DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.
This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…
In the shadow of the toll bridge
Gonna be epic
Henry Mills had learned at a very early age to take a lot on faith. But even he was a bit shaken by what he'd seen at Collodi's yesterday. In fact, he hadn't been this freaked out since he'd seen Pops take a bite out of what he thought had been the queen's curse-laced pie, so he spent a good deal of the evening pacing his room, checking the window for signs or messages from his mom, and sifting through the Captain America comics that had taught him so much about being a hero.
Fortunately, all that worrying finally tuckered out the young prince, so he had no choice but to wait until morning to investigate further. The thought had crossed his mind a few times that perhaps Pops was just faking again. After all, he'd certainly fooled the queen that night at dinner. But he was...ick…all over Kathryn in that shop yesterday, and the look on his grandmother's face was enough to make both of them queasy. No, he thought slipping on his sneakers and zipping up his coat. No, there must be more to it than that. Pops had to be faking. It had to be part of some plan.
To his enormous relief, this theory was confirmed immediately by Snow the second he ran into her classroom that morning. He barely had time to register how glad he was to see his old teacher back at school period before he skipped most of the pleasantries and got right down to Cobra business. Snow explained patiently that 'Pops' was not only faking, but Kathryn was as well. And the sheer elation that filled the boy's heart at hearing that Operation Cobra now had three more members – one of whom was his own gym teacher and another who was Cinderella's prince ! – drove away any lingering doubts in his mind that they would win. No matter the queen did, Snow White would have her happy ending. She and prince charming wouldbe together, the curse would end, and Good. Would. Win!
"Henry could you please grab me that stack of projects?" Snow called to him now as she sat at her desk, sorting through the slight mess that her well-intentioned substitute gym teacher left behind. It was recess, and all of his classmates were outside. But as Ava and Nicolas were still missing, there were no kids out there that were of any interest to Henry.
"Sure," he said brightly, and hopped over to the desk, the pile of sloppily constructed amateur book covers in hand. He frowned at how crumpled and goopy the projects were. Surely as fifth graders, they were all capable of a bit more effort than this. But Mr. Shields hadn't exactly administered the project very well: they were to create original book covers for their favorite books using the supplies that 'Miss Blanchard' had stowed in her art cabinet. But Rick hadn't been able to find the materials the first day, so half of the students started their covers on regular old printer paper, and he even let some kids use torn out sheets of notebook paper from their journals! "I guess we know why Mr. Shields teaches gym and not English," Henry smirked as he handed over the stack.
Snow laughed as she checked a few stray worksheets from their lesson that day into her gradebook, "Yeah, I guess so."
Henry jumped up on one of the desktops across from his grandmother and swung his legs back and forth. "Are you even going to grade those?" he asked.
Snow looked up. "Why wouldn't I?"
He shrugged. "Just…doesn't seem to matter that much anymore, you know?"
She paused, gave her grandson a dubious grin, and then set her down. "Really?" she cocked an eyebrow. Henry suddenly felt as if he'd given the wrong answer in class.
"Well um," he gulped. "You know with all the—" he leaned forward and whispered with exaggerated secrecy, "—Cobra…stuff?"
Snow leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Oh, this would be fun. "And what do you think would happen Henry, if 'Miss Blanchard' suddenly stopped doing her job effectively?"
Henry bit his lip and his legs stopped swinging. "The queen would get suspicious," he rolled his eyes.
"Right. And you just might be taken out of this class."
The kid gave himself a well-deserved face palm. "Jeez, I didn't even think of that! You don't think she'd do it, do you? You don't think the queen will take me out of your class!"
Snow rose from her seat, limped around the desk and leaned up against the front edge. The sardonic tone of her voice faded when she realized her grandson had grown genuinely concerned. She reached forward and tousled his hair. "Let's just not give her any reason to, ok?"
"Deal." Henry nodded, feeling better. "So…Mr. Shields is really a knight huh?" he asked as the gleam returned to his crystalline eyes.
Snow grinned. "Mmm-hmm."
"Wish Ida known that this morning in gym class. Woulda asked if we could do a fencing unit!"
That earned him an outright guffaw from his grandmother, who threw her head back and laughed at the absurd image that idea planted in her mind – Sir Frederick teaching a bunch of fifth graders how to sword fight!
"And Sean's awake now too!" Henry continued. "I know he works at Collodi's with Pops but I haven't actually seen him since me and Emma drove to his house to help Cinderella. I can't wait to meet him as his real self!" The boy had prattled on so excitedly, he didn't notice how Snow's expression had grown quite serious. Looking back down at her, Henry drew back, narrowed his gaze and asked, "What?"
Snow sighed, looking down at the cast on her ankle and shaking her head. She'd conveniently left out the part this morning about Thomas having been attacked. Seeing Henry so worried to begin with, she hadn't wanted to upset him further, so she'd stuck to the 'good stuff' and left out the bad. Bad news was harder to deliver to a 10-year-old and not, Snow felt strongly, really her place. His mother should decide what and when to tell him about the dangers of Storybrooke…then again, Henry – in some ways – knew so much more about this place than Emma, than any of them really, having been aware of the curse far longer than the rest of Operation Cobra. "Henry," she took a deep breath. "There's something I didn't mention about Thomas this morning."
Henry gulped. That certainly didn't sound good.
"Thomas was…attacked last night at the bar he works at." Henry gasped, jumping off the desk and landing right in front of her. "He was beaten up pretty bad."
"Is he dead?" Henry cried, unable to filter out his concerns in any more tactful way. "Tell me he's not dead—"
"No no, he's not dead," Snow assured him, dropping down to his level and placing her hands on his shoulders. "He's badly injured though and not, as far as we know, conscious yet."
"Oh man!" cried the boy, tugging at the ends of his hair as he began pacing in front of the chalkboard. "How'd she do it? How'd she do it?"
Snow hoisted herself back up and leaned against the desk. "How'd who do it?"
"Regina!" he said impatiently. "The queen! How'd she do it? She was home all night, I swear. I know because she fell asleep way before I did and—"
"Henry," Snow walked over and steadied him. "Why do you think this was the queen's doing?"
He shook his head and stared at his grandma as if she was a visitor from Neptune. "Isn't everything?"
Snow had to stifle a chuckle. "Well maybe so, but you know there are other…bad people in Storybrooke besides the queen right?"
He sighed. "Like Rumpelstiltskin?" he remembered.
"And maybe others," Snow warned, deciding it was better to implant the idea in the boy's mind now rather than for him to become too trusting of anyone who talked of the curse. After all, she wouldn't put it past Regina to have one of her cronies pull a fast one on Henry and pose as an ally to get information. "Your mom and Graham are gonna do a little digging today to see if we can find out who did this to him."
Henry sighed, glancing up at the princess. "Ok," he said at last.
But Snow knew there was more. "What's wrong?"
Her grandson shook his head, the cruel reality of what they all really faced dawning on him in a whole new light. He didn't know quite how to express it, but he knew he could start with what was most immediately disappointing. "It's just that…I was," he wrung his hands together, mumbling at the floor. "I was just looking forward to…meeting more of Pops' friends," he finished at last.
It pained her to see him so disappointed, but even more troubling to Snow was the fact that she'd seen this look on Henry's face many times before. Before Emma arrived, he came to class every day with that same feeling of hopelessness. What an overwhelming roller coaster of emotions her poor grandson was feeling this morning. She was about to open her mouth and utter some empty platitude, but a gentle tapping at the window alerted her, and she turned around to see Lucy pecking at the metal latch. She smiled, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the bluebird's impeccable timing. "Hey," she turned back to Henry. "How about you meet one of my friends instead?" Henry looked up, checking the door immediately and then grew more perplexed when Snow led him over to the window.
Her meaning was soon clear though, for he watched as she cracked the window and the little bluebird hopped inside, perching right on her finger. "Oh," he said, trying to mask his disappointment. "We've actually uh, already met," he mumbled.
"I know," Snow smirked, not at all put off by his reaction ( Meeting a tiny bluebird wasn't nearly as exciting as meeting another prince). "She and a bunch of her friends led you to Cain who led you to Jefferson's mansion in the woods right?"
At this, Henry's brow furrowed. "Yyyyeah?" he said warily. "But how did you know that?" He supposed Geppetto could have told her that it was a flock of bluebirds that had led them first to James's massive stallion. But in Henry's young mind, it wasn't an overly dramatic detail.
Snow gave a casual shrug as she brought Lucy over to the desk. "She told me."
"She?" Henry followed her.
Gently, Snow set the bird down on top of the stack of projects. "Henry," she presented the bird proudly. "This is Lucy."
Still skeptical, Henry came around the desk and stood next to his grandma, reaching out to pet the little bird's head. "Umm…hi, Lucy." And to his complete and utter shock, as the little bird began to twitter happily, a tiny voice sounded in his head. Hi Henry!
Henry jumped back, thumping against the back work table. "What was that?"
Snow smiled knowingly. "What was what?" she asked.
"That…that voice, you didn't hear it?"
She turned comically to the bird, "Did you hear something Luce?"
Again the bird started twittering as Henry heard the tiny voice laugh and say Nope! He swallowed hard and stared at the bird, wondering if perhaps he was going crazy. His only saving grace was that his grandmother seemed to know exactly what was going on and didn't seem all that worried. "She's…she's talking to me," he whispered, re-approaching the bird.
Snow beamed proudly at the young prince. "That's right, Henry. She is." Ever since Henry had arrived at Jefferson's mansion, she had suspected that her grandson had inherited her especial affinity for communicating with earth's noblest creatures. James of course could understand them to an extent, having spent much of his life raising them, but the skill did not come to him easily, and he more often relied on Snow's natural talents rather than trying to communicate on his own if he could help it. That natural talent was something that had apparently skipped a generation. Snow remembered Emma telling her once, early on, that she wasn't really a "fan" of wildlife. So when Henry appeared on top of Cain, a wild stallion that simply wouldn't have trusted so small a boy if he didn't havethe gift, Snow knew she was right. And really, it's only fair, she smirked to herself. With how much of her father's spirit and demeanor Emma had inherited, Snow couldn't help the little touch of pride she felt at seeing her suspicions confirmed about what she shared with her grandson.
"But…how?" Henry asked, mesmerized by the bouncing ball of cerulean fluff.
You're just like Snow, young one! he heard in his head as Snow explained.
"You have the gift, Henry. You understand her just as you understood Cain the other day."
Henry wrenched his gaze up to her. "But…but I didn't hear any voices then. I just had…had a—"
"A feeling?" Snow wrinkled her nose. Henry nodded. "Yep, that's how it starts. Just a feeling. I got a lot of those feelings when I was your age," she thought back fondly, remembering one of the last conversations she'd ever had with her mother. Queen Lavinia had already grown quite ill, but not so ill that she could not celebrate her daughter's 8th birthday. She had given Snow a beautiful blue statue of a unicorn, a statue that later served as James's inspiration when commissioning Emma's mobile. Lavinia told Snow that unicorns were among the kingdom's most noble animals and that she must treasure the toy as she would one day care for all the magical creatures of the land. "My mother knew even before I did that I would have the gift."
"And now I have it too?" Henry nearly shook with excitement. His first magical power! Cool!
"You've always had it Henry. Think about all your therapy sessions with Archie. Didn't you always get a…a sense that you knew what Pongo was feeling?"
Henry's jaw dropped. He'd never told anyone about that. "Yeah?"
"Well, that's because you're a good listener Henry. And that's how you learn. You listen to them…and then eventually," she looked back and held a perch out for Lucy, "they just start telling you things."
"Brilliant," Henry whispered as he held out his own finger and Lucy happily hopped over. She chirped and flapped her wings. I agree! Swell! he heard, and both he and Snow laughed as Lucy gave them each a nod and then fluttered away. Henry watched as the bird whipped out of sight, and then he tugged on Snow's sleeve, turning her back around. "Thanks…Grandma."
Snow's eyes grew wide as saucers as she slowly sunk to her desk chair, eyes leveling with his own.
A sort of half-frown half-smirk broke across his face as he glanced up at her sheepishly. "Sorry," he shuffled back and forth on his feet, "was that…weird?"
Immediately, Snow shook her head, annoyed by the tears that kept welling up in her eyes these days. "No sweetheart," she beamed and drew him into a fierce hug. "Not weird at all."
…
As soon as Graham dropped her off, Emma headed straight for the intensive care unit where she knew Sean had been moved this morning. She'd called early on to check on his status and, discovering that there had been no change and therefore no chance of getting the real story directly from the victim, had proceeded to the crime scene and then to Jack Hunter's house with the sheriff. Now, several hours already into the afternoon, Emma was getting impatient. It seemed Jack Hunter, if he wasn't directly involved, at least knew much more than he was letting on. But Emma was bound to act in accordance with Storybrooke's charter and understood far more so now than she ever had before that she must play by the rules here else she draw unnecessary suspicion from the queen. We can't very well arrest him for being an ass, can we, Graham had challenged her that morning. If only, thought Emma as she flashed back to that smug look on the bastard's face. Knowledge that Jack was, indeed, a former villain in the Enchanted Forest certainly didn't make her feel any better as Emma stalked through corridors of Storybrooke General, looking for Sean's room. Relevant as the information was to Emma, she couldn't possibly share it with Graham. God, is this what it felt like to be Henry?
When she finally reached Sean's room, she was mildly hopeful that, having been several hours since she last checked, he might be awake and able to shed some light on this whole who-kicked-his-ass thing. But the room was still dim and the curtains still half drawn around his lifeless form. She sighed, staring sadly at the prince she'd barely gotten to know, and then turned back to the door.
Her next objective she'd already professed to Graham – find Nurse Charles. Perhaps Sean had said something right when he was brought in, uttered some kind of clue, even a single word that might implicate Jack. She was almost to the door again, ready to begin her search before she jumped back, startled by the small figure sitting in the corner.
"Emma!" said the woman who was just as surprised.
Emma shook her head. It was Rose – or uh, Belle. "Rose?" she said, coming over to her. "Jeez I didn't even see you there."
"Me either," Rose looked back to Sean in a manner that gave Emma the distinct impression that she had been staring so long at the poor bartender that she'd probably spaced out a bit.
"You um," she glanced back at Sean. "You ok?"
Rose slowly nodded, rising from her chair. "Yeah I just…I wanted to visit."
Emma juddered her gaze between the two coworkers and then rubbed the back of her neck. "How is he?"
"No change," Rose said. "I just talked to the doctor a few minutes ago. They're um…they said they're not sure if he's…ever gonna walk again?" It was clear the woman was trying to hold back sniffles.
Emma shifted uncomfortably. This was more her mother's territory. "Yeah, they said that last night."
"God this is so awful!" Rose moved past her, squeezing her arms like she was cold as she approached the bed. "I feel so…so guilty."
Emma's focus shifted immediately. "Guilty? Why?" she asked, walking over to join her.
"Because," Rose's gaze was still fixed on her dear friend, "if I hadn't quit yesterday…if I hadn't left Jack, I-I would've been there last night. I might have seen something. I might have even stopped it."
"Rose," Emma sighed, trying not to be disappointed. She thought briefly that maybe Rose might also have intuited something about Jack's role in all this. "There is no way this," she gestured down at Sean, "is your fault."
"I shouldn't have left him working in that place all alone," she whispered. "Not after Snow told me about everything going on. He always had my back." Rose reached down and touched his hand. "I should've had his."
"Hey," Emma turned her from the bed to face her. "He's not…dead ok?" she said, knowing it came out a little bluntly, but Emma had never prided herself on tact. "He's gonna get through this, and when he does, you'll…" she stammered in the very best support group voice she could muster, "you'll be there for him."
"Yeah," Rose let out a weary laugh, letting her hand fall back to her side, "if Snow and I aren't in jail by then."
Emma drew back from her. "Jail?"
Rose narrowed her gaze. "You…do know what we're planning on doing tomorrow, right?"
"Oh!" Emma cried, slapping her forehead. In the commotion and drama surrounding Sean's attack, she had actually forgotten about the planned rescue attempt of beauty's beast upstairs. "God, that's right. Are you," she glanced back at the door to see if anyone was passing by in the hallway. "Are you…ready for that?"
Rose shrugged sadly and shook her head. "I dunno. Can you be ready for something like this?"
Emma looked back at Sean. "No…I guess not."
The two were silent for a few moments before curiosity got the better of the young deputy. "Have you um…have you ventured upstairs?"
Rose automatically looked up at the ceiling, as if she could see right through to the third floor, then shook her head. "No…and believe me, it's killing me not to."
"Really?"
She nodded, resting her hand over her womb. It was true; from the moment she'd entered the hospital, she'd felt that same pull in her stomach, that agonizing ache trying to draw her up to…him. It was stronger now perhaps because she knew he was up there. Knew they were connected. And it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to go to him. For she knew if she went before they were ready, if she showed her face up there today, they'd have no chance of success tomorrow.
"Sorry," Emma mumbled. "Shouldn't have brought it up."
"No it's ok," Rose said quickly. But the two fell silent once more, both of them knowing there was nothing more to say on the matter. After a time, Rose sighed looking back at her friend. "I can't believe he didn't even bother to tell me about this," she muttered, more to herself than Emma.
"Who?"
"Jack," she said derisively.
Once again, Emma went on alert. "Jack?"
Rose rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "I mean I know I just…you know, broke up with the guy. But you think he would at least call me and tell me our coworker is in the hospital."
Emma swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully. "Rose," she started slowly, "do you think…I mean, is it possible that Jack would have had…anything to do with this?"
Rose's eyes shot wide open. "Anything to do with this? Like what?"
"I," she held her arms up, trying to downplay the suspicion. She couldn't very well have an irate Belle stomping over to Gaston and tipping their hand that he was suspect. "I just wonder because Graham and I talked to him today and he…he had some…bruises on his face and arms…looked like he'd been in a fight."
Rose's jaw dropped as she stared blankly in front of her. Jack had been in a fight? Possibly the same fight as…as Sean? That didn't make sense at all! "I…I don't see how…" she stammered, forcing herself to revisit her own argument with Jack yesterday. Why in the world would Jack have gone after Sean? His only remaining bartender no less! "I don't think so," she said, though without any real conviction.
And Emma noted the tone. "You sure? You sure he didn't, I dunno," she shrugged, grasping at straws, "think maybe there was something going on with you two and—"
"Oh God!" Rose clamped her hand over her mouth. "Oh God I hope not!" she cried. "It was never like that with Sean. We never…I don't see how he could possibly think…" but she was stuttering now and the words would not come. For if Jack Hunter ever suspected that Rose had been with another man? She whirled around and stared at Sean in a new light – this would be exactly how that bully would 'handle it'.
"Ok well," Emma tried to pat her on the back, wondering if maybe she shouldn't have said anything (though she had to admit this reaction was certainly consistent with what Emma had come to believe Jack capable of herself). "I just thought maybe you might know something—"
"Do you want me to talk to him?" Rose asked, turning back with a little more ire in her expression than Emma had seen to date.
"No!" Emma cried at once. "No no, don't…don't say anything. If he knows we suspect him, he'll bolt."
Rose nodded, though she seemed frustrated. "I just…I can't believe he'd…" she was muttering to herself, shaking her head and crossing her arms again as she looked back to Sean.
Emma panicked as she watched the already confused enough semi-awake fairy tale character pacing the hospital room. This was not good. Ugh! She simply had to learn how to be less…direct. If only Snow were here— and then a light bulb went off in her head. "You know what would help?" she stepped in front of Belle to stop her pacing.
"What?"
"If we knew more about…you know, who he was," Emma supplied, hoping the legendary bookworm would catch her drift.
"Who he was?" Rose paused and then understanding dawned on her face, "you mean more about Gaston?" she whispered.
"Exactly," Emma replied. "I read a little of their story this morning," she gestured over to Sean, "hoping it might give me a clue about who might have wanted to hurt him. But I didn't read anyone else's. And if this is a Storybrooke problem, rather than a fairy tale world problem—"
"Then the answers might be in another story," Rose finished for her, nodding. With sudden purpose in her step, she walked over to her chair, retrieved her coat and purse, and returned to Emma. "Where is the book now?"
"Back at Snow's," she said and gave her the address. "You sure you don't mind?"
"No, not at all. It'll actually," she gave a weak laugh and rolled her eyes, "it'll actually give me something to do around here."
My thoughts exactly, Emma mused to herself. While it was true that Rose looking into her own story a bit more might actually reveal something useful about Gaston, the more important advantage in this plan was getting Belle out of the hospital, and away from the case. Her talking to Jack would most definitely end badly (quite possibly with another victim in the hospital, Emma shuddered to think) and would only further confuse the poor woman who didn't yet know enough about herself to be very effective in Operation Cobra. At least now, she would be with Snow, reading her own story, and possibly adding more to the case.
Soon, Emma was ushering her out the door, helping with her coat and smiling in genuine support. Rose sighed, zipping up her white parka as she tucked her phone (where she'd texted herself the address) in her purse. The two women nodded at each other and Rose turned to leave. But she paused and looked back, giving the deputy a grateful smile. "Thanks, Emma," she said sincerely.
Emma nodded, slowly but surely growing accustomed to these increasingly frequent moments of sentiment, and then sent her off.
Taking a deep breath and straightening herself up, she turned the opposite direction and set out finally to find Dawn Charles. The main nurse's station said she was covering the ER today, but when Emma got there, Dawn was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, she wandered the corridors for about ten more minutes, and just as she was about to storm her way back to the station and have the nurse paged, Dawn Charles fortuitously rounded a corner right into Emma's shoulder.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" muttered Dawn as she bent to retrieve the stack of sheets she was carrying. When she stood back up, she started at the other blonde's familiar face and smiled. "Deputy Swan!" she said.
Emma rolled her eyes, "Please. It's just Emma."
Dawn nodded, insisted that she also be called by her first name, and then frowned. "So…here to check on Sean?"
"Actually, I'm more here to see you."
The nurse tilted her head to the side, curious, and then motioned for them to continue strolling down the hall. "What can I help you with?"
Emma informed the nurse of as much as she could without revealing too many names. She had a good feeling about this woman, but wasn't entirely sure without Snow or James here to confirm that she would indeed be an ally. "Dr. Whale concluded that he didn't think it likely that Sean could have made that 9-1-1 call, given the state of his injuries," Emma explained to a fascinated Dawn. "But that doesn't mean Sean didn't see who did." She paused their little stroll and then checked around them, lowering her voice. "Was he…awake when he was first brought in? Did he maybe say anything before he blacked out that might clue us in about who did this or who called the police?"
As much as Dawn wanted to help the deputy, she frowned again and shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He was out cold by the time he was brought in."
Emma sighed, bringing her hands to her hips. "Damn."
"I'm sorry, I wish I could help," said Dawn, and then a thought occurred. "You might want to talk to the paramedics who picked him up. If Sean said anything before he fell unconscious, they might've heard it."
Emma immediately straightened up. "Great, you know who?"
And then for some reason, Dawn rolled her eyes and dropped her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. "Matt Clancy was on with his partner last night," she sighed, shaking her head. "He's part time medic, part time firefighter. You can find him at the firehouse."
Emma blinked. The firehouse? Storybrooke has a firehouse? was her first, ridiculous thought. Then she immediately rolled her eyes. Of course the town has a firehouse. "Uh, thanks," she managed, mentally committing the name Matt Clancy to memory. She looked up and noticed that Dawn's smirk had not faded. Emma narrowed her gaze, "Anything…else?"
Dawn snorted out a laugh and cocked her head to the side. "Just a friendly warning?" she quipped. "Clancy hits on any girl that breathes."
…
"Please don't leave me," Belle whispered against the tufts of fur she had clutched in her trembling hands. "Please," she begged him. It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't. How could she have known? How could she have known that Ebonridge would be hit by one of the worst ice storms in centuries? How could she have known she'd be so delayed in returning to the castle?
"Maybe…" came the beast's wheezing voice as his warm paw reached up to cup her cheek. "Maybe it's better this way," he rasped.
"Shhh, don't talk like that," she consoled him. But even through the thick, coarse fur that coated his arms she could feel his pulse weakening. "You'll be all right now. We're together," she insisted, almost as if demanding that since she was back, their reunion should have reversed the magic. She swept her gaze down his massive body, and it struck her as downright ludicrous that so giant and strong a specimen could grow so weak in such a short a time. One day…she was only delayed by one day! One day more, her father had begged her. One more night in town before returning to the castle. How could she have known then? The prince had grown so kind, so understanding and gracious. She felt sure he wouldn't mind if she stayed with her father an extra night. Not when she'd pledged herself to him for the rest of eternity. Not when she'd already agreed that upon her return to Ebonshire, they would be married. Belle hadn't known that the extension of her trip would put the beast in such peril. How could she…when he never told her!
"Why didn't you tell me?" she wept as she covered his hand with both of hers, clutching his palm and wrist to her heart. "I never would have stayed if I had known."
"I could not…" he coughed, "I could not burden you any further." He squeezed her hand as best he could but every breath drew life, and he could feel his own slipping away. "I…I-I did not want for you to f-feel that you had to return out of…out of p-pi—"
"Out of pity?" Belle cried, almost incensed. "How could you believe that? How could you ever think—"
"Belle I…I'm s-sorry," he choked, straining to maintain his gaze on her to the last. "I…I love…" but at last he could hold on no longer, and darkness shrouded his soul.
"No!" Belle grasped both his shoulders and shook hard. "No you can't leave me! You can't!" she cried. "Please…" she collapsed unceremoniously across his chest, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs as she wept into mounds of fur. A cold, freezing rain descended over the balcony, but she remained, drenched as much by the sorrow in her heart as the icy torrent.
"My lady," came a small voice from just inside the west wing. It was Lumiere, Adam's faithful maître d, who looked on through bleary eyes as his beloved master took his last breaths. "Please, Belle. The master would not want you to remain in the cold."
But Belle would not budge. "Why didn't he tell me, Lumiere? How could he think I would only return out of pity?"
Lumiere gulped. There was anger in the midst of all the hurt in her voice – betrayal even. And he could hardly blame his mistress. He had pleaded with Prince Adam to tell the lovely beauty what was at stake if she left him, begged him to make her aware of the costs if she stayed even one more hour beyond that which she had promised. But he was adamant that she go freely, unburdened by such cruel portents. In the prince's noble mind, telling Belle that his very life depended on her return, that their souls were far too entwined for his cursed heart to survive a prolonged separation, meant saddling the woman he loved with the entire responsibility for the curse – a curse that was Circe's doing, not Belle's. If he had told her, she wouldn't have gone at all. And he wanted her to. He wanted her to enjoy the freedoms he couldn't – to be with her father, to see her friends and family in town without having to worry about him. Circe's spell was his damnation, not hers. And he loved her too much to allow her to sacrifice her life merely out of some foolish sense of duty or obligation.
This decision did not strike Lumiere as particularly logical. But he, Cogsworth and Madame Potts were bound to honor it. In truth, there was a part of his poor master that never could believe a woman would love so horrible a creature, and so he supposed that if she really did love him, she would return on the day she had promised. When that day came and went, the prince simply gave up, surrendering far too readily to the fate that now consumed him. Never mind the massive ice storm that had overtaken the whole of Ebonshire, never mind the staff's insistence that Belle would return as soon as she was able and that he must hold on until then. Mon Dieu what a mess, he thought, for now Adam left behind a grieving beauty who, though she had not yet admitted it aloud, had loved him very much indeed.
"It is…custom for someone to sacrifice much in the name of duty, mistress," offered Lumiere, though he knew his words were not comforting.
"Duty," she scoffed, still clutching Adam's hands in her own.
"He did not want you to feel merely obligated to the crown, responsible for his safety to the point of not even going to visit your father."
"And so he decided not to tell me what would happen?" she cried, staring down at the beast's still face. "I would have left with three days to spare, Lumiere. I would have returned immediately—"
"I know that, Mistress," Lumiere stepped out into the icy rain and laid his hand gently on her shoulder as she wept. "I…I think there was a part of him that dreaded the thought of you having to wed…a beast."
"He's not a beast," she mewed, shaking her head as tears seeped down her cheeks. "He's a man." She looked down, smoothing her hand down the matted fur beside his eyes. "The only man I've ever loved." Lumiere's breath hitched in his throat as his lady confirmed what he and the staff had suspected for some time now. Too late, he thought. Forever too late. Belle leaned over him once more, cradling his massive form against her breast as she wept and rocked him back and forth. "I love you," she whispered over and over again, droplets of rain mingling with the downpour of her tears. "I will always love you."
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning streaked across the horizon and lit up the night sky. Belle wrenched her gaze upward just as the resounding thunder clapped its echo and split the blackened clouds. Lumiere stumbled backwards, he too gazing up at the stars which broke through the storm like twinkling footprints leading up to heaven. All at once the rain seemed to stop, though Belle could still hear its pattering against the stone walls. It was as if sheets of rain were swept aside from them like curtains, leaving Belle with her beast in the center of the storm yet strangely shielded from its elements. "Lumiere?" she gasped, but the maître d had been thrown backwards and she could no longer see beyond the cone of wind and rain that surrounded her. In fear, she clutched even tighter to fistfuls of Adam's fur as she tried to make sense of the world. And then she saw it – a bright light peeking through the darkness, descending from the very top of the cone so white and dazzling it nearly blinded her on the way down. Pulsing hot and brightly against the backdrop of sleet and hail, the light expanded beyond the confines of the balcony, and with one last thundering boom, waves of magic rippled outwards, wiping all traces of the storm away in its wake.
Belle, who had covered her eyes in terror, now slowly peaked out from under her arm and gasped. They were still on the balcony, Adam's lifeless weight still lain heavily across her lap, but the storm was gone, the stars shone brightly, and the air smelled of roses and wildflowers. She stared at the heavens, searching the clear, warm skies for answers…and then she heard a groan. The raspy, throaty groan of the prince…alive in her arms. Belle's eyes darted down and she shrieked in utter shock as she beheld not a beast…but a man. "Adam!" she cried, shifting out from beneath him as he slowly came to.
Adam stiffened his arms against the cobbled terrace, pushing himself off the ground and twisting around to face her, coming at last to his knees as he slowly lifted his tired gaze to her gorgeous eyes. "Belle?" he coughed, blinking awake. Only then did he did he too note the changes; his voice was significantly higher than it had been, and with a gasp he clutched his neck, crying out as he felt not the coarse, gnarled mane of the creature, but skin. Human skin. "Belle!" he said with a watery laugh. He broke into a wide, almost schoolboy grin as he patted his hands all over his neck, his arms, his face. "It's…it's me!"
Belle reached forward, capturing his beautiful face between her hands, searching those two blue starlit irises that gazed at her. "It is you," she cried in relief, pressing her forehead against his. And before she could take another breath, he was kissing her.
There was nothing hesitant or searching in his kiss. He hauled her straight up to her knees and crushed her to his chest, sealing his lips over hers with the possessive force of a man who had spent far too long resisting and restraining himself against the passion he'd come to feel for her. Again and again he kissed her, the very feel of her lips against his seeming miraculous as for years his mouth had been plagued by the beast's hideous fangs. His hands explored her body, roaming around her waist, up her back, in her hair, cupping her nape. And they were his hands not claws. His own flesh. What a wonder it was to be back in his own skin, and how fitting that it was to have Belle wrapped in its warmth.
Her arms came instantly around his neck as she fought for dominance of the kiss, relishing in how alive she felt, how desperately she needed to touch him, to feel the beating of his heart in sync with her own. "Adam," she murmured against his cheek as he rained kisses down her jawline, at the corners of her eyes, her forehead. She tunneled her fingers through his hair, pulling his head down to her as he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, assuring them both that he was real and indeed, alive.
Only when Lumiere awkwardly (though amusedly) cleared his throat behind them did either soul become aware of the rest of the world and slowly return to earth. Adam pulled away, holding her now at arms' length and taking in every inch of her beauty. "How?" was all he could ask as his gaze swept over her loveliness.
"I don't know," Belle laughed as she clasped his hands in her own. She felt herself blush as he stared at her, finally able to see clearly his own transformed visage. The old paintings she'd come across in the west wing didn't do Prince Adam justice. He was beyond handsome. He was majestic: strong angular features, slender face, long locks of blonde hair breezing behind him. But in the end, Belle was inevitably drawn back to his eyes, for his eyes were the same. And she knew right then, for as long as she lived, whatever trials they might still face down the road, she would never forget his eyes.
"If I may, master," Lumiere cleared his throat again and the two finally looked up at him. "I believe he may have some answers," he said, looking past them.
At once, Belle and Adam turned and were startled to find a man standing – no, not standing…floating just beyond the balcony. "Who are you?" the prince demanded at once as Belle helped him struggle to his feet. The man was effervescence personified, sunlight seeming to stream through every pore to the point where Belle wondered how they could have only just noticed him. He was as bright as the sun, robed in shimmering folds of white and gold that draped his entire body. He seemed to have unfurled from the very fabric of nature and was suspended before them with a joyous, though slightly mischievous, look on his face.
"I mean you no harm," he held his hands out, nodding to both of them. His voice echoed in the night sky, though with how bright he was, it seemed to be day.
"Who are you?" Adam asked again, in his voice a faint echo of the beast's growl. His grip tightened around Belle's waist as if he would never again let her go.
"I am Helios," said the sun spirit with another bow of his head.
Belle gasped. "Helios!" she cried. From infancy, children had heard tales of this particular mage proclaimed throughout all the realms. Ancient texts hailed him as a god, and indeed his powers were thought to be god-like. In fact, many believed that Helios was solely responsible for driving the first wave of goblins out of their realm many centuries before Adam and his generals fought their descendants. However, though he appeared quite clearly before her now, Belle had trouble trusting in her own eyes. Helios was part of a forgotten age, an age of sorcery and wizardry long lost to them. As mankind prospered and flourished throughout the three realms, the days when men and women wielded magic of such magnitude had faded into legend. Then again…the transformation and resurrection of Adam she'd just witnessed had been pretty damn powerful. "Have we you to thank?" she stepped forward, bringing Adam with her. "Did you do this?"
"No my dear," replied the ancient sorcerer. "You did this."
Belle glanced back at Adam, whose wary gaze was still fixed on the floating man that had interrupted their reunion. Belle squeezed his hand and then turned back to the mage. "Me?"
"Yes Belle," he replied. "My magic does not touch this earth anymore. My kind has long since moved beyond your realms."
"Then why are you here?" the prince demanded. He had had enough sorcery for ten lifetimes. So regardless of intentions, he did not trust Helios.
"I am merely a messenger, Your Highness," he replied, then looked back to Belle. "What transpired here this evening is no trivial feat. It is not every day that a mortal being defeats one of Circe's unbreakable curses."
"Circe!" Adam yelled, stepping in front of Belle and holding her back from the suspended mage. "What do you know of her? Is she here?"
"No, milord," Helios said calmly, not at all phased by the prince's temper. After all, the man had every right to be incensed by the very name of his tormenter. "But she is the reason I appear to you now. Circe has been on this earth far longer than most realize. She and I were once at war, having sent her champion and his men purposely into my realm, the island of Thrinacia, under the pretense of seeking shelter. They betrayed my trust and scourged my land without ever having been aware of the war they were precipitating. I killed her champion that day," he paused and looked straight at Adam, "and she has been trying to find one to replace him ever since."
Belle didn't at all like how that sounded. "What are you saying? That Circe has marked Adam as her new champion?" she asked, holding tightly to her true love's arm.
"That is correct," Helios said frankly. "And now that he has overcome her deadliest of curses, she may come back to claim him."
"She is welcome to try," spoke Adam, his eyes like daggers aimed at the mage.
"A worthy challenge, my friend," the sorcerer nearly chuckled, "and I daresay your victory today will leave you with some distinct advantages over her…charms. But I do not come merely to warn after your own safety."
"Why do you come at all?" Adam growled, starting to advance forward but Belle tightened her grip and pulled him back.
"A gesture of good will," he said, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. "Our removal from this realm does not preclude our interest in its well-being. There are a great many of us, when the opportunity arises, who have ventured back to help or deliver forewarning of evils to come." He turned to Belle. "The magic you have wielded here today drew me to you and opened the door between our worlds so that I may deliver this message."
"What message?" asked Adam.
"What magic?" Belle insisted, stepping out from the prince's well-intentioned but thoroughly unnecessary protective stance.
"Why…true love, my dear," Helios answered as if solving a simple matter of arithmetic. "Love powerful enough to defeat Circe's magic is a love that transcends the hot passions of untempered youth. It is love that is pure. Love that Circe craves."
"What are you saying?" demanded the prince. "Circe is after Belle?"
"No," said Helios, "No, women do not interest her. But Belle's love for you is the final proof of your power."
"I have no power!"
"I think you will find that you do. And in the eyes of Circe, your power is unparalleled. You were able to make a woman love you despite your hideous appearance. The goodness in your soul therefore dictates—"
"I didn't make her do anything!" Adam yelled and once again stepped forward, as if ready to take on the mighty mage with his bare hands. But Belle stopped him for a second time, her presence a calming influence on the echoes of beast in his temper.
"Of course not," the sorcerer replied. "But this world is governed by perception. And when Circe learns of the man who finally conquered her curse, she will stop at nothing to harness that power. Power she is convinced…will lead her back to us."
"So she aims to recapture me?" Adam scoffed.
But Helios shook his head. "You have pledged yourself to this woman. Her spells will not work on a man whose heart is already claimed," Helios gestured graciously to Belle, "and Circe is confined to Thrinacia, what you now call Bierden Ridge. Her dominion extends only as far as the goblins she controls. But if she were ever to escape the ancient spells that hold her there, if she were ever set free, she would stop at nothing to reclaim the power she sought to find in you when she enacted her curse." Belle drew a sharp breath as Adam clenched his fists together. "Therefore, I come to warn you, as those of my time are wont to do when we are moved by such goodness." Helios smiled warmly at the pair of them despite the mixture of anger and concern in their faces. "Be on your guard. Circe may yet one day prevail…and she is very…very…patient." And with that, the sorcerer drew the folds of his robes around himself, spun in an impressive spiral of dancing light, and was gone.
The couple stood there in awe, staring into the open night sky while their eyes adjusted once more to the twilight. Helios' effect on the weather, however, seemed to hold, for the wind was as peaceful and breezy as a spring evening. Silence pervaded the balcony, and Lumiere, who had been joined by Monsieur Cogsworth and Madame Potts about halfway through the mage's visit, merely stood slack-jawed and worried about what Helios foretold.
"What did he mean by that?" Adam finally turned to his beloved, "'She's very very patient?'"
Belle shook her head, still glaring out on the darkened horizon. "He means we must always be on our guard," she whispered quietly. "And not only for us," she gulped and then finally looked to her prince, "but for our children." In her youth, Belle had read enough of the ancient legends and tales to acquaint her with the likes of characters like Circe. It was a tale as old as time: An enchantress like Circe is practically immortal. If she could not have Adam…she would take his son.
"Belle—"
"It means we can't ever have children—"
"Belle listen to me—"
"Gods, Adam. Do you think he could be right?"
"Look at me," he commanded again, and this time she obeyed. Adam drew the back of his hand down her cheek and tucked a tendril of her chocolate brown hair behind her ear. Gods, she was beautiful. Even in so anguished a state, she was beautiful. "Whether he's right or not, I have no idea. All I know for certain," he took her hands in his, closing his fingers around hers and holding them to his chest, "all I'm sure of…is my love for you."
She gazed once more into his deep blue eyes and smiled.
"And he can pontificate to his heart's content about what may happen if Circe ever escapes. It won't change the fact that we've already defeated her."
"Yes but that won't—"
"That you defeated her," Adam amended, drawing her hands up around his neck and then trailing his own down the length of her arms and around her back. "Your love didn't just transform me, Belle," he rasped, pulling her close and locking his grip at her waist. "You brought me back from the dead."
Belle shivered in his arms, the magnitude of all that had transpired here tonight finally hitting her for the first time. He was right. Somehow, some way, their love had done the impossible. And the warmth in his eyes, the passion in his touch was enough to drive away the fears stirred by their mystic visitor…at least for now.
Adam dipped his head down to hers and kissed her, only this time his lips were gentle and soft against her own. Absently, he was aware that his staff withdrew from the balcony, granting them some degree of privacy for which he was appreciative. He meant to shower them with praise and commendations when the time was right, for they had borne more than their share of his burden through the years, striving to keep him sane, to achieve some semblance of normalcy and humanity in his darkest hours. Lumiere especially had grown to be much more than a simple valet. He was a true friend and confidant and deserved recognition as such…but not now.
Now, his entire world was Belle. Decorum and modesty be damned. He drew his mouth over hers again and again, sipping from her lips, giving as much as he took as she melted into his embrace. When finally he drew breath and pulled back from her, she nearly swooned, her eyes hazy and unfocused. "Belle?" he murmured, brushing the tip of one finger down her face.
"Hmm?"
He chuckled and gave her a gentle shake, lifting her gaze to his own. After all, what he had to say demanded her full attention.
She looked up and smiled, pulled back to reality from the euphoria of his kisses.
He held her gaze for a moment more and then descended to the ground, falling on one knee before her. He looked up and moonlight seemed to glow around her as he took her hands once more in his. "When I asked you before, I was a monster. Now I kneel before you as a man. But I have loved you as both."
Belle's breath caught in her throat and she gasped, wondering why she was suddenly nervous. After all, she'd already said yes!
He pressed kisses to the backs of her hands and then gave her a tender squeeze. "Belle…will you be my wife?"
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks and she too fell to her knees. Gently, she withdrew her hands from his grasp and reached up to cup his face. "To me, you have always been a man," she said with a joyful sob. "And I will always love that man…as my husband and dearest friend."
His heart soaring, Adam drew her back into his arms, affirming their vow to the heavens with a kiss, almost daring the fates to tempt them again. For though he knew the warnings foretold by Helios must be heeded, Adam had no doubt that their love would always prevail.
Rose slowly closed the storybook on the image of Belle and her prince embracing in the moonlight atop their west wing balcony. With everything going on, she didn't think there was anything left that could surprise her, but this certainly shocked the living daylights out of the poor bookworm. Her story wasn't just your average fairy tale. It was practically a Grecian epic, a melding together of every legend, hero, and villain archetypes ever conceived. And to think she'd come over simply to see what she could discover about Gaston! She never dreamed the depths her story would reach (and how inconsequential to it all Gaston turned out to be…he was practically a footnote compared to the likes of Adam the war hero or Helios the sorcerer). How in the world was Rose French supposed to live up to this paradigm of folklore? She could barely balance her checkbook!
"Are you ok?" Snow asked, sitting patiently beside her at 'Miss Blanchard's' kitchen island. Slowly, the kind schoolteacher slid a steaming cup of cocoa across the counter which Rose snatched up almost involuntarily. She took a generous sip, gulping down the near scalding drink. She glanced at Snow who flashed her a knowing look. Rose set the cup down, peered over its rim and then looked up. "Cinnamon?" she asked.
"Hope you don't mind," said Snow, taking a sip from her own mug. "It's a…family favorite."
Rose nodded and then looked back at the book. "Got anything stronger?"
Snow chuckled. "Not with that baby on the way," she shook her head. "Otherwise I would've brought out the Kahlua."
Rose gave her friend a grateful smile. "Thanks," she murmured, "for…letting me see it."
"Oh please," Snow waved her hand dismissively. "As far as I'm concerned, this book is for anyone on the side of good in this world to see. And you and Adam are definitely that."
But the compliment, Rose felt, was undeserved and she winced at the praise. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled.
"What?" Snow cried, sliding the book in front of her. "How do you figure?"
Rose looked down, smoothing her hand over her tender belly still settling down from her trip to the hospital today. "Have you forgotten…who the father of this baby is?"
"Rose," Snow covered Belle's hand and squeezed. "We've all made mistakes here—"
"Don't say that," Rose withdrew her hand and slid off the stool. "This wasn't a mistake. Don't give me that much credit."
"Rose—"
"I knew exactly what I was doing," she continued, not wanting to hear any more excuses made on her behalf. Curse or no curse, she'd caved to the purely lustful desires of a desperate woman, so lonely and isolated from the rest of the world that she willingly slept with a man she couldn't even stand…and who really never treated her well even after the fact. "Have you read that story?" she whirled around, pointing at the book. "Can you imagine this…this Prince Adam ever falling in love with someone like me?"
"Belle is you," Snow argued.
Rose scoffed. "She looks like me, sure," she said. "But I'm not her. I'm not nearly that strong, Snow. I can hardly stand up to my jerk boss, let alone a…a god!"
"You did stand up to him though," Snow reached forward and grasped her wrist. "You kicked him out of your house!"
"Yeah," Rose shrugged herself free. "Another brilliant decision. Kicked the father of my child out of my life."
Snow gulped, still wrestling (as she had been since Rose had arrived and asked to see the book) with whether to share what many of them now hoped was true about Belle's pregnancy. It wasn't a huge stretch to believe that Belle might have gotten pregnant just before the curse hit, and that only when Emma arrived and time restarted had it begun to progress again. Still, Rose seemed to have regressed back into this self-loathing phase of hers this afternoon, most likely as a result of having seen her friend so badly beaten, not to mention Emma's intimations that Jack might have had something to do with it. "Look," Snow said, deciding not to expound upon the baby's questionable lineage at the moment, "whether you like it or not, the man in that book is the same man you saw in the psych ward. The man who, according to you, knows exactly who you are, which means he's been awake in the curse from the very beginning."
Rose cringed, unable to even imagine how awful it must be to be living with this information for 28 years. She just found out yesterday and she was barely coping.
"So he's not going to care what happened between you and Jack," Snow clasped her hands up around her arms, "and he's not gonna care what 'bad choices' you think you've made. He's just gonna care…about you."
Rose shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and trying not to completely lose it in Mary Margaret's kitchen. "How could he possibly still want me after…this?" she clutched her hands tightly to her stomach.
But Snow refused to let her give up. "You wanted him when he was still a beast," she gave her friend a gentle shake. "And he wants you forever."
Rose sniffled back the waterworks and looked up. "I hope you're right," she whispered. "Or tomorrow night's gonna be a real disaster."
"Are you kidding me?" Snow smiled, wiping away the tear that had escaped and trickled down her own cheek. "Tomorrow night…is gonna be epic."
…
Mitchell Herman wasn't sure how long he stood outside the little house on Barbarac Lane. It could have been an hour in that freezing cold for all he knew, for he just couldn't bring himself to go any further. In reality, it was more like ten minutes, but taking the final steps up to the front door seemed a Herculean task before him, and it wasn't until he heard the ominous howling of a wolf in the distance that he snapped out of his nerves and trudged up the small stoop to ring the bell.
It was another long wait before she answered, and when she finally pulled open the door, Mitchell wished it had been longer still. Ashley was a complete wreck and the stricken expression on her face said in no uncertain terms that he was not at all welcome. Mitchell cupped his fist over his mouth and coughed, the cold air puffing out and then dissipating into the night air. "Ashley," he said solemnly.
Ashley's eyes narrowed into tight little beads, glaring at him as he had retreated one step down. The nerve of this man, she thought vehemently. "Mr. Herman," she glowered.
Mitchell drew a sharp breath at the open hostility in her voice, and his blood began to boil as it always did the moment Ashley Boyd opened her mouth. There it was again, that unmistakable anger he felt around her without really understanding why. Surely it couldn't just be about Sean's attack, for he felt this way every time she was close.
This time would be different though, he vowed to himself. This time he had a small shoebox secured under his arm and an errand from a wise old man to ground him. He sucked in a breath, determined not to succumb to that inexplicable instinct telling him to lash out. Not tonight. Not this time. He must get past this. It was time for this feud to end. "May I come in?" he asked quietly, his voice dissipating in the night's wind.
Ashley wrapped her arms around her middle, steeling herself against the cold. She still couldn't make heads or tails of what had happened to her last night at the hospital, but of one thing she was absolutely certain: Mitchell Herman was the last person she wanted to see. "Why?" she said darkly, "so you can tell me again just how much I've ruined Sean's life? Or to remind me that you don't want my daughter anywhere near her father?"
Her acerbic tone was painful to stomach, but entirely deserved. "You have every right to be upset," he gulped, holding tightly to the gift under his arm. That feeling was still there, but as he continued to resist it, he started to feel other things too: namely remorse, regret…and hope. "Please, I won't stay long, just…hear me out."
Ashley stared at him, giving the matter serious thought. In truth, it wasn't just anger she felt, it was also fear. Fear that what happened at the hospital might happen again. Fear that these flashes, these strange visions she kept having would again be witnessed by a man who still, inexplicably, held such power over her. But the cold beckoned them inside, and in the end she relented, stepping back from the entrance and allowing him in her home.
Despite all that was left to be said, Mitchell sighed with relief. He was inside at least. It was a start.
"How is he?" she asked as she started back towards her kitchen then halted and whirled around, "he's not—" she cried.
But Mitchell immediately held his hands up and reassured her. "He's the same," he answered quickly. "No change."
Ashley blew out a sigh, cursing the tears that immediately welled in her eyes as her momentary panic subsided. It had only just occurred that Mitchell might be here to …deliver bad news. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case. Shaking a little, she resumed her retreat to the stove.
Only then he Mitchell notice she had a white cloth over her shoulder, and over the tiny pass-through, he could see she'd begun warming a bottle. He took the opportunity to run his gaze over the rest of the tiny house, pausing every now and then to sadly regard this or that pile of stuff cluttering the very small space. The living room, if it could be called that, had barely enough seating for one, as it was overrun by baby clothes, changing supplies, and what he assumed was Alexandra's playpen shoved between the couch and TV. The dining room table was adorned with stacks of mail, bills, some of Sean's work clothes and assorted piles of laundry. So small, he thought regretfully. And yet, how clear a testament this place was to their fierce dedication to 'making it work.' Despite what he knew the clutter represented of Mitchell's own refusal to support them, a touch of pride swelled in his heart for Sean…and Ashley.
"So why are you here?" Ashley asked as she wiped her hands on the cloth and then draped it back over her shoulder. She was leaning against the archway of the kitchen, arms crossed.
Mitchell took a deep breath, removed the box from under his arm and placed it on the table. "I came to…" he paused, his hand still on the ribbon. Should he give it to her now? It was a hard thing to gage given that it wasn't even his gift, and he still wasn't sure what it meant to them. Sighing, he withdrew from the box, deciding to leave it for now, and looked back up at the girl. "I wanted to…apologize."
Ashley's expression did not change, though slowly she unfolded her arms, letting them hang by her sides.
Mitchell gestured toward the easy chair that sat along the inner wall of the living room just beyond the kitchen. "Please," he motioned for her to sit.
She hesitated, regarding him very carefully before at last relenting.
Mitchell took another deep breath and pressed his hands together. "I suppose I don't have to tell you," he started, "that children…are everything."
Ashley gulped. No…he certainly didn't have to tell her that.
"When Sean's mother passed away, he was…well…we were all each other had." His breath caught as he thought of Mazie; his late wife's face was somehow so clear in his mind despite how hazy the rest of his past seemed to be.
"I know," Ashley said quietly.
He started. "You do?"
"Sean told me about her. About the three of you," she offered, finally allowing herself to believe this visit might not end as disastrously as every other conversation they had.
Mitchell looked down. "Yes…well," he muttered. "That was a long time ago, and when she died I devoted everything I had to Sean. I wanted—" he glanced up, "—only the best for my son."
Ashley sucked in a breath, rising at once from the chair and returning to the kitchen. "And I'm not that," she hissed, mistaking his implication.
"No!" Mitchell insisted, following her this time to the kitchen. "No, that's not it at all."
Ashley's eyes darted sideways at him from beneath her brow as she removed the bottle from the little pan on the stove and snapped off the burner. She started to move past him, but he stopped her in the hallway.
"Ashley," he said, determined that she heed him. "I wanted everything for Sean. The best schools, the best career…the best shot he had at getting out of this town."
She looked down, remembering her own conversation with Sean on that subject…A full ride Sean?...I would've supported you. We could've gone with you…
"I was so focused," Mitchell continued. "So obsessed with Sean having his best chance," he paused and looked right into her eyes, "I never saw…I didn't want to see…that he already had it."
The girl's eyes were brimming, and the bottle nearly slipped from her grasp as she dared once more to believe what she just heard. "Mr. Herman," she whispered.
But Mitchell wasn't finished. "When Sean came and told me he wasn't taking that scholarship, when he told me he was staying in Storybrooke to raise," he glanced up at the heavens, searching for relief from his shame, "to raise your baby…God help me, Ashley I blamed you."
Ashley looked away, her eyes wet and bleary. She knew that part already.
"And the more we argued," he continued, gently drawing her gaze back to him, "the more convinced I was that I was losing my son. I never stopped to realize…that I could be gaining a daughter."
Too much, Ashley wept, too overwhelmed for words. It was just too much to take, and not at all fair that Sean wasn't here to hear it. "I never wanted to…" she sniffled, letting the tears seep down her cheeks, "to take him away from you."
"You didn't," Mitchell rested his hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze, and the contact startled them both. There was something very familiar in this fatherly gesture. Something he'd not felt since…
"We only ever wanted…to be a family," she managed between sobs, and then as if on cue, Alexandra stirred from the bedroom door behind them. Slightly flustered, Ashley darted her gaze between Mitchell and the door, not at all wanting to allow the interruption. But her baby girl grew quickly restless, seeming to sense that her mother had a bottle all ready and waiting for her, and her fussing turned into all out wailing within seconds. Mitchell smiled and shook his head, stepping back and gesturing down the hallway.
"It's ok," he said and actually chuckled. "Go."
"Just," she held out her hand, "just wait right there."
Mitchell gulped hard, waiting back in the living room as he listened to sounds of her quieting the child…his granddaughter. A part of him hoped Ashley would just soothe her back to sleep; he wasn't quite sure what he would do if actually confronted with –
Ashley re-emerged from the bedroom with Alexandra swaddled in her arms. The sight literally took his breath away, for he found he could not breathe as Ashley carried over this perfect little girl. Mitchell had seen the child before, of course. From a distance. How desperately then did he wish he could know her. How desperately now did he want to shrink away in disgrace.
"Alexandra," Ashley cooed to her baby in a watery voice. "This is Mitchell," she looked up, holding her out to him, "your grandfather."
"No," Mitchell immediately shook his head, staying his arms out in front of him as he stumbled a few steps back. "No dear, that's…that's ok, really." How could he? How could he ever be worthy of holding the child he'd worked so hard to take away from them?
"Please," she insisted. "Sean wants you to know her."
The little girl cooed and wriggled around in her blanket, laughing obliviously to the emotion in the room. And perhaps it was the pure joy radiating from the babe that eventually broke down Mitchell's last defenses as he stepped forward and gently scooped the child up in his arms.
For a moment, neither adult said a word. The only sounds were of Alex's continued gurgling as she curled herself quite comfortably against her grandfather's chest. "Alexandra," Mitchell whispered at last, too much in awe to cry. Supporting her firmly with his left arm, he brought his other hand up to touch her tiny head, soft and splotched already with a healthy mop of blonde hair. Sean's hair had been blonde when he was young. So had Mazie's. "Ashley, she's beautiful," he said. And then the little girl reached up and closed her tiny hands around Mitchell's finger –
"The winter solstice was your mother's favorite, Thomas…"
Mitchell gasped as the world flashed white around him.
"We have never missed a festival since she passed…"
"Mitchell?" Ashley cried, swooping in at once and taking Alexandra back from the man who now staggered about her carpet. "Mitchell what is it?" She clutched Alex close to her breast, shielding her daughter from the strange fit her would-be-father-in-law seemed to be having.
"Ashley?" he spluttered, finally looking up at her—
"Your Majesty…I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake…"
"Mitchell what's wrong!" she lunged forward, hoping to help catch him as he fell against the closet door.
"No!" he said, holding her at bay before he dropped his head in his palm and cried out in pain. "What's…what's happening—" and suddenly an image of Rodmilla flashed before his mind, clothed in a blood red cloak and gold beads.
"Lady Tremaine, explain yourself!"
"Ah…a…a-a woman would do p-practically anything for the love of a daughter your Majesty," the foul lady stammered.
"And that includes beating her?"
"Well…well Sire, you…you and I both know that you can never love someone else's child the way you love your own."
"Guards!"
"Ashley I…I can't…" he shook his head, straining to focus on something real, something concrete. But every time he opened his eyes he was flooded with images from two different worlds. A bassinet in a crowded living room, yes…but also a ball room, with ethereal music heralding from the upper balcony as the reception carried on below –
"My dear Ella…we're thrilled to have you join our family. And I hope our family will soon be growing!"
My dear Ella…
…join our family…
…our family…
…soon be growing…
Alexandra let out a tired wail, seeming now to sense the sudden tension in the room and she sobbed against Ashley's chest, trying to wriggle her way out her grasp. Ashley had backed away against the edge of the couch as she watched Mitchell cower in horror near the front entrance of their tiny home. He hunched over, wheezing, rasping as he muttered to himself. Incoherent ramblings she could not understand.
"Ella," whispered Christopher as he gasped for breath. "My dear Ella…" he glanced up wearily, the searing pain in his head subsiding as his eyes finally came back into focus and saw his beautiful daughter-in-law trembling with fright. "Ella!" he cried more forcefully, and rose to his feet. The curse. The curse was broken. He was free from his prison. Thomas's lovely bride and his beautiful granddaughter had awoken the king.
"Don't!" cried Ashley, now seriously freaked out, for Mitchell was staring at her through the eyes of an entirely different person. And why was he calling her—
"Ella don't be afraid," Christopher coaxed. "It's all right, I won't hurt you." Oh what a joy it was to see her again. To be free from the spell that held his heart and soul in an icy cage. "Please," he said, slowly approaching her.
"Stay back!" she cried, slipping off the end of the couch and backing into the easy chair.
Memories clashed and bounced off the walls of Christopher's mind as he slowly stitched together the pieces of his cruel journey. The curse – Queen Regina's curse they had all been dreading: Prince James had warned him that it would destroy all happy endings, that it would strip them all of what they loved. Christopher remembered thinking at the time that a dark curse had already claimed his son. How much more could this one take from him? Now of course, it was all too clear. "Ella, I'm so sorry," he said, though he knew she couldn't possibly understand what he meant. That day, that awful day they'd informed him of Rumpelstiltskin's curse, had been the last time he'd ever seen Thomas. And though he'd tried to be understanding and forgiving upon her return to Seven Gales, a dark part of him couldn't help the resentment, the grief he felt every time he looked at her. He'd taken that resentment with him into the curse…and it had prevented their reconciliation ever since. "So sorry," he mumbled again, though it hardly made up for all the hateful things he now remembered himself saying as Mitchell Herman.
"Stop saying that!" Ashley cried. "What the hell is going on?"
Christopher now shook his head, thinking maybe she just needed a bit more time. "Try to think," he urged. "Try to remember, Ella."
"Why are you calling me that? What is going on?" she practically yelled, hunched over her daughter, protecting her from this strange development. Was Mitchell Herman going crazy? Crazy… she thought suddenly…Sheriff…remove this woman at once…she's obviously unstable…
The persistent fear in her gaze started to trouble him. Why wasn't she waking up? Why hadn't their reconciliation been the key to unlocking Ella from Ashley's mind? Why— his eyes darted suddenly to the shoebox on the dining room table. Of course, he thought. He understood now. He understood everything. His son was a genius.
In seconds, Christopher strode across the room, plucking the box off the table and bringing it over to her. "Ashley," he said patiently, reverting to the name she knew. "I know you're really confused right now, but I promise I won't hurt you. Here," he said hastily, and held the gift out to her. "These are from Thom—" he stopped himself. "Sean."
But Ashley hadn't missed the slip. She glared at the man, wondering now if this were all some elaborate trick (though to what end she couldn't imagine). He'd started to say Thomas. Was he mocking her? Was he trying to get her to say it again? To prove she really was unstable and—
"Please," Christopher implored her.
Ashley looked deep into his eyes, scrutinizing every detail of his expression, but at last found no trace of malevolence or deceit. In fact, it was the first and only time she thought she could actually detect real feeling in his voice. Finally, though still skeptical, she set Alexandra down gently in the playpen, turned to him, and accepted the gift.
"Open it," he said gently, gesturing for her to sit back in the easy chair.
Without knowing why, Ashley complied, sinking down to the worn cushions of the beat up recliner and slid the ribbon from the box. Then, pausing to glance up at Mitchell once more, she lifted the lid and gasped. Lain quite lovingly in a bed of light blue tissue paper were two perfectly crafted slippers…made of glass. "Oh my," she said wonderingly, closing her hand around one of them and lifting it delicately from the box. "It's…it's…"
"It's yours," he said with a broad smile, remembering quite clearly the look on his son's face when he and Ella burst through the doors of Christopher's master suite, returned from his three day quest to find his mystery maiden. A perfect fit! he'd proclaimed, holding one of the original glass slippers high in one hand while the other was clasped in Ella's. I found her Pop!
Christopher crouched down before her and held out his hand. "May I?" he asked and gently took the slipper from her hands. He knew he was a poor substitute; he wished that Thomas could be here. But at the same time, he felt a force guiding him, a sense that all was exactly as it should be.
Too stunned to move, Ashley allowed Mitchell to remove her one moccasin and then ease her foot into the slipper. A perfect fit of course (legend demanded nothing less). Ashley gazed down at the slipper in awe…and then a strange force seemed to throw her backwards and she reeled back into the chair. Visions that had earlier only been faint echoes now flared before her eyes in a wild tangle of forms and colors.
"I don't have that right, your Majesty. Because of me, both your son and grandchild are in terrible danger…"
"You saw how cruel they were towards her, Pop…You know what she lived through…"
"Ella…What did you promise him?..."
"Our baby…"
"Ella?"
"Save it for the honeymoon your highness…"
"Ella can you hear me?"
"As long as I'm alive…you will never go back to that life…"
"Ella open your eyes!"
"My dear Ella…we're thrilled to have you join our family...join our family…
…join our family…
In one last explosion of images, her eyes flew open…and Ella looked breathlessly at the king. Christopher's hands were clasped tightly around her arms, holding her steady against the wave of memories crashing into the walls of her brain. She was panting, holding tightly to him for support. When at last she caught her breath, she drew back from the king, registered the fatherly affection in his eyes, and started to weep. "Oh your Majesty," she cried, collapsing to the floor. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm so so sorry."
Alexandra's crying in the background echoed her own as Ella's last days in Christopher's palace came rushing back to her. How many times had she tried to summon the strength to confront him, to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness for what happened to his son?
But the king required no such confessions or pleas. There was nothing to forgive. There was never anything to forgive really, except his own stubborn avoidance of their pain in the wake of Thomas's disappearance. "Ella look at me," he said softly, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. "It's over now…all of it."
"I should never have made that deal, never tried to go back on the contract—"
"My dear that was almost thirty years ago," he gave a hearty laugh at the realization, still somewhat baffled by how the events of their old world can seem so recent and at the same time so much a part of the past. "It's over now, the curse, the contract, everything."
Ella blinked a few times, still getting her bearings. She remembered everything as Ashley of course but the final moments she spent alone in her bedchamber, watching the dark clouds of the queen's curse infect the land, were still so fresh in her mind. "I…I know, your Majesty, I…I just—"
But the king shook his head, squeezing her hand as he pulled both of them to their feet. "Please Ella," he grinned. "Call me Christopher."
…
DISCLAIMER: Lines from this chapter are from sources of varying mediums of literature and art:
Ever After – "A woman would do practically anything for the love of a daughter, your majesty"
Into the Woods – "You can never love someone else's child the way you love your own"
Paul Laurence Dunbar's "Life's Tragedy" – "Hot passions of untempered youth"
Homer's The Odyssey – characters of Circe and Helios and the allusion to the "Cattle of the Sun God"
Beauty and the Beast – "a tale as old as time"
***Thanks go out to Fruitality, sgcycle, hfce, The Pris, Rebecca and all my regulars who are constantly pushing me to do more and take this story to the next level. Thanks also to all the newcomers for increased readership and support! "Toll Bridge" is so much fun to write and I am so enjoying being able to share it!
Much more to come, obviously. Stay tuned for more on Dawn Charles, Shane Pilfer, and Matt Clancy, as well as a return to SOMEONE's favorite villain…yeah, you know who you are.
Take care for now!***
