a fry into the ketchup puddle she'd made.

Emma didn't have to look up to know that Mary Margaret's expression was hurt and confused. "Do you want something else to eat?" The teacher asked, choosing to ignore the girl's tone for now.

"No," Emma intoned, feeling her stomach churn as she contemplated eating the potato. "I don't feel good," she said, a slight whine in her voice.

Mary Margaret stretched her torso over the table, careful not to let her sweater land in her soup. "You do feel a little warm."

Emma flinched away from the touch. "I'm just not that hungry," she muttered.

"We can take it home with us, in case you change your mind later," Mary Margaret offered, quietly concerned about Emma's attitude.

"Okay," Emma agreed quietly. "Thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart."

The night had been quiet. Mary Margaret had offered to let Emma pick a movie for them to watch before bed, but Emma had no interest in The Aristocats, The Muppets Movie, Willy Wonka, or Charlotte's Web, so Mary Margaret just led her upstairs and let her get settled.

Emma's new room was less of a real room and more of a loft space, but Emma was entranced. The ceiling was sloped, and Mary Margaret had attached gauzy white curtains to it so that they created a tent-like fabric canopy. The bed - also made of iron, but this time a daybed - sat in place of a cushion in the window bay. The loopy white scrolls looked reminiscent of the tiaras Emma had seen on the princesses in the leather-bound storybook. In addition to the bed, there was a small desk (really, a thick plank sat atop two painted sawhorses), a comfortable-looking wingback chair, and a mirrored armoire for her meager belongings.

Emma reclined on the bed, memorizing the coral stitching of the birds on the coverlet with the pads of her fingers. The room was subdued in terms of color, but Emma felt a radiant energy in the space, as if it was signaling to her that this place was truly her home. She scoffed internally, and did her best to ignore that feeling. Otherwise occupied, she only half-listened as Mary Margaret rambled on about the bathroom being down the hall and the kitchen always being open and her room being right downstairs if she needed anything at all, no matter what time.

"I try to get to school by 8:00, so I usually wake up around 7:00. Okay?" The teacher asked. Emma's eyes snapped to hers.

"Okay," she replied. Tomorrow, she'd do some reconnaissance, and see where she could stay while looking for her father before she relocated to a new town.

Emma had slept only fitfully during the night, her dreams clouded with bits and pieces of someone else's life. She remembered black script on an ivory door, a gnarled tree with shiny red apples, darkness lit only by an ominous green glow, hazy purple smoke, and a shimmering golden tornado enveloping her in its light. Needless to say, she was a bit shaken, and her nerves only added to that tension.

She couldn't really remember ever apologizing to someone. Getting in fights at her old schools or group homes, she always got punished, but no one ever really said anything. And she'd never really cared what someone thought of her. But this kid...for some reason, he was different. He wasn't making fun of her, Emma had realized. He just wanted to be her friend.

Emma was allowed to play on the playground with the other kids before school began. She ran out back and perched herself on the trapeze next to the swings. There were some younger kids swinging beside her, and some were climbing the tower and climbing through the tunnels. The littlest ones played with the sand in the far corner. And Emma could see some big kids - her age and even older - dominating the monkey bars and the caterpillar tube, which wiggled up and down as you walked across it. A group of boys chased each other around on the field, but Emma noticed that they all stopped and parted when a black car pulled up along the fence.

A tall, threatening-looking woman stepped out of her car, carrying a turquoise lunch box in her gloved hand. A young boy got out from the back, and followed behind her across the field to the school.

As they got closer, Emma realized that the boy was Henry - which meant that the vaguely sinister woman accompanying him must be his mother, the Mayor.

The Mayor bent down, pushed Henry's bangs off his forehead, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She handed him the lunch box, and said something to him as she walked back to her car.

Once she drove away, the boys resumed their game, but Emma watched as Henry sat on a bench and tried to put his hair back the way it was.

Sighing, she backflipped off the trapeze and tromped over to where he sat.

"Hi," she said, putting a reasonable amount of distance between them, in case he was still upset.

"Hi!" He answered brightly, smiling, but then his face fell and he blushed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about what I said, yesterday."

Emma was shocked. She may have rarely apologized, but certainly no one apologized to her! "I...m-me too," she stuttered.

"It was a reflex," he said considerately. "I probably would've done the same thing."

"Oh," Emma replied dumbly.

"I only asked you," he whispered, scooting closer to her, "because I'm adopted. Everyone else in this town was born here, I guess, but not me. Us outsiders gotta stick together."

Emma looked at Henry in surprise. "Really? Everyone else in this town?"

"Well, maybe not everyone," Henry said with a frown, scratching the corner of his eye. "But of the citizens I've asked - and there are a lot - they all said they had. Or, thought they had." His frown deepened.

"You mean, they don't know?" Emma asked, sure he was pulling her leg.

"My mom seems to be the only person in this town who's sure of anything," Henry said. "Everyone else forgets stuff pretty easily. Like, when I was six, Marco, August's dad, helped him make me a clock for my birthday. But I said something to him about still having it in my room when I saw him a few months ago, and he had no clue what I was talking about, at first."

"That's weird," Emma agreed. "But what kid wants a clock for their birthday?"

"I was confused about why the time never changes on the clocks here," Henry answered. "I thought maybe they were all broken. But Marco's clock was exactly the same. And then, yesterday, the clock on the clocktower changed! Like all of a sudden, a switch had flipped."

Emma frowned. "What do you think it means?"

Henry shook his head. "I have no idea."

Emma sighed, then thought back on something Henry had said. "Did...did you mean it?" She asked tentatively, not used to showing her vulnerabilities. Somehow, this town was breaking down all of her armor.

"Mean what?"

"What you said, about...us outsiders," Emma murmured awkwardly.

Henry grinned, and Emma inadvertently reciprocated. "I'd like to be friends, Emma," he said seriously. "That is, if you'd like to."

"Um..." She thought for a minute, and Henry's face fell. Laughing slightly, she finished, "Yeah, I think I'd like that a lot."

Just then, the bell rang, signaling for all the kids to go inside to their classrooms. Emma and Henry walked into Mary Margaret's classroom side by side, waving at each other when they went to their opposite ends of the room.

Mary Margaret felt a bemused smile creep onto her face. Just yesterday, two of her students were in tears over each other, and now they were being friendly? She couldn't make heads or tails of it, but knew that those two, in particular, needed someone to lean on - and maybe it was kismet that they'd found each other.


The morning whizzed by for Emma. She felt lighter than she had in a long time, and she was reveling in the new experience of having a real friend. Mary Margaret had decided to rearrange the tables today, and so Emma's new desk group was Paige, that boy August, and Henry. Henry sat next to her, and spent the time when they were bored by the low level of the coursework doodling notes to each other in the margins of their notebooks.

When lunchtime came, Emma made her way to the table where she'd sat yesterday. Henry frowned at her when he turned around to find out why she was no longer at his side. She shrugged in embarrassment, and he began walking over to her, but then he smiled and stayed in line. Emma furrowed her brow and tried to figure out what happened when she felt a presence behind her.

Turning, her heart sank a little to see her teacher gazing at her with a mixed measure of affection and disapproval.

"Why aren't you in line for lunch, Emma?" She asked softly.

"I'm not that hungry," Emma replied with a shrug.

Mary Margaret pursed her lips. "You have to eat. You didn't have dinner last night, and barely touched your breakfast. Are you sick, honey?" She made to feel Emma's forehead again, but the girl snapped her head back.

"I said, I'm not hungry!" She whined, feeling the pain of an empty stomach clench and claw at her insides.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!" Mary Margaret warned, putting a hand on her hip. "And I don't believe you. Tell me the truth."

Emma hedged, and Mary Margaret turned up the intensity of her stern glare. With a long-suffering sigh, Emma caved.

"I don't have any money," she whispered. Emma hoped that Mary Margaret wouldn't try to give her any, especially not when she was going to leave so soon, but that isn't what happened.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Mary Margaret murmured, smiling awkwardly at her forgetfulness. "You don't need money to eat, here. Just grab a plate and get some food. The uniform is your meal ticket," the soft-spoken teacher explained.

"Oh," Emma replied. "Well..."

"Emma Swan!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, making Emma feel tiny. "You will eat lunch today! Am I correct in assuming that you didn't have any yesterday?"

Emma lowered her eyes.

"As I suspected. So today, you will eat lunch, and that is final! Do I make myself clear?"

Emma winced. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, scoot!"

Emma got up and shuffled to the bar where Henry was waiting.

"Traitor," she muttered darkly.

Henry laughed. "Just looking out for you, Emma."

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, but grabbed a plate for her food.

She tried to give Henry the silent treatment, but her bad mood went away with the ache in her stomach as she shoveled heaping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and chunks of tender beef into her mouth. Henry traded her his carrots for her broccoli, and they each went back for seconds of the berry cobbler a la mode.

They'd just reached the outer doors to go to recess when the heavens opened and it started to pour. One of the teachers on duty herded them back to their classroom, and Emma's shoulders slumped as they shuffled back to their desks.

"Hey, Emma," Henry asked suddenly, after Mary Margaret had said that they could do puzzles, draw, read, or create. "What was that book you were reading yesterday? I've read all the books in this class, and I've never seen it before."

"I found it on the end of the last shelf," Emma answered. "You wanna read it with me?"

"Sure!"

The fourth graders made their way over to the corner, each grabbing a pillow to protect themselves from the cold floor. Emma crouched down and tugged the book off the shelf, awkwardly holding it and the pillow to her as she shuffled over to the place where Henry'd sat.

"It's a book of fairy tales," Emma said. "But not the Disney kind. They're...different."

She flipped through to the Snow White story she'd been reading the day before. "See? Snow White doesn't get married in the movie!"

"She looks kinda like Ms. Blanchard," Henry said thoughtfully.

"You think?" Emma asked, not wanting to admit she'd been thinking the same thing.

"Well, yeah! Let's go to the beginning, though. I don't like starting stories in the middle."

Emma nodded. "Alright."

She flipped back to the beginning. "Once upon a time, there was a princess born to the most powerful ruler in all the land, King Leopold, and his wife, Queen Beatrix. Even from birth, she was beautiful, just like her mother. She had hair darker than the blackest ebony; lips redder than the deepest ruby; and skin paler than the first snow. Because of this, and because she was born in the middle of a blizzard, the King and Queen decided to name their daughter Snow White."

"Keep reading, Emma!" Henry begged.

"Okay," she agreed. She kept on. "Unfortunately, the Queen was not well. She had fallen ill shortly after the baby was born, and had been steadily declining in health. By the Princess' first birthday, her mother was dead. King Leopold loved his wife very dearly, and was heartbroken when she passed. But he resolved to raise his daughter to honor her mother's memory, and to run the kingdom as if she was still by his side. The years passed, and Snow White grew more beautiful each day. She was a sweet, soft-spoken child, and a true diplomat in the making. But she also had a bit of a rebellious streak in her, and one day, she cajoled the stable hand into letting her ride her new pony by herself. Eight-year old Snow was not yet prepared to keep control of the wild colt, and as soon as she'd left the stable, he began to canter and buck to throw her off. Snow held on as best she could, but was losing her grip. She grew frightened, and began to yell for help."

"Suddenly, she heard the muffled crack of hooves galloping on grass, and realized that someone must be coming to her rescue. 'Help!' The princess cried again. 'Please help me!'"

Emma and Henry continued to read, entranced by the story about the young Snow White and the kind woman who saved her life, Regina.

"That's my mom's name," Henry mentioned when they reached that part.

The two ten-year olds read about the rocky relationship between Regina and her mother, Cora the witch; the sweet but illicit romance between Regina and Daniel, the stable boy; and the yearning of Snow White to have a loving mother of her own, which Emma related to almost painfully. Together, they gasped at the villainy displayed by Cora, and even more so at the threat of revenge against Snow White by the new Queen, Regina.

"The Evil Queen looks exactly like my mother," Henry said breathlessly. "And Ms. Blanchard looks exactly like Snow White. Do you think it's a coincidence?"

"Fairy tales aren't real," Emma said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"I know you see it too," Henry pressed. "Let's see if anyone else looks familiar!"

Henry grabbed the book and began flipping through to find different illustrations. "Look!" He whispered. "There's Marco, and August - they're Geppetto and Pinocchio! And there's Paige and her father," he said, pushing through another few stories. "And my mother again, and Sheriff Graham, and-" he stopped, trying to gauge Emma's expression. "If it was just one or two, I'd understand," he muttered, trying to make her see reason. "But look at all the people that look familiar, Emma! There's no way this is just happenstance."

"Alright, class!" Mary Margaret called. "Recess is over, so clean up and go back to your desks!"

Emma put their pillows back, and walked over to their table. "Henry?" She asked, noticing that her friend had disappeared. She turned around, and spotted him with their teacher. He was still holding the book, and gesturing to it animatedly. Emma hoped against hope that he wasn't trying to convince Ms. Blanchard that this all was real.

Emma watched their teacher nod, and Henry walked over to the quad with a triumphant smile on his face and the leather-bound tome clutched to his chest.

"I'm gonna do some research tonight," he whispered to Emma. "I'm gonna prove it to you; this is real."

Emma rolled her eyes, and over-focused on Mary Margaret when she began to instruct the class. She and Henry didn't talk the rest of the day, but she did return his wave when they went their separate ways after school.

Emma was pretty quiet all afternoon. She did her homework, and then read one of Mary Margaret's books until dinner. She made enough conversation with Mary Margaret to keep up appearances, but not enough to give away too much information. And then she mumbled something about going to take a bath and go to bed.

Emma hadn't yet unpacked her things, so she just set her backpack by the door of her room and went to take a shower.

Mary Margaret came upstairs to bid her goodnight, and to avoid suspicion, Emma had put on her pajamas and gotten into bed. She read more of the book until she was sure that the teacher had gone to bed. Then, she redressed, grabbed her bag, and silently made her way out of the apartment.


Mary Margaret may have been naive, but she was certainly no idiot. She'd known something was up with Emma from the moment they had gotten home the first night. She didn't want to push Emma, knowing that she was very sensitive, but when she heard the door close behind the girl at 10:30 on a Wednesday night, she got mad. Hadn't she just explained to Emma that she wasn't about to put up with this self-endangerment?

So, without much thought other than anger and disappointment, Mary Margaret shoved her feet into her boots and followed her charge out the door.


"Oof!" Emma exclaimed, stumbling backwards as someone barreled into her. "Watch where you're-" She began, then noticed who was in front of her. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Henry?"

"Emma, what are you doing out here?" He asked, voice just as puzzled.

"None of your beeswax," she spat. At his hurt expression, she backpedaled. "If you must know, I'm running away."

"From what?"

"Ms. Blanchard."

"Why?" Henry was flabbergasted. "Ms. Blanchard's the best! She's Snow White!"

"Cut it out, Henry!" Emma yelled. "That stuff is stupid!"

"Is not!" He screamed back. "It's real!"

"Hey!" A stern voice shouted above the bickering. "Both of you need to calm down. Henry, what are you doing out so late?" Mary Margaret questioned, her lips pursed and one eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

"Um...running away," Henry mumbled.

"Oh, really?" She asked, no amusement in her tone. "Did the two of you plan this?"

"Ms. Blanchard, I can expl-" Emma began, but a raised hand cut her off.

"I'll get to you in a second, missy," she sighed. "Henry?"

"No, ma'am," he said earnestly. "I just...needed to get away."

"Henry, I know that sometimes you find it hard to get along with your mother, but that's exactly what she is - your mother. You can't just up and leave every time something doesn't go your way!"

"But I-"

"Henry Mills!" A deep voice shouted. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing, Mom," Henry answered meekly.

"Ah, Ms. Blanchard," Regina purred silkily. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"I came outside looking for my...Emma," Mary Margaret began, voice losing all bravado in the face of the Mayor. "And Henry was out here too. I was about to send him home, when-"

"Please, spare me the sob story. I know you too well to believe that you were going to do the right thing and return my son to me. I'm sure you were just going to coddle him and tell him not to worry, just like you always do." Regina looked down. "Who's this?" She sneered, looking right past Emma and to Mary Margaret for an answer.

"This is my new student, Emma. She's staying with me while...she's staying with me." Mary Margaret answered, tipping her chin up in an attempt to look braver than she felt.

"Emma?" Regina's voice was soft and ragged. "When did you get here?" She asked, in a sharper and stronger tone.

"Two days ago," Emma answered, voice not shaky in the least.

"And since then, you've been filling my son's head with reckless notions! He would never have spoken to me or acted the way he has without your influence," Regina accused.

"They barely know each other!" Mary Margaret asserted, trying to protect her students.

"It only takes a moment," Regina averred. "I suggest, Ms. Blanchard, that you keep a stronger hold on your...child," she hissed, turning up her nose as if at a bad smell. "Come along, Henry."

Regina dragged her son back to her sleek black Mercedes, practically pushing him into the backseat. Emma stood watching them, arms crossed over her chest, when Mary Margaret grabbed hold of her elbow and began tugging her towards their apartment.

Emma let out a squeak of disapproval.

"I don't want to hear it, Emma," Mary Margaret said sharply. "I warned you about what would happen if you disobeyed me, but you chose not to pay any mind."

Emma's mind whirled. Her breathing grew shallow, and her vision became blurred. She allowed Mary Margaret to haul her up the stairs to the loft, mostly because she never would've made it if left to her own devices.

She stood in the entryway as Mary Margaret prepared the dining room. "Come here, Emma," she said firmly. Emma began to walk over there, as fast as she could, when Mary Margaret barked out a, "Now!"

She tried to pick up the pace, but it wasn't fast enough, because Mary Margaret stood to grab her again, and landed two sharp swats to the seat of her leggings. Emma began to cower and cry. She squatted to the floor, writhing out of her teacher's grasp, and almost choked from heaving and sobbing so hard.

"Please don't hit me, I'm sorry, please," she pleaded, repeating the same things over and over. Snot flew from her nose, her face was coated in tears and mucus, and her small body shook from the force of her emotion.

"Emma, honey, you need to calm down," Mary Margaret soothed, pulling Emma into her lap as she sat on the floor beside her. "Breathe, baby, breathe. There you go, in and out," she coached, rubbing circles on Emma's back in an attempt to comfort the overwrought girl. She kept rubbing and patting and clucking nonsense at the girl until Emma's breathing had evened. Mary Margaret helped Emma to the couch, and ran to the kitchen to fetch a tall glass of ice water.

"Drink this, sweetie," she instructed, helping a still-shaking Emma lift the glass to her sticky face. Mary Margaret had also gotten a damp washcloth, and used it to clean and soothe Emma's flushed cheeks.

"Emma, I'm sorry," Mary Margaret said, the fear of the incident catching up with her as the adrenaline fled her body. "You told me you'd been spanked before."

"I don't..." Emma said weakly. "I don't know if I know what that means. I've been punished a lot of ways."

"To me, it means whacking your bottom with a paddle or something hard enough to make you cry, but not enough to leave marks other than redness for a couple of days." Mary Margaret tried to explain.

"I don't think I've ever been hit that way," Emma mused tiredly. "You won't use your belt?"

"Not right now, no," Mary Margaret answered, a bit bemused.

"And you won't hit my back or anything?"

"Oh, Emma! Of course not! Who would do that?"

"Mr. Robinson," she answered. "He used to make all of us, boys and girls, strip naked, and he'd hit our backs and legs real hard. Some of the older kids even bled sometimes," Emma said. "That was better than Mrs. DuGray, though - she used to hold us underwater if we misbehaved. I still can't go swimming," Emma said with a shudder. "You won't do that, will you?"

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret said again. "That's called abuse, and I could never do that to you. Tell you what," she said, suddenly struck by an idea. "I don't want you to be afraid of me. For trying to run away, I'm gonna punish you by not letting you watch TV for two weeks, and you're gonna be on dishwashing duty for the rest of this week. Once you get more comfortable with me, maybe we'll revisit the idea of a spanking, but until then, I think taking away privileges will have to do. Sound fair?"

"What about all the other stuff I did?" Emma asked quietly.

"What other stuff?"

"You know, like, crying on you, and telling on my old foster parents, and stuff..." Emma whispered.

"Sweetheart, all of that stuff was not bad. In fact, I'm glad you did! I don't want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. I'm here to take care of you, Emma," Mary Margaret said seriously, looking Emma in the eye. "I care about you."

Emma didn't say anything, but buried her head in Mary Margaret's neck. Mary Margaret held Emma until her breathing evened out, and she knew the girl was asleep.

Holding back the tears in her eyes, Mary Margaret released the one thing she'd been dying to say since she met this girl. "I love you, Emma," she whispered into the blonde curls at her shoulder.