Chapter 13

Present

Emma felt drained. She couldn't get the look the boy had on his face out of her head.

You think I'm crazy?

Tears cloyed in the back of her throat, frustrated and angry, as she stormed aimlessly down the street.

How could she? How could she?

She had purposely set Henry up to be hurt. She didn't understand how she could claim to love him (that lie still resounded in her head) and then do that to him.

Henry deserved better than someone who would play him for their own games. To hurt him in order to win. He was not a damn pawn, no matter how much Regina willed him to be.

He was so full of heart and hope. And Regina seemed desperate to beat that out of him. For, what? To what end? To get her out of town?

That explained part of it. But it didn't explain the bus ticket clenched in too-tight, sweaty fingers and the nervous tilt of a dark head. It didn't explain the grim expression the sheriff, the teacher, and the therapist had whenever she edged around asking of his happiness.

She sighed as she saw her bug come into view. Her shoulders slumped, feeling the uncertainty of her situation bear down on her. No cozy if dated hotel room tonight, no chance for an alternative. No criminals allowed, per town policy. What a load of bull.

How long has it been since she'd slept in her car, anyway?

She scoffed to herself and kicked at a tire. Not that long ago, she reminded herself. More often than not, if she was chasing down a runner. It just … those times had been her choice. She had decided to sleep cramped into the space in the front seat, head pillowed on her hands over the wheel, eyes bleary but sharp as she tracked her mark. Now, it was out of necessity. And it had been a long time since necessity forced her into it.

She glanced at the backseat, something about the idea of stretching out over the leather there making her whole body exhausted. At the very least, the boot had been taken off her tire. She pressed her palms to the hood and stretched her lower back. She shook her head, feeling that buzz of emotion bubbling through her. She could seriously put her fist through something right now.

She heard the shuffling of feet behind her, and she tensed, fists made on top of the car as she struggled to get a handle on her emotions. Without turning her head, she knew exactly who was approaching.

"I heard there was some trouble today."

She shook her head and leaned up. "You mean after you arrested me on false charges?"

She turned her head and caught his strained smile. "Dr. Hopper has retracted his statement. But yes, I heard some other things as well."

She thought of the satisfying clunk of the tree limb falling, the thud of apples dropping alongside. Despite herself, she smiled as she remembered the feel of empowerment that came with it. "I'm surprised I don't have another warrant out, I guess."

He stepped closer, and then leaned against the bollard near her car. He crossed his arms in front of him. "Quite nearly. I might have got through to her on it, though."

She swallowed thickly and turned, sitting on the hood of the bug. "She used Henry. Got me to say things … I think I really hurt him." Her own voice seems small to her.

He froze, eyes flicking over her face worriedly. "Wha—why would she—" He paused and looked away, and then visibly swallowed. He shook his head and his own fists squeezed. "I told her this would happen. If she kept this up—I'm sorry."

She ducked her head down, the feelings of guilt and aching empathy crashing down on her again. "I didn't mean it that way. I didn't mean that I think that he's crazy. The stories … I get it. I get why he needs them. But now he thinks—" She struggled past the knot in her throat and shook her head. "I don't think he's crazy," she repeated. It was so shockingly easy to admit these things to him, so much so that she barely registered that she was letting it out.

He moved to sit next to her, a creak sounding from the metal of her car. He looked ahead, into the foggy pitch of the early evening. "I know you don't," he said after a beat.

She sniffed and crossed her arms. "She did it deliberately. She made sure he heard. She thought it was her best move. She actually said—she said 'your move' once he ran off. She thinks that this is some game to win over her son and I—how could she do this?"

He was silent a moment and then his hand slid across the yellow metal, not quite close enough to touch. She looked up into his blue-grey eyes, noting the hurt in them. "I tried to tell her this might happen. That if she continued fighting you, she'd only hurt him. I didn't think she'd use that as tactic."

She hardened and turned her face. "She has no soul." It was something she'd said to her face, but now felt threefold.

He was silent, not agreeing but also not disagreeing. "Did he stay with her?"

She shook her head. "Nope. He ran off. Again. Seems to be his normal." She felt a bit of bitterness rise in her throat.

He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll check the castle in a bit," he said and then turned his face to the sky. "It's getting dark. He knows better than to stay out too late."

She flexed her fingers and then brushed them against his. "You … let me know when you find him?" she asked.

He moved his fingers through hers, barely a hint of touch before he rose to his feet. "I will."

She tucked into herself with a small shiver. Why did every brush of skin cause such a reaction in her? She rose up as well, moving to the driver's side door and determinedly setting her expression. "I need to pay Mary Margaret back," she muttered, yanking the door open.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "I suppose you'd know the routine. Being a Bail Bondsperson and all."

She looked up and raised a brow. There was teasing in his voice, to be certain, but also that thread of respect. She couldn't say she didn't appreciate it. He could have just as easily referred to her jail time, her record. Instead, he chose her profession. The now, rather than the past. He was the only one thus far. She almost felt wary with it. "Yeah, I know the routine."

He took a half step toward her again, hesitating. He raised his eyes to meet hers, the grey-blue almost mistaken for brown in the dim of evening. "I was just doing my job."

The explanation and its tonal apology was surprising. He always seemed to do that, to catch her off guard. The wariness drained out of her as a sieve, and she shrugged up a shoulder. "You don't need to explain yourself to me."

His mouth parted and then he huffed a breath that smoked in the cold air. "I worry Henry'll blame me. The fact that she told him I arrested you … I think he may."

She thought of the kid's beaming smile and the way he mentioned keeping up appearances to the Sheriff. He was fine with it, she thought, or else he was before she'd called his theories crazy. Emma reached out almost before she could think, carefully brushing across her back of his hand. "You said she doesn't like it, that you two are close. Maybe it was purposeful, the fact that she told him you were the one to arrest me. But I don't think he'll blame you. Not really. Not like he'll blame me."

He looked away, taking a step backward. "If you leave, he will."

She startled. She furrowed her brow and set her hands on her hips. "I said a week."

He turned only his eyes to her again, though a small smile appeared on his lips. "You aren't convinced to leave sooner?"

She smirked and raised her chin. "That's what she wants. I'd rather not give her that satisfaction."

He chuckled lightly and then sighed. "I still think he'll be angry with the lot of us. She seems determined to break every ally the lad has, isolating him. If there is one thing Henry doesn't need, it's that. He needs other people to believe in him." He was quiet a beat, and then added softly, "he has so much belief for all of us."

Her hands shook a little, and she wiped them across her jeans. She turned her head towards the car again, blinking rapidly. "Yeah. I should—"

He nodded and backed away. "I'll let you go. Where will you be staying? I'll let you know when I get him home safe."

She shook her head. "Use my cell. Here," she opened her car again and dug through the center divide before finding a pen and a gas receipt. She scrawled her number across the back, and then hesitated. It felt strange to give him her number, even if it was for something as innocent as this.

She held it up, lips tugging downwards. "Just for the update on the kid," she warned, and then pressed it into his outstretched hand.

He nodded and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "I'm glad you're still staying," he said, and then walked away without another word.

She blew out a breath, her heart rate still thundering as she watched him disappear into the fog. The feeling that itched across her fingers and along her tongue, that vague familiarity, still hit her like a ton of bricks. She clutched the money for Mary Margaret in her hands, and her eyes burned.

Now what?

Eleven Years Ago

"So, now what?" she asked as they moved through the trees, the wind picking up.

"There's an inn, just in town. I'm sure you'd like a real bed for a night, anyway," he said as they walked into the square.

She curled her hand into his, smiling up at him as their sides bumped into each other. "It'd be nice," she admitted.

He stuck a hand into his bag. She heard a faint jangle of coins. "We have enough for two rooms and a hot meal, at least."

Something in her was slightly disappointed at that. She would miss hearing the sound of his breathing as they slept, that natural rhythm becoming a lullaby that was strangely soothing. She also felt heat rise in her cheeks, the fantasy of a shared bed and promise of closeness being something she had hoped for as his taste still lingered along her lips. "Good," she finally replied, swallowing down the desire. "But I think I'll miss having the protection."

His eyebrows raised up.

"The wolf, I mean," she said, her eyes crinkling as she teased him.

He hid a smirk from her. "Up there," he said with a jerk of his chin.

She looked up at the large building. It was one of the few multistoried ones in the village, and made her think of old movies set in ancient European towns. She cocked her head to the side. "I should have worn one of the dresses, probably," she mused, pulled at the edge of her own clothing. She had had the forethought to pack one of them when they'd fled the inlet, but had been dressed casually when they'd been play-fighting. She would stand out in the jeans and green jacket, she knew.

He looked her over. "I think you'll be fine. They've enough travelers," he said with a shrug.

Still, she would've felt better in something more in tune with the other women milling about, readying themselves for the coming storm. She had already seen a few glares tossed their way. She leaned into her companion and finally nodded. "Okay, let's get settled, then."

He strode in first, pushing his rucksack to the back as he approached the desk. She kept close beside him, fingers twining with his. He nodded to the couple working behind the massive wooden desk. "We'd like two rooms."

The man turned first. His eyebrows were dark and bushy, twitching as he surveyed the couple. "Mother, do we have anything?"

Emma didn't like the look the middle-aged woman gave them, the way she peered down her nose at their clasped hands. Her eyes then flicked over her companion, lips pursing as she took him in. "No. All booked, I'm 'fraid."

Wolf boy shifted, coins in hand. "I have the money," he said gruffly.

"But we don't have the room," the man shot back. "Nothing around here will be able to take you or your girl."

She wanted to bristle, could feel the heat prickling up her back. But a hand at her waist stopped her. "We'll take our business elsewhere," he said. He looked irritated, but shook his head when she glanced up at him.

Once outside, he sighed heavily. He nodded towards the far side of town, and wordlessly she followed.

Doors shut and audibly locked as they passed, people scurrying inside as the wind picked up. There didn't seem to be any buildings that looked like they accommodated travelers, no more than the inn.

She was starting to get panicky. The clouds were rolling in, dark and foreboding.

She twisted her hands into her coat, glancing at her companion desperately as they walked to what appeared to be a tavern.

"This one doesn't look as reputable," he muttered, in a mild under-exaggeration.

She sighed as she looked at the outside of the place. It was rundown, shutters peeling paint. The door was cracked and barely seated against the front. Even a few paces from the interior, Emma could still smell the alcohol and faint vomit. A yell sounded from within, raucous laughter echoing after. She shuddered once and took the boy's wrist in a clamp.

He looked at her, his eyes darkened somewhat, edging slightly toward concern. "Stay close."

She nodded and pulled her features, hoping the fear in her belly didn't make its way across her face.

The air was thick inside, and Emma felt her stomach roll. He held her close, weaving through the tables as dice trilled and glasses clinked all around them. A few lingering stares met her, and she buried her face in his sleeve to hide away from the leering.

From a stool, one of the patrons turned and chortled at seeing them.

"Aye, it's the mutt! What're you doing 'round these parts, boy?"

He stiffened, and she squared her shoulders. "We're looking for a room," he said, directed at the man tending the bar.

"Might got a couple," the owner said warily as he wiped down a glass, dark eyes narrowed on the two. "Not too sure, though."

The drunk stood on wobbly legs and stalked over to them. She recognized the bloodshot eyes and bent nose from her first day, her fear piquing as she remembered how he readily wielded his knife. Her nails bit into the skin of her wolf boy's arm, but she tried hard to maintain a calm façade.

"They only rent by the hour here, mongrel. And I don't think you could entertain your girl for that long," he said, showing yellow teeth in a feral grin. "Maybe you should pass her along so we might show her a better time."

She felt a flash of outrage, but it was the snarl on her companion's face that made her pause. She gripped the boy's hand, feeling how his muscles were set at the ready. Fear and anger receded as she focused on him. She could feel the edge of a fight, and wondered how to get them out of it. "I think we'd be better off elsewhere," she said firmly.

"This is the last place," he muttered quiet enough for just her.

"I don't want trouble. Maybe you'd better look for those alternates," the owner warned.

A wheezing laugh sounded from the drunk and he slapped an open hand on the counter. "We don't want you around, anyhow. But we'll take the girl. Maybe give her back in a few hours," he threatened.

Her lips curled in disgust but she simply tugged on his hand. "Let's just go," she said firmly. "We can find something else. Let's just go."

He growled, deep in his throat. His eyes were flaming at the man who threatened her, but finally he nodded.

"Hey now, who said you could take her away?"

She turned and saw that the drunk had pulled the knife from his belt, brandishing it with intent. A flash of fear struck her, and she watched as the boy trailed his fingers along his own knife's handle. His eyes were stone, harder than she'd ever seen.

"Let's leave the young'uns alone this time, Crimp."

The new voice was tinged with threat despite the playful tone. She gripped hard against her companion and looked up. The man looked like he belonged on a Disney ride, right down to the leather and rings and kohl. But instead of the fearsome type, he seemed to be finding them an out in their situation.

Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about getting her wolf boy hurt over trying to get a room.

"Just trying to show the filly some hospitality, Cap'n," the drunk wheezed, grinning again.

The pirate strode forward, dark leather swishing behind him. He was looking at the man he called Crimp, but placed his body to block his line of sight to Emma and him. "She's a might bit young for the likes of you, mate," he said, his tone still light despite the narrowing of his eyes.

"The way I prefer them," Crimp replied with a sneer.

The pirate sighed and looked like he was about to back away, but then planted a foot and swung his fist hard into the man's face. He fell comically fast onto the wood floor, laughter ringing around the darkened joint.

"Looks like you've overstayed your welcome, kids," the pirate said, not bothering to look up as he pivoted to sit back at the dice table.

She nodded rapidly, and tugged on her companion's hand. "Let's go."

He looked on edge with the attention of the crowd still lingering, but something unfurled from him in a moment. He nodded, and then tangled their fingers before pulling her out the door. He sighed heavily once they reached the dirt, listening to the boisterous laugher from the inside. He pulled his hands through his dark curls until they were standing up in all directions. He glanced at her, mouth in a firm line.

"Option Z?" she suggested.

His lips quirked, almost a smile. He reached one hand up and brushed back an errant strand of her hair, worry behind his features. She swallowed thickly and pressed her lips together. How were they going to get out of this?

"You kids have a place to stay away from the storm?"

Emma turned to the warm voice. There was an older woman, basket in hand. She had dark hair streaked through with grey, pulled back into a messy braid to show a kind face. Her eyes were smiling even in her neutral expression, crow's feet pronounced at the edges. She was dressed in ragged clothes, even poorer looking than the things her companion had stitched by hand. Still, she seemed genuinely interested, genuinely concerned.

The wind was picking up, and took that moment to chill Emma to the bone. She shivered almost violently despite herself.

The boy had stiffened at the voice, and distrust was clear in his narrowed gaze.

The woman seemed to notice the hesitance and placed her grocery basket at her hip, smiling. "If you need shelter, I've an extra room. It's not much, but it will keep you dry."

Just as she said it, a fat drop of rain fell on her nose. She looked up at him just as he looked at her. There was much in his gaze, but nothing as clear as the worry. She nodded and turned to the woman. "Is it far?"

"A ways, but close enough to miss the worst of this weather."

She tugged him along again, and he grunted his opinion as they walked over to the woman. "It's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all, dears. I'd be happy to help. It is just my son and I and the herd, and we'd be glad for the company."

"We will pay you," she said firmly. It was a demand, not an offer.

He pulled his coins out to prove her statement, jingling in his palm as he thrust it forward.

The woman looked like she was about to protest, but then took a minute to watch their faces. After, she simply nodded with a smile.

Emma felt herself slack in relief. She didn't like the idea of being anyone's charity; it was bad enough how much she depended on him.

The woman took a few of the coins, but left the majority of the pile in his hand. "Yes, I can make a good roast or something for us all with that. Come, let's go quickly."

"Thanks," Emma said, falling behind her. He trudged through the first steps, but then quickened to his typical light pace. His hand was still prepped at his side on the knife at his belt, and she nearly rolled her eyes to see it. This woman was clearly no threat. She was too … sweet. Like out of a storybook. Grandmotherly, compassionate. Despite herself, Emma was taking an instant liking to her.

"Certainly. It's not right for you two kids to be left to yourselves, anyway. And I could always use the company."

"Thank you, ma'am," she said politely.

She turned her head and smiled as she continued on the path. "Oh, none of that, now. You can call me Ruth."