Beacons: Chapter Two.
David Nolan stared out his fogged window, tapping his finger against his mouse in apprehension. The cup of hot chocolate had been drained to the bottom, leaving only a brown film of slime mixed with sandy flecks of cinnamon.
The window didn't get any more fascinating as he waited, but his heart was fixated on something else. It beat faster. And faster.
He groaned and tilted his head back. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and he hadn't done much more than stare at his screen. He clicked the other tab, opening facebook. Before he made up his mind, the words "Mary Margaret" were off his fingers and in the search bar.
David's cursor hovered around the "Friend" button.
Hey, it's me. David. We met six months ago at Ruby's party.
Backspace. He couldn't send a friend request with that. That was straight up weird. Sighing, he clicked her profile picture, one of the only things he could look through without being her friend.
She'd changed it to a doodle of a bluebird a week and a half ago. He clicked past it to the next. His chest tightened as her brown eyes shone from the screen. Her hair cupped her round face, and David imagined putting his hands right there, feeling her softness, her dimples.
It should've been weird. But, David had the feeling as though he'd done it a million times before. A step at the door.
David clicked over to the other tab, glancing up to meet his visitor's face.
"Mayor Mills," he said.
"Sheriff," She nodded, her feathered hair shifting in the slightest. She crossed the room, stopping at his shoulder. "I see you're…" she paused at his screen. "Hard at work." Her lips thinned, and David fought off the urge to turn the monitor off. "Am I not paying you to," she waved her hand around, "Sheriff things?"
"My apologies, Mayor Mills. I was just having lunch." The mayor glanced into his empty mug, wrinkling her brow.
"Then where's the food?" she asked. David tapped the glass.
"Coffee?" She raised an eyebrow, nudging David out of the way. He made way for her, and she plugged a usb into the port.
"You pay me to work, not eat," David said. "What's that?"
The mayor's stare hardened, "The newest update for the security software I asked you to download last week." David shifted uneasily, his breath catching, eyes never leaving the topmost corner, where his personal files lay. After an eternity, Mayor Mills stood, taking the usb with her.
"Finish the paperwork from the Carlson case," she said. "I need to file for damage."
"Is that all you needed?" David asked.
"Just do it," she answered, pinning him with a final icy stare before exiting the room.
David waited a good five minutes before returning to his seat and opening the folder titled, "old paperwork."
He couldn't be too careful with Regina running around.
Images and records filled the screen, and he flicked through them.
The name and photo of one particular blonde little girl came to the front again and again.
"Emma Swan."
It'd become a second job, researching Emma. It'd taken so long to find her, and even longer to get information. He still had yet to figure out why—how he was her father. Twenty-four year olds don't have daughters.
And she was eight. He would've been so young.
For the thousandth time, he strained to recall that period of his life, but came up short. It was pointless remembering anything specific before the accident. Mayor Mills had found him just in time, it'd been a miracle that he was still alive.
Dr. Hopper said his memories might return, someday, but after several years, the possibility became smaller and smaller.
It was strange, going about life, knowing everyone else knew him better than he did. Mayor Mills especially.
All David knew when he woke up was that he was hungry, and Emma Swan was his daughter.
No one else seemed to pay his questions serious mind, but it was
He'd paid three months rent to Mr. Gold to enlist his help—quietly. The man hadn't disappointed. David remembered the conversation.
The man had played hard to get, and David was frustrated, but he opened up soon enough.
#
Three Years Prior
David walked into the dusty wood-box that was Mr. Gold's antique shop. The man gripped a cane in one fist, a teacup in the other. So caught up in examining the glassware, running a fingertip over a chip in the edge, that he didn't notice David's presence for a moment. His eyes wide open, chin set in some sort of edged determination—the world was lost to the man.
David coughed. Mr. Gold straightened, like a wall had slid ramrod through his body, blocking off, protecting his soul from all he encountered. He turned his head slowly. His pale brown hair sparkled in the beam of sunlight that pushed through the grimy window.
"I've heard you can help anyone," David said. Mr. Gold gave a crooked smile, his eyebrows raising in condescension.
"Most anyone," he said. His cane thudded on the thick floor as he stepped closer.
"Emma Swan," David felt the name tumble from his lips. The name that hadn't stopped banging around his head, screaming in his heart. The name that refused to be forgotten.
"It's been a while since you've come to me about her," Mr. Gold paused, catching David's gaze, amusement pouring from his words. "But, you wouldn't remember that, would you?"
David's heart rate shot through the ceiling. He was right. He was right.
"No one else thinks she's real," David said. "They think I've forgotten about her. They think I'm…"
"Crazy?" Mr. Gold offered.
David nodded, throat dry.
"It's rather uncommon," Mr. Gold picked a ring from the shelf, letting the green stone flash in the light. "For a man of your age to have a daughter of five years."
"She's five?" David's voice caught.
"What are you," Mr. Gold asked. "Twenty-four?"
David froze for a moment. He reached out for his age, feeling the familiar number slip from his fingers each time he grew close to it. His mind clamped up.
Yes. The answer is yes.
"Yes," David said, appreciating the immediate relief that followed.
"You were just a teen," Gold said. "Teenage parents tend to cause a bit of a stir in small towns."
"The mother?" David leaned forward. Mr. Gold shook his head.
"You never told me that, Mr. Nolan."
David thunked his head to the glass case.
"What did I tell you, then?" He was desperate. Anything.
"You brought her to me," Gold said. "Asking for discretion. An adoption agency."
"Where is she now?" David asked.
"I'm afraid the adoption was closed," Gold said. David's chest tightened.
"Then un-close it," David said, steel in his voice.
#
Present day.
David read over the file.
"Alternative Care Children's Place"
"A Better Home"
"Improper placement"
"Potential match"
"Improper placement"
"Potential match"
"Improper placement"
A sick feeling settled in his abdomen. Why didn't anyone want her? She was perfect—she deserved better.
Scrolling back to the first page, David printed off the contact information of the agency.
It was time. He'd waited long enough. Mary Margaret might not be attainable, but Emma Swan was his daughter. He was a fool if he was going to let a mistake he didn't remember stop him from finding her.
#
Across town, Mayor Mills sat, poised at her sleek computer. Her scowl deepened as the new software install perched in stubborn rebellion over the "99%" mark.
Gone were the days of stepping in on David Nolan. She could monitor his activity just fine from here. The speaker dinged, and the program loaded.
The screen flickered, displaying David's desktop, the files, the information.
Her eyes darkened.
This wouldn't do at all.