Chapter Six - The Imp and The Game
The witch who was once the queen folded her arms across her chest and stared impassively down at the traveler as she bent to hurriedly gather up the brushes she'd dropped. "Does this surprise you, dear?" the witch asked.
The traveler knew all about the witch who had once been the queen - who had once been her mother's stepmother. The story had come from her nursemaid's lips before the traveler had graced her first summer. Her mother never spoke of the woman, and she seemed almost wounded when the traveler had mentioned that her tutors were teaching her about it in her daily lessons.
"Do not believe all that they tell you," Her mother had said in the few fleeting moments she had been able to spare for her daughter. "Things were done that are unforgivable on both sides of that conflict." The traveler had not questioned her mother further, for no more explanation was given.
A curry comb in her hands, the traveler risked a look up through her hair at the witch. "I was told that I was not to believe all that I heard of you," she explained quietly. "Your story was told to me as a child, and my tutors told you of your life. I had thought you dead."
"It appears you were told wrong," The witch mused, her fingers placating on the traveler's horse's neck. It sniffed loudly, before lowering its head to mouth her cloak. "For I assure you that I am very much alive."
The traveler got to her feet and met the witch's eyes evenly. "I wish you no quarrel-"
"I know who you are," the witch responded curtly. "My offer of hospitality remains, but be warned, daughter of my closest enemy." The witch moved forward in a puff of smoke, her hand closing around the traveler's neck before the traveler could even react. Her hands clawed at the witch's, trying to gain purchase and force the woman off of her. Her breath came shallow as the witch leaned in close, her breath warm and tickling at the wisps of straw-colored hair that had fallen out of the plait down the traveler's back. "If you move to attack the peace I have found here in these woods," she hissed, her voice was low and dangerous, "I will end your life."
She could not fight it, the threat was far too real. The traveler realized in that moment that the witch was the forest mistress, for the very air around them seemed to be poised to strike the traveler, should her hand fall to her sword or the knife in her boot. The stories had been true and the traveler felt the fear settle in at the pit of her stomach. It covered the pull that kept her moving like snow, drowning the need to constantly move with the need to face up to the fear she felt.
Swallowing, the traveler held up her hands in surrender. "I am merely a traveler here." Her voice was steady as she explained, and she was grateful that she had been able control it. Her voice was known to shake with nervousness - a habit her swords master had never been able to train out of her. Her father detested her hesitance. He said it made her a cynic and a non-believer. He always stressed that belief was everything in this world.
She gasped as the witch loosened her grip, allowing precious air to pass through her lips once more. The traveler's eyes flashed just once, expression softening as she spoke. "I would no sooner spit on my grandfather's grave than return your hospitality in such a way."
It was a barb in and of itself. The witch knew it too. The traveler watched as the witch's face fell. Regret was a powerful emotion, one that the traveler knew well. The witch stepped back, allowing the traveler room to fall back, sagging against the stable wall. "Your grandfather was a good man, my hand was forced."
The traveler had never once questioned that fact. The witch had not been the one who had killed the man, after all. It had been a man from a distant land, a d'jin gone rogue. That was what her tutors had said, after all.
They brushed the horse down in silence and the traveler pulled the tattered old blanket she used for the horse at night from her saddle bags and draped it over its back. She secured it with practiced ease and turned to the witch. "Truly, I do not wish to harm you."
"Then come," the witch replied. "I will see if my son has finished preparing for the evening meal."
The witch held out her hand, flexing her fingers as flame erupted from their tips. The stable was bathed in the warm glow of the spell and the traveler stepped forward to join the witch. "I have no skill with magic," she commented quietly as they moved back towards the house.
Sniffing disdainfully, the witch shook her head. "You would be surprised, dear."
Graham's hand on her shoulder jerked Emma awake. She started, hands flying every which way as she tried to ground herself. Her throat felt sore as she reached up to touch it, memories of the witch's hand there just moments ago still at the forefront of her mind. "Jesus," she rasped out. "You scared me."
He smiled down at her, his hair frizzing up a halo in the dim light of the station. "You fell asleep," he explained, gesturing to the clock that read well past the end of Emma's shift. "As you were off the clock, I didn't have the heart to wake you."
She blinked sleepily up at him, debating on how he would react if she called him a big softie. The words were on her lips when her phone buzzed on the desk in front of her.
Did somebody die? Mary Margaret had sent her. I have spelling tests that need correcting! I need my evening entertainment. Also I cooked.
Emma smiled fondly at the text and responded that she was on her way home. "Thanks for waking me up," she said as Graham set down his coffee cup and pulled the stack of reports that she'd been drooling on out from underneath Emma's discarded jacket.
He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners as Emma stood up and stretched. Her head was feeling a lot better than it had over the past few days, even if the weight of everything that the Mayor had told her pressed heavily upon her shoulders. Bumps and bruises would fade, but the fact that everyone in this town was cursed by a woman who now commanded Emma's loyalty would remain.
Loyalty... It frankly scared Emma how easily she had given in, and Regina had not elaborated as to why she had. Emma reasoned that there had to be something larger at work here. She had yet to read through Henry's book, it sat on the table beside her bed. Every night, Emma would make a move to pick up the tome and finally flip through it, but every day something stopped her.
The dreams continued, greater in their intensity than ever before. Emma was now convinced that they were a narrative of something - she'd yet to figure out what. Another life, she figured that they could be a might-have-been. They were frankly starting to scare her, for they struck far too close to home.
"See you tomorrow," Graham said, flipping open the first folder and settling down at his desk. He seemed distracted and a little bit out of it, flushing pink at the tips of his ears as Emma waved goodbye and headed towards the door.
Everything was so messed up, muddled together in her brain. If Regina was right, and Emma wasn't ruling out the possibility that she'd hit her head a lot harder than Doctor Whale had thought initially, then everyone in this town was really someone else. Everyone's personalities were going to change, should this curse ever come to break.
Fuck, all of that shit was true too. The whole thing made Emma's head hurt as she desperately grasped for straws. Her mind was trying to reconcile the past and the present.
Emma walked back towards home with a heavy heart. She'd been taking to avoiding being at home if she could at all avoid it. Mary Margaret was still trying to figure things out with David Nolan, and Emma was still trying to figure out how exactly she was supposed to explain to Mary Margaret that their relationship wasn't exactly that of friends. It confused her, looking at Mary Margaret and knowing that once, once upon a time, that woman might have been her mother.
She was inclined to just simply not believe. She had drawn a sword from the Mayor's chest and killed a dire wolf. There was no talking around that. The sword had been real in her hands, the leather wrapped around its handle had been stained by sweat and blood.
"Your father's sword," Regina had explained when Emma had asked where it had come from.
"Oh right," Emma had rolled her eyes, "Prince Charming."
Regina had seemed pensive for a moment then, before she touched Emma's shoulder. "His name is James."
Regina had been so reluctant to explain some things that information that she gave freely always made Emma a bit nervous. She knew better than to accept it wholesale, it would not be freely given if it was the god's honest truth. Regina was a snake; she played the game so well that was constantly on edge around her.
There were other problems, problems that Emma tried so desperately to ignore. She'd tried to ask Henry what being given the Queen's favor meant in the context of his book. She didn't like the implication, didn't like the way the Mayor lorded the fact that she'd given it over Emma like it was something to be proud of.
The whole situation made Emma desperately uncomfortable and she shivered despite herself in the crisp, late-autumn air. She did not want to be owned by anyone. She'd been down that path more times than she could count, in more relationships than she cared to remember. She wasn't even sure that that was where this was going, and she didn't like the implication of that very much either.
Her identity had always been her own, the one thing that she'd been able to hold close to her chest and recognize as truth. To have even that taken from her and twisted into something she could barely recognize first by Henry and then his mother was almost too much. It sent Emma wanting to run. If she ran far enough and fast enough she could escape safely into her doubts once more.
She knew she was settling however. Her knowledge of this place, despite what Regina had said to her about her seeming inability to stay on one place long enough to know it, was growing to something that felt warm and familiar. She wanted to stay in this tiny town and see what the future might hold here, even if that future was clouded by doubt.
Mary Margaret met Emma at the door with a bowl of soup that warmed her fingers as she took it gratefully. The nights were dipping down into the forties now, and Emma hadn't worn a particularly thick sweater under her jacket today. "You look cold," Mary Margaret said pensively as she crossed back to the table. "You need a better coat."
"I have one," Emma protested with a half-hearted grin. Her stuff had been packaged and would soon be shipped here. Emma had raided Mary Margaret's closet for some clean things, and a trip to the second hand shop had at least gotten her out of wearing the same three shirts every day for a week or two at most. "It's coming in the mail."
Mary Margaret pulled a piece of bread apart in her hands, crumbs falling onto the plate before her as she did so. She stared down at them for a long moment before sighing. "I think I might have messed up," she confessed.
Emma helped herself to some bread from the basket at the middle of the table and mentally prepared herself for what she was positive she was about to hear. Mary Margaret had not stopped seeing David Nolan, despite his lovely wife being very much still in the picture. "Oh?" She was trying to keep her tone non-judgmental, because she understood what it felt like to want someone even though they were the very poison that would destroy all that you had worked for.
In her few moments of clarity before Henry was born, Emma had realized that the relationship that she had had with his father had not been a good one. She'd wanted to make herself believe that maybe something could have been done. She'd traded so much in that one night, that one beautiful little boy of a mistake.
She'd only been seventeen.
A world of regret sat heavy on Emma's shoulders, and she could do little to remove it.
"I can't stop seeing him," Mary Margaret continued to shred her bread, not looking up or meeting Emma's curious gaze. "David, I mean."
"I figured," Emma ate a spoonful of soup and gave Mary Margaret a smile and potentially too-indulgent smile. She couldn't judge her, she couldn't because this was all part of Regina's stupid evil curse. "No judging here, but you do realize that this can only end badly for everyone involved, right?"
Mary Margaret set down her bread and picked up her spoon, knuckles white on the handle as she pushed the dregs of rice and carrots around at the bottom of her bowl. "I know," she lamented. Her tone suggested what Emma suspected about the situation from the beginning. This was killing Mary Margaret, two driving forces, to go both to and away from David. Henry would have a field day with this, Freud too. "I know and I can't stop. I don't want to stop."
Emma inclined her head to the side, chewing on a kale leaf thoughtfully. Mary Margaret was in vent mode now, best ask before it got too late. "Are you in love with him?" It was the only question that was appropriate in such a moment.
Her mouth dropped open and eyes so startlingly similar to Emma's own rose up to meet Emma's. Mary Margaret opened and closed her mouth several times before finally letting her spoon fall, defeated, into her bowl. "Yes," she whispered. "And it's killing me."
It was easy to do the right thing in that instance. Emma didn't even think as she pushed back the chair at the kitchen table with a loud scrape against the floor and moved to hug this woman who had come to mean so much more to Emma than she'd ever felt possible. Her entire life was full of broken promises and failed friendships. For something so real and so genuine to come along completely out of the blue was completely out of character for Emma.
She wasn't sure how to react to the sudden closeness of their bond, but Emma knew all about hurting. She pulled Mary Margaret to her feet and let the woman who was once upon a time (maybe) her mother sob into her shoulder.
Memories of the dreams, of the faces they contained, swam before Emma's eyes as she let her fingers trail soothing patterns down Mary Margaret's back. She'd done this many times, with a woman who smelled just like this. Of soap and cinnamon with a hint of something indeterminate.
Maybe Regina hadn't been lying; maybe this was the fall out of the curse.
She had to read that book.
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Graham liked working on the weekends, or so he said when Emma had called to make extra-triple sure that it was okay for her to not come in on Saturday in favor of Henry's soccer game. "I'm serious, Emma," he laughed. "Just come out for a drink some night to make up for it."
Emma had tried not to think what that might mean as she bundled up in her slightly warmer jacket and a thick sweater. Her things had arrived the previous afternoon and she felt like she had finally settled. She dug around in one of the few boxes she had yet to unpack and unearthed a battered skull cap. It was colder than she'd anticipated outside and she didn't want to spend the entire game uncomfortable.
"You off?" Mary Margaret asked from where she'd settled with some sort of strange craft project across the kitchen table.
"Yeah," Emma grabbed her keys and nodded. "Hopefully I don't get killed by the Mayor for being there."
Giving a little shrug that made her look somehow older than she was, Mary Margaret turned back to her ... craft thing. Emma wrinkled her nose and peered over Mary Margaret's shoulder at the mess of magazines, glue and tissue paper. "What are you doing?"
"Collage," Mary Margaret said firmly, her cheeks growing pink with embarrassment.
"Ohhhkay."
The look Mary Margaret gave Emma could only be described as indignant as Emma backed away slowly towards the door. "Go, go watch Henry play soccer and leave me and my creativity alone."
"Yeah, yeah," Emma said with a cheeky grin. "See you tonight?"
When her question was greeted with a disinterested wave, Emma rolled her eyes and headed down the stairs two at a time.
The soccer field was clear on the other side of town, but traffic was light in Storybrooke for a Saturday. It was getting late in the harvest season, and the weekly farmer's market had gone on a temporary hiatus until closer to Thanksgiving. Emma wished that she'd been able to take Henry to it just once, to wander around through the stalls - drinking cider and eating maple candy so fresh that it made Emma's teeth hurt.
Henry's team wore red jerseys and a mismatched hodgepodge of soccer shorts that were indicative of youth league soccer. She had missed out on organized sports as a child, and she was grateful that Henry would have an option to play such games if he wanted to. Emma parked a few spaces down from the Mayor's car and headed up the low rise of a hill to the soccer field.
A wave of jealousy hit Emma hard then, thinking of her own youth. She had never had a chance to do things like this, instead playing lengthy games of kickball against the other neighborhood kids before she would inevitably get shipped off to the next home in the next city.
"Ms. Swan," the Mayor's voice came from somewhere off to her left and Emma turned, eyes blinking away the last visages of the green eyed monster. The Mayor was perched on the topmost of the low set of bleachers that served as a spot for spectators, a mug cradled between her two bare hands. She was wearing her usual long black overcoat with a thick grey sweater underneath it and looked far warmer than Emma felt. "What are you doing here?"
Emma turned and headed up the bleachers to sit down a healthy distance from Regina, but to still be within earshot. "Henry asked me to come - before..." she trailed off with a pointed look at the Mayor, who sipped whatever was steaming in her mug with a pensive look on her face. "I can leave if you'd like, just let him see me before I go."
The look that Regina gave her then was not what Emma had expected. The woman looked alarmed that Emma would even suggest it, but soon the expressionless (if slightly disdainful) look of the Mayor that Emma had come to expect fell into place once again. "Do what you like, Ms. Swan. It's early enough that there's no one here to see us interacting without bloodshed."
A smirk played at Emma's lip as she turned, leaning on the cold metal railing that served as the back of the bleachers. "Who's to say that there isn't going to be bloodshed, Madame Mayor?"
Regina raised an eyebrow, "If you are implying-"
Emma waved her hand, laughing. "Just kidding."
"I don't think I like your form of kidding, dear," Regina said testily as Emma stood and moved to sit closer to Regina.
Henry was playing very well, hanging back as Emma assumed he was playing defense. His cheeks were bright red in the cool air and he looked like he was having the time of his life. Emma found this version of the game a good deal easier to follow than the few professional matches she had caught while tracking down people south of the border. She clapped and cheered along with the rest of the parents that had gathered to watch, elbows resting on her knees, her feet propped up against the bench in front of her.
"Are we ever going to talk about how Mr. Gold used our son to give you an object that posed a threat to your life?" Emma asked during a lull in play.
Regina gave her a sharp look before glancing around. "This is very much not the appropriate time to discuss such matters," she said in an undertone.
There really wasn't anyone around them, and Emma gestured to the small cluster of people towards the other end of the bleachers and the younger brother of one of the players using the railing at the bottom of the bleachers as a jungle gym. "Why not?" she demanded, her lip jutting out stubbornly. "If I'm supposed to protect you, why am I not going after him?"
Regina set a placating hand on Emma's forearm. "You do not want him as your enemy." Her tone was quietly, but her eyes were full of worry. It was unnerving to see a woman usually so unflappable look so worried.
"He used Henry," Emma retorted. "I don't know about you, but I won't stand for anyone using Henry in this fight." She looked towards the field, where Henry was battling with an attacker for the ball. "Lord knows he's the only person in this damn town who actually believes."
"Do you not, Ms. Swan?"
Shrugging, Emma turned her attention back to the game. "You cast this curse," she explained, never once looking at Regina. "I don't know if I want to believe you capable of such a thing."
"Oh, my dear sweet knight, you have no idea what I am and am not capable of doing," Regina said sadly.
Emma turned to squint at her in the bright sunlight, just now peeking out from behind the thick cover of clouds that had filled the sky all morning. "You keep saying that, majesty, yet you never follow through in showing me what it is that you are capable of doing."
The mayor who was once the queen opened and closed her mouth several times as Emma fixed her with a pointed look. Eventually she looked down at the mug in her hands. "There is no magic in this world," she explained. "There is very little I can do to show you other than what I already have."
"Then color me a non-believer," Emma said, turning her attention back to the game. "You certainly didn't do this alone."
Regina didn't say anything for a long time after that, rising to her feet to clap with the rest of the parents as the game ended in a tie. Emma shoved her hands into her pockets as they both picked their way down the bleachers. "It was his," Regina said vaguely, waving at some of the other parents gathered further down the bleachers. "I just made it work - he was the one who created it."
Well, Emma thought darkly. That certainly changes things.
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During the week that followed Regina's surprising confession regarding the curse (that Emma still was very reluctant to believe in) Emma had done a good deal of thinking. Henry's book still sat on her bedside table and Emma was pretty sure that her avoidance of it was actually part of the curse at this point.
What did it mean to have the queen's favor? The question had been buzzing around in Emma's head for nearly a week and she still had no idea what the hell the statement meant. The Mayor - the Queen - had implied heavily that it meant some sort of overt command over Emma's person.
Emma didn't think it mean that. Regina had sway over her, she'd felt it coming in ebbs and flows over the past few days. There was a compulsion to follow and protect, but never to obey. She had to be her own person, to own the queen's favor, it seemed.
"You trying to get me to approve overtime?" Graham asked as Emma moodily flipped through her notepad as she paged through print-outs of the Mirror that she'd accessed through the town archive department.
This little stack of papers and her notes were the fruits of three days of her best investigative skills. She was trying to figure what the deal was with Mr. Gold. She had her own reasons for looking into him, she kept telling herself that, but she could scarcely sleep at night remembering the terrified look in Regina's eyes as the dire wolf had appeared. She knew that she had to prevent that from ever happening again, if it was the last thing she did.
Emma shook her head. "Sorry," she apologized. She didn't want to put him in the sort of position where he'd have to explain to anyone (the Mayor) why she was working overtime in a town where the most heinous crime that took place was public intoxication. "I was just looking through some of the articles that the Mirror had on file about Mr. Gold?"
Graham raised his head and blinked curiously at her from the distance between their two desks. "Gold?" he asked, "What are you looking into him for?"
The actual reason was too fantastic for Graham to believe, and she doubted that he ever would take her seriously again if she voiced her true concerns. Emma heaved a quiet sigh and stood, scooping her papers up and moving to plop them down in front of Graham. "He was the one who helped the Mayor adopt Henry."
The sheriff's fingers trailed down Emma's carefully written notes, lingering over odd spellings and cross-outs. He seemed to take the information in slowly, like a dog acquainting itself with a scent. "And this is your reason for investigating the man?" Graham asked eventually. His tone was even, but there was a hint of something hidden just below the surface that made Emma wonder just what he knew about the man.
Emma ran a hand tiredly through her hair and threw caution into the wind. "Before the whole incident with that dog, I saw Henry. He was coming out of Gold's shop with something for his mother."
"Ah, the bag he left in the cruiser," Graham looked up at her with pink ears again and Emma winced. She was not leading him on. She very purposefully stepped back to remove herself from the closer-than-strictly-professional position she had been in.
"Yeah," she said. "I was concerned about how he was willing and able to entice Henry into his shop without a second thought on Henry's part. His mother and Mr. Gold barely tolerate each other, I just want to make sure he's okay."
Graham seemed to contemplate this for a moment before he shifted in his see to turn and gesture at her to come closer. "Emma you need to listen to me," he said. He voice was barely above a whisper and he reached forward, grabbing her forearm and pulling her in closer. His fingers pressed down harshly into Emma's skin. "Stay out of this." He glanced around before leaning in closer to hiss, "The Mayor has her way of doing things, has for as long as anyone can remember. Your coming here has thrown everything out of sync. Mr. Gold is the mayor's problem, not ours."
"You're hurting me," Emma retorted, wrenching her arm back from him and meeting his stare evenly. She rubbed her arm and scowled at him.
He was staring at her, eyes dark and intense in the half-light of his office. The lamp on his desk made his eyes almost seem to glow, and Emma swallowed. Graham looked almost wild in this light.
Inhaling deeply, Graham flexed his fingers and looked up at Emma in wonderment. "Why is it that when I touch you I feel alive?"
Emma took a step backwards. She had been in this situation many times before, and it never ended well. "I don't know," she said. She was struggling to keep her voice from shaking.
"I touch everyone else and I feel dead," Graham muttered, holding his hands spread wide in front of his face. "I touch Regina and I feel nothing."
Oh, Emma's mouth dropped open in surprise. They were sleeping together. Ohhhhhhh.
She shifted her weight, stepping forward and closing her hands over Graham's. "There's nothing wrong with that," she promised. She was babbling a bit, but as he looked up at her with wide eyes, she knew that she had to say something. "Sometimes you do something for so long that it loses its fun."
Graham's eyes were wide as he stared at her. He seemed to debate something for a moment before he pushed himself up to press his lips suddenly against Emma's.
The angle was all wrong and his beard tickled at her chin and Emma damn near slapped him as she pushed him back down into his chair and stumbled away. "What the fuck!" she hissed, rubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand. "You can't just go around kissing people!"
He didn't seem to hear her, looking around the sheriff's office with wide and disbelieving eyes. Emma stayed back, away from him because surprise kisses are not her idea of a good time at all. She didn't like the way Graham was moving, his expression full of disbelief and shock. He looked at her and his face changed from distressed to terrified.
Emma watched him as he grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door, her entire body tense and ready to flee.
"The fuck was that," she muttered as the station door banged shut a moment later. Her hands were shaking and her lips burned. There was a power there that she did not know, and it was one that Emma resolutely refused to understand. Henry was always going on about the power that she possessed as the white knight – the savior of Storybrooke. Emma didn't feel much like anyone's savior as her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her lips.
Graham couldn't have known what his actions would do to her. No one knew about that part of her past – the dark part she kept locked away behind a wall of bad memories and half-forgotten events. She had been so young and so foolish back then.
She hated herself for those moments, and she hated how she went back to that dark place on a semi-regular basis. Her instincts were always to run when she found herself retreating back into the memories of what had started this whole thing in the first place. The memories of cold dark nights and a choice between freezing under a bridge and a warm bed full of unwelcome attention came to mind again and again. She remembered his rough hands and the ever so familiar feeling of being trapped. She'd been trapped her whole life, and now, when she was arguably under more constraints than ever, Emma was starting to feel free.
Forcing the memories from the forefront of her mind was always a challenge, but Emma did so dutifully. There were bigger things to worry about right now. She had seen the vacant look in the Sheriff's eyes after his lips had regrettably connected with her own. Emma frowned, digging in her pocket for her phone. She dialed the number out of habit, not really thinking about it before she did so. She needed to talk, to figure out what she should do now. Graham didn't look all that good, and Emma couldn't help but wonder why it was that his entire demeanor had changed after planting one on her.
"Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice sounded concerned, and Emma sagged against the wall of Graham's office. Her hands were still shaking and she was struggling to keep her breathing under control. "Is everything alright?"
"Hey," Emma breathed, her body relaxing just a little bit at the sound of her friend's voice. She exhaled once more to slow the rapid intake of air into her system and swallowed. "Not really." She paused pushing forward on her toes and heading out of Graham's office. "Graham… God, I don't know how to explain this in a way that doesn't make me sound crazy."
Mary Margaret made a soothing noise at the back of her throat, "Try the beginning."
Rolling her eyes, Emma bent and grabbed her keys from her desk drawer. "Graham and I were looking over some notes and he uh… grabbed my arm," Emma began. She was trying to keep the fact that she was looking into Gold out of it. She didn't know if Mary Margaret had had any dealings with him in the past, and she didn't want to put her into an awkward position. "He told me that he felt something when he touched me – and then he um…" She trailed off, an acidic taste welling up in the back of her mouth as she tried to force the worlds out. "He kissed me."
What Graham did with the Mayor was his business, she decided – even if they were both far too attractive people to be sleeping with each other. Where was the love for the rest of them?
"He what?" Mary Margaret spluttered.
"He kissed me. Completely unwanted, but definitely kissing," Emma clarified. "Look, I don't know what to do, all I want to do is find him – he ran off after he did it."
"Have you tried the woods?" Mary Margaret asked, her tone pensive. "He hikes a lot when he's not working."
"I hadn't, but thanks!" She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She wanted to stay on the phone with Mary Margaret, telling her about the emotions that were running hot and fast just under the venire of calm that she'd managed to pull out of seemingly nowhere. "Look," she said eventually. "I need to tell you about this – I need to talk it though, I just need to find Graham first. Something was really up with him."
Mary Margaret's tone seemed to be more understanding than Emma would expect of one getting the brush off. "That's okay, Emma," she said kindly. "Tell me about it when you come home?"
Emma nodded, despite the fact that this was a phone conversation. "I will," she promised. "I'll talk to you later."
They said their goodbyes and Emma pulled the station door shut and locked it behind her with a resolute expression on her face. She had no idea what to do or where to even start looking. The cruiser was still parked in front of the station and Emma headed towards it, glancing up and down the street. There were several county and state roads that cut through the woods that bordered Storybrooke to the north; Graham kept maps in the glove box.
Unlocking the door and shivering as a gust of wind hit her particularly hard through her thin jacket; Emma pulled the maps out and spread the first one out against the cruiser's hood. Her eyes lit up excitedly as she saw Graham's handwriting dotting the map. He'd marked out trails and access points in red marker all over the map. "Where would you go," she muttered, staring down at the map.
From somewhere behind her, Emma heard the tell-tale click of overly-priced heels on pavement and turned to glance over her shoulder. The Mayor was standing by her car, parked a few spots up from the cruiser in front of Mr. French's flower shop. She had a bouquet of lilies tucked under one arm and her hands plunged deep into her pockets. "Ms. Swan," The Mayor said evenly as Emma lifted one hand to give a half-hearted wave before quickly dropping her hand to hold the map in place.
"Hi," Emma said as the Mayor clicked her way closer and moved to peer at the map Emma was trailing a finger along. She was following Route Six along the outskirts of town, where Graham had marked a trailhead with a triangle in bright red marker. The trail cut across most of the woods with forks going off in every direction, leading deeper into the woods. This would be the best place to start, she reasoned, tapping her finger on it.
A glance sideways indicated that the Mayor was still staring curiously at the map with an expectant look on her face. Emma bit back a harsh remark, the urge to say it dying in her chest before she'd fully realized the remark. She hated it, hated the constant pressure at the back of her mind to be respectful, to not insult the queen. Her teeth sunk into the inside of her cheek and Emma asked as politely as she could, "Can I help you with something, Madame Mayor?"
"I understand that you're off the clock right now, Deputy. Might I ask what you are doing using city property as a workspace?" The mayor's lilies smelled intoxicating and Emma wrinkled her nose at the scent. It was making her head hurt to be around Regina, the smell of the stupid flowers were filling her head with a heady, not-quite-there feeling.
Shaking her head to clear it, Emma folded up the map and tucked it into the inside pocket of her jacket. "Graham ran off, I'm going to find him."
"Excuse me?" Regina's tone was incredulous. "Graham doesn't just run off." Her eyes narrowed and she took a step forward into Emma's personal space. "Not without being provoked."
The keys in her hand were digging into her palm, and Emma's hand was still shaking as she raised her gaze to meet the Mayor's own. She didn't like what Regina was implying, when it had been her person who had been violated by Graham's actions. "I didn't do anything," She hissed, her voice low and quiet. She wasn't much for airing other people's dirty laundry in the middle of a street; no matter how pushed she felt to tell someone about what had happened. It certainly was not going to be Regina Mills. "He told me that he didn't feel anything and then he ran off without a word."
The Mayor's lips pitched downwards into a frown and she shifted from foot to foot. Emma thought she looked really indecisive and conflicted. "He said he doesn't feel anything?" Regina asked, taking her flowers and putting them into the back seat of the cruiser.
Emma nodded. "Does that mean something to you?" She asked, pulling her hat down over her ears. She was desperate for something to do with her hands other than to stare the Mayor down. "He uh… might have implied that you guys were…"
"What I do in my personal life is my business, Ms. Swan," Regina retorted. She pulled the passenger door open and swung herself into the cruiser. "Get in; I know where he's gone."
The drive was silent, Emma found herself concentrating on the road, following the directions that were given to her. As they idled at a red light, Emma turned to glance at Regina. The Mayor was stony-faced, her expression completely closed-off. "Hey," she said, trying to keep her voice friendly and neutral. "I don't care if you and Graham are bumping nasties or whatever."
Regina gave a little dismissive snort, her nostrils flaring out. "We are not doing anything of the sort."
"Sure you're not," Emma retorted, proceeding through the intersection with an amused smile on her face. It was an interesting wrinkle in the already complicated series of inter-personal relationships that Emma knew the Mayor had cultivated in her town. She didn't know if she liked the fact that Graham was sleeping with not only his boss, but a woman who wasn't too keen on his second-in-command. She bit back the urge to tease Regina further as she noticed the hot red flush of a blush across the back of the Mayor's neck, half-hidden by her hair.
Emma turned down a state access road and decided to change the subject completely. "What are the flowers for?"
Regina seemed to stiffen but relaxed very quickly. "They're for my father's grave. That's where we're going."
"Why would Graham go there?" Emma asked, eyes narrowing as she peered through the growing darkness to the gates of the cemetery. It didn't make any goddamn sense. She parked the cruiser just outside the gate and turned her attention to the ground. Sure enough, there were boot prints in the muddy half-frozen ground. The snow that had fallen the previous day had melted away to leave the ground wet and generally gross-feeling under foot.
The Mayor gathered her flowers out of the back seat of the cruiser, pausing to bat at the seat where the flowers had left residue on the seats. She straightened and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's where his heart is," she said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"His-wait, what?" Emma stopped and turned to grab Regina's forearm.
"His heart, dear," Regina repeated. She didn't pull away from Emma and instead closed her eyes and exhaled quietly. "Do you have your gun with you?" she asked.
Shaking her head to the negative, Emma sighed. "I didn't think I'd need it – Graham was freaked out, not rabid or whatever." She frowned, suddenly concerned that what was happening to Graham was somehow related to what had happened with the dire wolf. "I'm… not gonna need it, am I?"
Regina seemed to crumple at the question and rested her hand against her chest. Emma watched with wide eyes as the Mayor's eyes fluttered closed and a soft white light started to emanate from her fingertips. Soon a piece of metal appeared under her fingers and Emma knew that it was her job to grasp the sword by its leather handle and draw it out of Regina's chest. It felt good in her fingers, resting in its rightful place. Emma tugged once, and pulled it out as the white light grew in intensity around them.
"You may," Regina gasped as the light suddenly vanished into nothingness. Her eyes were dark and there seemed to be a storm of emotions behind them. Emma could not read her expression, and her superpower read every statement she'd said as truth. Grasping the flowers in her hand as though they somehow gave her purpose, Regina began to march purposefully across the damp ground of the cemetery. "Let's get moving."
Emma had no scabbard to place the sword in for transport. She passed it between her hands, a few times, eventually settling on carrying it in her right hand just in case something did attack them.
In the distance, a wolf howled low.
"There are no wolves in Maine," Emma muttered under her breath and quickened her pace. Regina was making quick work of the ground they had to cover, despite her singularly impractical footwear. Emma scowled as she drew level with the Mayor. "Your father is buried here?"
Regina didn't say anything, her expression stony as they came to stop in front of a large stone mausoleum. Emma let out a low whistle as she took in the black-painted door and what she assumed was some sort of family crest over the door. The door was ajar, and Emma took a protective step in front of Regina.
"Stay back," she hissed as the Mayor set the flowers down on the ground. She opened her mouth to protest as Emma gripped the sword in her hand tightly and stepped forward into the gloom. She didn't want to be responsible for anything that happened next.
Graham was lying on the ground in the small walking space between the large stone sarcophagus that dominated the small space. A broken jar lay by his head, and he was deathly pale. Emma dropped the sword to the ground and grabbed his legs, trying to haul him out of the tiny space and into what little light the flashlight that Regina had produced from her purse provided. "Hey, Graham, hey!" she called.
It wasn't easy, but she managed to move him into a position where she could check his pulse. There was no consistency in how it was beating, threading irregularly under her fingers. Emma felt a sob well up in the back of her throat as she tried to get Graham to regain consciousness. "Regina, I need you to call an ambulance." She shouted. She'd felt this sort of an erratic heartbeat before, Graham was having some sort of a heart attack.
Regina's face appeared around the mausoleum door and Emma could see the shock in her face as she fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone. "This can't be happening," she muttered as she dialed the number from memory. "This is Regina Mills. I need an ambulance at the cemetery off Access Route 6. The Sheriff is having some sort of a-"
"Irregular heartbeat," Emma supplied.
"Heart attack," Regina finished. She listened to the person on the other end for a moment. "Deputy Swan is with me, she's keeping an eye on him. Thank you." She lowered the phone and met Emma's eyes over the prone form of the sheriff between them.
"What's happened to him?" Emma asked as Regina closed the phone.
The Mayor who was once the Queen shook her head. "I… I don't know," she whispered.
Off in the distance, a wolf let out a single, mournful howl.
db
What we did not see:
Once, the Queen's Huntsman had come across a man in the woods. Or a rather, he met a being that had been a man. His brother wolf had followed him down a narrow gully and out across a man-made bridge known to attract trolls. The Huntsman was worried for his brother wolf, and held up a staying hand. He needed his brother to stay at the edge of the bridge as he cautiously proceeded across it.
He was prepared to kill any trolls that attacked him or moved to attack his brother. His hand was ready on his knife, sharp and deadly.
"That does look mighty pointy," a strange, frog-like voice said from behind the Huntsman. Turning, he let out a soundless roar as he saw a strange little imp of a man stroking his brother wolf's fur. "And probably mighty deadly, am I right?" The Imp cackled, clapping his hands together.
"It is a tool for killing," the Huntsman agreed. He took a step forward, hand never leaving his knife. "I am a killer."
The Imp shook a single, bony finger at him. "Ah-ah-ah," he said mockingly, stepping away from the Huntsman's brother and towards the Huntsman himself. He moved in a singularly individual way, the Huntsman thought. It was sort of a hopping step forward, as if he had favored one leg over the other and was still struggling to recover from an age of habit. "I don't think that's the truth."
The Huntsman raised his hand to press against the emptiness in his chest. The Queen had taken his heart for his betrayal and then had let him go. His brother wolf had shunned him at first, and it had taken the Huntsman many weeks to convince his brother that he was the same as before.
There were times that the Huntsman longed to be one with the animals, you see. He understood them far better than he understood humans. The Queen had been so angry at a little girl with skin as fair as snow for nothing more than a perceived slight. Or at least that was what the Queen had told him. He had no reason not to believe her. She had seemed a decent enough being, for a human.
"She took something from you, didn't she?" The Imp asked, eyes flicking down to where the Huntsman's fingers slipped under his shirt to press against cold and clammy skin.
The Huntsman nodded, he didn't dare put it into words.
"What's it worth to you to get it back?"
"Anything," The Huntsman breathed. He looked down at his person, his merger possessions that a human-like being would find of worth. He had little to give and even less than that he felt was worth the price of his heart. "I would give anything."
The Imp raised a single finger and smiled to reveal crooked teeth. "I'll help you get it back, yes, yes I will." He pointed to the Huntsman's brother wolf. "I want his pelt."
Bile rose in the Huntsman's throat and he took a step backwards, stumbling on the troll's bridge. He couldn't, not even for his own heart. His brother was his brother, the closest thing he had to a companion.
"Tick-Tock, wolf boy," The imp cackled. "This deal," he explained with a flourish, "Has an expiration date."
The Huntsman threw his knife at the Imp's feet. "I will make no deal with you," he hissed. He turned and stalked across the bridge, his brother wolf would collect the knife.
The Imp watched the Queen's Huntsman go and smiled wickedly to himself. He would get the Huntsman back his heart sooner or later. He was, after all, a very patient man. It simply wouldn't do for the Queen to have a knight waiting for her once she cast his curse. Simply wouldn't do.
Or perhaps, what we chose not to see.
Oh My Goodness, the response to the last chapter was amazing! You guys all rock! Thank you so much!
Annnnd I am sorry any Graham fans, there's some shadow play going on, and he really had to go. :(
Next: The Sheriff and the Mayor