Emma arrived at Granny's Inn to find a well dressed man waiting at the counter.
Rumplestiltskin. He was much less… leathery than his storybook counterpart. More human than Killian's crocodile and Dark One.
"Mrs. Lucas, if you don't have the rent I'll be generous. You can have until the end of the day to get out."
"Mr. Gold, I just need some more time. I can get you the money by the end of the week."
"Ah, but dearie, the rent is due now."
Here Emma made her presence known. She had given Granny enough money to cover the rent, what was going on?
"Oh Emma! I need to speak with you immediately." Granny started fumbling her way around the counter, obvious fear on her face of the man before her. Emma couldn't stop herself from frowning at the scene, in her real life Granny had been fearless. She had protected her granddaughter with the ferocity of the bravest soldiers Emma had ever known and harbored her the fugitive and treasonous Snow White at the risk of her own life.
And the curse makes her cower at a man in a suit.
Gold stepped forward before Granny could make her way around the counter, "Emma? What a lovely name. Emma." If Regina reminded her of a hippo that would tear her limb from limb, Mr. Gold looked like a man who would drag you down to the bottom of a river and drown you before eating you.
Like a crocodile.
Emma hated dealing with crocodiles during deployment.
Before Gold could come any closer to her Granny rushed past him and dragged Emma off to the side.
Around a corner Granny tried to shove all the money Emma had given her into her hands.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Have it all back, it's yours'."
"What? Wait. Wait." Emma grabbed the old woman's hands, holding them steady from their frantic movements. "What's going on, Mrs. Lucas?"
Granny now was holding on to her tightly, "I'm so sorry Emma, but you can't stay here anymore." Emma blinked at her in silence, "The mayor's office called. Apparently there's a city ordinance against renting to felons."
"Seriously?" How did they find out she was a felon? Those records are sealed.
"I'm afraid I need you to leave, which is why I can't keep your money. You've already paid in full, something you didn't have to do, and I have no right to keep it now. So here." She was holding out all of the money Emma had given her, waiting for her to take it.
Emma didn't care about the money, she cared that Regina apparently had strong enough connections to illegally obtain records that were sealed for a minor. Emma cared because she was uncertain of what Regina was going to do with the information.
She stepped back, "Keep the money."
"What?" She had backed far enough away from her now that she could see Gold around the corner paying apt attention to them.
"Keep it. You need it more than me." She didn't wait for her response. Instead she snatched a newspaper off of the counter and walked up the stairs, exchanging a polite smile and "have a nice day" with Gold as she passed, grabbed her very few items that she had with her, including the storybook, and left.
She ended up at the docks.
[Boston 2010]
Dr. Rochelle Washington, Rochelle as she told Emma to call her, was her new therapist and Emma couldn't stop herself from tearing the edges of the written up instructions to the office she had made. As she waited she started to concentrate on making different textures and patterns in the paper by crumpling it and wringing it in her hands. Logically, she knew that she was able to breathe just fine, but that didn't stop the feeling of restriction in her chest and the panicking thought of I can't breathe from hammering in her head as she put all of her physical attention into the piece of paper.
"Emma?" Her eyes snapped up to Rochelle whose body was leaning out of her office door, she opened it up wide and gave her bright and energetic smile, "Please come in."
Emma wanted to look casual, she wanted to look calm, but she could feel the quickness of her steps and the wildness of her eyes.
"Emma, how are you today?"
"Fine. You?"
Rochelle smiled at her again and nodded very gently at her, "I'm okay, but I'm a little worried about you. You just told me your fine, but the tightness of your voice and that piece of paper you have in a death grip tells me otherwise." When Emma didn't respond to her she asked, "Emma, for our relationship to work I only ask for one thing from you: honesty. The truth for yourself, not for me. Everything that happens here, this process that you are going through Emma, it is all for you. And you deserve to be honest with yourself. You need it to free yourself from your thoughts, you will feel better once you do.
"I understand, Emma, that this is frightening for you. To open up to someone is always a risk and worse if it's a stranger and a therapist, but I am here to assist you and help you in however you need it. You don't have to start at the worst of it, but you do need to start somewhere. If you can start, Emma, it will get easier."
Emma's arms were gripped tightly around her chest, her eyes trained on the end of Rochelle's foot that was dangling in the air as the crossed her legs. Her chest still hurt and her eyes began to water.
Rochelle reached across the distance between them and handed her a tissue.
Tearfully, Emma told her, "I don't know how to start."
Rochelle gave her a gentle smile, "Let's start with right now, this moment. Could you describe to me what you're experiencing right now? How you internally feel?"
[Storybrooke]
The stress of the last three days had finally caught up to her. It felt like her chest was barely moving, it was so tight. Her hands were shaking, her body demanded that she get up off of the picnic table she had sat herself at and frantically move around the docks. Her mind was in a similar state to what her body was in, her thoughts were racing and she didn't know where the finish line was.
But she couldn't move. If she did people would see, and if they saw her they would talk about it to other people, and if other people find out then eventually Regina would find out and then Regina would somehow use it against her just like she is going to use the knowledge that Emma's a felon against her.
She wanted to dig her hands into her hair, grab on tight, and cradle her head in her hands as her legs bounced uncontrollably.
Instead she did her best to keep her eyes on the small fishing boat in the water next to her. She watched as the waves lapped against the ship and did her best to count how many times it occurred.
She kept losing track.
If she was in Boston she would be putting her energy into drawing the scene she was so carefully watching, but she wasn't. She was in Storybrooke, where the only things she had to her name here was her car and the few possessions she had in it.
Her therapist had told her so many times to keep supplies in her car.
Breathe Emma. Fucking breathe. In and out with your stomach, not your chest.
It had taken her an hour, but she finally counted to thirty. Another half hour and she was able to count to a hundred laps of the waves. She waited another half hour to pull out the storybook. She would wait on looking through the newspaper for apartments.
She didn't need reminded that she was homeless.
Again.
How many times was that?
Stop it Emma. Look at the book.
She spent the next few hours reading and taking notes. She had taken her time with the book before, but now she just focused on finishing it and coming back to it later with some perspective.
Still, even though Henry had told her that Snow White was her mother she wasn't ready for the end of the book.
They had to give their daughter, and their kingdom, the best chance they could. And so, Once Upon a Time there was a princess and prince who loved their daughter, princess Emma very much. They dreamed of her having the most magical life, but it broke their hearts to know that they might never be a part of it.
But it was her best chance.
Emma had not seen the man who was her father. The last scene of him in the storybook was of her mother, Snow White, holding him in her arms after he risked his life to send her through the wardrobe. She couldn't help but wonder if he was dead.
Her throat was tight and she felt the tears welling in her eyes. Her parents had loved her, they had wanted her.
Emma had always been wanted.
She had always been loved.
She turned back to the lapping of the water.
"Swan? How are you?" It was James, and he was walking towards her. Vaguely Emma thought she should move the book, hide it away from him, but a larger part of her wanted him to see it. To flip through it and find his face glaring back at him. To remember something, anything. She'd had a rough afternoon and she needed a win.
She kept the book on the table.
When he got closer he could see the strain on her face, the redness that was evidence of her ordeal. "Emma, are you alright?" He was sitting next to her now and was watching as she laughed awkwardly at the question.
Emma didn't want to talk to him about bad days, and she didn't want to talk to him about good days. She knew he would find out eventually, she isn't ashamed about what she has been through and her traumas.
But she never knew how a person would react.
So she lied.
"I'm fine, Jones. Just taking in the view." She couldn't make herself call him James. That name was a lie, but at least he still had Jones. It was soothing to her that she could tap into the familiar repertoire they had established all those years ago.
"Ahh," he knew she was lying, she could tell, but didn't press her on it. Emma was grateful for it.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before she was asked, "Have you ever sailed before?" Emma blinked at him for a moment, but he just stared out at the horizon and the slowly setting sun.
She watched him throughout her answer, looking for any recognition. "Yeah, I learned to sail while in the Army. I did it often enough that I got pretty decent at it. I could probably pass muster on a pirate crew. Or the Royal Navy of some magical kingdom." She smiled at him, hoping for some reaction.
He nodded slowly, "I never have, but I've always wanted to. What is it like?"
"It is singularly one of the most amazing feelings I have ever experienced. There is nothing like having the wind in your hair, in the sails above you, and at your back. It is similar to when you're hiking and miles and miles away from civilization. Nothing else matters in that moment, but your freedom. The only thing that can improve the experience is if you had your closest friends with you."
"Did you have friends with you? Fellow soldiers?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes it was just me." Thinking about Killian, "Or occasionally, and during very special moments, I had new friends with me who came to be very… important to me. When the only thing around to hear you is the elements people tend to be more open."
She smiled at the memory of her and Killian getting to know each other in the open grasslands on the border of Tanzania and the Pride Lands. He had been nervous and agitated by the land, having never been so far away from the sea.
They had gotten closer as they spoke, their heads not far apart. James seemed to realize this and jumped back, "Well, it is getting late. I better go home. Do you want me to walk you back to Granny's?"
"Oh, uh," She hadn't told him about the ordinance and he hadn't heard about it earlier, if he had he might have found her sooner, "I drove, but thanks." He didn't need to know and she didn't need his sympathy.
"Oh, well, good night Emma."
"Good night, Jones."
She watched him walk away before gathering her book and heading for her car.
He didn't even look at the damn thing.
Enough time had passed now for Emma to be angry. She was reading the newspaper in her car, parked not far away from the abandoned library, trying not to seethe over Regina conveniently having a city ordinance that bars felons from renting in the town, when a rap at her window startled her. It was Mary Margaret, her mother, and she looked concerned.
"Hey Emma, what are you doing?"
Emma waved the newspaper she held in her hands making it snap in the air before her, "Just, you know, reading the paper."
"At night?" Mary Margaret leaned forward, her head poking through the window and taking in the cramped space of the old bug, "In your car?" She was incredulous and Emma couldn't blame her. "With a flashlight?"
"Can't really read it anywhere else, not allowed to stay at Granny's." When Granny told Emma that she had to leave she had the most remorseful look on her face. "It's a city ordinance." That didn't make it sting any less. Emma had done her year in prison, she reformed and even enlisted to help improve her life. But there's no getting better in the eyes of the government. She fought and almost died for her country multiple times, but god forbid she be allowed to vote or rent a hotel room.
"What? Why?" Mary Margaret was cold, her arms tight around her chest.
"City ordinance against felons. Have to sleep in my bug, I've been in tighter spots." Mary Margaret didn't respond at first, comprehension blooming on her face. Emma thought she was planning her escape route. People don't like you when they find out you've been to prison.
"Come stay with me." Come with me. For a moment a different head of black hair fluttered across her memory, a lost chance reminding her to take new opportunities.
"What?"
"Yeah, I don't have an ordinance against friends in my apartment and I have an extra bed. It'll be fun." She was trying to be cheerful, to make the best of the situation, but Emma didn't need her sympathy. And she didn't need to be a burden. Mary Margaret has a life, her own apartment, her own things, she doesn't need her, and she doesn't really want her. She's just being nice.
"But I'm a felon."
"And my friend." Emma couldn't believe this, she had just met this woman.
"Mary Margaret you don't have to–"
"Are you planning on leaving?" Emma stared at her, not expecting the question.
Mary Margaret asked again, her expression had changed to absolute determination, "Are you planning on leaving Storybrooke? Leaving Henry when he just found you?"
"No, I'm not. But I can't–"
"You can live with me." Before Emma could retort Mary Margaret had walked around the car and was sitting in her passenger seat. "There's a second parking spot in front of my apartment."
"Let me make you hot chocolate." okayokayokay. She was in her mother's apartment. Her mother. Who made her come home with her. Who welcomed her into her home.
Her mother.
"Do you have any bags? Anything you need to bring up from your car?"
"Uh, no. All I have it what I've got on me right now."
Mary Margaret frown at her from where she stood at the stove heating milk, "Do you have any friends who could send you your things?" When Emma numbly shook her head yes she continued, "Well then, let me give you the address so they can send you your things."
She handed her a piece of paper with the address on it a few minutes later with the hot chocolate she had made for Emma.
The flavor of the hot chocolate brought Emma out of her reverie, "Cinnamon?"
"Oh. I'm sorry. I should have asked. It's a little quirk of mine. Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
Must be a family thing.
Mary Margaret was being so comforting, so kind to her. Emma wondered if it was just who she was, or if on some level Mary Margaret knew that she was her daughter and was taking advantage of finally being able to care of her after so much lost time.
The idea made Emma want to cry.
"Why do you trust me, Mary Margaret? I mean, you know I'm a criminal."
"It's strange– Ever since you arrived here, I've had the oddest feeling like we met before. I mean, I know it's crazy."
"I don't think crazy is the word for it. Maybe just, uncomfortable to think about? But you know, it's the things that make us uncomfortable that keep us honest."
Mary Margaret chuckled at that, "Yeah, I guess so. If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad you're staying. Who will protect Henry if you won't?"
In that moment Emma thought about her own ten year old self, crying and begging for her mother to come save her. To protect her from every bad thing she had ever experienced. No matter how old she got, despite the fact that she had never had a parent who loved her, and had always been alone, she couldn't stop that small, child voice that was embedded deep in her soul from crying for her mother when things got tough.
The next morning Emma waited for Henry at Granny's dinner, just like she told him she would.
"Did you finish it?" At her approach Henry started frantically shoving a newspaper out of the way, trying to hide it. Emma frowned at that, but decided to not to pursue it.
"I sure did, kid."
"And you believe it? All of it?"
"Yes. I do." Emma had practiced this moment when she woke up this morning. She knew how important it was for Henry that she did not hesitate. Everything is raw between them, their entire lives have been affected by the events recorded in that book. They have both suffered various kinds of abuse because of it.
Emma wanted him to know that she was in this for the long haul.
She leaned forward as far as she could in the booth before telling Henry in a low voice, "Henry, I am meeting with Regina around the time you get out of school today." She had called her cell phone earlier in the morning, Regina, ever the people person, demanded a meeting. "I need you to know that absolutely everything I say to her is to placate her to the best of my ability. We can't have Regina on our tails, if she finds out what we're doing she can intervene. Maybe she doesn't have magic here, but she does have power and she can make life very difficult for us. We need her to be as unaware as possible of Operation Cobra."
Henry leaned forward too, his face inches away from hers, "I know that."
"I know you do, but I just wanted to reassure you that I believe you and that everything that I say to Regina is to make our lives easier, which means some things might get back to you about me that will hurt you Henry. Try your hardest to believe that it isn't true."
He smiled at her, "I will, Emma. I believe you too."
"Good. Now, why don't you show me that newspaper you tried so hard to hide earlier?"
"It's going to upset you." Emma's stomach dropped, Regina knows about her felony if she…
"Henry, please?"
He unwrinkled the paper that he had shoved so unceremoniously into his seat to reveal the front page headline: EX-JAILBIRD EMMA SWAN BIRTHED BABE BEHIND BARS.
She leaned back, draping an arm over the booth's seat, taking a deep breath as she did so. "Well, they really like alliteration."
"You're not upset?"
"Oh, Henry, I am upset, but that isn't going to change the fact that that newspaper has already been circulated around town and now everyone knows about it." She leaned forward again, but not as far as the first time, resting on her elbows. "What I'm most worried about is you. Are you okay?"
Henry nodded at her. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm happy, actually. I read it and it's everything you already told me. You were honest with me, usually adults lie to kids. I really happy that I can trust you."
Emma could feel her throat constricting at his admission. "Me too kid."
She had to mentally prepare herself for walking into the station. Part of her past was out, perhaps the most unfortunate section of it, but it wasn't the full story and it shouldn't stop her from keeping her brand new job as a deputy.
She didn't have a resume typed up and printed out to hand to Graham, but she could recite one off the top of her head. In the military you have to be able to remember dates and events like your completing an introductory history class.
She was steeled and she was ready.
And she was right.
Graham came right at her.
"Get out. I can't have a felon in my department, Emma! Who do you think you are? We'll lose all funding!"
"Graham, mate–"
"No Jones, we can't have a criminal working in the sheriff's department."
Emma had to appreciate the irony of a huntsman saying that to a pirate.
"If you're done, Sheriff, may I speak?"
"What can you possibly have to say? I don't want to hear your justifications."
"I offer no justifications, sir."
His hands were on his hips, and she could see the butt of his pistol sticking out. Had she been anyone else, Emma might have been intimidated, but given her experience she just found it comical. "Go on, then."
"Yes, I did commit a felony. I helped someone bench about 10,000 dollars worth of watches, and had I thought it would become a problem I would have told you outright, but considering those records were sealed I considered the matter irrelevant."
"Sealed?"
"Yes, sir. I was a minor when I committed the crime and sentenced to prison. Barely seventeen, in fact. Those are juvenile records, meaning they were illegally obtained."
Graham's stance changed, he had dropped his arms, hiding his gun behind his leather jacket. He exchanged a glance with James, they both realized the same thing: Emma isn't the criminal in this situation.
"However, sir, since this part of my past has come to light and caused some backlash, I believe it would be in mine and the department's best interest if I also exposed some of my other experiences to you.
Now I don't have paperwork with me, so if you need it written down, I suggest you grab a pen and some paper for your notes." Emma suppressed a smile when they pulled out little cop notebooks and pencils from their breast pockets. They looked like dorks.
"Yes, I did go to prison when I was seventeen. And I did give birth to Henry while there. He knows that already, I told him at the castle the other day. While in prison I got my GED and got some college credit, which allowed me to enlist in the military when I got out shortly after 9/11.
I was in the Army for nearly ten years. I was an active duty combat soldier and I took coursework with me overseas and got my BA in History in three years. I mostly focused on military history. I became a lieutenant at 21, then a captain at 24. The reason I promoted so quickly was because the unit I was in, which was special ops, had leave to work differently from other portions of the Army.
I have faced terrorist organizations, bandits, thieves, pirates, mercenaries, wild animals. You name it and I've probably dealt with it. After I got out I did bail bonding until Henry found me and brought me here.
I have suffered many injuries, but the most important is that when I was 23, me and the three good soldiers in front of me were caught in an IED blast. It killed the two in front, dismembered the third, and maimed me. My lower left leg was severely damaged, but was mostly recoverable with metal put in it to replace bone. I do wear a brace inside of my boot, but considering I went on to serve another four years I think I am physically able to be a deputy in a small town."
"Emma, you don't need to–"
"I am not done." She was angry and aggravated that she was put on trial thanks to Regina, but she needed people in her corner. Starting with the people she was going to be working with.
"I have panic or anxiety attacks, usually early in the morning after nightmares that are caused by PTSD, but undealt with stress can also lead to them. No, I can not say with surety that it will not interfere with my job. I can say that it shouldn't, but just as with all mental health issues there are good days and bad days."
"Emma, don't have to–"
"I am talking. You're right. I should not have to do this, but I do because Regina did something illegal, and I am the one who has to deal with the backlash. I am the one now on trial to the entire fucking town, and if I am going to be able to start any kind of life here and move past this slanderous article, I need the two people I am working with to not call me a fucking felon and show people, through being decent human beings to me, that I am not someone they should be afraid or hateful of. Understood, Sheriff?"
Graham shook his head, "Yes."
"Yes what?" It was instinct, honestly, that brought out that comment and snark. As a captain you expect more than a casual response when addressing a series topic or matter, and Emma was in a mood to fight for the respect she deserves.
"Yes, ma'am."
She turned now to James, who had remained silent throughout her entire monologue. She was much less hostile towards him, but still commanding, "Understood, deputy?"
"Yes, Captain Swan." She narrowed her eyes at him, but he was smiling at her. It was small and reassuring.
She asked him, "Good, now am I still fired or can I sit at my desk and have some shitty coffee?"
Graham was slow to move, still partially flummoxed by the onslaught of information and anger, but James was quick to move.
"Yep, here's a cup of coffee and your desk is the one closest to the window."
She sat down with her coffee and stared at them, waiting.
Eventually they figured out that she was expecting something, "What?"
"Are you not going to tell me what I should be doing or am I just supposed to figure it out?"
"Oh, right. Well, first let's start with the uniform."
"Uniform?" Graham was on a roll this morning, Emma could tell, because neither he nor James were wearing a uniform and if he thought he was going to make her wear one he was dead wrong.
James stood back, nervously scratching at his ear, as Graham pulled out the ugliest clothing get up Emma had ever seen.
"A tie?"
"It's the uniform."
"Then why aren't either of you wearing it?" James shrugged at her. The Killian Emma remembered, while shy, wasn't afraid to speak up or interfere when he disagreed with something, but here, in Storybrooke, at every turn he has been sidelined as submissive. The only time where he had made his voice heard was in the patrol car after they had found Henry, and Regina had threatened Emma. It had to be part of the curse that twisted his character.
"We've been here long enough."
"And how long is that? We're about the same age, Graham. Just how long have you been in the police force?"
For a moment she could see complete and utter bafflement on his face, like a man grasping for an answer he should know, but just can't find.
"You think on that, but in the meantime I'll take the badge and leave the uniform. You don't need to dress a woman like a man to give her authority, just so you know." Taking the badge from his left hand, she clipped it onto her belt and felt the earth shake beneath her.