A/N: Yes, I am aware that Will was not in the cell last night, but there were other things going on. Now is the time for certain parties to notice.
He'd woken with the sun and squeezed out the door of Granny's just as a horde of hungry patrons had been all but convulsing to get in. The crisp air bites extra hard on his neck and the backs of his ears, his imagination toying with the notion that the Snow Queen realizes she's been discovered.
She must have wanted to be found at some point, he thinks, the cold streets and clicking of doors unlocking on the way to the sheriff's station the new background sensations in his life. Rubbing his hand across his face, he decides there can be no other explanation. Swan hadn't even heard of Storybrooke until she'd been twenty-eight, so for someone in her past to beat her to it and set up a shop fit the very definition of incredulous.
And said someone came here with every intention of finding her. There are too many holes for him to weave it all together into some kind of narrative. If only Elsa had her memories. That would help considerably.
David, Snow, Henry, and Elsa are already there, pacing around in various directions as Swan sits on the desk in the same position as last night looking down at her hands, looking more like a child that's done something wrong than anything else.
"Am I late?" he asks.
"Regina's on her way," she answers. She clasps the device that turns on the television and glances back at her parents, but she waits. He should offer to...something's missing. Stepping back until he's almost back outside the door, he scans his surroundings, stopping at the empty cell.
"Our thief seemed penitent enough to win his freedom then?" He gestures at the cell, only for Swan to bypass him and shoot a knowing look over at her mother. Now that he thinks about it, he's sure if the thief had been here last night, Swan's tape would have received bawdier commentary.
"Er, let's focus on the here and now, shall we?" Snow stammers, jostling the baby in her arms and, after placing the pacifier against his lips and waiting for him to take it, places him in his pram. Suits him fine, loathsome degenerate no longer anyone's problem. Feeling a presence next to him, he steps back out of the threshold for Regina, a lidded cup in her hand the only indication this stop had not been part of her original schedule...and Belle and the Dark One follow close behind her.
"What are you doing here?" he growls at him.
"I'm here as part of a consultation, as it were," Rumpelstiltskin says, leading Belle by the arm around him into the station.
"Emma called us and said it was important," Belle adds, shifting around both of them and giving Elsa a wary eye. What the bloody hell was that all about? Doesn't bat an eye at marrying the Dark One but enters the same room as Elsa with more than a little trepidation? True enough, magic can be off-putting to those without it, but he's never seen her recoil at Swan or even Regina, and the latter had kept her locked up in a prison cell. Lingering near the back of the room, he watches her stance change into something more confident, just behind Swan, hands on her hips, boasting a researcher's passion.
"Well, no time like the present," Swan mutters to herself. She plops into a chair and switches the tape back on.
"Give it back, Kevin. The camera is Emma's, not yours."
Such an indecipherable bitch, the Snow Queen. Pretending she's an ally to her and then going and trapping her and everyone else around here within the ice wall so she can start freezing people...
"Emma, that's you," Snow breathes. Her back to him, he doesn't need to see her face to know she's fighting back tears. "You must be..."
"Thirteen, maybe fourteen," she says quickly.
"Are you missing the part where she's with the Snow Queen?" Regina demands, ever the voice of reason, insistent, hotheaded, frank reason. "Emma, you knew her before you came to Storybrooke?"
"Apparently, my run-in with her in town wasn't the only memory she erased. All this time in this foster home, or whatever that place was—it's gone."
"I-I just don't understand how she even ended up in this world," Belle says with her hands out. Aye, that does put one in a quandary. Even stranger, if the Snow Queen that he had never even heard of hailed from the Enchanted Forest, how would she even know Swan in the first place? Few had known about the Dark Curse with enough time to make preparations, Cora even lucking into that information. Whispers of a Savior accompanied Cora's firm faith that the curse would break, but as to who it was supposed to be or even a name...his bet is that only the darkest of wizards may have been privy to that.
"We were hoping Gold could tell us that," Swan says, twisting around to face him. His thoughts exactly. "You spent more time trying to get here than anyone, so how the hell did she do it?"
"Considering the time I spent on the same task, I'd love to know."
He believes him. He hates it, but he believes him. That they had past dealings, that's certain, to be sure, but the Snow Queen had been astute enough to know not to involve the Dark One in her plans.
"Does it really matter how she got to Emma? I mean, shouldn't we be more concerned about why?" David asks.
"Obviously, she needed her for something," Regina thinks out loud. "But what?" Scoffing at herself, she almost shrugs. "Well, that's our next problem."
"Well, we know she's hiding somewhere in the north woods. We combed every inch of her shop. We tore apart her house...she must have cleared everything out days before."
Killian recalls how impersonal the house had been. Things there might have triggered a response out of Emma, but they neither seemed that out of place nor alluded to any grand schemes.
"Which means she must be hiding something," he says, swallowing, trying to take the list of what they already know and apply it to some theory or prediction.
"But where?" Swan addresses them.
"What about her ice cream truck?" Henry at last speaks up. Her what? He immediately banishes the image of a vessel made of ice cream and holds his thoughts steady until he hears more.
"Whoa, Snow Queen has an ice cream truck?" Swan asks.
"I'm a kid. I notice these kinds of things," he says with a shrug, blushing just a tad at Swan's proud smile and nod at him. Ought to deputize the lad now, would save everyone some time.
"Then we split up into groups," David announces, locked into his own sheriff mode. "We search the town, the woods—Hook, Regina, Emma—you take the west. Gold, you're with me for the east."
About to suggest they bring Henry along on this one, he stops at Rumpelstiltskin's protesting, some tripe about working best alone. Paling, he closes his eyes and wills the crocodile not to go back to the shop, not to pull him aside at some point in the day and reveal to him and only him some ulterior reason for staying out of everyone's sight. The "fun" he would try to coerce him to do...
"Belle, how are you at tracking?" David continues. Now would be the time to make eye contact, he thinks, his heart racing as it waits for Rumpelstiltskin to shift his gaze to him, make the silent demand for the two of them to meet up, but it never happens. Rather he keeps his eyes on his wife.
"Uh, actually, I-I think I'll be more helpful at the library. Maybe I can dig something up on the Snow Queen." David doesn't look the least bit put off by her quibbling, and it's true Belle has come through more than once with her research...
"I'd like to come with you, Belle, if that's okay," Elsa requests, gliding over to her from one of the desks. "Maybe something about my sister will be there, too."
Belle gawks at her, trying to downplay her horror at the idea. He follows Swan and Regina over to the station's armory, of sorts, in the alcove, but his eyes stay on her.
"Unless, you'd rather not have the company?" Elsa hesitates. Good. He's not the only one who finds this behavior inexplicable. Gods, she's married to the one person in this room with more magic than anyone, and deep prejudices don't just disappear in the bedroom...
"N-n-no. Not at all. I would love some," she says, making up for her hesitation with a smile, albeit not her usual warm one.
He's no stranger to dead smiles masking something just beneath the surface.
Regina walks ahead of them, although not in an avoidant manner, more like just trying to hurry along the process. He had considered teasing her about how much better her pace is now than it was in Neverland, but this cordiality she seems to be extending them is a fragile thing. Instead, he and Swan bring up the rear and the look she gives him mirrors his—that a truck should be easy so easy to spot in the woods it's a wonder they haven't stumbled upon it yet.
"You get the feeling we're just following a trail of breadcrumbs?" she asks, stuffing her hands into her pockets.
"I thought she worked in ice cream?"
"Figure of speech. It means like we're following a trail she's leaving us."
"You mean she wants us to find the truck," he concludes, running his tongue over his teeth in consideration. It all did seem to be cries for attention, but that's not the entire picture. "I would, save for the fact that she erased your memory. Why have you backtrack like this? If she's seeing it as you seeking her out, then you can only do so up until you find out why she made you forget her. Once you know why, it seems odd she would expect circumstances to change."
"Yeah, I—hold on." She drives her chin out to where Regina has stopped to talk on her phone, a hand on her hip.
"Yes. We will be in that direction. Thank you," Regina says curtly. Turning to them, she fans some hair out of her face and adjusts the collar of her coat. "That was Robin. He and his men have found a truck and wanted to report it to you," she addresses to the grove of trees to their left.
"Great. A lead. How many abandoned trucks are out in the woods, right?" Swan musters a smile at her and quickens her pace, pushing her hands down into her thighs as they trudge up an incline.
"You're on speaking terms," he notes.
"Yeah, a run-in with a Snow Queen will do that to you," she says, flashing him a smile between intakes of air. They're almost to the top of the small bluff where the Merry Men have their camp. He understands now her sudden nostalgia for her childhood box last night, if she and Regina had indeed buried the hatchet. Of course Swan would have a vitriolic relationship with a friend, he thinks, arching his eyebrows and smirking at her.
"What?" she challenges.
"Nothing. It's commendable you've reached out to her to be her friend. Gods knows she needs one... After this, I assume you two will be knocking on your parents' door and then running off laughing?"
"Shut up," she murmurs, rolling her eyes at him. She waves up at Robin, crossbow at the ready. Still too far away to discuss anything, Robin motions to them that he'll meet them up where they found the truck. He breathes a sigh that they have something to explore. It's pertinent to the investigation, and it's a worthwhile distraction from...but he won't think of all that right now.
"David, call off the search party," Swan orders from her phone. "We found the truck near the Merry Men's camp." A few more men with bows guard a dirt-streaked truck with branches and vines set up all around it...a rather stagey way of making it look like it had been out here forever. As per the Snow Queen's "look at me" strategy, he presumes. "Thanks for keeping an eye out."
"Gladly," Robin says, working his way into their party. "You're the first sheriff I don't mind assisting. "Uh, Regina, I was hoping we could talk..."
"Um, in case you haven't noticed, I'm about to storm an evil ice cream truck," she retorts just as he was hurrying up ahead to give them a moment alone. He stops instead, allowing Regina to speak to Swan if she wishes.
"You could have just said 'maybe later,'" she advises in a hushed voice.
"I know you're trying to make everything better, but staying out of it is your best bet."
He unleashes a silent laugh. Birds of a feather.
"It's bad enough I'm stuck with you and Captain Guyliner making eyes at each other."
"I don't make eyes," she mumbles. Oh, he has to take advantage of that. Curling his tongue, he sweeps up around and passes Swan.
"Ready, love?" From the corner of his eye, he watches her compose herself.
The truck itself is a great deal more spacious than her car, but a far cry from David's vessel, what he thought also was called a truck. That vessel's shape had been for hauling things in the back flat area. This truck resembles more a tiny kitchen, containers and shelves all over the place, an immaculate contrast from the grungy outward appearance. The emptiness, however, remains intact inside and out.
"It appears she beat us to it," he sighs, stepping up into the truck. "She's cleared out the vessel." Again, baiting and baiting Swan only to give her nothing of substance. He's half beginning to think the Snow Queen's just in love with her...
"What now? Should we question the cow she gets her milk from? Maybe search the waffle-cone factory?" Regina snaps at them. Raising an eyebrow and about to remind her they only arrived here at Henry's suggestion, Swan steps forward.
"Hang on. Look." She handles a lock on one of the massive strongbox things. "Who locks their freezer? Was she afraid someone was going to steal the rocky road?"
Freezer. Food storage. Well, no flying monkey's going to burst out of there any time soon.
"Stand back," he says. Lifting his arm, his hook smashes the lock and prepares for the worst...a little ice-made flying monkey, perhaps...
Inside lies a singlular file, similar to the ones he and Swan and Elsa and everyone else had been poring over as of late. She picks it up and freezes at the first paper stuffed into it. With a cock of her head, she channels the fear and confusion into anger.
"Looks like the dairy queen's bene following me for a long time," she says with some bite.
"Since before foster care?" Regina asks.
"Since I landed in this world." She holds out the paper for them to see. Protected in some transparent coating, his eyes skip the photograph on the top and burn holes into the bolded words "Seven Year Old Boy Finds Baby on Side of Road."
Ah. Drawing a breath, he steps out of the truck and waits along the back. They'd been led to this, that much is obvious. The Snow Queen's lock was a clue, not a barrier. Might as well have been a sign telling them to check it. She couldn't have had any way of knowing that Swan had already discovered they had had a past together, so she made sure to include that revelation in her plan, whatever it was.
And that worries him the most. No one knows what she wants. Emma's the first answer that comes to mind, but she'd had her. She could have kept the wall up and frozen Marian all to get closer to her, but she'd all but secured her as a child. And that didn't explain Anna's disappearance, or wiping away Elsa's memories.
"I, I'm just going to give you a moment alone," Regina says, stepping down out of the truck. Behind her, Swan stacks up the papers and reads over them with a pace so feverish her eyes dart from side to side.
"According to this, she was my foster parent for six months!"
"Aye?"
"That's the longest I was ever in one spot, but I don't remember a second of it!" She sits and starts dividing the papers into categories, but just gives up and stares down at the ones still in her lap.
"You all right, Swan?" he asks. His weight falls onto his knee as he positions his leg onto the edge of a fallen log.
"I'm fine. It was all a long time ago."
"Perhaps, but wounds that are made when we're young...tend to linger," he says, to himself as well as to her. Gods know there are details he knows would require the utmost privacy, countless deep breaths, and maybe a stiff drink in hand before he'd divulge them even to her...he doesn't know if those outnumber the details he wishes he knew.
"How would you know?" she tests him. It would be a rude question if her eyes didn't set just right, if her head tilted at any other angle, if he didn't know it was her way of furthering a subject she wasn't completely comfortable discussing.
"Believe it or not, I was once a child," he says, angling his head the same way. It will get easier, he reminds himself. It will go away—the hesitation that hits him hard when he has a chance to be open with her. Every time he does, the feeling is replaced by something so much better...but still.
"Yeah, like a million years ago," she scoffs.
"It was more like two hundred," he says, shuffling up and over the log to sit. He fights the urge to stare off into the trees and revisit those wounds, not now, and glances at the corners of the papers sticking out of the file. His eye catches one with her name on it at the same time her fingers do. She flips the page up to reveal a horizon line...soft streaks of turquoises and aquamarines meeting in the middle with flecks of pink, yellow, and green giving the suggestion of trees, flowers—a setting sun on the water. Not a stirring painting by any stretch, but one with some style, an eye for romanticism.
"What is it?"
"It's a painting I did when I was in school," she says, eyebrows coming together. She flips it up and over to examine what lies beneath it.
"That so surprising?"
"It's not the only one. This crazy woman has a whole file of my old art projects and essays...just like the one I have for Henry." She pauses, needing to look away for a minute. "You don't keep stuff like this unless you care about someone."
"Perhaps the Snow Queen wasn't simply using you. Perhaps she'd grown fond of you over time," he suggests. It happens. It feels worse when it should feel better. As long as the Snow Queen had been an admirerer from afar, as long as she'd obsessively collected everything about Emma and stayed indifferent to the real person, he could feel an end to this was in sight. But for the woman to love her, or at least develop such an attachment to her she assumed was love, there is suddenly an opened floodgate of worry. Whatever reasons the Snow Queen harbored for taking Anna, for having something to do trapping Elsa in the urn, for erasing Emma's memories, they had been more powerful than he'd thought. Even perceived love is difficult to trump.
"Looks like the feeling was mutual," she says, opening a greeting card so the splashy colors on the front give way to a mostly white canvas with the scratchy penmanship of a child on it. "'Thanks for being the family I never had. Love, Emma.' I wrote that. To her."
"Looks like you two were close once." There is a brief flicker of nausea on her face, but she shakes it out. It's becoming harder for her to step out of the case and be the impersonal sheriff, and he doesn't blame her in the least.
"But she still erased my memories. Something must have happened to change all that. There has to be a clue as to why."
He wouldn't bet on it, he thinks, staring down at the papers. The file may have started out as a parental shrine to her, but now it's only a clue as to what the Snow Queen wants her to see—the happy times, render her so sentimental she'll come rushing back to her not caring about what tore them apart in the first place.
A rolled-up piece of parchment snaps him out of his reverie, thick and yellowed. It's quite the contrast from the stark white schoolwork, he notices, taking hold of it. It's a scroll.
"Perhaps there is." They unroll it together, switching hands so hers steadies the top while he unfurls the bottom of it. "If you can read hieroglyphs."
That it's an alphabet, he's sure, and yet, from far away, it would look more like a row of stick figures and arrows, not a curved line among them. He dares to hope it's some sort of code the two of them had invented when she was younger, some...he cringes...mother-daughter way of becoming even closer, inventing something only they could understand.
"This isn't from our world," she breathes. "What the hell was she doing with me?"
A/N: Coming up? As if Hook wasn't already freaked out by the Snow Queen...
