The inside of Jefferson's car looked like a student's last minute frenzy to cram for a final. The dashboard and the passenger seat were scattered with books and blue prints, detailing the inner workings of the clock tower. Jefferson gave one last thumb-through of the book he'd been studying before he tossed it aside, leaving open the page that preached of fire safety. With one last survey of the empty streets of Storybrooke, Jefferson abandoned his car in an alley and walked away into the night, carrying two red gas containers.
"Anything worth doing is worth doing thoroughly." he thought to himself as he approached the neglected library that sat below the clock tower.
He entered through the loose board of a boarded-up window—the same window he had once been through before. As he reached the octagonal room that housed the clocks mechanism, the irony of the situation struck him like a hand striking 12. Jefferson had once broke into the clock tower hoping to make it start, and now, he was hoping to stop it. The large cogwheels turned and the pendulum swung back and forth as Jefferson sat the gas containers down on the wooden floor boards. With the precision of a clocksmith, he disengaged the pendulum, causing the cogwheels to stop turning and the hands to stick at 12:25. He then swung the gas containers around, splashing the room and all its mechanical parts with gasoline. Jefferson backed away, dripping a line of flammable liquid as he went. Satisfied with the distance between him and the clock, he dropped the empty containers to the floor and pulled a small box of matches from his pocket. He lit the match and closed his eyes like a kid making a wish on his birthday. Jefferson wished to break the curse and then he dropped the match to the floor. He opened his eyes to see the flames race up the trail of gasoline to ignite at the base of the mechanism. As the fire touched the enchanted time-piece, he expected sparks or a puff of magic to oppose the flames, protecting itself from destruction. Jefferson expected to be knocked backwards by the powerful spell that had ever allowed this clock to start working once a certain yellow-bug-driving-blonde rolled into town. Nothing remarkable happened. The metal pieces of the fire-kissed-clock turned black from the heat and smoke that was quickly filling the room. Jefferson's eyes widened and his mouth fell as he looked around and realized that the room had turned into a raging, orange blaze! He turned and ran. Quickly, he headed for the exit, feeling the heat of the flames lick at his back as he made his way out to safety. Jefferson breathed a sigh of relief—or maybe it was a gasp for fresh air—and he turned around to gaze up at his work. He could hear sirens drawing near in the distance as he stepped backwards to get a wider view of the scene. The clock tower was engulfed in flames and he watched as its black hands began to melt from the heat, disabling them from pointing to the time ever again. He took another step back and then heard the familiar click of a gun.
"Put your hands in the air and turn around!"
Jefferson's expression turned to one of boredom at the female's voice. Shouldn't she be occupied with her runaway inmate? Jefferson raised his hands and turned to see the town sheriff.
"Emma." he greeted and she flinched at his intimate use of her name.
Without a shred of recognition, her eyes raked over him before glancing at the towering inferno that burned behind him. Her gun was steady as she held it pointed.
"I received a call about a man breaking into the old library," she confessed, "I almost ignored it. Why did you set it on fire?"
Before he could answer, the loud shrill of a siren pierced through the night air as the fire truck arrived on the scene.
"You need to get back!" a firefighter shouted to them as he jumped off the truck.
Suddenly, the clock's face exploded in the fire, sending shards of it to pelt the street below. Emma shielded her head with her arms, but Jefferson hardly flinched.
"It was worth a try." he shrugged.
Emma straightened and her eyes narrowed at his words.
"Well, I hope it's worth the jail time," she replied as he seized his arm, "Arson is a felony."
Emma forced his hands behind his back and slapped him in handcuffs, "Any particular reason why you thought it would be worth it?"
Jefferson glanced back as the firefighters scrambled to douse the blaze and all he saw was his own hopes, going up in flames.
"Desperation," he confessed, "When you're desperate enough...anything is worth a try."
Emma glanced at his face as she considered that.
"Desperate for what?" she asked as she opened the car door.
Jefferson slid down onto the backseat and made his face an iron mask as he listed-off a number of things in his head. Grace. Home. Magic. Emma waited a moment for his response, but when he didn't give one she shut the car door. Something clicked inside his head in that moment, like a light-bulb being switched-on only to explode. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but desperate acts seldom bring you pleasures. None of his other desperate attempts had worked—why should the clock tower fire be any different? Jefferson caught Emma's glance in the rear-view mirror as she drove to the sheriffs department and he blatantly looked away. From the moment he'd poured her that bad cup of tea, his desperate actions had only lead him to failure. Jefferson brooded silently during the drive and he remained that way through the whole booking process. As Emma guided him into one of the vacant jail cells, his eyes darted towards the cell Snow White had been in. Emma looked there too, and then heaved a sigh.
"I have to—"
"Don't bother," he interrupted her.
Emma halted and turned to look at him.
"What?"
Jefferson sighed his irritation.
"You're going-out to look for Mary Margaret. Don't bother."
Emma's eyes narrowed as she moved closer to the bars that he was standing behind.
"What do you know about it?" she asked accusingly.
Jefferson moved closer to the bars and gripped them with his hands as he held her gaze.
"I know that, come tomorrow morning, she'll be back in her cage, I'll be back home in mine, the clock tower will be chiming away and you won't remember any of this."
Emma's expression relaxed as she searched his, examining him with those hazel-green eyes that somehow saw everything and nothing.
"Right," Emma said as she turned her back on him, "When I get back, remind me to contact someone at the hospital and see if they can help you."
Jefferson's narrowed eyes followed her out of the room. What choice did he have but to make desperate actions when no one ever believed him. Feeling defeated, he sat down onto the stiff cot that his cell provided and he placed his head in his hands. For how long he sat like that he didn't know, but when he raised his head again he saw that the lighting had changed in the room. The early morning sun filtered through the overcast sky and poured-in through the windows of the sheriff's department. Snow White's cell was still empty and Emma hadn't returned. Jefferson stood to his feet and approached the bars as worry filled his heart. What had happened to keep them away? He glanced at a wall clock just as it struck 7:00 and he realized that they had run out of time. Everyone in town new that it was "Mary Margaret's" arraignment day, but no one knew where "Mary Margaret" was. Suddenly a door opened at the entrance to the sheriff's department and the peculiar sound of 2 moving feet and 1 clicking cane, filled his ears. When Rumpelstiltskin came into view, Jefferson gave an irritated sigh that seemed to deflate his entire body. Rumpelstiltskin looked utterly bewildered.
"Where's Ms. Swan?" he questioned him.
Jefferson gave a shrug as he leaned a shoulder against the bars.
"Where's Snow White?"
Rumpelstiltskin shot him a look filled with warning.
"It seems that you are in-need of reminding, dearie," he began as he limped a step closer, "We're not in the Enchanted Forest anymore."
Jefferson rolled his eyes and decided not to reply to that.
"I passed what's left of the library this morning," the older man added, "I take it that's your handiwork."
Jefferson gave a bitter laugh.
"Handiwork," he scoffed, "It was a complete failure."
"Well, I'm sure Ms. Swan doesn't see it that way." Rumpelstiltskin made a tsking sound, "As if our poor sheriff didn't have enough on her plate."
Jefferson straightened at his mock sympathy, but before he could open his mouth to reply—Regina walked into the room. A winning smile was on her face as she took note of Snow White's empty cell, but when her gaze turned to him, she scowled.
"What are YOU doing here?"
Jefferson pursed his lips in annoyance and turned his back to her.
"Surely you noticed the clock tower by now." Rumpelstiltskin pointed out.
Regina gave a humorless laugh.
"Well, well, Jefferson. It seems your madness has finally landed you in the place you belong."
He ignored her as he strolled away from the bars and slumped back down onto his cot. Regina smirked at him before turning her attentions to Rumpelstiltskin. The two most powerful people in Storybrooke ignored him just as efficiently as they discussed their business. The pair spared no secrets, knowing that no one would ever believe Jefferson anyway. By the time the clock struck 8:00, Jefferson knew that Regina and Rumpelstiltskin were behind the supposed-death of Kathryn Nolan and the instrument of Snow White's escape. But for the moment, Jefferson cared about none of it. He was surprised he hadn't awoken in his bedroom by now. A flicker of hope rose inside him that, perhaps, his destruction of the clock tower had prevailed! Had he broken the loop? Was he finally going to see tomorrow? With hope blazing like a wildfire inside his heart, Jefferson glanced at the clock just as the hands struck 8:15.
.
.
The clock tower chimed it's familiar, damnable chime in the distance and Jefferson found himself back in his own bed. The weight of his tragic situation pressed heavily onto his chest, making it hard for him to breath. He got out of bed and looked through the telescope, catching Grace in her monotonously, blue scarf as she headed off to school. He pulled away as his eyes burned with sad, angry tears. What had he done to deserve this? What could he do to fix it? Jefferson didn't know.