Chapter 11

Present

The next day felt strange.

She wasn't used to this kind of town. The small kind, the one where things don't change and everything stays the same. She sticks out in a town like this. It's why she prefers the big cities she can disappear into.

And of course, she now had the added spotlight of being the birth mother to the mayor's kid. After the strained yet honest conversation with the sheriff yesterday, she knew that the town must have a keen eye on the boy.

She glanced out the window, noting the morning bustle. A brown and tan vehicle affixed with telltale lights atop drove to the parking lot just beside the diner, and her spine straightened. She had a plan, after all. If she was going to feel comfortable in this town, she was going to have to spend more time with the man.

And learn to ignore the sharp mix of familiarity and desire that pricked her each time their eyes met.

A knock sounded on her door, and she jolted in surprise. She crossed to the door and opened it, expecting blue eyes but meeting dark ones and a fangy smile.

"Did you know the Honeycrisp tree is the most vigorous and hearty of all apple trees?" she says abruptly. Her voice is unnatural in its attempt at pleasantry, stilted and coarse. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, calculating and sharp. "It can survive temperatures as low as forty below and keep growing. It can weather any storm. I have one that I've tended to since I was a little girl. And to this day, I have yet to taste anything more delicious than the fruit it offers."

The mayor holds out a bright, shiny red apple and she stares at it suspiciously. The monologue wasn't exactly what she was expecting. "Thanks," she said warily as she took it in hand.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy them on your drive home."

Emma barely kept the knowing smirk from her face. Ah, that's what this was about. "Actually," she said with a sneer. "I'm going to stay for a while."

Regina's chin raised, eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Henry has enough issues. He doesn't need you confusing him."

Her brow raised and her shoulders squared, though she put on an unassuming smile. "All due respect, Madam Mayor, the fact that you have now threatened me twice in the last twelve hours makes me want to stay more."

"Since when were apples a threat?" she asked, brow arching.

She barely kept from rolling her eyes. "I can read between the lines," she muttered. She planted her feet and tried not to glare at the woman. "Sorry. I just want to make sure Henry's okay."

Regina pursed her lips. "He's fine, dear. Any problems he has are being taken care of."

Emma looked at her suspiciously, dread prickling her spine. "What does that mean?"

Regina leaned forward. "It means I have him in therapy. It's all under control. Take my advice, Miss Swan. Only one of us knows what's best for Henry."

She thought about the sheriff's resigned gaze, the 'I don't think she can.' Sure, she knows what's best. "Yeah, I'm starting to think you're right about that," Emma replied coolly.

Regina glanced off as if to verify the empty hallway before she glared back at her. "It's time for you to go."

Emma huffed. "Or what?"

She glowered at her. "Don't underestimate me, Miss Swan. You have no idea what I'm capable of." She flicked her hair back and strode down the hallway after the blatant threat, taking the rest of the fruit with her.

"What the hell does the woman have about apples?" Emma muttered and set it down by the nightstand. She grabbed her jeans off the chair by the dresser and yanked them on. She needed to get out of this room if she was going to make any progress.

By the time she got down to the counter at the little diner the bed and breakfast was attached to, it was fairly busy. She had seen from the corner of her eye the man in the window booth, but was ignoring his presence for now. She needed to wait to have coffee in her system before she could begin. She needed that armor before speaking to him.

A local paper was on the counter, so she grabbed it to glance through as the waitress made her way to her. She sighed at the mugshot on the front. "Seriously?" she muttered.

"I'm sure you're usually photogenic."

She didn't even have to glance up. She didn't even have to hear his voice. She could feel his presence appear at her side. "Yeah, usually," she replied with a sigh.

"Mugshots are always a little stark," he said somewhat apologetically, and moved to sit next to her.

She peeked up at him and swallowed. So much for being caffeinated. "Is that speaking from experience?" she challenged.

A slow smile crossed his face, dimples apparent behind the scruff of his beard. "Well, I do tend to take them, Miss Swan."

She couldn't help smiling, her head ducking as she tried to cover it. He was so damn disarming. He caught her off-guard in a way that was both off-putting and alluring, and god help her she wanted more of it. She folded the paper a couple times over and flung it to the side. "Did you come here for the coffee, or was there another reason for your visit?" she asked bluntly.

He raised a brow, but took a long sip from his mug. "This is an everyday occurrence, being here," he said, his accent light and plucky. "But yes, I suppose I could check in on you while I'm here. See what your plans are."

She opened her mouth to answer something about not needing to clear any plans with him, when a mug was slid across the booth by the smiling waitress.

"I think you have an admirer," the brunette said with an air of teasing, and then rested her chin on her palm as she looked between the two conspiratorially.

Emma glanced down to avoid her gaze and the idea that the instant connection and familiarity with this man might be noticed by others. She noted the swirl of whipped cream dusted with cinnamon, the smell of chocolate and spice tempting. She smirked. "Thank you, but I did not order that," she said, and then flicked her hair back to look at him accusingly. "Though I'm impressed you guessed that I liked cinnamon on my chocolate."

He looked amused, his dark blue eyes twinkling. "I didn't send it."

"I did," a voice chirped from a booth a couple feet down. A dark head popped up, grinning merrily. The kid. "I like cinnamon, too."

She felt herself soften as she saw him. He sounded so cautious, but his eyes were bright and his shoulders straight as he craned his neck up to better look at her, a wide, mischievous smile on his face. She could bet that she could set her younger self down next to him and find that exact expression.

Graham turned, facing the boy with a challenging look. "Henry. Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

The flare of something both envious and wistful jumped in her chest. He sounded so fatherly, stern but still soft. She needed to facilitate this, needed to have them close enough to insulate the kid from whatever indifference his mother stalked over him.

"Duh," Henry said indelicately. He jumped out of the booth and adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, a smug grin crossing his face. That one wasn't her, wasn't Neal … why was it familiar? He locked eyes with her, the green bright in the fluorescence of the diner. "Walk me," he demanded.

Graham turned to her, his face wholly amused. "You should do that," he said simply, a grin half hidden by his cup.

She bit her lip, a memory almost on the back of her mind. "Maybe you should join," she said. If she was to implement this, best to start now.

He hesitated, obviously not used to being invited to be with the kid. "Wouldn't impose. You two should go," he said.

Henry approached them, swiping a strand of messy hair back. He looked cautious, and gripped the straps a little before he nodded. "No, it's okay. Come with us, Sheriff."

He still seemed cautious, even as he rose to his feet. He buried his hands in his pockets and gave an uncomfortable smile before shrugging one shoulder. "I guess you could use a police escort."

She rolled her eyes at him and placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, guiding him to the door. The kid beamed up at her, light in his steps. She stuck her hand in her pocket and retrieved the lone apple, tossing it back and forth nervously.

Once on the street, headed for the school, she sighed. "So, what's the deal with you and your mom?" she asked bluntly. Maybe she could catch the kid off guard, get him to reveal something.

She noticed the sheriff's side-long glance, but ignored it for now.

Henry turned suspiciously back to them but shook his head. "It's about not us. I told you, it's the other thing," he said.

"What other thing, Henry?" Graham asked softly. His hands were making tight fists at his side, the only reaction to what they were saying.

Henry stopped abruptly and turned to them both. His eyes narrowed on them and his head tilted. "Can I trust you, Sheriff?"

The man smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I would hope so, Henry," he replied.

Henry hesitated, glancing up to Emma once before refocusing on him. "You won't say anything to my mom?"

Graham hesitated, but finally took one finger to make an "x" over his heart.

Henry slumped in relief and turned once more, walking towards the school again. "It's the curse," he said, then slowed his pace enough to fit right between the both of them. He linked their arms conspiratorially and craned his neck up. "She cast a terrible curse on all of you, making you forget who you are. Emma's the only one that can break it."

Emma felt a little bit strange linked so close with the boy, but it was worse with the Sheriff attached to the other side. Her heart stuttered for a second when she realized how they must look, all together. She shook the notion off and forced a smile. "Everyone in the town is a fairytale character, you see, they just don't know it," she explained.

"Yep! And time's been frozen - until Emma came back."

"Oh?" Graham said, and an eyebrow cocked. "Who am I then, Henry?"

He hummed as he thought, but shook his head. "I haven't figured you out yet. But my mom's the Evil Queen. And Archie? He's Jiminy Cricket. Ruby is Red, a werewolf. And then there's Mary Marg-"

"Where do you get these things, kid?" she mumbled under her breath.

He sighed in exasperation. "I told you, the book. You'd know if you just read it."

"Should I read it?" Graham asked.

He looked thoughtfully. "Maybe. But Emma's the one to break it, so she needs to first."

"Sounds complicated," Graham said, just the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

"Luckily, I have a plan. Step one – identification. I call it Operation Cobra."

"Cobra?" Emma asked. "That has nothing to do with fairy tales."

Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. It's a code name to throw the Queen off the trail."

Emma felt herself getting uncomfortable and dug around her pockets for something to do. She found the apple and brought it to her mouth.

"Hey!"

Emma paused, looking down at the kid.

"Where did you get that?"

Emma traded a glance with Graham and then shrugged a shoulder. "Your mom."

He snatched it from her. "Don't eat that!" He tossed it over his shoulder, where it landed on the street with a soft thud.

"Oh, uh – all right."

"Evil Queen, huh?" Graham murmured. "Like in Snow White?"

"Exactly! See, Emma, he gets it!" Henry exclaimed.

"Okay," Emma said. She looked up to find the sheriff's blue eyes again, and decided to try a little reason. "What about their past, then?"

"They don't know," Henry said somberly. He looked up to the sheriff sympathetically. "It's a haze to them. Ask anyone anything, you'll see."

She's about to laugh it off above the kid's head with the man, but froze once she saw his expression. His gaze was distant, fogged, and he cleared his throat before turning his head away. She felt a nervous dip in her stomach. "So, for decades, people have been walking around in a haze, not aging, with screwed up memories, stuck in a cursed town that kept them oblivious," she said, trying to piece through his beliefs.

Henry grinned. "I knew you'd get it. That's why we need you. You're the only one who can stop her curse."

Emma grimaced and stopped, turning to the kid. "Because I'm the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming?" she said dubiously.

Graham glanced up at her from behind Henry, and he smirked. "Is she, then?" he asked, and some of the playfulness is back. "A fairytale princess?"

Henry nods. "Exactly. She's the one destined to break the curse, the only one who didn't go through it back in the other world."

Graham nodded seriously, then looked up at her. "Explains her shy, delicate sensibilities."

She scoffed.

Henry shook his head, but kept his smile. "Right now, we have the advantage. My mom doesn't know all this."

Graham placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, tilting his head to look down at him. "If she's the Evil Queen, wouldn't she know?" he asked.

Henry shook his head vigorously. "I took out the end. The part with Emma in it." He reached into his bag and pivoted to her, thrusting the pages out triumphantly. "See? Your mom is Snow White."

She glanced at the page Henry provided. A blond man crouched in front of a tree or something, blood staining the middle of his white shirt. He held out an infant tucked into a blanket, "Emma" across the side of it. She thought of her own blanket, the purple stitching that scrawled her name, but the cartoonish drawing was a long way from it. Pretty interesting coincidence, though. "Okay …."

"That's Prince Charming holding you," Henry explained.

"Kid …," she said, haltingly, hesitantly. She didn't know how to redirect him, and she glanced a little helplessly at the other adult.

"It's okay," Henry said quietly. "I know the hero never believes at first. If they did, it wouldn't be a very good story."

She realized in that second how lonely the kid must be, if he believed everyone was in a fog. She needed to muster up something, some semblance of reassurance for the kid.

But it was Graham who rested a hand on the boy's head, getting his attention. Henry turned to face him. "How long did it take for you to believe?" he asked gently.

Henry made a face, then his brow furrowed. "Something always felt wrong. With the town, with her. But when I got the book, it all made sense."

Graham kneeled in front of him, brushing his hair back. In a split second, she could read the loneliness on his face as well. It was all too familiar. "You need to believe something, don't you, Henry?" he said tenderly, his soft eyes sad.

She blinked, staring at the kid and the man together. Her heart seized at the image. Internally, she shook herself out of it. The two spent time together, it was only natural they'd pick up some mannerisms, making them look alike.

Henry blew out a breath, and finally faced Emma again. "If you need proof, take them. Read them. But whatever you do, don't let her see these pages. They're dangerous. If she finds out who you are, then it would be bad."

She took the pages, making sure her hand didn't shake. She gave a grimace more than a smile, but Henry lightened to see it.

He turned to check across the street, seeing the milling of kids behind the gates. "I got to go. But I'll find you later and we can get started. Sheriff … do you wanna help?"

"Of course, little prince," Graham said.

Henry grinned widely.

Emma's shoulders squared, realizing that she was already making progress with the two. She could push this, nudge it more like. Now that Henry allowed Graham into this little group, this Operation Cobra, it would be easy. She could facilitate it, make sure that the two bonded and made a connection that could last. The kid could have someone he trusted, could learn to better deal with his mother when there was someone on his side. It would make it easier when she left in two weeks. Her hand curled around the pages, her smile growing.

Henry walked across the street, and then flipped back to catch her eye. "I knew you'd believe me!"

Emma opened her mouth, then hesitated. Affection bloomed in her heart, and she tried desperately to stamp it down. Finally she shook her head. "I never said that!"

His smile grew smug, and he walked around a woman with cropped hair. "Why else would you stay?"

Emma turned to Graham, finding him hiding a smile of his own. He reached back and scratched the back of his neck. He looked younger, carefree. Certainly not the glimpse of what she saw behind the façade a moment ago. "You look happy with yourself," she accused.

"The lad doesn't understand that there is another reason. Other than Operation Cobra, and certainly other than the cocoa in this town," he answered, smiling at her.

She pressed her lips together. "Maybe not the reason you think," she countered, but glanced toward the school and felt her heart wrench. You can't get close, she reminded herself.

His hand hovered close but didn't quite touch hers. "I told you – it's a good thing, I think."

She could feel the part of her that could get lost in him slip, and carefully pulled back.

"It's good to see his smile back."

She turned to the new voice, Henry's teacher, the one with the credit card. She was a welcome distraction. She shrugged at her implication, though. "I didn't do anything."

Mary Margaret's head tilted, and she shared a knowing glance with Graham before smiling warmly at her. "You stayed."

She wanted to roll her eyes when she caught the grin the Sheriff was sporting now, but only crossed her arms. She felt uncomfortable enough was all this attention, and these two insisting that Henry might benefit from her presence was disconcerting.

"So, does the Mayor know you're still here?" Mary Margaret asked politely.

Emma did roll her eyes at that. "Yeah, she knows. What is her deal? She's not a great people person. How did she get elected?" she asked, directing it to them both.

Mary Margaret gave a sympathetic nod at that. "She's been mayor for as long as I can remember. No one's ever been brave enough to run against her. She inspires quite a bit of, well, fear."

She turned to Graham to see his opinion on that, but he was staring at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets as he frowned. Maybe there was something she was missing.

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I'm afraid I only made that worse by giving Henry that book. Now he thinks she's the Evil Queen."

"Did he say who he thinks you are?" Emma asked curiously.

She looked embarrassed, giving the answer away immediately. "It's silly," she said.

Graham shifted. "Ah, then you did get assigned. He didn't have one for me quite yet," he said.

Mary Margaret laughed under her breath. "Oh, you just give it time."

Emma shook her head. "I just got five minutes of silly, believe me, lady. Lay it on me."

She tucked into herself, blush rising in her cheeks at the same time as her shoulders shrugged up awkwardly. "Snow White."

Emma's mouth parted as realization struck over her. Henry thought his teacher was her mom? His grandmother? She looked the teacher over, still unable to find a coherent sentence. This was too much.

And dammit, Graham knew, too. She looked to him, finding him just as startled.

"Who does he think you are?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma looked her over, and cursed over the fact that there was enough similar in this woman to support a poor kid's fantasy. Well, this just got complicated. She shook her head. "I'm not in the book," she said.

She could feel Graham's stare at that, and she gripped the pages in her hand a little more. She wasn't. At least, not according to Henry, once he ripped those pages out.

"I should let you go," Emma said, still a little shaken.

Mary Margaret smiled, and nodded to Graham before following her students into the building.

"Maybe I need to talk to his therapist," Emma said, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She felt so cold all of a sudden.

Graham nodded. "Could be an idea. His name is Archibald Hopper. He's just off the road a ways."

She nodded and blinked hard. At least he wasn't teasing about the schoolteacher being her mother. "Okay. Some answers, good."

"Perhaps I should come?" he asked.

She looked up, those stunningly soft blue eyes set on her. Slowly, she shook her head. "No. Thanks," she said, and furrowed her brow. She needed some time to catch her breath anyway. "This one I need to do myself."

If she needed to fight to get this kid happy, she was going to do it.

Eleven Years Ago

"I know how to fight."

He looked up at her, amusement clear in his soft blue eyes. "Of that, I'm sure," he said, but tossed her the stick anyway.

Indelicately, she fumbled with it, dropping it almost immediately. She huffed and looked back up with a feigned glare. "Maybe not with swords, but those aren't so common where I'm from."

He shrugged. "Perhaps it's your perspective that's off. It was meant to look like a blade, but not a sword," he teased.

Her lips pursed. They were at the inlet, spending the clear day just hanging around their camp. She had gotten used to him teaching her things here and there, an old request taking shape easily. This, however, was new. She wiped her hands over her jeans and then grabbed it up again. "So, you want me to pretend it's a Swiss army knife or something?"

This time, he didn't even manage to look baffled at what she generally knew to be an anachronism. "Or something," he echoed, and flipped his own in hand.

She lunged forward before he could, a giggle escaping as he twisted away, missing him by inches. He darted away as she slashed out carelessly, grinning widely as he did. There was a lightness to his movements, something she'd noticed long before but took the chance to admire now.

She made a few more quick jabs, ones he easily deflected. She could hold her own at the homes she'd been in, but she had made it a preference to run before fighting, and this all was more in jest than serious instruction. Initiating the attacks felt a little unnatural nonetheless, but she soon came to anticipate his movements.

Finally she flipped the branch around and caught his forearm. His eyes snapped to hers in surprise, and his smile turned playfully feral.

He yanked an arm around her waist, dragging her close with the broken branch pressed against her back. His eyes were practically twinkling. "You should be quicker than that."

She tried to sweep her leg to pull his out from under him, but he pitched forward instead of back. It sent them both to the ground. She let out a small squeak at the unintended fall, but he caught her before her head could topple against the dirt. They both got covered in it as the dust settled around them, wide eyes on each other.

She took a second before peals of laughter escaped her, and soon she found the answering rumble from deep inside his chest. He looked his age with the mirth in his eyes, curls tousled and sun outlining his features and again she was struck by how handsome he was. Still smiling widely, she shifted up to her elbows, pushing herself into his space. She hovered there, beats passing as they sobered.

His eyes changed as he seemed to notice how close they were. She felt his hands tighten around her hips, and a rush of something encompassed her. She felt flush, warm, slightly dizzy with it. His eyes, they were not their usual grey-blue, deep and mysterious. Instead, the pupils had blown wide across his irises, making them darker than she'd ever seen. His breath was hot against her lips. Her breathing was suddenly shallow and heavy, and just a centimeter closer would mean everything.

They had been close before, when opening eyes in early morning to find the other's far too close. When there was a certain heat involved when accidentally brushing fingers as they passed food to one another. But this time they did not part just as quickly as they got into that state, did not jump away.

"What are you doing?" she asked, even though she was the one to come closer. She almost didn't recognize her own voice. She sounded winded, her tongue practically caressing the syllables into a seductive tone she was sure she didn't actually mean.

His eyes flicked down her body before resting once more on hers. A fractional incline of his head almost went unnoticed, his nose barely touching hers. "I d'nno." The callous of his fingers rode up along her skin, where it was exposed as the cloth of her straggly tee bunched up. The slight brush left a trail of stung nerves, hyperaware. But he stopped, lingering in her space and halting all movement save the bounce of his pupils to take her in.

His hesitance proved he really didn't know. But Emma, she'd seen the movies, the tv shows, had peeked in on the older kids, had awkward moments with others. She knew what came next. Without further prompting, she bridged the distance, brushing her lips against his, feather-light, experimental.

He drew in a ragged breath, and his head lolled down. Teeth scraped her neck just barely, before he nudged his forehead along her hairline. "I—" he began, but then his lips come back to meet hers, and the words were lost.

She sighed at the contact. The kiss was somewhere between tentative and demanding, a testament to both inexperience and sheer desire.

With the miniscule amount of experience she had, she guided him into deepening the kiss. She coaxed his mouth open, brushing her tongue against his. He responded easily, only a step behind in matching her movements and then taking the initiative to explore. They matched each other's actions, mirroring, until she felt like they were drinking each other in. It was … heady.

She broke only briefly to suck in a deep breath, and he still sought her skin with his lips. Her nails dug into his shoulders, pressing him all the closer. One of his hands carded through her hair, the other smoothed against her bare spine to press her harder against his chest.

She thought back to the Gracey home, to Tyler, and didn't understand how she could have possibly ever called that kissing.

This was kissing. This was intimate, warm, with an unchecked desire that thrummed with power. Somewhere teetering between balanced and uncontrolled, unfamiliar yet with a brush of rightness.

Excitement tingled down her, coupled with a heat that made her want something. She couldn't stop touching him, and her own hands slipped under his shirt and over hard muscle, kissing and nipping at his lips as he did the same. She bent her knee, using the leverage to push herself into him and he pulled in tandem, their bodies lining up in a way that made her lightheaded.

Suddenly he stopped with his face inches from hers, blinking hard. Quickly, he extracted himself from her, shock touching his stature. Cold washed against her, eyes widening at the sudden loss of his warmth. She licked her lips, still panting as her heart raced. "Wh-what?"

His mouth was parted, breaths short and ragged. He shook his head, a brief flash of disappointment in his gaze as he licked his lips. "Footsteps," he said simply.

She sucked in a sharp breath and pulled down the hem of her shirt; it had ridden up well past the edge of her rib cage. She listened, not yet able to hear the telltale crunching. "How far?"

He was still. "Two minutes," he said surely. He grabbed her hand and helped her stand. His face was still flushed, eyes still dark as he looked at her. He reached out, running his thumb across her bottom lip before he shook his head, clearing it. "We have to go."

She nodded, and bent to collect their things by the trees.

There was something heavier this time as his hand reached for hers, as the longing clicked inside her when theirs palms met. She tried desperately to ignore it again as he guided them away, carefully and gracefully dodging trees and brush as he led them to their secondary camp.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she knew she couldn't be sure that their routine would be the same once they reached it.