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Chapter 3

Present

Emma stood awkwardly in the doorway, in the center of the first floor of the rich-looking house. She placed her hands on her hips, desperate for some semblance of control. "How did he find me?" she finally asked, at a loss.

Regina crossed the room, tucking her hair back as two cut-crystal glasses were placed on the side table. She worked with stiff motions, not looking up for even a beat as she readied ice and opened the decanter. "No idea. When I adopted him, he was only three weeks old. Records were sealed. I was told the birth mother didn't want to have any contact."

She stiffened, and quickly looked away. "You were told right," she said absently, and her fingers itched a bit. Miss Swan, it's the best choice. Girl, you can't do this. … Emma, you can change your mind.

A splash sounded as she poured one of the drinks. "And the father?"

A door sounded upstairs and Emma glanced up briefly before replying. "There was one," she said, hand clenching as she rocked back on her heels. She didn't want to think about Neal and the harm he did to her on so many levels, not now.

"Do I need to be worried about him?" Regina demanded.

Her jacket felt too tight, constricting her as even the fleeting reminder was too much. But there was something else, some partial memory digging into her brain as footsteps began at the hallway above them. "Nope," she said, popping the 'p' deliberately. "He doesn't even know."

The other woman turned, a smile that looked more predatory as she sauntered forward, drink in hand. "Do I need to be worried about you, Miss Swan?" she asked, threat barely intoned but clearly there.

She took the drink, keeping careful eye contact while her face was a mask. "Absolutely not."

"Madame Mayor."

She turned to watch the man from before take the stairs carefully, and she leaned onto the frame. She felt a little drained already from the talk, and his accented voice didn't help things. There was something so strangely familiar about his voice, the pooling of vowels and consonants, the soft cadence. Almost like she knew already how it would sound before his lips shaped around the words.

"You can relax. Other than being a tired little boy, Henry's fine."

She couldn't help but stare as she sipped her drink, swallowing a mouthful. His frame was lean, lithe as he turned the corner. His words were directed to the brunette opposite her, though his gaze drifted to her surreptitiously throughout his descent of the staircase.

"Thank you, Sheriff."

The mayor's tone was dismissive, and the man inclined his head slightly. His blue eyes caught hers for a moment, and she was almost surprised at how immediately her whole body both relaxed and ignited. She buried her nose into her drink, pretending not to notice as he bumped the railing before making his exit.

If it had been another day, she might have smiled.

"I'm sorry he's dragged you out of your life," Regina said with certainty. "I really don't know what's gotten into him." She walked to the next room, giving no room but for her to join.

Emma trailed behind, trying to keep herself on an even keel. "Kid's having a rough time. It happens," she said simply. She remembered all too well what it was like to want to know where you came from at that age: those built up stories, those wondrous imaginings. She had just hoped that being with a loving family, her … the kid wouldn't have that same need.

The fireplace was strong, and the smell of burning wood and apple was quickly making her dizzy. She sat on the sofa and clutched her drink before setting it down next to a bowl. Great, more apples. The red fruit sat in a dish, piled high and stacked deliberately.

Regina remained standing, pacing the length of the room. "You have to understand. Ever since I became mayor, balancing things has been tricky. You have a job, I assume?"

Something about her tone made her grip her glass all the more. "I keep busy, yeah," she replied.

Regina's chin rose, a sharp smile on her lips as she sat opposite her. "Imagine having another one on top of it. That's being a single mom. So, I push for order. Am I strict? I suppose. But I do it for his own good. I want Henry to excel in life. I don't think that makes me evil, do you?"

Her voice was so light and airy, the words so carefully chosen. Evil, there was that word again. Did Henry tell her that? Her chest twisted a bit, and she grimaced. "I'm sure he's just saying that because of the fairytale thing."

Something slipped over her face, the warmth out of her expression and instead she was stone. "What fairytale thing?"

"Oh, you know. His book." Regina didn't give any reaction, no indication that she knew what she was talking about, so she continued. "How he thinks everyone's a cartoon character from it? Like his shrink is Jiminy Cricket."

The woman's face was blank, but something in her eyes burned. "I'm sorry. I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Emma looked away, and a little warning bell rang within her. She did her best to ignore it, shrugging with an uneasy smile. "You know what? It's none of my business. He's your kid. And I really should be heading back." She took another sip of the drink, trying to hide her expression.

Regina rose quickly. "Of course," she said. She opened the door and turned to her expectantly.

Emma paused, the drink not completely finished. Awkwardly, she set the glass down. Regina seemed more than eager to get her out of the house.

She was practically pushed out the door, a false smile on the brunette's lips. Emma walked down the drive, the nagging feeling of something not right nibbling at her spine. She paused at the gate and looked back. The curtains of the upstairs were parted, Henry's nose pressed up against the glass.

It was just a phase, she told herself. She was just strict. He was just trying to learn.

He looked dejected, and quickly left the window. Emma's heart twisted, and she tried desperately to push it aside.

"Sweet boy, wouldn't you say?"

Her head turned quickly, surprised to be caught unaware. She was always aware of her surroundings, but somehow this man who was clumsy enough to stumble into an immovable object was able to creep up behind her defenses.

He was leaning against her car, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "I'm Graham, by the way."

The name wasn't really familiar, and she was annoyed by it. He was familiar, somehow, sort of.

"Emma," she offered. She walked a couple paces towards him. She wanted to get away from whatever this town was, whatever feelings it made stir in her. She huffed a sigh, trying to keep just enough distancing humor in her voice. "I have a long drive ahead of me, so if you could find somewhere else to lean?"

"I think it might be better if you spent the night."

Emma straightened. She could almost feel how his hands would rest along her hips, how his lean body would fit into hers, his teeth in her shoulder, and it didn't just feel like her imagination. Heat sparked in her belly, even if she was almost certain he didn't understand his own innuendo. "That's kind of forward."

"I know Regina's drinks," he started. His eyebrows rose, only innocence in those cobalt depths. "I'd hate to get out the breathalyzer."

She just barely held from rolling her eyes. He had that boyish look about him, messy hair and puppy eyes not hidden by chiseled jaw and stubbled cheeks. He was attractive, she could admit that, but there was something else.

"There's a B and B up the road," he said, gesturing with his head. "Granny's. It's a lovely place."

Her eyes narrowed. No. She needed out of this town, away from the boy, away from this man, and just away. "I hate to disappoint you," she said, coming a pace closer. "But I only had one drink."

His eyes dilated as she got in his space. She almost fumbled when she felt the heat from his body.

"And I'm way—well, I'm not going to tell you that."

He ducked his head, shy suddenly, as a blush rose just under his beard. He looked up at her from the lowered position, a smile in his eyes that struck that chord in her. She faltered for a moment, her stomach dropping out and her mind foggy.

She leaned back defensively, and had to remind herself that she couldn't stick around. "But the point is, right now, I'd blow a point oh-six. Well below the limit."

He huffed a chuckle, and pushed off her car. Momentarily, he was inside her space, the smell of him almost unlocking something tucked away from the corner of her mind. "Drive safe," he said, his accent curling around the words.

He turned and opened her door for her. She stepped into it, fighting the urge to let her fingers dance along his as she passed. She started the car, and he closed it shut. She determinedly didn't look up, didn't watch to see his expression as she sped away.

It felt wrong to leave them behind: both the strange man and the little boy who she carried. It almost terrified her how wrong it felt. She didn't belong there, she didn't belong anywhere. The feeling that she could twist and settle into that world was a new and frightening feeling.

She headed down the road, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Exhaustion curled inside her; her head throbbed as she tried to process what just happened. The night was much too much for her. She had spent the last years trying not to be effected by anyone, and that was swept away so quickly it was as if she had never made progress in the first place.

She sighed, and looked down. She startled, finding the kid's storybook on the passenger seat. She gave a quirk of a smile, shaking her head. "Sneaky bastard," she said, amusement clear. She bit her lip, contemplating turning around to return it. She looked up with in time to see her headlights catch a flash of grey, beady red and black staring her down.

She swerved quickly, the bug slipping against the rain. She hit the tree before she even had a chance to think about correcting, her head pitching forward as black encroached her vision.

XXX

Eleven Years Ago

"Wake up."

She stirred at the first sound of the voice, panic clinging to her. Where was she? What was happening? Were the hunters back?

"Emma, wake up."

She blinked awake, wondering when it was she fell asleep. She brushed dirt out of her hair and face, noting the crick in her neck from laying on the ground. Her bleary eyes found him, noting the lack of fear. She relaxed slightly. "What is it?"

He nodded to the distance. "You can see the fairies from here. Once they're gone, the others will probably be going back to town. You need to get ready to move, just in case they come through this way."

She sighed and leaned up. She noticed he'd put the fire out, and she pulled her jacket closer. It wasn't too cold, but the chill of wishing away the fear of those men made her so. Then, it clicked what he'd said. "Fairies don't—"

He sighed and reached out, tilting her chin in the direction he wanted. "You'll miss them if all you do is talk."

Her eyes widened, and she was left speechless.

A dance of color, of blues and pinks and yellows and purples, washed across the forest canopy. In each light, tiny weightless women with glimmering wings waved shimmering wands. They were clear, even in the distance.

"Wha—What—Wolf boy, what's going on?"

His face screwed up slightly. "Maybe you do need to think of something else to call me," he noted. He gestured to the lights once more. "I think they're collecting the fairy dust. The mines aren't far from here."

"Fairy dust?" she murmured.

She must still be dreaming. There was no other explanation for it. No explanation for the glittering women in tiny balls of light. No explanation for a wolf that clings protectively to a boy's side. No explanation for waking in the woods after seeing headlights careening toward her –

"I must be in a coma," she finally decided aloud.

He gave her one of those looks again, ones that said he was exceptionally perplexed by everything she did.

She didn't really care, not anymore. Now that she was convinced that this was some weird sort of coma dream, she could finally relax.

"Yeah, the fairy dust. They should be done collecting around five, and that's when those men will be up. They'll want to get in some last hunting in the pre-dawn."

She watched the iridescent beings in silence for a few beats. She let out a short, hysterical giggle, then pulled her hair through her hands. Of course this was a dream. It made so much sense.

She leaned back with a contented sigh, and she winced slightly as her elbows scrapped against bark. She frowned as she inspected the scratches, the new wounds. Were they new? Were they from now, or from the crash?

She shook her head as if to clear it, and refocused on the fairies. Then she turned to him, finding his features softened. He looked peaceful, for once his face not a hard line of control. "You like it," she surmised.

He stiffened, but then simply shrugged. "I used to want a little of the luck. But it's not for animals, I guess."

A wash of concern flitted ever her. Why was she so concerned for this boy her coma-addled mind produced? Still, she wanted to offer something, anything to help get the self-deprecating tone out of his voice. "There's no fairy godmothers for us, wolf boy. We just take what we got and survive."

"You're right," he muttered. "Just wait for them to finish."

She bit down on her lip, feeling cold as he shifted further from her. She didn't mean to do that. She always said the wrong things, always pushed people away. She couldn't escape that even in these visions.

Neal would get tired of her soon, in real life. A lash of pain struck her, the idea of being alone again, before she steeled.

She didn't need anybody. She had always been on her own, and she had no problem with that. She would be fine, no matter how many people left.

The wolf got up and pushed into her. She looked at him for a moment, wondering what it was supposed to symbolize. Just as she was considering a half-remembered English class, the wolf laid down, rolling slightly off of its left side. She pressed a hand against his stomach like she would a dog, and he snapped at her wrist. She pulled back quickly, eyes wide as she curled into herself.

"Don't touch his side," the boy said simply, not even glancing up at her. "He's still hurt."

It felt important that she knew that, somewhere balancing a host of trust, or maybe just insight into her subconscious. She blew out a low breath. "Okay."

She turned her focus on the lights again, and tried not to think of how high the hospital bill would be once she came to.

TBC