Chapter Two – Mary Margaret & The Castle
The road was a long-since forgotten idea here. Her horse had grown weary from the exertion from constant movement. The traveler slowed her mount to a walk and ducked her head under a low-hanging branch. She had finally come to the clearing that she'd heard tell of for many years.
Before her was a low, flat rock jutting up and out of the mud and grime of the forest floor. Dead leaves littered the ground around it, the white caps of mushrooms forming a near-perfect circle around the rock. Sunlight streamed down through a gap in the trees overhead casting the stone and its fairy ring of white-capped mushrooms in an almost eerie glow.
The traveler was not sure if this was the destination she had intended to arrive at. She'd been following a feeling buried deep within her, spurring her horse on as she chased after the solution to why she was searching, always searching. She didn't know what pushed her onwards, into the darkness and the unknown, but the compulsion was buried deep within her.
This place was different; it had an air of finality about it that the traveler was unaccustomed to on her journeys.
She could taste the tangy flavor of lingering magic on her tongue with each breath. It tasted of blood, the coppery taste clinging to about her senses and setting the traveler ill at ease. She was a warrior, and even the inherent magical nature of a place such as this was enough to raise her defenses.
Her horse tossed its head backwards, as if to escape the smell of the magic and she laid a placating hand on his neck. "Shhh," she intoned quietly, fingers tangling in in carefully groomed mane. She could not afford a spooked horse right now. This place held enough danger without a terrified animal added to the mix.
The traveler's black cloak spilled out behind her as she slid down off of her horse's back and drew her sword and stepped into the clearing. Each footstep was ginger as she lead her steed over to a low hanging branch. She tied her reins carefully, cooing at the horse as she stepped away from it.
This might not have been the destination that she'd had in mind when she'd set out on her journey, but it was a destination. The traveler's sword was perfectly level as her boots padded quietly across the clearing. She breached the barrier of the fairy-ring and swallowed as magical energy crackled all-around her.
Taking a deep breath, she drank in the power - feeling it swirl and circle around her. It drew her upwards, onto the rock, her leathers creaking as she scrambled up and onto the raised, flat surface. The magic here was sentient, it knew her here.
The traveler raised her hands outwards towards the edges of the clearing and tentatively lowered her shields, letting the power wash over her. The scent was strong here; she would find what she was looking for here. Here in this most secret of places.
Emma Swan woke up in a sweaty, tangled mess of blankets that clung to her skin as she tried to kick them off of her. That dream had been particularly jarring, and she could still smell the stale, metallic smell of that clearing as she peered owlishly around the small room at that she'd procured for the week.
After she'd returned Henry to his mother, she'd attempted to leave once again. She'd downed two Red Bulls at the town's lone service station to try and stave off the very strong drink that the Mayor had mixed her and had headed south once more.
There had been a - something - in the road that had prevented her leaving and in the process of doing so, she'd managed to dent her poor car and take out a historic piece of signage. All in a day's work, Emma reasoned, wincing at how much it had cost to repair the sign. She'd offered to do the work herself, she'd gotten pretty handy with power tools over the years, but the city council was having none of that, so Emma was forced to pay the town's carpenter out of pocket to repair it.
She hadn't wanted to stay, but Henry had run away the following day and Emma had found herself staring down his mother and wondering if maybe, just maybe, the feeling that she'd felt the first time she'd met Regina Mills was just the misplaced emotions that she had buried long ago.
There was a quiet tapping at the door and Emma found herself groaning and rolling out of the rickety cast-iron bed and stumbling towards the door.
She was expecting Ruby, the granddaughter of the elderly woman who ran the Bed and Breakfast, or maybe the proprietress herself at the door. Certainly not a basket full of apples attached to a rather smug-looking Regina Mills.
"For your journey home," she said by way of explanation, glancing down Emma's bare legs and tank top. The corner of her lip turned upwards and she added, her disdain evident in her voice, "Perhaps next time you answer a door, you'll make sure you're decent, Ms. Swan?"
Emma backed away from the door sheepishly and reached for the jeans she'd left slung over the foot of the bed the previous evening. "Sorry," she mumbled sleepily. It was far too early for her to be attempting to comprehend Regina Mills. Her mind was still running circles around the dream she'd had, trying to figure out what a fairy ring even fucking was and how she'd come to know exactly how powerful such rare occurrences were.
She wasn't like the kid - Henry - she didn't live and breathe fairy tales and other stories like them. Magic didn't exist for a good reason, this world didn't want it.
The woman peered down her nose at Emma as she sat down on the side of the bed and began to pull her boots on. "Don't bother, I won't be staying long."
Emma glanced up then, head tilting off to the left as it sometimes did when she was thinking. It was strange to have someone of such local importance gracing her bedroom as she was half-dressed and just waking up. It was just past eight in the morning, and Emma was not a morning person. "I-" she began, staring at the basket of apples in the Mayor hands. "I thought I might stay, for a few days." She ran a shaky hand through her hair and added, "The kid's already proven that he's pretty resourceful when it comes to getting away from you. Maybe if I stick around, talk him down from whatever this obsession with fairy tales has lead him to believe about his life here - about you - he'll be better for it."
"You'll find that you gave up all rights to make decisions about Henry's well-being when you gave him up ten years ago," The Mayor retorted without so much as a beat to consider what Emma was saying. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyes were the dark and stormy eyes of someone very much at war with themselves.
Emma knew that look, knew what it meant and knew that she would make no headway. Still, she could not back down from a challenge. Regina Mills brought out a particular breed of stubbornness in Emma that she could never quite shake. "I don't want to impede on your rights as a parent at all," she tried to explain. The words felt hot and heavy on her tongue, as though forcing them out in direct defiance to the Mayor was somehow against the very laws of nature in this town. Emma inhaled, her nostrils flaring out slightly. "He's a good kid, Ms. Mills, I just want to know him. To know that he's okay."
The Mayor's jaw opened and shut a few times before she set the basket of apples down on the bed next to Emma and shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her overcoat. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor of the Bed and Breakfast as she moved back towards the door. "I pay enough every year in therapy bills for Henry to know that no one – not even an interloper such as yourself, dear – will be able to help Henry through this period of his life better than I can." A polite smile that seemed almost out of place on Regina Mills' face appeared then and she added, "Drive safely Ms. Swan. Enjoy Boston; I hear it's lovely in the autumn."
Emma's eyes narrowed as the Mayor turned and stalked out of the door.
It was strange, no matter how much her gut told her to run, to get the hell away from this place before it drew her in further; Emma didn't think she could leave. She had to make sure that Henry was okay – his mother was a goddamn force of nature and he was just a little boy, tossed about on the turbulent waters of such violent emotions.
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Emma had met Mary Margaret Blanchard the previous day, when Henry had disappeared for the second time. She had seemed nice. A little quiet and reserved, but the sort of person that could be talked to frankly and honestly. Emma had liked her instantly, and when she found herself knocking on a time-worn door just off the main street in Storybrooke, she hoped she was making the right call.
The building was older-looking, but not dilapidated. Emma guessed that it had once been some sort of a mill or storage facility before it had been converted into storefronts and apartments. The whitewash on the door was peeling; leaving strips of weathered wood beneath it – so old they were nearly grey. She inhaled, the scent of the ocean and of the forest to the west of the town filling her nose, making her wonder if this was what a place where she belonged was supposed smell like.
"Emma!" Mary Margaret opened the door with a surprised look on her face. She had a mug of something-or-other in one hand and a book tucked under her arm. "What can I do for you?"
Emma shifted from foot to foot, feeling incredibly awkward for even asking this question. "I wanted to talk to you about Henry—"
The dark haired woman's eyes narrowed and a concerned expression flickered across her features. Emma blinked, the downwards turn on Mary Margaret's eyes and lips were not unfamiliar. She'd seen the same expression cross her own face - cross Henry's. She shook her head slightly, pushing the thought and Henry's childish theories out of her head as Mary Margaret asked, "He hasn't run away again has he?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Emma shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling suddenly foolish. She had no idea what she was doing here, early on a Saturday morning. The Mayor had made sure that she was awake, the dreams feeding into her own paranoia about staying in this strange little town. "I just-"
She didn't know what she wanted to ask Mary Margaret. She had come here full of intent and it had all vanished at the kind eyes of the school teacher. She reached a hand up to scratch at the back of her neck as Mary Margaret stepped away from the door, holding it open. "Why don't you come in," she asked.
Emma took two steps into the apartment and smiled. It was the sort of style of shabby chic that she had come to recognize as a common aesthetic in Storybrooke. "Shoes?" she asked, bending to unlace her boots.
"Only in the winter," Mary Margaret replied and Emma let out a grateful hum of agreement. "Too much work otherwise."
Mary Margaret moved into the apartment's kitchen, refilling the tea kettle and setting it on the stove. Emma listened to the gas pop three times before Mary Margaret made a disappointed noise and reached for the box of matches that perched on the back of the stove. She struck a match and lit the stove with the practiced precision on one long-accustomed to the burners not lighting.
"You want to talk about Henry," Mary Margaret said, blowing out the match and tossing it into the sink.
Emma wrapped her arms around herself. "Am I that obvious?"
The other woman gave a little shrug, her eyes twinkling and a small, private sort of smile dancing across of her lips. Emma grinned back at her and slid onto a stool at the kitchen island.
There was a moment of silence before Mary Margaret caved under Emma's intense stare and laughed, "Okay, maybe a little."
"I just -" Emma sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I just want to know him, you know? I can see that superficially, at least, he's okay. His mom is-" she trailed off, finger at her lips, searching for the appropriate word to describe Regina Mills.
"Intense?" Mary Margaret supplied, picking up a container of cocoa mix and spooning it into her own mug and a second mug that she'd pulled off of the dish drain by the sink. "The Mayor expects a lot from Henry, but he is loved."
"Is he?" Emma did not want to mention the conversation she'd had with the Mayor on her front stoop the previous evening. The conversation that had been the impetus for Emma to stay, for when she'd looked into the dark eyes of the Mayor she had seen deceit at the Mayor's response to her simple question. "Why does he keep running away?"
The kettle began to whistle and Mary Margaret puttered around with the instant cocoa mix for a few minutes. Emma found watching her go through the process of preparing something to be oddly soothing. "Kids are kids," Mary Margaret shrugged. She poured the steaming water from the kettle into the two mugs and stirred them pensively before absently reaching for a container labeled cinnamon. "It's probably my fault, though."
Emma tilted her head, "Oh?"
"That book," Mary Margaret explained, handing Emma the mug of cocoa she'd just prepared. "I gave it to him."
"Yeah," Emma intoned, "You mentioned it yesterday."
"I gave it to him because his mother had just told him that he was adopted and he was acting like his entire world was crumbling around him," Mary Margaret sighed and sipped her cocoa. "His mother thought that he and Doctor Hopper were finally getting to the point where she could tell him."
"She told you this?" Emma raised an incredulous eyebrow. Regina Mills did not seem the type to be particularly open about her parenting style, and Emma wasn't fool enough to miss the blatant hostility between the two of them. It was probably somewhat founded, on Regina's part, as Mary Margaret had given her son the book that had him somehow convinced that his mother was some evil fairytale queen.
"Doctor Hopper did, actually," Mary Margaret sniffed and Emma rolled her eyes. "I did corroborate it with the Mayor - just not in so many words."
They fell into silence then, Emma lost in her own thoughts as Mary Margaret sipped her cocoa. If all this was brought upon by Henry finding out that he was adopted, maybe she could make him see that the fairy tales were just his way of trying to cope with the fact that he had been given a better chance than she could have ever possibly offered him.
"If I wanted to talk to Doctor Hopper, where would I find him?"
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He hadn't wanted to, but Dr. Hopper had given Emma Henry's file. Emma had read through the first few pages before she'd realized that somehow she had played right into Mayor Mill's hands. The sheriff, Graham of the odd accent, was knocking on her door and demanding to know if she'd broken into Doctor Hopper's office to take the files.
"The doc'll swear you did it," Graham said helpfully as Emma gathered the papers she'd spread across the bed at the B&B. She shoved them moodily back into the folder that they'd come in, not caring how haphazardly they were put back. This was her game, she realized, it had to be her game.
Emma handed Graham the file and folded her arms across her chest. She didn't want to appear cocky, but there was an element of that in her very stance. She didn't think that the sheriff would arrest her. He had the somewhat wounded appearance of a total pushover, and while Emma was not beyond using that aspect of the sheriff's personality, she did not want to play that card too early.
He was, after all, just a pawn.
Emma raised an eyebrow at the sheriff and asked, "Will he now?"
Graham gave a little shrug and tucked the folder under his arm. "Sorry to say," he said, reaching into his vest pocket and pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
"Nuh uhhhhh," Emma raised a hand and ran it shakily through her hair. She didn't want to do the perp-walk out of this bed and breakfast. The woman who owned the place would probably have a coronary seeing that happen. She'd take away Emma's renter's rights in a heartbeat, even faster if there was some law about 'criminals' and private-enterprise housing on the books. Emma was sure that there was, she'd seen the way the Mayor had sneered at her earlier.
"'Fraid so," the sheriff took one of her wrists and the then the other, locking them into the handcuffs. The iron in them made Emma's skin itch and she twisted them this way and that before the Sheriff threw her jacket over her hands and steered her towards the doorway. "Just come down and answer some questions and this will all blow over."
"I'm sure it will," Emma muttered sarcastically, grabbing her keys awkwardly as she passed by them on the shelf by the door.
It turned out that Emma's initial thought about Sheriff Graham was correct. He was a pushover, the worst sort of one, honestly. She could see the Mayor's fingerprints all over this a mile away and it upset her. She didn't have to be a genius to understand that the woman wanted her gone from this down.
Emma worried at her fingernail as she sat, still handcuffed, next to Graham's desk. What little she had been able to read of Doctor Hopper's file on Henry spoke at length of how the good doctor thought that the root of the fairy-tale obsession was Henry's being unable to mentally handle the fact that he was adopted. Clearly he'd been told too soon, but Emma had not had enough time to read back far enough in the file to determine if Henry had appeared to be read, before it had happened.
Graham was filling out her paperwork, processing her for yet another arrest for her jacket and Emma was fuming. She had to talk to Henry's mother – the Mayor clearly had the full story. She had to know why they'd told him if he wasn't ready, or why they'd thought that he was. The news had obviously damaged him, aided by Mary Margaret's book.
"Place of birth?" Graham asked with a cocked eyebrow, his pen hovering over the line on the form.
She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Depends who you ask," she explained, tapping her fingers on the desk. "Henry seems to think I wasn't born on Earth at all." Graham lowered the pen to the page and Emma smirked. Trust him to be gullible to boot. "My birth certificate says Elmwood, Rhode Island, though."
"Emma!" Henry's youthful voice cut through the chuckle that rose out of Graham's throat and he dashed past the normal visitor's area of the station and flung himself at her. "Doctor Hopper told me everything! You don't need to worry! I brought help."
Behind him, waiting politely in the visitor's area, was Mary Margaret Blanchard. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and adjusted her purse on her shoulder. Upon noticing that Henry was mentioning her, she smiled weakly at Emma and gave a little wave.
Emma raised her handcuffed hands and waved back.
"Emma, she's gonna bail you out," Henry explained, climbing down from where he'd clambered into Emma's lap. He stood awkwardly in his school uniform, looking for all the world like she had to again take him home to his mother.
She wasn't cut out to be a parent. Her complete and utter aversion to all the affection that Henry was giving to her so freely made that point strikingly clear.
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Henry took her back to his castle. The old jungle gym by the rocky outcropping that the locals apparently called look-out point had seen better days, but Emma could tell by the way that Henry climbed easily onto the platforms that it was a favorite of his. She climbed up next to him, shivering as the wind cut through her light jacket and sweater. Maine was colder than she remembered from the few times she'd ventured this far north. The sea spray as the waves crashed against the rocks just beyond Henry's secret place didn't help to stave off the deep and chilling feeling of damp that had crept under Emma's skin and wouldn't go away no matter how much she tried to warm up.
"Henry," she was afraid to reach out and touch him, to touch him would be to know him and Emma did not want that. She wanted to leave, and yet she had to stay. She had to make sure that the child that had been such a burden and such a mistake in her youth would be safe. It was a foolish wish. One that she didn't deserve to be making, for she'd given up on Henry ten years ago when she'd first signed those adoption papers.
His eyes were shining as he looked back up at her. "You were doing recon on the curse, weren't you?"
She wanted to shake her head no, but something stopped her. It was like the pull of the surf to the shore, keeping her steady and grounded. Emma bit her lip and stared off at the ocean. It stretched on forever before them, slate gray fading to blue and then finally blending in with the sky at the horizon. "I was doing recon on you," she settled on.
It didn't seem fair to destroy the kid's imagination.
Henry frowned at this, his lip outing outwards in an expression that she had never seen on her own face. He looked far more like the Mayor then, put out that he wasn't getting his way. Emma could tell that he wanted her to believe in him and his crazy theory about the town so badly that her realism and healthy skepticism were annoying him.
She reached out, fingers hovering over the collar of his jacket. She didn't want to touch him. To touch him would make him real, and would play into his mother's game. She couldn't risk anyone seeing her being friendly with the kid - she knew it would be twisted into some form of child endangerment. Emma settled on letting her fingers adjust the hand-knit scarf around Henry's neck, smoothing it under his collar as she watched his face.
"Henry, did your mom telling you that you were adopted make the whole curse thing click in your brain?" It was a long-shot, but she figured that maybe if she kept him talking about the curse that she'd be able to find an in. She had to stress to the kid that he couldn't keep treating his mother like crap. She very obviously loved hi-
Emma's train of thoughts suddenly thought and her eyes narrowed. She wasn't supposed to be supporting Regina Mills. She was actually supposed to be really fucking pissed at her right now. The woman was a menace that had gotten Emma arrested just to prove a point. Emma frowned, wondering where the sudden surge of benevolence within her had come from.
She was going to have words with Mayor Mills after she talked to Henry. She did not need to feel compelled to back down now; the woman was scary enough without cold feet.
Henry seemed thoughtful, fiddling with the end of his scarf. "No," he seemed to conclude. "Before, I just noticed weird stuff happening, but Ms. Blanchard gave me the book and my mom told me about how you were my real mom."
"I doubt she sat you down and said that I was your real mother. You stole Mary Margaret's credit card to prove that, didn't you?" Emma leaned back, the palms of her hands resting against the cool, sun-bleached wood of Henry's Castle.
He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. Emma felt a weak smile flit across her face. "I said I was sorry," he muttered. "Mom paid her back."
Emma shook her head, sighing exasperatedly. "Kid, you can't just go doing things just to prove something is real. You might believe it, but that doesn't mean that it is." She sat up, forearms resting on her knees as she turned to look him in the eye. "You're hurting more people than just yourself."
Henry blinked at her, eyes wide and confused. "What do you mean?"
She sighed and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "Well, think about it. Your mom loves you, and you ran away from her to find me. I'm a total stranger who gave you up because I was seventeen and too young to be a mother." Henry drew in a deep breath and Emma could see his chin start to wobble. She exhaled and added, "I grew up without parents, Henry. I grew up in the foster system and I hated it. I didn't want the child I'd had to have the same life I did."
"Why?" Henry asked.
She shrugged. "Because I wanted you to have a loving family."
"My mom doesn't love me," Henry retorted. "She just pretends, she pretends and lies and fake smiles and I hate her." His hands were balled into fists on top of his book, and Emma finally realized that she had to touch him. She reached over and grasped his hands, pulling them into her own.
"You're wrong," she said fiercely. "She does love you."
She wasn't exactly telling him the truth, but it was close enough that she thought that Henry can handle it. She had a feeling in her gut that Regina Mills was a very complicated and layered woman. Whatever Emma's power to discern when people are lying seemed to fall short with the Mayor. She'd seen the lie when she'd asked if the Mayor cared about her son, but maybe care was too weak a word for the emotion that was felt when it came to Henry. He was a lovable kid, after all.
"How do you know?" Henry asked.
Emma took a leap of faith and tapped her nose knowingly, "Magic."
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The Mayor had been less-than-thrilled to find Emma standing on the other side of her doorway with a rather guilty looking Henry beside her. They cut a comical picture, standing before the put-together Mayor looking bedraggled and just a little bit lost. Emma had pushed Henry forward and he'd winced as his mother made a show of checking her watch.
"What do you have to say for yourself, young man?" She asked then, eyebrows dangerously high.
Henry had the good sense to at least look a little bit ashamed. "I'm sorry," he explained. "I just..."
Emma watched as the woman that Henry was so convinced was the Evil Queen from the old stories knelt down and touched her son's cheeks. "You need to be more careful, okay?"
"I promise," he said, before pulling away from his mother's fingers and making a mad dash up the stairs towards where Emma assumed his bedroom was.
Emma watched as Regina Mills seemed to count to ten after the sharp snap of Henry's bedroom door closing drifted down the stairs. "I thought you were leaving Storybrooke, Ms. Swan," her tone had turned low and angry, barely a hiss as she raised her narrowed and dark eyes to Emma.
"I was waylaid," Emma replied with a raised eyebrow. She folded her arms across her chest and dared the Mayor to deny the fact that her fingerprints were all over the completely bullshit charges brought against her.
The Mayor stepped aside and allowed Emma into the house, a single eyebrow rising in response to Emma's. "Is that so?" The Mayor's tone was light, almost mocking.
She waited until Emma grudgingly stepped forward and inside the house before closing the door with a snap and turning without a word and heading towards what Emma had assumed was her study the first time she'd been in there the night she'd brought Henry back from Boston.
Grudgingly, Emma wiped her feet on the mat by the door and headed after Regina.
The door had barely closed behind her before Emma felt the tenuous hold she had on her temper finally let go. She exhaled slowly, watching the tight line of the Mayor's shoulders as she stood with her back to Emma, hands resting on her desk and her feet crossed at the ankle.
Emma wanted to yell. She wanted to yell and kick up an all-mighty fuss. Henry wouldn't be able to hear her give the Mayor a piece of her mind, not behind that thick oak door. She swallowed, feeling the words die in her throat again and again as she tried to fight.
"Get on with it," the Mayor's voice was quiet. The anger seemed to be gone, replaced with a resigned tone that seemed almost out of character.
Her hand clenched into a fist and Emma shook her head no. She didn't really want to fight, no matter how pissed off she was. It would just make her look bad, and it would deny her any future opportunity to know Henry when Regina inevitably ran her out of town. "I won't sink to that - to your - level."
There was an almost catlike grace about the Mayor as she turned and faced Emma, her eyes flashing dangerously. She strode towards Emma and jabbed her finger into Emma's jacket. Emma wanted to back up, but she'd already scooted herself so that her back was pressed against the door. "You will do what I tell you when I tell you to get the hell out of my town."
"You haven't given me one good reason to get outta here," Emma retorted. She pushed forward, eyes narrowed in response. "All I want to know is if Henry's okay and you're acting like a damn loose cannon! You had me arrested." She shook her head; the whole thing was fucking ridiculous anyway. "You've got Henry convinced you're an Evil Fairytale Queen and you want me out of here?"
The look on Regina's face was alarming, contorting into a look of unmitigated hatred. Emma flinched as she found herself gazing directly into the Mayor's black eyes. There was no light there, no warmth, nothing to indicate an iota of humanity. "You'd best tread carefully, Ms. Swan," she hissed. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
"Don't push me, Madame Mayor," Emma replied, side stepping, her fingers scrambling against the solid wood of the door. Upon finally hitting the handle, she pulled herself even further from the Mayor, her jaw set into a hard line. "You'll find I'm exactly the same. You don't want to be on my bad side."
Regina's pulled upwards into a near-perfect sneer and she demanded, "Am I not already?"
There wasn't an answer for that, or at least not one that Emma would allow to be uttered out loud. She stuck her chin up in the air defiantly and slipped out of Regina's study before she found herself saying things she would later regret. Slamming the front door to the Mayor's house, Emma zipped up her jacket and jammed her hands into her pockets. It was too goddamn cold in Maine.
She kicked moodily at the gathering leaves on the sidewalk outside of the Mayor's house. Her hand clenched angrily around the compass that she always kept in her jacket pocket, the sharp metal edge digging into her skin. The pain was good, it kept her grounded and avoiding the childish temper tantrum that was sure to get her arrested for public menace or something equally bullshit and trumped up.
It was easy to wander in Storybrooke, lost in her thoughts though Emma was. She cut across the main drag and headed towards the Bed and Breakfast, still silently fuming. She brushed past the man that she'd been introduced to as Mr. Gold as she cut across the lawn. He was making his way down the path from the steps, his cane swinging.
"Hello, Ms. Swan," he said with a tip of his (very dated) hat.
Emma distractedly waved, paying more attention to putting one foot in front of the other. She wanted to get inside and find a pillow to scream into.
She climbed the porch steps two at a time and pulled the bed and breakfast door open with more force than was entirely necessary. Her room key in hand, Emma headed towards the stairs when Mrs. Lucas appeared from around the corner. "Oh! Ms. Swan!"
Emma turned to face the older woman, trying to school her features into a less stormy mass of pissed-off. "Yes?" she asked.
The older woman adjusted her glasses and fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. Emma was tempted to tell her to just spit it out. She had a feeling that she knew what was about to be said, anyway.
"This is just so terribly awkward," Mrs. Lucas muttered. She looked up and met Emma's eyes steadily. "It's just that the inn - well, the whole town really - has a law about renting rooms to criminals."
Figured.
Nodding, Emma let the angry breath she was holding out slowly through her mouth. "And, let me guess, the Mayor's office just called to remind you of that fact?"
Mrs. Lucas at least had the good sense to look guilty about it.
You win. Emma thought darkly, holding up her room key. "I gotta get my stuff out of the room, and then I'll be out of your hair."
"I'm really sorry about this," Mrs. Lucas began. "I know that you're just here because of Henry."
Emma bit her lip and headed up the stairs. She wanted to say yes, that she was there just for Henry. It would be so easy to say her dreams and the feeling of peace that she got from this place were just illusions. She was a fool to think that she could stay here without help. The Mayor wanted her gone and it seemed like she'd stop at nothing to get rid of Emma.
They were both stubborn, it seemed. Throwing the few articles of clothing that she'd brought with her (and sorely wishing she'd brought another sweater) into her bag, Emma tried to push the odd push and pull of her conversations with Regina Mills from her mind. Emma Swan never backed down from a fight, and she'd ran away like the Mayor had gotten the best of her.
"The fuck's wrong with me?" Emma muttered, contemplating the bedspread for a moment before pulling the blanket that was folded at the end of the bed. She'd ask Mrs. Lucas if she could borrow it for the evening and then be on her way.
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Ta-ta-ta-daaaaa! A great announcement for all the kingdom to hear!
When Rumplestiltskin asked Snow White and Prince Charming for their daughter's name, his deal was merely for his own edification once the curse was fully enacted. He had a theory that even the Queen's promise of power would still leave him neutered, and he could not have that. He had to know, had to make sure that he would know who the promised child was long before the Queen deduced her identity.
He sat in his cell and contemplated the endgame that grew every minute within Snow White's belly. The girlchild would be the end – maybe even the death – of them all. The imp knew even then that the power she possessed would be amplified by something that could not be quantified by the traditional scales of magic. He had not planned for this, and he ran every conversation back through his mind, searching for his folly. A slip of tongue, he wondered if that could have been the cause of his folly.
The deal had been simple, he'd asked for little with the guarantee of little in return. He would protect the child because the child was to be the savior. The girlchild could break even the Queen's curse. A name held power to Rumplestiltskin, more so than many of this realm. He chewed on a fingernail and thought of the savior's name.
Emma.
Imprisoned though he was, the imp knew that something was amiss as the black miss of the queen's curse began to swirl around him some weeks later. The power was black, but the underlying hues were of purple and of gold – noble colors unbecoming of a witch of common birth. This was not his magic, nor was it the Queen's; no, this was something else entirely.
"What did she do?" he wondered out loud, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his destination, rather than the journey. He would not allow the Queen to fool him this time, not again.
You can't just play a trumpet! No, you must feel the freedom of the music.
But this prisoner isn't free. No one is.
Oh. Have you heard?
Okay, if any of you guys are familiar with my other vaguely-au-mostly-canon stories, you'll know that I tend to play fast and really loose with canon. Some of the events in this story are in chronological order according to how they happened in the show, others are a little bit out of order, some are ignored in their entirely.
I chose to keep Granny's last name as Lucas as it was in Fairy Tale Land, just because it's a perfectly reasonable surname. I checked a couple wikis to make sure that she was never actually given a last name in Storybrooke.
I'm in the market for a beta who'd be willing to check stuff, I can't keep begging my tumblr friends who don't know anything about the show. Anyone who'd be willing to put up with my bs'd be awesome, shoot me a PM. :) Or if you want to email me, my email is listed in my profile.
Next: The Town and The Mine