Peace. Tranquility. Serenity. Focus, Emma. She closed her eyes. Breathe in…
"OH MY GOD! Have you seen the chocolate fountain?" cried Ruby coming up from behind. Emma sighed. She should have known better than to try to find a moment's peace when she was surrounded by the blinding glamour of the Nolan's grand opening ball.
"No I haven't. Maybe you should go check it out for me." Emma said, reluctantly reopening her eyes.
"Ohh, snippy this evening," replied Ruby ignoring Emma's suggestion and sitting across from her. "I'll forgive you since I know you're just upset that a certain hottie isn't here."
"Who?" asked Belle who for once in her life, was not holding a book. It hadn't been her idea of course. Ruby had strictly forbidden it.
"Mr. Killian Jones," cooed Ruby, giving Emma a teasing look. "Have you forgotten already, Belle? You were with me when she met him!"
"Oh yeah," replied Belle, resting her chin in her hand and looking quite forlorn.
"Actually," interjected Emma. "I'm just trying to make it through tonight without…"
"Punching someone?" Ruby teased. Ruby of course witnessed Emma's ordeal with Mr. Gold through the window, and had thoroughly enjoyed recounting it to everyone in her acquaintance. Unfortunately for Emma, Ruby had a rather large supply of acquaintances.
"No!" corrected Emma. "Without any drama!"
"Why would you want to do that?" asked a bewildered Ruby, nearly choking on the cherry from her Manhattan cocktail.
"Not everyone thrives off a good story," replied Belle, looking around the room.
"That's funny coming from you," countered Ruby with a giggle.
"Emma," came Mary Margaret's soft voice as she walked gracefully toward the table. "Can I talk to you?"
"Okay…" replied Emma with interest. She followed Mary Margaret away from the table until they found a sparsely populated corner in front of a painting of Lord Byron wearing a Mardis Gras mask.
"I talked to David about Regina," began Mary Margaret.
"Oh no," Emma blurted out. Of course, she had told Mary Margaret what Killian said about Regina. After all, she had to tell someone or her head would explode. "Please tell me you didn't…."
"Don't worry," interjected Mary Margaret who knew Emma well enough to predict what she was going to say. "I didn't recount the details of your new friend's story to him. I just asked if he knew of any history between Regina and Killian Jones."
"Hmmm…" replied Emma, crossing her arms with mocked skepticism. "And what did he say?"
"He said that he knew Regina and Killian have a history going back to when they were just kids. He isn't sure about the details, but he says he believes that Killian committed a real injustice against Regina. I can ask Kathryn. I'm sure she'll know more."
"NO!" screeched Emma attracted the questioning gazes of a couple sitting on a nearby bench. Emma quickly lowered her voice. "I mean please don't. Kathryn would surely tell Regina you asked, and I don't want this getting back to her."
"Okay, I won't then," replied Mary Margaret with understanding. "But what do you think? David's account differs profoundly with what Killian told you."
"Does it though?" wondered Emma, looking absentmindedly at the painting on the wall. "It's possible that Regina views Killian's claims on her family's income to be an injustice. I certainly wouldn't be surprised."
"I don't think Regina could be so cruel," said Mary Margaret, joining Emma's surveillance of the painting.
"You realize that means you're calling Killian a liar then, right?" asked Emma. "In this particular case, both parties cannot be in the right."
"Maybe it was simply a misunderstanding," offered Mary Margaret meekly. "You'd be surprised how often that can happen."
"Maybe," conceded Emma, but they both knew that she wasn't convinced.
"There you are," said David, advancing toward them. "I've been looking for you."
"How do you always find me?" laughed Mary Margaret, her entire demeanor changing instantly as a smile stretched her face and her shoulders began making little twitchy movements. Such a dramatic reaction was certainly not lost on Emma.
"It's a super power," replied David, jokingly. "How are you two liking the ball?"
"It's lovely, David," replied Mary Margaret, and Emma quickly agreed.
"Would you like me to show you around the gallery?" offered David politely. "I can point out all the best pieces."
"Oh, yes please!" said Mary Margaret, clapping her hands.
David offered them his arms. "Well, aren't I lucky. I've got a beautiful woman on each arm!" he bragged.
"Yeah, you're a regular lady's man," said Emma, turning her head to conceal an eye roll.
They walked around the gallery like that for quite some time, stopping occasionally for David to recount the details of certain paintings and sculptures. Emma particularly admired a series of icy glassworks by an artist named Elsa. The woman herself happened to be standing nearby, and with an introduction from David, Emma abandoned her status as a third wheel to talk to her.
"You're an artist too?" asked Elsa, tilting her blonde head with interest. "Are you self taught or have you trained somewhere?"
"Self taught mainly," replied Emma, shyly. She didn't usually talk about her art with perfect strangers, but there was something about Elsa that made Emma feel at ease. She felt like they shared some kind of instant connection.
"Have you ever tried showing your work anywhere?"
"Oh no. I couldn't."
"Why not?"
It was so simple a question, yet Emma was completely speechless. Why didn't she ever try to show her work?
"I guess I'm afraid." She finally admitted. "Painting just feels so personal. I guess I feel like if I show my paintings, I'd be somehow…exposed."
"Yes, I admit you are fairly exposed as an artist," agreed Elsa thoughtfully. "But I think that's the point! You're putting yourself out there, and it's really incredible to see how people react to your vision. You obviously love what you do. Don't you think you should give others the chance to love it too?"
"I guess you have a point," thought Emma, looking at one of Elsa's sculptures of two girls holding hands and supposedly spinning in circles. It was a beautiful piece, and Emma noticed several other people admiring it as they walked by. Would they look at her work the same way?
"You can start off small," suggested Elsa. "Maybe just show your work to me? I'd love to see it."
"Okay," agreed Emma with a smile.
"Okay," repeated Elsa, placing a reassuring hand on Emma's arm. "Hey! Let me introduce you to my Aunt Ingrid! She's an artist too!"
Emma followed Elsa along the edges of the room as they struggled to avoid the crowds of people surrounding the more popular works of art. Elsa slowly slipped farther and farther away, and Emma had to crane her neck to see her blonde head bobbing up in down in the sea of people.
OOHF! Emma got the breath knocked out of her as her body collided with another.
"Watch where you're going!" bellowed the chilly voice of Regina Mills just before she realized who her assailant was. There was a moment's silence while the two women processed what had happened. Regina wore a black lacy gown fitted in all the right places, and Emma suddenly became conscious that she still hadn't gotten her breath back. They must have collided harder than she thought. Emma inhaled sharply but froze again when Regina's haughty gaze started trailing down the length of her body.
"Well well well," said Regina with a self-satisfied smile. "Look who's in my ugly building."
"Look," replied Emma, her patience wearing thin. "I'd love to stay and chat about this for the thousandth time, but I'm supposed to be meeting someone."
"Well I wouldn't want to keep you," said Regina, gracefully stepping aside and motioning for Emma to walk past her. Emma started walking away, but stopped suddenly, finding herself overcome by an irresistible urge.
"Seriously," she spat. "What is your deal?"
"My deal?" Regina cocked her head in confusion.
"Yeah. Are you somehow incapable of human emotion?"
"Excuse me?" Regina's characteristic scowl made its return.
"How can you go around treating people the way you do?"
"Why don't you tell me what you're talking about, Miss Swan?"
"Killian Jones."
Emma was stunned. As soon as she said Killian's name, Regina broke out in ringing laughter.
"You mistreat him profoundly, and now you laugh at him?"
Regina's laugh cut off immediately. "That's rich! Killian Jones mistreated?"
"Yes, he is very poor, and I believe he suffers a great deal."
Regina scoffed. "On the contrary, Miss Swan. Mr. Jones is very fortunate. He has a remarkable ability to make all the right friends in all the right places."
"He's been so unfortunate as to lose your friendship."
"He has, and I gather that he told you it was through no fault of his own."
"Are you contradicting that claim?"
Regina stepped closer to speak softly in Emma's ear, "Killian Jones is a lying scoundrel, and you would do well to steer clear of him from now on."
"Why?" whispered Emma, but Regina merely looked at her with an unreadable expression. As far as Emma was concerned, if Regina had no reason for hating Killian, she had no reason to believe Regina. With one dismissive nod, Emma walked away, leaving a distraught Regina in her wake.
She didn't know where she was going. All Emma knew was she had to keep walking. She felt herself propelled forward by an incomprehensible mixture of anger and frustration. The people at the ball became blobs of color shooting by her peripheral vision; their voices became a persistent buzzing, and the music of the orchestra became the sound of her heart beating in her ears. Never had Emma felt so affected. She lost all notion of time. Had it been a minute since her altercation with Regina or an hour? The gallery seemed to be an endless maze where one could walk in circles infinitely.
"There you are!" shouted Ruby over the lurid banging of Emma's heart. "You will not believe what's happening!"
"Not now, Ruby," dismissed Emma without pausing her gait. "I'm really not in the mood for the latest gossip!"
"Are you in the mood to help your friend?" asked Ruby, clearly wounded by Emma's response. "Mary Margaret is currently crying in the women's bathroom like she has an endless supply of tears."
Emma stopped instantly. "What happened?"
"Careful David wasn't so careful," explained Ruby, crossing her arms. "He asked M to dance three times. Kathryn's not stupid. She figured out what was going on. She dragged David outside, and they've been arguing for half an hour! M has been sobbing ever since."
"Damn," muttered Emma. "Let's go get to her. And Ruby?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"Forget about it."
"Go away!" sniffed Mary Margaret through the thick bathroom door.
"M?" asked Emma, careful to make her voice soft and reassuring despite her inner turmoil. "Do you want to go home?"
"It's all my fault!" blubbered Mary Margaret, a new wave of sobs instantly following her confession.
"It is not your fault!" Emma assured her. "It was David's decision to keep a secret from Kathryn, not yours"
"I've caused so much pain!" screeched her friend, completely ignoring what Emma said. "She must still have feelings for him, or she wouldn't be so angry."
Emma leaned her forehead against the door wishing for once her judgment hadn't been so spot on in Kathryn's case. "Oh M, you are too good. Please come out. I'll take you home and make you a nice cup of hot chocolate. It's up to David and Kathryn to work this one out. There's nothing you can do."
Emma and Ruby exchanged worried looks when all they heard were a few sniffles from the other side of the door. Then the sink started running, and to their relief, a red-eyed Mary Margaret finally emerged from the bathroom. They took her tenderly by each arm and began making their way to the exit.
"Where is Belle?" asked Mary Margaret, wiping a lingering tear from her eye. The three women stopped and looked around, but Belle was nowhere in sight. Admittedly, Belle was pretty low key and resistant to drama—a trait that apparently set her apart from the rest of her friends. Unfortunately, it also meant she was easily overlooked among all the chaos.
"We are terrible friends," muttered Ruby with a pout. "We totally forgot about her!"
"Wait!" said Mary Margaret, straining to see over a great distance. "I see her! She's over there!"
Ruby and Emma followed their friend's gaze, and recognized Belle's puffy golden gown on the other side of the room.
"What is she doing?" wondered Emma, squinting her eyes partly from trying to see and partly from confusion.
"Ew," Ruby gagged. "Is that….No way!"
But it was. Emma saw it too. Belle was sitting with, no fawning all over, Mr. Gold. He was speaking earnestly about something with his hands flying in a million different directions. She was listening intently, her head resting in her palm, her eyes never leaving his. Emma felt a fresh spell of nausea as she witnessed Belle gently lift her hand to brush her fingers over Gold's bruised face where Emma had left her mark.
"What is she doing?" asked Emma, shock and disgust straining her voice. Belle knew what Mr. Gold had said to her. She knew what a horrible person he was. Hell, she had been victim to several of his indiscretions. Yet, there she was, consoling him as if he were a poor wounded beast. "How could she?"
"Lets go get her," suggested Mary Margaret, looking worried.
"No. Leave her," said Emma, turning her back on the distant pair. "She's made her choice."
"Emma," admonished Mary Margaret, forgetting her own pain for a moment. "Don't be like that."
Emma made no reply as she pulled Mary Margaret toward the door. Ruby took one last look at Belle before reluctantly following. The clocktower struck twelve in the distance, but Emma had only one thought on her mind: escape.