Chapter Seven—"Where You Belong"

The clock had started moving five days ago, and something was certainly going on. Cora was no fool; the fact that her grandson's birth mother had shown up just the day before time started moving was clearly no coincidence, although she was not yet sure what that meant. Was the mere presence of an outsider enough to start time moving now that 28 years had passed? Certainly the first two outsiders to find Storybrooke—the only ones prior to Emma Swan—had not been such a threat. Kurt and Owen Flynn had been easy enough to dispose of; she sent Hook—or Cyril O'Malley, as he was known here—to kill them, and both were still wherever he had buried them in the woods. Usually, she would have chosen Graham for such a task, but her Huntsman was such a soft creature. There would be no erasing his memory in this world, even with the curse to back her, so she chose not to use his heart to force him. The good captain, however, was more than happy to help. Part of the deal they'd made was that Hook had always been free of the curse's memory-wiping effects, and sometimes Cora did indeed find it useful to have a henchman who knew exactly what he was doing.

It also helped that Hook was largely amoral and willing to do pretty much anything. Oh, he had his sticking points. For a pirate, Hook had an odd sense of honor, which sometimes clashed with his overriding need for vengeance, and was in any case an inconvenience. When Hook balked, Cora was forced to use her hold on Graham. Though in the long run, it was perhaps a good arrangement. It meant neither of them knew too much about the more personal miseries Cora sometimes chose to deal out, which was probably for the best. Cora enjoyed having her secrets, and she had enough of a hold on the pirate to ensure that he behaved himself.

Of course, Hook had not been happy when she forbade him from exacting his revenge upon Rumplestiltskin, but that had been the condition under which he kept his memory. He accepted that, and the fact that Cora hardly planned to give Gold a happy life, with a modicum of grace, and that was enough for her. For now.

"Are you sure you didn't slip up and dream of the clock working again?" he asked now. "From what I understand, managing the curse exists solely inside your mind, so is it possible you did this by accident?"

"Of course not," Cora replied, shooting him a withering look. There were times she wished that she had allowed Rumplestiltskin to retain his memories. He would have been useful, assuming he wanted to be. Not that Rumple was terribly helpful at the end, but we could have come to an accommodation. Hook was just a pretty face. "Time is moving," she snapped. "That will not have happened by accident."

"You said yourself that it could be because of our lovely visitor. Perhaps her staying for so long has been enough change to influence the curse itself?" the pirate guessed. "After all, our last visitors hardly stayed long enough to have an impact."

Perhaps his pretty face hid at least a modicum of intelligence, although he was still no expert on magic. Cora sighed.

"You might be right," she admitted. "Approach Miss Swan. Befriend her. Find out what she really wants and how much she knows about Storybrooke."

"I can do that." Hook looked thoughtful. "Any limits on how I do?"

"No," Cora answered coolly. "None at all."

Waking up in jail on a Sunday morning was not the way Emma had planned on spending her weekend. First of all, the bed was hard and full of lumps. Secondly, she had planned to be back in her own apartment in Boston by now, armed with Henry's email address and a phone number she could call. She'd said her goodbyes to the Nolans—who were surprisingly nice people, given how she'd intruded on their life—and had gotten on the road. But then what had happened?

Emma's memories were depressingly vague. She'd been on the road leading out of town, had just spotted the Welcome to Storybrooke sign, and then what? There had been something—A wolf? Were there even wolves in this part of the country? Emma didn't know much about wildlife, but she was pretty sure it had been a wolf. Or a hell of a big dog if not. She'd hit it…maybe? Remembering was hard, but Emma thought she'd managed to avoid something. But then what had she hit?

The sign.

Oh, man, her car was going to be a mess. Did they have a repair place in this weird little town, or would she have to have it towed somewhere else? David would probably know the answer to that, or Regina would; Emma was willing to bet that the repair place paid taxes, and Regina would probably know from looking over the city's books. From what Emma could gather, Regina's job seemed to be doing whatever parts of the mayor's job that her mother didn't want to do, which meant she knew a lot about the town. She would have thought that was even weirder than most things here, but Storybrooke was a small town, and Emma had travelled enough to know that small towns seemed to do things their own way. Both of them did appear to have been elected, so at least that didn't quite scream of naked nepotism.

Back to her car. So much for leaving anytime soon! she thought. I bet it's halfway to totaled, given that I'm sleeping in a…cell? Emma sat up quickly enough to make her head spin. What was she doing there?

"Finally awake, are we?"

Emma turned her head to see a man in a police officer's uniform standing outside her cell. He had longish dark hair, greasy and unkempt looking. He looked like he needed a shave, or was trying to grow an ill-advised goatee; either way, the sort-of trimmed facial hair made him look like some idiotic medieval villain. Maybe I can see where Henry gets his ideas from. Some of these people are awfully strange. Saying they're from fairy tales might just be the only logical way to describe them. The almost-mustached villain type wore his uniform sloppily, but did appear to be local law enforcement, and if she squinted, Emma thought she could make out the word 'deputy' on his badge.

"Yeah," she groaned, her head still pounding mercilessly. "Why am I in here? And who are you?"

"Wow. You were so drunk that you don't remember crashing your car? Babe, you've got issues," he replied with a leer.

"I'm not your 'babe'," Emma shot back, getting to her feet and approaching the bars. "And you didn't mention who the hell you are."

"Keith Law. Deputy Sheriff," he replied, stepping closer so that his face was uncomfortably near hers. If Emma had an ounce of back down in her, she probably would have recoiled—his breath smelled suspiciously like liquor, and it was early in the morning—but she only scowled at him.

"My, doesn't that make you important."

The leer deepened, and the letch actually licked his lips as he looked Emma up and down. "Important enough to have the keys to this cell, and a way out for you if you behave yourself—"

"Get yourself some coffee, Keith," a cheerfully rustic voice interjected, making both Emma and Keith turn to face the newcomer. "I'll take it from here."

He also wore the same sort of uniform, except his was topped off with a comfortable-looking worn leather jacket. Although a little bit scruffy, with a beard and messy brown hair, he didn't give off the same creepy vibe as Keith. Emma detected a hint of warmth in his brown eyes, although that cooled significantly when he looked at the deputy sheriff. Despite that, his smile was light, almost joking, and he seemed completely at ease with his surroundings.

"Fine," Keith grumbled, and headed out of the sheriff's station, glancing over his shoulder at Emma once more before closing the door behind himself. She ignored that leer, too.

"I'm sorry about him," the other man said, unlocking his cell. "He's really quite harmless…or mostly, anyway. I'm Graham, by the way."

"Emma Swan," she replied, taking the offered hand as she walked out of the cell. "And I wasn't drunk."

"I know. I found you after you hit the sign last night, but you clearly hadn't been drinking. You were unconscious, though, so I brought you here to sleep it off," Graham said.

"To the jail?"

He shrugged. "I am the sheriff. And it seemed less…questionable than sticking you on my couch. Besides, the bed here is more comfortable."

"I find that a little hard to believe," Emma said dryly, rolling her shoulders to work the aches out. "Am I free to go, then?"

"Well, you could, but your car's going to be in the shop for days. Want me to give you a ride back to the Nolans', instead?"

Emma resisted the urge to groan out loud. "I've imposed on them enough already. Don't you have a bed and breakfast somewhere in this town?"

"I can take you there, yeah."

"I could also walk." Great. Now this guy was coming onto her, too, for all his gentlemanly protests about how leaving her passed out on his couch would have been inappropriate. At least he was more polite about it.

Graham gave her a crooked smile and opened the sheriff station's door for her. "But how am I going to offer you a job if I don't get a chance to talk to you?"

"You're going—you're what?"

"Regina and I were chatting last night, and she mentioned that you had experience tracking criminals down," he explained. "And while the crime rate here might not be anything like Boston's, I do have an opening for another sheriff's deputy…and it'll give you a chance to see your boy more often."

Emma stopped to glare at him. "You're telling me that Regina put you up to this?"

"Honestly, no. It's my idea, but it does seem to fit, doesn't it?" Another charming smile followed that remark, and Emma had to at least give him credit. Graham didn't seem to be trying to jump in her pants; he was trying to hire her, which was even more uncomfortable. She knew what to do with letches and flirts. Nice guys, on the other hand, were a bit more of a mystery.

"I'm gonna have to think about this," she said uneasily. "Can you give me a few days?"

"The job's not going anywhere," Graham confirmed with a smile. "Your car is going to need at least that long to get fixed, anyway."

"Great," Emma muttered. What was it about this town? First Regina convinced her to stay for a week, and then when she tried to leave, she got in an accident. Sure, it all had to be a coincidence, but Emma was starting to find that a little hard to believe.

2 ½ Years Before the Curse

Belle was reading in the great hall when the unexpected visitor arrived, and she was so engrossed that she hardly noticed until he was already in the room. In her defense, the book she was reading was fascinating. It was one of Rumple's older volumes, a history of the way magic had changed over the centuries, and although Belle would never be a sorceress, she was certainly curious about the forces that seemed to rule Rumplestiltskin's world. He had insisted on teaching her a spell or two, a few defenses that allowed her to draw on his magic if she needed them, but Belle knew in her heart that she'd never embrace magic the way he did. That didn't mean she couldn't learn about it, though, so she didn't even hear the black-clad stranger walk in.

"Um, pardon me, My Lady…?"

"Oh!" Belle looked up so fast she almost dropped the book. "Hello. What can I do for you?"

Quickly, she clambered off the chaise she'd been sitting on, smoothing her dress down and carefully putting the ancient book down. The stranger was dressed in some sort of military uniform, with a ridiculously plumed helmet tucked under one arm, but he didn't look like most soldiers Belle had ever met. Most of them were more like Gaston: posturing, self-important, and muscle-bound louts. This man had kind and sad eyes, and smiled at her like she was a person, not an ornament. Much better than Gaston, then. Belle liked him already.

"I'm sorry. I have never been here before. Is this the Dark Castle?" he asked, looking around curiously.

Belle smiled. He was undoubtedly confused by the sun streaming through the windows and the flowers on the grand table; people always expected the Dark Castle to live up to its name, expected Rumplestiltskin's home to be a haven for horrors of all sorts. But they were wrong. Even before Belle had torn down the nailed-up curtains and Rumple had agreed to 'get used to' the light streaming in, the castle had been a place full of curiosities, not terrible things. Oh, there were some truly frightening objects that Rumple had collected over the years, but most of those were safely locked away. Especially now.

"It is," she confirmed. "Don't let the sunlight fool you. Rumplestiltskin is—"

"What are you doing here, Huntsman?" her love's voice suddenly intruded, high pitched and furious. He'd appeared on the other side of the hall, but was now striding forward with a deadly purpose to his walk that Belle had rarely seen from him, radiating fury and danger.

The Huntsman straightened, turning from Belle with slightly wide eyes. "I am here to deliver a message from Queen Cora."

"Still has your heart, does she?" Rumplestiltskin said nastily, stopping next to Belle. His eyes swept over her, and the intensity of his gaze almost made her shiver. Belle wasn't afraid of Rumplestiltskin—particularly not after living with him for this long and knowing him as she did—but there were times that he could frighten her for others.

The way the Huntsman stiffened silently provided answer enough. Rumplestiltskin's eyes narrowed, but his next words were addressed to Belle:

"Did he touch you?"

"No," she answered, confused by the urgency in his tone.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Exasperated by his odd questions, Belle asked one of her own: "Why? Rumple, what is going on?"

"I don't trust his Mistress," he snapped, gesturing at the Huntsman. "If she knew about you, she'd undoubtedly send someone to hurt you, and this one might very well be her choice now that he's failed to capture Snow White for her."

"What is it between you two?" Belle demanded, seeing the raw rage in Rumplestiltskin's eyes, the possessive protectiveness that drove her insane. Usually, he was so much better than this—well, getting better, anyway—but the Evil Queen seemed able to bring out the worst in him. Or just her messenger can.

"I assure you, my mission has nothing to do with the lady," the Huntsman said stiffly. "I am only here to deliver a message, nothing more."

"Ah, I'm afraid it's more than that, dearie," Rumplestiltskin replied with the high-pitched giggle that Belle disliked. She didn't hate anything about him, but he only laughed like that when he wanted to be cruel. She disliked it because she felt it chipped away at the good man who lived under the curse, the one who loved her and who she loved, but so long as he insisted on remaining cursed, there was nothing she could do about that. Still, she wasn't expecting him to continue with: "Now you've seen Belle, so now you're going to have to die."

"What?" Belle gasped.

The Huntsman took a step back. "I am here as a royal messenger—"

"I don't actually care about diplomatic niceties," the Dark One cut him off, ignoring Belle. "What I do care about is Cora knowing about Belle, which I can't allow to happen. And since she has your heart, you can't lie to her. Ergo, you have to die."

"I don't serve her by choice. I would keep your secret," the young man replied, looking offended that Rumplestiltskin would imply that he would."

"Rumple, you can't," Belle interjected, grabbing his arm before he could step towards the Huntsman once more. His head swiveled to her, his golden eyes unreadable.

"She'll hurt you if she knows about you, Belle," Rumplestiltskin replied, his tone going far softer than Belle expected. "Both of you. Cora considers love to be weakness, and you are my weaknesses. I must keep you safe."

"Not by murdering someone who only came to deliver a message," she whispered desperately. "Please. I can't live with that on my conscience."

"It's the only way."

"It can't be," Belle replied, thinking fast. "Can't you…I don't know, erase his memory or something?"

Rumplestiltskin snorted. "Such potions are much less effective if the recipient is unwilling to forget. It's far easier to kill him, sweetheart. I won't make you watch."

"I'll take it," the Huntsman interjected with sudden passion. "I know I can't be trusted to keep your secret, but I do not serve the Queen by choice. I would stop her if I could, but she has my heart. I will take your potion."

Belle's breath caught in her throat, and she swung to look at Rumplestiltskin, pleading with her eyes. "See? You don't have to kill him."

"Belle…" It was a growl, but she knew he was close to giving in.

"Please?" she whispered, her hands still on his arm. "If he doesn't remember me, what harm can it do?"

One last glare at the Huntsman, and then—"Fine."

Grinning, Belle went up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, which they had at least long since figured out would not break his curse. True Love's kiss between lovers needed to be on the lips to work, so she could show him affection this way, even if she would vastly preferred to have done so in other ways. Rumplestiltskin still gave her an exasperated look as if he couldn't quite figure out why he'd given in, but he did pluck a hair off of the Huntsman's head to create the potion without further ado. When it was complete, the Huntsman accepted it willingly, apologizing softly to Belle before she made her way upstairs, knowing that she could not be present for him drinking it, lest Rumple have to create a second potion so that Cora's messenger would forget her a second time.

The Huntsman delivered his message to Rumplestiltskin without her there, and left the castle none the wiser.

As fate would have it, Cora ran into Emma before Hook had the chance. Henry had discovered that Emma hadn't managed to leave the night before and shown up at the door to the room she'd rented at Granny's, all smiles and stories about how of course the curse wouldn't let her leave. Somehow, he talked her into taking him out for ice cream along the way, so they found themselves sitting outside the ice cream parlor eating sundaes. She kept telling him that she was planning on leaving as soon as the bug was fixed—not without keeping in touch, of course, but she really did have a life to get back to. No matter how many crazy stories Henry told her about her family being here in this funny little town, the real world was still waiting outside of Storybrooke. Like it or not, she had to get back to that.

Even if she had kind of come to like this kid she'd given birth to, she wasn't his mother, and it was time to go back to Boston. Even though I just got offered a job that would be a lot more stable than the one I have now. Having a steady job would be nice, and being near Henry would be…well, nice.

"Henry," a new voice interrupted Henry's recount of something one of his classmates (the Mad Hatter's daughter, apparently) had done. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Hi, Grandma," her boy answered, looking up guiltily. "I'm, uh, here with Emma."

"So I can see."

Emma looked up at the older woman, seeing Cora Mills up close for the first time. She was a handsome woman, even if she had to be over fifty, with dark hair and darker eyes. There was something unsettling in Cora's steady gaze, something that made a chill run down Emma's spine. Her hackles came up instinctively; people like Cora had always put Emma's teeth on edge. But this was Henry's grandmother, creepy as the woman seemed to be, so Emma would try to be nice.

"Hello," she said, rising and holding out a hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm—"

"I know who you are, Miss Swan," Cora cut her off. "And I presume that you know who I am."

"Yeah. You're the mayor." Emma dropped her hand after leaving it out for a moment. She was definitely not impressed.

"Good. That will make this easier."

"Will make what easier?" she demanded.

"Henry, go home," Cora ordered, not even bothering to look at the kid. "I will deal with this."

"I'd rather stay," Henry objected, and Cora finally turned to glare at him.

"I did not ask what you wanted. I told you to leave, and you shall. Need I call your mother?"

Emma watched her son deflate. "No. I'll go." He started to walk out, and then looked over his shoulder at Emma. "I'll see you later, Emma?"

"You bet you will, kid." She might have been determined to leave Storybrooke, but the more hostile Cora became, the more obstinate Emma felt.

Henry headed out of the ice cream shop, leaving Emma to face Cora alone. The two women glared at one another in silence for a long moment before Cora said:

"I don't like you in my grandson's life."

"Well, luckily for both of us, that's his parents' decision, isn't it?" she retorted.

"No. It isn't." Cora's eyes narrowed. "What is your purpose here, Miss Swan?"

The question made Emma scowl. "I'm just here to get to know Henry a little," she replied.

"No. You aren't. Stay away from my grandson, or you'll regret ever coming to Storybrooke," the mayor said softly.

"Is that a threat?" Emma demanded.

"Take it how you will, dear. Just remember what I've said, and you'll be perfectly fine."

Emma snorted. She'd never liked being pushed around, and Cora Mills reminded Emma of every bully she'd ever met while in foster care. Storybrooke's mayor was more cold blooded than most of them; but her self-absorbed focus was just the same. Apparently, she didn't like having her little applecart of a perfect town upset by Emma's presence, or her perfect little family (which Emma already knew was not so perfect) upset by Henry's birth mother showing up. But that was too bad. If Cora wanted her to leave, she might just stay a little longer. Not forever, of course—but a month or two wasn't out of the question. Not if it ticked off this self-righteous bitch.

"You know, I've never taken threats really well," she told Cora. "And the fact that you're trying to make me leave only makes me want to stay. So shove your threats, Madam Mayor. I'm going to live my life my way."

"Miss Blanchard!" Henry called, running over to catch his teacher as she walked out of Storybrooke Elementary on Monday morning. She looked unhappy, just like she always did outside of class, and he couldn't help but compare her to the strong and bold woman that Snow White had been. It wasn't Mary Margaret's fault that she had been cursed, but he still wished he could meet his real grandmother.

"Oh, hello, Henry." She smiled, of course, because when did Mary Margaret not smile for one of her students? She was the best teacher he'd had yet, and everyone in Henry's class liked her a lot.

Of course, everyone else had been in her class for twenty-eight years, but now that he'd come to terms with that, Henry was coping pretty well. It was certainly better than wondering what was wrong with himself when he was the only one aging and advancing a grade every year. Before Miss French had given him the Book, Henry had just thought he was crazy. Now he knew better.

"Hi," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. His mom's idea was clever, but Regina was counting on Henry to pull it off, and he wasn't going to mess this up. He couldn't let either his birth mother or her mother suspect what he was up to. If they did, they probably wouldn't go along with it at all.

"What's on your mind?" Mary Margaret asked, shifting her bag on her shoulder. She looked like she was walking home again, and Henry wondered if her car was broken. Again.

"I wanted you to meet my birth mother. She's here from Boston."

Mary Margaret turned in surprise to look at Emma, who had trailed Henry at a more sedate pace, wide eyed and uncertain. She was still wrapping her mind around this place, Henry knew, and had only just made the decision to stay in Storybrooke the night before. But she had accepted Graham's offer of a job, and Henry was dead certain that his mother was behind that, too. His mom was absolutely brilliant, and her plan was going to work.

"Welcome to Storybrooke," Mary Margaret said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. But she was trying to be nice, and Henry knew they'd hit it right off. After all, Emma was her daughter.

"Uh, thanks," Emma said uneasily. It was hard meeting a parent you'd never met. Henry thought she believed him enough to at least accept the possibility of Mary Margaret being her own mother, and that had to be worse than tracking down the mom you'd found online.

"Emma's moving to Storybrooke, and she saw that you were looking for a roommate," Henry put in before his birth mother could chicken out. "She just took a job as deputy sheriff," he added proudly.

"I…I've had that ad in the paper for ages. I didn't think anyone would be interested." Mary Margaret's voice was soft, and spoke of so many disappointments over the years. His adopted grandmother really had been awful to her, and Henry hated Cora for that.

"Well, I'm new in town, but I guess I'm interested." Emma's smile was crooked. "Assuming you'll have me, anyway."

"Of course I will! Do you want to come over and look at the loft? It's kind of small, but there's plenty of room for two."

"I'd like that," Emma said, and Henry was glad to hear that her tone sounded more natural. She turned to him. "Can I trust you to take yourself home without getting in too much trouble?"

"Actually, I was going to go to the animal shelter to see Dad." Grandpa, Henry corrected himself silently, but he couldn't say that in front of Mary Margaret. Not yet, anyway. He gave Emma a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. You two should go."

So they did. Henry watched his birth mother walking off with her mother before heading over to the animal shelter (he really did want to go there; he really liked one of the cats and wanted to play with it). Their conversation started off awkward but slowly seemed to become more animated, and Henry hoped that they'd start getting along quickly. Mary Margaret seemed so lonely under the curse, and the Evil Queen hadn't been very nice to her. Between Grace's dad stalking her and her constant money problems, Mary Margaret wasn't doing very well. But maybe Emma moving in with her could change that. She certainly wouldn't let Jefferson bully Mary Margaret any more, that was for sure!

It wasn't Jefferson's fault, Henry knew. He was cursed, too, and was probably a nice guy back in the Enchanted Forest. But here he was a jerk who had even barged into class to harass Mary Margaret one day, and all Ms. Cole had told him to do was leave. The principal hadn't even pressed charges! Under the curse, Ms. Cole had been Princess Abigail, and she'd been brave and true, but not here in Storybrooke. Here she was a tyrant who always picked on Mary Margaret, giving her the worst duties and always yelling at her for her classroom being a mess. His book said that Princess Abigail and Snow White had been friendly back in their real lives, but here Kathryn Cole treated Mary Margaret terribly, and it wasn't fair.

There were a lot of people like that in Storybrooke, people Henry knew weren't supposed to be like this but had been given terrible lives and nasty personalities by Cora. He'd always known that his grandmother was vindictive, but he had never understood how much until he'd read the Book. Jefferson and Abigail weren't the only ones who had been turned upside down; King Midas was Tobias Cole, estranged from his daughter and owned a struggling lawn company that was perpetually in debt. King Francis, or Mitchell Herman was a rich judge, but he had some really nasty habits that Cora seemed to know about, which meant he never decided cases in anything but her favor. Prince Eric was Cora's cook, and he was vain, vapid, and nasty to everyone. The nicest people were mean in Storybrooke, and everyone who was supposed to be good and noble had been force into lives they would hate themselves for living.

The list of tragedies went on. It wasn't fair, Henry knew, but it was his job to get Emma to break the curse, and he wouldn't fail.

Author's Note: Don't be a stranger – let me know what you think and that I haven't scared you away!

Stay tuned for Chapter Eight: "The Truth", where Regina tries to convince Emma that the curse is real, Cora discovers the Book, and starts getting suspicious. In the past, Regina learns magic and Belle reads a bedtime story.