A/N: At long last, here is the update everyone has been waiting patiently (or impatiently) for. I am terribly sorry that it took such a long time to update, but my finals dominated my waking hours for the past two weeks or so. I just hope this chapter lives up to everyone's expectations and makes up for the wait.
Emma had given this a lot of thought.
There was only one way to deal with Regina and save Henry. It was a perfect plan. It was foolproof. Why hadn't she thought of it before? If she truly was a savior, this was simply one of those tough decisions she was going to have to make for the good of the townspeople. Though, she doubted anyone else in town would openly complain. No one ever persecuted Dorothy for melting the Wicked Witch.
It all started with the ringing of a bell.
"Sheriff," Regina coldly greeted as she poked her head out from behind her door. The inviting aroma of lasagna teased Emma's nose. But Regina's lithe body blocked her view of the interior of her sprawling, marvelous mansion. "What the hell do you think you're doing on my porch?"
Regina armed herself with that cocky hand-on-hip glare. It made Emma's blood boil. The mayor was always so pompous, so aggravatingly self-righteous, thinking herself above the other folk of Storybrooke. Enough was enough.
"Henry invited me," she responded nonchalantly. She purposefully made it sound as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, just to dig deeper under Regina's milky skin.
The expression on her pinched face remained rigidly cool, but there was swirling black tension underneath the surface. A hand latched onto the edge of the door as though prepared to slam it, trembling in…anger? Or fear? The door quivered under her grasp—the mayor wanted so desperately to slam it in Emma's face.
"Do you honestly think I would allow you inside my house, eating my lasagna, leaving little blonde hairs on my furniture after what you've done to me?" Regina scoffed boldly.
Apparently, she was still convinced of being in control. But Emma smiled darkly. Regina had no idea what was coming. This would be as exciting as an episode of Punk'd, except Ashton Kutcher wouldn't randomly hop out of her bushes with a camera crew.
"Oh, I didn't come for dinner," Emma countered. She devoured the sight of Regina's lips twitching, her glorious smirk faltering. It was beginning to dawn on her. She stiffened like a cardboard cut-out in her fancy heels, the wrinkling of her forehead betraying her confusion. "I came for you. We all did."
Before Regina's lips could form one of the thousand troubling questions invading her twisted mind, Emma snapped her fingers over her shoulder. From behind trees, bushes, and Regina's car they came, slippery shadows in the night: Mary Margaret with a candlestick, Ruby with a kitchen knife, Archie with a wrench, Leroy with a rusty pipe, Granny with a revolver, and Henry…
Henry was standing at the top of the marble staircase with a rope slung over his shoulder.
"What is this? A live-action game of Clue?" Regina could only wish. Emma swung her head to Granny, a signal that set the old woman on Regina. The gun looked far more dangerous in her hands than it would in anyone else's, including the so-called Evil Queen herself.
Regina balked and retreated inside her house in an effort to escape Granny, turning instead to Henry who was slowly descending the stairs. There was no way a ten year old could best her and tie her up. She only reached the hall before David stepped in front of her, having emerged from the kitchen. He was licking sauce off his fingers.
"Just for the record, you have excellent taste in lasagna," he praised Regina. Over the Mayor's shoulder, Granny narrowed her eyes to slits, daring him to repeat that sentiment. That gun shifted an inch or two. "But your lasagna is nowhere near the quality and brilliance of Granny's lasagna!"
Granny nodded curtly. Mary Margaret's green eyes bolted open in sheer incredulity.
"David, I thought you said my lasagna was your favorite!" David's head spun wildly from Regina to Granny to Mary Margaret, around and around in circles until he looked possessed. He shrugged sheepishly to Mary Margaret.
"I do love your lasagna, Mary Margaret…but Granny's the one with the gun." He pointed to Granny frantically. That old woman seemed perfectly happy handling the weapon.
Under Emma's guidance, David and Archie pounced on Regina like hungry lions, securing her limbs. With their arms hooked through hers, David and Archie appeared ready to frolic with Regina through a field of daisies instead of carrying out a plan that would mean the wellbeing of the entire town. Henry slid down the banister railing and landed swiftly on his feet. He handed over the rope while Granny kept the gun trained on Regina's chest. David fumbled with the rope until Granny impatiently shoved him out of the way and professionally hog-tied Regina's limbs, using a broomstick to secure her hands.
Emma snapped her fingers again and her gang filed out of the house, carrying Regina upside-down like a tribal offering. They set her down before her precious apple tree. On Emma's cue, Granny begrudgingly untied her and Regina scowled at being handled so roughly.
"Have you all lost your minds? What do you put in that iced tea?" Regina demanded of Granny. The old woman strode forward in a rage worse than any Regina could muster. Leroy sang an old Van Halen tune under his breath: Granny's got a gun…Granny's got a gun…
"What did you say about my iced tea, you overgrown tarantula? Repeat it, I dare you!" Regina quit dusting off her suit and backed up against the tree. And we didn't even have to smash the apples, Emma thought with wicked amusement. This was easier than she thought it would be. Maybe Granny should run for Mayor.
Archie and Ruby took advantage of Regina's dismay to tie her against the tree, the thick rope coiling around her waist. The Mayor probably loathed her beloved tree then, especially since the bark was not the most comfortable of surfaces. She squirmed and writhed about, but Archie and Ruby were already pulling the ends of the ropes into tight knots.
"This will make for a great song," Ruby declared, winking at Archie over Regina's head. Ruby hummed a catchy tune, bobbing on her heels. "Black Cow and the Apple Tree. It'll be a hit." Emma cocked an eyebrow, but Ruby went on tying Regina up.
"Didn't someone already make that song? Black Horse and the Cherry Tree?" Archie and Ruby exchanged odd glances.
"Never heard of it," they answered simultaneously. Of course not, Emma thought. Everyone's living in their own personal bubble in this town. She watched the crowd circle around the tree, anticipating Regina's fate. Archie pulled on the rope until his hands turned red and Regina's chest heaved from the restriction.
"Let go of me this instant! I command you!" Regina screeched, but no one cared to listen. That superiority of hers was a tough shell to crack, apparently. Emma shook her head pitifully. Perhaps power was the only real love Regina ever had.
"Need I remind you that you're the one tied to the apple tree? I'd say you have as much authority as a dove hell-bent on world domination, Regina," she retorted. Knowing Regina, she probably kept a dove like that as a pet. Unless it was a parrot that repeated everything she said in her office.
"Tighter! She needs to feel our pain!" Granny shouted on the top of her lungs. Emma severely doubted the old woman had endured much pain lately. In fact, she looked positively happy about knocking Ruby out of the way and doing the tying herself.
Regina's eyes boggled like an anger management doll. Her head lolled weakly against the trunk of the tree—if Emma peered closely enough, she thought she saw something glistening in Regina's eyes. She had never seen Regina shed a single tear before. Up to this point, she didn't even think it was remotely possible.
"I just wanted to win for once," she moaned.
Any sympathy Emma may have started to feel quickly turned to ash, a blazing fire of disgust rising in her chest. Regina was actually trying to justify herself. It offered Emma a dark glimpse of Regina's soul—there was no regret there at all, nothing but blame and hatred and the twisted belief that she was in the right. It made Emma's golden hair stand on end with anger.
Emma charged toward Regina and caught her by the throat. Regina's head tilted back against the tree trunk, her pulse racing wildly under Emma's palm. She reveled in the way the formerly vindictive mayor's eyes flew wide in apprehension. A cool smile curved Emma's lips as she reached a hand above Regina's dark head and claimed a juicy red apple from the leaves of the tree. Good enough to eat.
Then she squeezed it mercilessly.
Her fingernails wormed their way into the crimson skin. Instead of a crisp, strong fruit, the apple soured and melted into soiled black waste. It drenched Emma's pale fingers and burned her fair skin with the equivalence of battery acid. Putrid, black, unhealthy…just like Regina's soul.
"Rotten to the core," Emma muttered, her tone in the distinct unspoken manner of what-did-I-tell-you? She tossed the revolting remains of the apple away and wiped the sludge on her jeans. Regina gaped in horror at the pool of sticky tar and ash that used to be a tempting apple. "You took away our happiness. Now it's our turn to take away yours."
Emma returned to Mary Margaret's side, but only for a moment. David gladly offered his sword to her, of which she all too readily accepted by the hilt. Regina really began to squirm against the binds of the ropes to no avail. Granny had mastered many skills in her lifetime, including rope-tying.
The sword was gripped in Emma's fist with nothing short of confidence, as though she was always meant to wield it. This would solve everything. Henry would be happy. They would all be happy. If only Gold were here to witness this long-awaited moment and encourage her decision…
And suddenly he was there.
She never heard the betraying sound of his cane, muffled as it was by the soft grass. She didn't yet earn the familiar, silky notes of his Scottish accent. But she knew he was there, with her. The way Regina scooted her back up against the tree trunk confirmed as much.
There was the slightest hint of his cologne as he joined her side. Elegant fingers—fingers that had the power to elicit incredible pleasure—cupped her chin and gently directed her head toward the left. Instantly, she found herself tumbling into two pools of chocolate, rich with cunning. Though, underneath the moonlight those intelligent orbs held speckles of amber. His hand snaked along her skin, caressing her cheek. She instinctively leaned into his touch. You're here with me, she thought proudly and she could tell from the sly quirk of his lips that he perceived her relief.
"I'm a man of my word, dearie. I told you we would find a way," he lilted an instant before his hand coiled around the back of her neck and he pulled her into a passionate kiss.
It was the kind of open-mouthed kiss that made her weak at the knees, his arms enveloping her like warm ebony wings with the sword vertically pressed between them, grinding against their thighs. Regina audibly gagged in disgust, but that only seemed to spur the fire between them. He tasted like tea…and a hint of fudge…Emma hastily returned his kiss, her arm splayed across his back with his muscles riveting beneath the surface.
Maybe, after all was said and done here, she and Gold could put that apple tree to good use.
Eventually, the kiss broke with both of them breathing heavily. Emma whimpered at the loss of his lips, but the way his mouth trailed across her jaw promised there would be more to come. If Regina wasn't tied up, she'd most likely be seizing on the floor from having to watch their kiss unfold. She did look a little green.
Emma readjusted the sword in her hand, testing its weight and feel. Holding her close, Gold's hand slipped over the one that gripped the hilt.
"You and I shall do it together," Gold whispered against the lobe of her ear, placing a tender kiss just below it. Emma nodded. It felt right to live up to their promise of enduring this as one, of finally giving Henry the happiness he deserved. And together, they drove the blade of the sword into Regina's heart.
…
"Die, die, die!"
"Ooh, ooh, oof, ow!" What in all the realms…?
Gold had been dreaming peacefully about being stuck on a deserted island with Emma. There they were under the blazing sun, the crystal clear water lapping their bare ankles, their bodies rolling together in hot white sand as they made sweet love…and he brutally awoke to find his darling wife attacking his chest. She was half on top of him, her fist pounding away above his heart, stuck in the web of her own dream.
"This is what you deserve!"
He could barely breathe, his chest shuddering from the way her fist struck it without mercy. What in gods did he do to deserve this? He was being given unnecessary CPR without the mouth-to-mouth.
"Is this…ugh…about the…pickles?"
He coughed and squirmed as she straddled his hips to pin him down to the mattress. He tried to lift her off of his body, but Emma was a force to be reckoned with tonight. A stone statue would have been easier to move. The heel of her hand struck his chest and he could feel his heart racing just underneath the surface of his skin.
"This…is…for…Henry!" She was beyond his reach. She wouldn't even respond to the sound of his voice calling out her name for dear life. Was this his unexpected fate? To die in his bed at his wife's hand due to some terrible dream?
There was only one logical thing to do.
Gripping her hands, he wrenched her body flush against his. Her nails curved into his arm, scratching the skin ruthlessly, but he didn't care. His lips sought out hers, demanding enough to make her pause in her white fury. Her mouth inevitably opened for him and he plundered it greedily. Taking advantage of her loss of control, he urged her onto her back and used the new angle to kiss her deeper than ever before. He knew she was coming back to her senses when her fingers threaded through his hair and stroked his back.
Thank gods.
He reluctantly broke away from her mouth to gaze down into a pair of lucid green eyes.
"Isn't it a bit late in this stage of our marriage to kill me and make off with my riches?" Oh, his chest was sore. He couldn't even rightly appreciate the way blood instantly poured into Emma's cheeks, giving it a raw pink glow as she realized her mistake.
"Sorry. I was killing Regina," she muttered. Her hand pressed against his chest—ow, ow, ow—and he relinquished his hold on her.
"That explains everything," he mused, rubbing the spot where Emma cruelly attacked him. She leaned over to kiss the tender spot and it eased a bit. He could feel the magic bubbling inside her, even if she did not recognize it yet. "I, on the other hand, require a heart transplant. I like it better when you dream about me having my way with you."
"You did kiss me in the dream," she admitted, fluffing her badgered pillow. And he wondered why these sheets were always so messy and rumpled in the morning. Her words caught up with him and excitement trumped the remaining discomfort of his suffering.
"I was there? Fantastic," he gleefully exclaimed. Back in the Enchanted Forest, the royals never invited him to any of the executions in the kingdoms. He always had to pretend to be a beggar woman selling flowers.
But Emma didn't respond to his uplifted mood. Her head was turned away from him on the pillow, though he knew she wasn't attempting to fall back asleep. Her eyes were wide open and she was staring distantly toward the window. Maybe that dream had bothered her more than he assumed.
What she needed was some unraveling, some loosening up.
Looming over her body, he lowered his mouth to the rising curve of her shoulder and seductively trailed his lips across her soft flesh. Nothing. How odd. Usually he had her moaning by now. His hand delved under the blankets and teasingly traced her hip. His leg nudged her thigh. He buried his face into her blonde curls.
Nothing. Not even a peep of pleasure.
This kind of thing never happened for him before.
"I've been thinking," she started, leaning up on one elbow. Ah, so it was this kind of nuisance.
There was that overly somber tone and the implication that something terrible was coming. The cowardly part of his personality took charge and he prepared to do anything he could to stall this conversation. That sort of conversation threatened change, of which he might not be prepared for.
"There will be plenty of time for that in the morning," he said, patting her thigh. He leaned down to kiss her lips, but she turned her head at the last second and he caught her cheek instead. His eyelids parted in surprise, only to have his stomach plunge at the miffed expression dominating her hard features. "Am I in need of Listerine?"
Not even a chuckle. He checked his breath, just in case. Not too bad. Nothing to gripe about, anyway. Had he somehow done the wrong thing? Women always disliked having their ideas ignored, even if it was half past midnight.
"Fine. I won't tell you," she replied briskly and rolled over so that the only part of her he could see was her slender back. It left him disconcerted and more than a little irritated. This must be one of her ruses to entice him into biting the hook. Well, it wasn't going to work. Two could play at that game.
"Have it your way. Enjoy your inner thoughts," he snapped and copied her posture.
He thrust a fist into his pillow a couple of times to fluff it up and buried his head in it. All she would earn was his back, an eye for an eye. Honestly, why did his wife feel the need to be so damn stubborn? It was a trait they both shared from time to time and caused more clashing of their heads than he preferred. Well, he hoped she liked waiting.
There was absolutely no chance of him taking the bait. If either of them were going to crack, it would be her. It should only take a matter of three seconds.
Three…
Two…
Two and a half…
"Alright, what's on your mind?"
Three seconds had been three seconds too long. It killed him to crack first, but Emma was unnervingly silent on her side of the bed. Who knew whether she could truly hold out until morning? Not knowing would eat him alive from the inside out. He flipped over and touched her shoulder—and witnessed the victorious grin spreading on her lips. The clever minx.
"I knew you couldn't resist," she gloated, finally giving him peace in turning around to curl into his arms. That felt much better. He kissed her forehead to prove his gratitude.
The humor faded from her eyes as quickly as it had come, replaced with stark seriousness. His stomach coiled as he waited for the topic of this conversation to make itself known. Something was deeply bothering his wife and he had a feeling it all connected back to the conundrum of Regina. Always her, hanging over their heads like a churning black thunderhead that could erupt into a world disaster at any moment.
"I don't want to kill Regina," she blurted out.
She shuddered in his embrace, a fragile thing desperate for comfort. Emma was at a crossroads about what to do for Henry and desperation was clouding her judgment. It pained him to see her so wired and helpless. As for killing Regina…the last thing he ever hoped in this marriage was that he corrupted Emma's purity and morals.
"Emma," he murmured her name to capture her undivided attention. Those glistening green eyes, the same shade as her mother's, gazed deeply into his with noticeable hope, even if it was but a flickering flame, as if he might somehow possess the answer she was seeking. He would do anything to preserve that strength and goodwill inside her. "Listen to me carefully. You are the most heroic woman…no, person…I have ever had the fortune to meet. You always appreciate the sanctity of a life, always protecting those in need of it. Killing is not something a hero is born to do, nor are the consequences worth taking the life of another. You'll regret it and it will change you. Don't. Leave the dirty work to those with fewer morals."
Emma looked awe-inspired by his words, but he didn't miss the glint of something deeper—wariness, alarm, suspicion. She latched onto his forearm, a pleading gesture. There was that slight furrowing of the brow, her mouth twisting in a shrewd pout. That was her serious look.
"You obviously misinterpreted me. I don't want you killing her, either. We shouldn't have to stoop to her level just to settle the score with her," she reasoned. She held his gaze fiercely and he knew what she wanted to hear. Every time he shifted his eyes, she followed. There was no escaping. "Give me your word that you won't kill her. The last thing Henry needs is his stepfather going Rambo."
He should have gone back to sleep when he had the chance. This situation could have easily been avoided. Until breakfast, at least.
"I give you my word. I will not kill her," he consented. Habits were hard to break, though—the deal was already spinning inside his mind, the details picked apart until he found a loophole. Most people would be satisfied to have his word. Not Emma. She knew him too well.
"Let me make it clearer. I don't want you to kill her…or torture her with the intent of making her suffer. Please." There was that word—the one she knew would destroy his motivation. He groaned. The loophole burst into flames.
"Why must you ruin my fun? What else do you propose we do to avenge everything she's ever done? Stick her in a jail cell and charge people fifty cents each to throw a tomato at her?"
His money would burn a hole in his pocket if that were the case. It was a passing daydream, anyhow—there was hardly any feasible way to prove the extent of Regina's evil. She would be out and about the town of Storybrooke in the matter of hours. Killing her might be the easy way out, but it was a permanent solution. He certainly had no use of her anymore.
"I can't kill her. That's not me. But we need to stop tearing at each other's throats and throwing daggers the minute we turn our backs on each other. You already said I couldn't face a custody battle. It would only hurt Henry and he doesn't deserve that. Running is out of the question. Replacing him with a robot Henry won't do any good. Regina would probably notice when he starts making weird buzzing noises and spewing oil over his cornflakes," she thought aloud, mostly to herself.
She nestled her head on his shoulder and tiredly closed her eyes. He knew she was very much awake, just mulling it over in silence. There was little hope to be had in their limited range of options.
"So, what do you propose, then?"
His manner was clipped and tense, more than he preferred it to be. The whole problem irked him the wrong way. This was his stepson, a member of his family. He refused to allow Regina the satisfaction of winning. Emma inclined her head to stare up at him. She looked as worn as he felt.
"I propose…shared custody of Henry."
For a long moment, the only sound that could be heard in the bedroom was the howling wind through the trees outside. There weren't even any crickets chirping. Gold blinked quizzically, trying to decide if he heard Emma correctly or if he was just that sleepy. This was the last straw he expected her to grasp.
This was her master plan? Bend to Regina's will and split Henry down the middle like the banana in Granny's sundaes?
"Oh, is it my turn to say something utterly ridiculous? Let me see….ah…ah, yes. Damn. David Nolan knows how to rock a pair of leather pants. What is his secret?" Gold made an exaggerated show of batting his eyelashes. "See, that was ridiculous. Your turn."
Emma fought against the urge to crack a smile and her shoulders caved as she realized he wasn't taking this seriously. What was he supposed to say to that? This was as likely to work as a snowball's chance in hell. He could already detect a few variables that might hinder it. The first being Regina's incapability of sharing her precious stool in Granny's Diner, let alone what she presumed to be "her son."
"This is your solution? Humor Regina's whims and offer her chances in hopes she'll see the error of her ways? Not very promising, is it? I'll save you the time and energy, dearie. The only thing Regina will do is take advantage of your goodwill," he grumbled.
His intuition worked its wonders, setting the alarms off full-blast in his head. This opportunity of peace might satisfy Emma, but it would only fuel Regina's attempts to have Henry for herself. And if she made the mistake of harming his wife or his stepson to get what she wanted, his promise to Emma would be null and void.
He would kill her. Slowly.
"Maybe this is the chance that she needs. Both of us can have Henry in our life. If she drives me out of town or I kill her, it will mean Henry's suffering. This is the only logical solution," she reasoned. He wasn't about to be fed that line. Logical wasn't a word that could be found in Regina's vocabulary. He wasn't going to pretend that Regina was sane enough to agree.
But it was getting harder to keep his eyes trained on Emma's green ones. Gods, she wanted to believe in this so badly.
"Let's at least try it. And then if it fails…"
Her voice trailed off into the night. If it failed, there would be no reasonable options left. Emma didn't want to consider that alternative, but it was written on the wall all the same. He knew this was going to end in disaster—these things always did. But Emma's fingers were scrabbling over his chest and he found it impossible to deny her the hope she craved.
"By all means, try. Don't say I didn't warn you ahead of time," he retorted. "She'll never agree to it. Not unless you replace our mayor with her good twin."
Emma swallowed his weak compliance eagerly and balanced her head in the crook of his neck. Gingerly, he weaved his fingers through her silky hair as her breathing deepened. It was as though the newfound hope was a lullaby rocking her to dreamland.
"It will work. It has to…for Henry," she mumbled lazily, teetering on the edge of sleep.
He remained wide awake long after she slipped into unconsciousness, staring critically at the ceiling until he thought the plaster would crack under his severe gaze. He ruminated over the countless variables of Emma's proposal to Regina. He thought of how much of a downfall this could be and how he could possibly protect his family against Regina's wrath.
This would work. It had to. If not, Regina was going to have hell to pay.
….
Gold had tried many spontaneous things in his long life. Impromptu acting at the crack of dawn was not one of them.
"Just sit still, would you? I'll stand here. You'll be Regina," Emma instructed, applying enough force onto his shoulders to make him plop into one of the kitchen chairs. Even though she hardly stirred through the night, she was anxious enough to try practicing what to say to Regina. Her husband had all the enthusiasm of a chicken crossing the road against oncoming traffic.
"Why must I be Regina? Emma, dear, I know you believe you wear the pants in this relationship, but it's only a phrase," he moaned.
Emma clamped her hands firmly on his shoulders to keep him from rising to his feet. All he desired was a warm Toaster Strudel before heading down to the shop. Instead, he was role-playing and not in an attractive way.
"You have to be Regina because I am the one proposing to Regina," she explained for the tenth time. The corners of his lips tweaked. "Stop smirking. You know what I mean."
"In that case, I'll need a moment to get into character," he complied. If this proved to be the fastest way to earn that Toaster Strudel, he would go along with it.
He cleared his throat roughly and put on the fiercest glare he could muster. Gods, how did Regina's face stay this way without aching? Emma had to stifle a chuckle—from here, it looked like her husband had sucked on a lemon.
"Here goes nothing, sweetie. I demand my son! You're all a bunch of idiots mucking about! I hate you all! Why is the sky blue? It should be black to match my attire! Burn, burn, burn!"
Emma checked the antique clock on the wall. Just shy of seven. She leaned her hip against the kitchen table and waited for Gold to cease his acting exercises. Though, his impression of Regina was so close that he deserved an Emmy.
"Are you done?" Gold inhaled deeply through the nose, then slowly released it. His shoulders slumped and the energy rushed from his body as if something had forcibly sucked it from his lips.
"Yes. Best get on with it. It's rude to keep Your Majesty waiting," he drawled, pressing a hand to his chest. Oh, he had wanted to use that title for himself for a long, long time. Now he was simply exploiting his acting skills.
Emma brushed the stray strands of hair from her forehead and paced in front of him. She pictured Regina in Gold's place, but it wasn't an easy feat. If only he would stop staring at her so intensely. On the one hand, it induced a pleasing flutter in her stomach while disturbing her concentration at the same time.
"Right. So…well…here's the thing…"
"Witch got your tongue?" Gold pinched his fingers together. Emma stopped pacing and gazed down upon him with annoyance. A few seconds of silence passed before she deemed it safe to continue. Starting from the top…
"Regina," she choked out, weaving her hands together. Gold tented his fingers under his chin in anticipation of what she had to say. It made it harder to ignore the fact that he was obviously not Regina. "We—"
"We?" Gold snorted, making it sound like a curse word. He was deeply embedded in his character, channeling Regina's sneer with impeccable flair. "You make it seem personal. What part of I hate you all don't you understand? Glare, glare, glare."
Well, she couldn't complain that he wasn't devoted to his role of Regina. He willingly embraced the challenge of it. Any minute now, he might be walking in heels in order to copy her rage-strut. Place him in front of Regina herself and it'd be like looking in a mirror. It irked Emma to no end.
"Okay…You and I need to talk about Henry." Gold lounged back in his seat, scrambling for a Regina-esque response. He folded his hands over his middle and tilted his head condescendingly. Emma groaned as he began to fluff his hair to emphasize Regina's narcissism.
"What's there to talk about? He's my son, even though you birthed him and honor better values than I do. I'll ignore that part for my own benefit. Where are my apples?" Emma wrung her hands together, one of her knuckles cracking. Gold eyed her expectantly. She exploded with a wretched sigh and dropped into the chair across from him.
"Yeah, I can't do this. But I need to do it for Henry. What am I supposed to say?" Gold immediately did away with the façade—such sweet relief—and leaned forward in his chair. He clasped her wrists and rubbed circles into her palms with his thumbs.
"The truth," he answered, squeezing her palms. "One of the countless variables that separates you from the likes of her. Be the better person. Just remember that her way of viewing the world, that mirror that she glowers into day after day, is a tad smudged and cracked. Have we finished with the impromptu acting lessons?"
Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded. It was nearly time she headed out for the station, anyway. As he rose to his feet, she drew in close enough to place a chaste kiss on his lips. There would be plenty of time for longer exchanges later tonight—or three bottles of wine, depending on Regina's rage level.
Once he heard the door close, with Emma skating down the hallway faster than usual, he made his way to the freezer in search of that Toaster Strudel. Henry had introduced him to them not too long ago and it was the most delicious thing he tasted in the morning hours, next to Pop-Tarts and Emma's delectable flavor. He opened the freezer and ignored the vapor that seeped out in slithery tendrils as he scanned the contents, looking for the box…
Ah, there it was.
He grabbed it up, but it was much too light. There was something wrong here. He remembered there being another Toaster Strudel rolling around inside. He shook the box and then lifted it to his eye. And glared. This time he wasn't role-playing Regina. No wonder Emma was in such a hurry to escape the house this morning!
The last Toaster Strudel…was gone!
"Emma!"
…..
The phone call came out of nowhere, splitting across the silence of the shop.
The ear-piercing trill of the shop's decrepit phone startled Gold from his chair, so much that he landed on his funny bone on the floor. The impact ricocheted along his elbow and he growled in pain. Whoever was on the other end of that phone better have a good reason for the not-so-funny bruise he already felt sprouting.
He had been seconds away from an uneasy but much needed nap behind his desk. It had been impossible to get any sleep last night and it, disappointingly, had very little to do with Emma. She had slept soundly. Combine that with his lack of a Toaster Strudel for breakfast and he wasn't in a very cheery mood.
Muttering curses under his breath, he limped his way through the black barricade and emerged into the empty front area of his shop. Honestly, he didn't know why he even bothered dragging his feet down here when there were never any customers. A tumbleweed should blow through any moment. The only people who came through that door were Emma, Regina during one of her emotional malfunctions, and Henry when he wanted to explore the wonders of his shop. Oh, then there were the people who complained and begged for an extra week in rent, their family pictures never too far from their pockets.
It was all for the sake of appearances.
"Yes?" He barked into the phone.
For what seemed like a century, there was nothing but silence. Gold gaped at the phone in his hand, wondering if this was an immature prank call. Who in this town would be daft enough to do that? He wished he possessed even an inkling of magic, so he could send a jolt of electricity through the phone and see if anyone was alive over there.
Gradually, the sound of heavy breathing invaded his ear.
"Boss?"
Gold winced as Danvers' abnormally shrill voice pierced the silence. The man didn't call very often, which meant his reason for calling now must be a dire, urgent one. Gold licked his lips in wary anticipation. Ten to one, it had to do with Regina. He recalled Emma practicing her proposal to Regina this morning. What if Regina had already made her move in claiming Henry?
"You're not going to believe this," Danvers continued, sounding quite nervous. Gold's nails scratched the glass of the cabinet as his fingers curled into his palm.
"A freak bolt of lightning set Regina's apple tree on fire? Shall I bring a bag of jumbo marshmallows?" If only. That would be one opportunity for s'mores that would never end. His voice lacked humor in exchange for cynicism. Danvers slipped back into uncomfortable speechlessness. "Can you hear me now?"
"You asked that I keep an eye on the hatter's 'daughter', just in case he decides to make contact with her," his bodyguard reminded him. He sounded guarded, holding something back. Secrecy was not included in his contract. The only reason Gold had divulged the hatter's "delusion" of Grace was to maintain that surveillance.
"And?" Gold's nerves tingled from the direction this conversation was heading. The hand that clamped over the head of his cane tightened until his knuckles hurt. He imagined running it through Jefferson's hat before impaling the hatter himself. "Has he?"
He restrained himself from grabbing his keys, locking up shop, and dashing down to the school. It was a good thing, too, since the next words out of Danvers' mouth were not the ones he expected.
"No, sir….but the Mayor has. She put a…looks like a playing card on the plate of the girl's bike," he explained dazedly. Obviously, Danvers did not know what to make of it, but he had enough sense to know it was suspicious behavior on Regina's part. It took all of two seconds for Gold to put two and two together.
"She's requesting a meeting with the hatter," he realized. Regina must know that Jefferson would keep close surveillance over his daughter. Of course he would—Grace was the only thing of value to him in this world. But why was Regina drawing him out of his hole? What did she hope to accomplish? What was she planning?
"Thank you, Danvers. Take the rest of the afternoon off. Enjoy a burger at Granny's, why don't you?" Gold ignored his bodyguard's cries of gratitude and disconnected, letting the phone fall into its cradle.
With purposeful strides, he burst through the curtain between the shop and the back room, nearly tearing it off its rings. He crossed the room and flung open the doors of a wooden cabinet. Inside was an assortment of items as he used this cabinet for personal storage. Matches, rolls of tape, extra suits folded in the corner should there be any accidents in his shop…
Gold's hand snaked inside and snatched up a pair of leather gloves. The pads of the fingers were a bit worn, but this was his favorite pair. He didn't want to risk getting his hands dirty. Flexing his elegant fingers, the adrenaline already pumping through his veins, he succumbed to the second skin of leather. He wiggled his hand to adjust to the restriction of the gloves.
Then he retrieved his cane and ventured toward the door of his shop, keys jingling in his pocket, a hint of urgency in his step. Jefferson might not have the foolishness to show up outside Grace's school, but his curiosity was always one of his weaknesses. Any concerned parent would demand to know why the town's deranged mayor was hanging around his child's bike. This was the next best thing, indeed.
Regina would cross paths with Jefferson and put whatever impulsive plan she concocted in her dark head into motion. The hatter would emerge from the shadows, once and for all. And when he did, he would have a nasty surprise waiting for him.
…
I have many readers to thank (mostly for their patience in waiting for this chapter): DaesGatling, Huntress4455, DragonRose4, Kim, Pommyth, csuecad, Revenessa, C.S. Tolkien, Lady-Shiroi, Nightshade's sydneylover150, liliesandroses, megumisakura, isara-love, deathbringer88, Newland Archer, la-stella-immortale, The-Writer2012, ParanormalMoonlight, discotimelord, sbcarri, The Auburn Girl, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, Russian8once1psych7, reginamillz, FortunesFavour, PrincessofSea, SwanQueen4055, and Super-Twi-Harry-Heroes-Fan. Thanks, everyone!
For those reading my Rose Among Thorns story, I should have that updated early next week. I technically should be working on an English final, but I figured I would offer up this marvelous treat.
