Chapter Thirty-Five—"Debts Owed"

The only way to get the better of this newly called in debt was to fight fire with fire. Emma had spent the rest of that Saturday combing over the Storybrooke charter and checking every relevant law; she'd even marched over to the ominously decadent home that Very Merry Escorts was based in and demanded a copy of the contract. Unfortunately, her unschooled eye was unable to find the slightest loophole, and the fact that Mary Margaret was now liable for the debt was right there in black and white…as was the fact that she had co-signed the contract. Mary Margaret's father had signed the damn thing shortly before he died, and now Emma's roommate was stuck with the mess. If it was legal.

Emma had even called Regina to ask about Very Merry Escorts, and had received a rather angry reply. "Don't take what you see on the surface as truth," Regina snarled from the other end of the phone. "Madam…Merryweather isn't what she seems to be. Or at least she won't be when she wakes up." But Regina had also been unwilling to tell her exactly who this Madam Merryweather was supposed to be in the old pre-curse world, which probably meant she'd been someone bad. Or she'd been someone who hadn't been bad there and was here, thanks to Cora. Either way, Emma was pretty sure she didn't want to know. Assuming I believe in the curse at all, anyway, she reminded herself. But doing that seemed to be getting easier and easier and wasn't that disturbing?

Merryweather's identity didn't really matter. What mattered was getting ahead of this disaster, and there was only one person in Storybrooke who Emma knew could do that. It took some convincing to get Mary Margaret to agree to that path, however. The schoolteacher didn't like Emma's idea…but she liked the idea of trying to pay off a new (old?) loan of nearly two hundred thousand dollars even less.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Mary Margaret grumbled as they walked down the street Sunday afternoon, looking left and right like she expected someone to jump out and attack her.

"Look, he might not even be there. It's Sunday." Movement caught Emma's eye as they crossed the street; there was Keith, driving around in his big rusty truck like an idiot. He was probably hungover, knowing him. Emma wouldn't be surprised if he'd spent the night face down on the bar at the Rabbit Hole. He might even still be drunk. It wouldn't be the first time. She wished she could fire him, but Cora had made her position on that one clear.

"The sign says open," Mary Margaret pointed out miserably.

"So it does," Emma replied, glancing back at the pawn shop. She hadn't been sure if Gold would be there or not—he wasn't, most Sundays, and particularly since Lacey had moved in with him—but it beat tromping out to his house to talk to the pawnbroker. But sure enough, lights were on inside the shop, and the sign did say 'open'.

She was surprised, however, to find Lacey French alone in the front of the shop when they walked in. The former librarian smiled in greeting as the two women walked in, but seeing her made Emma blink. Lacey was dressed in an expensive looking blue business suit that was perfectly tailored for her figure, looking for all the world like the ideal female counterpart for the always impeccably dressed Mr. Gold.

"Mary Margaret, Emma!" Lacey greeted the two women cheerfully. "What brings you in today?"

"Is Gold making you run this place on Sundays?" Emma demanded before she could stop herself, looking around for the pawnbroker, but there was no sign of him.

"Of course not. He's in the back doing inventory," the younger woman replied with a laugh. "I'll go get him."

"Thanks," Emma said, slightly abashed. But what kind of man brought his kept woman to work, and dressed her up in designer clothes? It almost looked like Lacey was some sort of doll, perfectly coiffed and immaculately turned out.

Lacey ducked into the back, and Emma could hear voices but couldn't make out what was being said. So, she drifted forward while Mary Margaret nervously looked at items on the counter to the right, straining her ears. Lacey was plainly answering a question, but Emma only caught the last two words:

"…didn't say."

"I should have left the sign on closed," Gold grumbled, and Emma thought she heard him grunt softly as he lifted something. "Take this determined little monster, will you?"

"Monster!" a child's voice echoed cheerfully, and Emma heard Lacey laugh.

"Sure," she said casually, sounding much more comfortable with Gold than Emma would have thought anyone could be. "Come here, you."

"No! Want Gold," a stubborn voice retorted, and Emma heard a soft chuckle.

"That's my tie, sweetie," Gold said, and that was definitely Renee French's laugh that answered him.

"Want it."

"Well, I'm wearing it, so you can't have it at the moment," the pawnbroker retorted, but he didn't seem angry. And Renee didn't seem terribly upset, either; in fact, the little girl sounded rather happy. Had Gold actually been playing with Lacey's daughter? It sure sounded like he'd been doing something with the little girl, although when he limped out from behind the curtain a moment later, his suit was as perfect as usual.

Emma just stared, trying desperately to wrap her mind around the image of the cold-blooded Mr. Gold tolerating a three year old playing with his tie. If she choked him with it, I bet the town would vote her a medal, Emma thought with amusement. But her smile vanished as the pawnbroker turned to face her, folding his hands on the counter in that same non-threatening manner that was so damn unnerving.

"Sheriff Swan. Miss Blanchard," he greeted them smoothly as Lacey followed him out of the back, holding Renee by the hand. "What can I do for you this morning?"

"I, uh…" Even as Emma glanced over, Mary Margaret shook her head and went quiet.

"Legal help," Emma picked up where her roommate left off as Lacey settled into a chair with Renee in her lap and a book in her hands. The little girl immediately started babbling excitedly over some picture or another, but Gold ignored her admirably.

"Of what sort?" he asked.

Huh. Emma's eyes were still on Renee French. The little girl was dressed expensively, too, although she'd made a typically three-year-old mess of her clothes. What kind of man dresses his whore's kid as well as he does her? Emma wondered curiously.

"Here." Mary Margaret replied after a moment, handing over the letter from Ms. Merryweather quickly, along with the contract Emma had acquired. She moved quickly and jerkily, as if afraid she'd chicken out and run away. But Emma was proud of her for doing it; sometimes, being a mouse just seemed to come naturally to her roommate, and she knew it was hard for Mary Margaret to fight that habit.

"Ah, I see your father visited our town's most infamous establishment," Gold murmured, glancing at the bill. "Frequently, it would seem."

"I can't pay that," Mary Margaret told him bluntly.

Gold's eyes flew over the contract, and he did not look up as he asked: "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"There's got to be some sort of legal loophole," Emma put in when Mary Margaret swallowed. "Calling in a debt like this, years after his death, is ridiculous. Particularly without any prior notice."

"Unfortunately, this contract is rather thorough," he replied. "It specifically indicates that the debt may be called in at any time and is expected to then be paid in full."

"I don't remember signing that," Mary Margaret said quietly, and Emma was surprised by how quickly Gold's eyes snapped over to her face. Even Lacey looked up, appearing both concerned and curious.

"Do you not?" Gold asked, sounding intrigued.

"Not at all," Emma's roommate replied, her voice growing stronger.

"Do you intend to challenge the contract, then?"

"Can I?"

The pawnbroker shrugged. "It's a lengthy and painful process, but yes, it's within your legal right to do so. However, I do have to say that this does appear to be your signature."

"So someone forged it well," Emma said when Mary Margaret deflated slightly. "That doesn't make her liable for it."

"It's an admirable argument, Miss Swan, but you'll never find a judge here in Storybrooke who will find Ms. Merryweather guilty of forging a contract."

"Why the hell not?"

"Everyone has their weaknesses, dear, even judges," was his evasive reply, but Renee jumped off her mother's lap and bolted over to Gold before Emma could frame an answer to that.

"Up!" the child demanded, and Emma held her breath, wondering how in the world the vicious dealmaker would reply to that one.

"I'm sorry," Lacey said quickly—but interestingly enough, her apology was directed at Emma and Mary Margaret. "She's having one of those days."

"It's no problem," Mary Margaret reassured the brunette as Gold bent down and obey the three year old's command. He hefted the little girl like a man accustomed to children, sitting her on the counter in front of him. Immediately, she reached for his tie again, tugging the ends out of his jacket and trying to untie it. Or tie it into a bow. Emma couldn't tell which.

"Can you help?" Emma demanded, making Gold look up from the child who was determinedly tangling up his tie.

"It's not a case I'd take, no. You'd be bound to lose."

How could the man keep his voice that cold, and then look down almost fondly at the little girl in front of him? The more Emma saw of Gold, the less she thought she actually knew him. The man remained an enigma, and she had absolutely no idea what made him tick.

"Great," Emma replied as Mary Margaret's face fell. "That's really helpful, Gold." She might have said something else, but there was a child present. Interestingly enough, as Emma spoke, Lacey had stepped up next to Gold and was throwing him a significant look that Emma just couldn't read.

"I'm afraid that I'm not a miracle worker, Sheriff. I can only work with the cards I am dealt," Gold answered with another shrug, but then looked down with a small smile as Renee finally managed to stand up on the counter and untie his tie. "Now what are you going to do with that?" he asked the three year old.

"Give to Mamma," Renee replied, tugging the tie free, then turning solemnly to Lacey and offering her the tie.

"Thank you," Lacey said with a laugh, and Renee preened.

'I guess we'll just be going then," Mary Margaret said softly, and Emma shot one more glare at Gold that he promptly ignored. She was certain that there probably was something he could do—the man had more power than anyone else in Storybrooke, and this Merryweather woman probably owed him a favor or two. Everyone seemed to.

"Good luck," Lacey said to Mary Margaret, and Emma gave her a nod as the pair walked out of the shop. Emma was still stewing angrily, knowing that Gold could do something but unable to prove it. Then again, the man liked to work with deals, right? Emma was willing to bet she could find some dark secret of his that would encourage Gold to help her roommate if she looked hard enough. She hated turning to the bastard, but he really was the only one who could help. He was shady as hell, tricky to a fault, and ruthlessly intelligent. And if he knew what dirt Merryweather had on the judges, surely Gold had something to counter that.

Emma just had to find a way to motivate him to work on their behalf.

2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse

Cora appeared in the Dark Castle less than an hour after Rumplestiltskin sent Charming on his way. Fortunately, Belle was with Gabrielle in the library, and Rumplestiltskin's spells masked the presence of his wife and daughter from any visiting sorcerer, but having his former lover appear in his home did not put him in a good mood. Particularly when he was so busy making sure she was thwarted.

"I thought better of you, Rumple," she said by way of greeting, gliding forward. "Are you siding with my nauseating little stepdaughter?"

Barking a laugh, Rumplestiltskin lounged back in his chair. "Now, why would I side with anyone?" he asked lightly, his eyes dancing. Cora didn't know that she was already caught in the beginning sections of his trap, her feet firmly on the path that would lead her to casting his curse. "I think we both know that I only do things for my own reasons."

"You helped Prince James find her," Cora snapped.

"What of it?" Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "He had something I wanted."

"Like what?"

"Now, that's my business, dearie," he replied with a giggle. You are going to be the last person in all the worlds who learns that I have bottled True Love.

"Oh, don't be so difficult." She glided forward to place a hand on his arm, and Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to yank away. "We used to be so close. Do you really have to interfere with my affairs now?"

"I'm not interfering," Rumplestiltskin murmured, his tone deceptively mild. He was curious to see if Cora would get the hint or not; if not, well, he still had a few lessons left to teach his former student. "What I do is my own affair. I'd remind you not to interfere with that."

"Did you really help him only because he had something you wanted?" she wanted to know, her dark eyes intently focused on him. The hand on his arm tightened ever so slightly. A warning.

"Why else would I?" he asked neutrally, and then came to his feet more quickly than Cora could step back, his free hand seizing her wrist in an iron grip. Rumplestiltskin had always been a slight man, but his curse did wonders for muscle tone and bone strength, and he knew he could be stronger than any mortal man when he wished to be. Now he used that strength, channeling magic down his arm and squeezing Cora's wrist until she let go of his upper arm and hissed ever so softly in pain.

"You have your reasons," she retorted, refusing to back down.

Oh, she was truly majestic, this cold and heartless woman he'd once loved. But his feelings for her had long since gone cold, even if he could admire her and remember Cora with a little affection. Now Rumplestiltskin was only looking for someone angry enough to cast his curse without thought for the consequences—or, in Cora's case, someone who thought she could manage those consequences so well that they would not matter. Her hubris would be useful, but her strengths were many, and Rumplestiltskin could not let himself forget that just because his love for her had long since soured.

"That I do," the Dark One said slowly, not releasing her. In fact, he tightened his grip ever so slightly, his curse singing in his mind to egg him on. Teach her not to trifle with you. Remind her who is more powerful! A sharp edge entered his voice: "And you would do well to remember who taught who, Cora. I will do as I please, and you certainly cannot stop me. Are you going to try?"

He punctuated the last bit with a hard squeeze and a nasty little giggle; Cora had the brains to shake her head slightly.

"I see no reason to," the Evil Queen replied with dignity.

"Good! Then we're the best of friends, aren't we?" he tittered, letting his gaze burn into hers.

Cora was the only woman he knew who could meet the fury of the Dark One head on and not flinch, or at least had been until he met Belle. She could even look dignified as she did so. "Of course we are," she smiled.

Of course, I'd never feel this angry at Belle, so the comparison is moot. Belle'd shout me down out of a fury cheerfully, but she'd probably be right, Rumplestiltskin reflected, and it was thinking of his wife that made him calm down, not anything Cora might have said. Besides, it wasn't his temper, not really. The man Rumplestiltskin might be under the curse could have merely warned her, but the Dark One could not.

"Well, then, everyone's happy!" Rumplestiltskin giggled, releasing her and leaning forwards until Cora took a step back. "Except for your little stepdaughter, of course. I imagine she's suffering quite monstrously. How strong did you make that nightmare curse?"

"Strong enough." Cora looked offended.

"Yes, yes," he waved her pride away, "but how long will it take to kill her?"

That was important to know, after all. If Charming had cut too close, Rumplestiltskin would have to find himself a new True Love couple and perhaps a new curse caster. Or perhaps I will help Regina free her stableboy after all. Give them a few challenges, watch their love grow…Cora would hunt them just as enthusiastically, and maybe they'd be strong enough. Maybe. But he still preferred Snow and her charming prince. He had alternatives—even that empty-headed princess whose wedding he'd recently set up, or the daughter of Maleficent's first sleeping princess—but he preferred to keep to his original plan.

"Months," Cora replied with relish, a small smile. "At least four or five. I want her to suffer."

Foolish woman. You're digging your own grave, Rumplestiltskin thought, but what he said was: "Well, I'd say you've managed that."

"I am grateful for the help, Rumple," she purred, moving in close again and giving him what Cora probably thought was a seductive smile.

"I hope you remember that when I call in that favor you owe me, dearie," he replied with a wild grin.

"Are you certain there isn't something you want now?" Cora asked suggestively.

That dumped cold water on Rumplestiltskin's enjoyment of the moment, and his curse only made it worse, whispering: Go on. Seduce her. Gain her confidence and let her think she has your love once more. Then you will be able to get anything you want. With an effort, he shoved those thoughts aside. His curse might not love Belle the way he did—it feared Belle—but Rumplestiltskin would not betray her, no matter what short term advantages it gave him. He had always been a man of his word, and he'd promised to love Belle for all eternity. As if anything in any world could ever make him stop.

"Quite," he snapped, and gestured at the door. "You've over worn your welcome, Your Majesty. Don't you have some peasants to torment?"

Cora laughed. "Hardly. You know that I prefer tormenting the ability, Rumple. But I can see when you wish to be alone, and I have no desire to intrude. We will see one another again, of course."

"Oh, of course." Rumplestiltskin escorted Cora to the door and bowed to her, a flourishing gesture that said everything about his manners and nothing about her superiority. He watched her go with satisfaction, feeling the pieces of his plan click into place.

Months, dearie? he thought with a smile. Oh, no. You'll make Snow White suffer, but her swan princess will break your precious victory in two.

The door swung shut, and Belle immediately turned to look at him, her blue eyes pleading. "Can't you do anything to help Mary Margaret?"

"Sweetheart…" He trailed off momentarily, gathering his thoughts. Rumplestiltskin should have known this was coming. Belle had a good heart, and she had always hated seeing anyone suffer. "It's not that simple."

"Simple?" Renee echoed, and Rumplestiltskin glanced down at his daughter before he picked her up off the counter. She was such an adorable distraction, and hopefully one that would work on Belle, too.

"You have dirt on everyone," his wife pointed out, undeterred even as they headed into the back room, to where they'd set up a play area for Renee. "Surely you know enough about a judge to get them to overturn the contract if Mary Margaret challenged it."

"I do, but under these circumstances, it won't help. Cora's thorough, very through. She made sure that Judge Herman has vices she can control, and Judge Dallas…well, don't get me started on her. She'll side with Merryweather."

"Who was she, anyway?" Belle asked, and then shook her head as Renee started playing with a pair of plastic horses. "Scratch that. Who were all of them?"

"Judge Herman was King Francis, dear Princess Ella's father-in-law. Judge Dallas was Bo Peep, a minor and rather inefficient warlord who was defeated by Charming before he even became a prince. And Merryweather…well, she was Maleficent, of course."

"And they're all on Cora's side?" she asked skeptically.

"It's far from that simple. Merryweather owns an escort service that amounts to a brothel, along with the most 'exclusive' club in town, the Basement. She's got her hooks in nearly every man with money—excluding me, of course—because they all patronize her establishment. Some of the women, also. Herman's one of her most frequent customers, right up there with our dear District Attorney, Albert Spencer. Neither of them will be pleased with those vices when they wake up," he replied with a sneer, imagining both royals' reactions to having patronized something as low-class, and as crass, as a brothel. "As for Dallas, well, she's an investor. And has a few dangerous eccentricities of her own that Merryweather indulges. Neither judge will risk upsetting their own relationship with Merryweather for Ms. Blanchard."

"Oh." Belle frowned, and then looked at him with confusion. "How come Lacey never heard of this 'Basement'?"

Rumplestiltskin hesitated, and then decided to go with the truth. "Sweetheart…the only reason Lacey would have been invited down there would not have been as a guest, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Not really, anyway."

"I'm not sure you want to know," he replied quietly, thinking of the rumors he had heard and the information he'd gleaned. Gold had a standing invitation to the Basement, but had only accepted once. Apparently even his cursed self had standards, and forcing himself upon women who 'agreed' to even the sickest of requests—because they had no other choice—was not one of Gold's quirks. I probably have Cora to thank for that, but in this case, I am a little grateful. I am many things, but I am not that kind of monster.

Belle studied him for a moment, cocking her head and obviously waiting for an answer. He sighed, and continued:

"Let's just say that Merryweather's collection of young ladies isn't all that willing, but they don't have a choice. I'm not sure anyone's ever seen the ones who live in the Basement, excluding the customers."

"That's horrible!" His wife went a little pale with shock, and Rumplestiltskin gave her a moment to process the news. Belle was well enough read and had a vivid enough imagination to figure out what happened in the Basement, and, well, he really didn't care to go into details. Whatever Belle could imagine was bad enough. There was no reason to tell her the worse parts. "That's what's going to happen to Mary Margaret if she can't pay off her debts, isn't it?"

"Probably."

Belle speared him with a look. "You can't let that happen."

Monday mornings were Mary Margaret's least favorite time of the week. She was a morning person, of course, and running into David at Granny's made any morning better, but even the best of children were never happy to be back in class after a weekend. And students whose teacher's face had been plastered all over the front page of the local paper were hardly the ones who were likely to behave well. Hers weren't nearly as bad as they could have been—or as bad as they'd been last week, to be honest—but the first few hours of Monday morning were still brutal, particularly because Mary Margaret couldn't stop thinking about the debt her father had somehow incurred a few weeks before his death.

She didn't know what she was going to do. She really didn't.

But spending the day in a daze didn't help. Her students deserved better than that, so Mary Margaret put on her bravest face and forced herself to focus. Surely, she and Emma would figure out something between the two of them; Emma was smart and brave, and she was the best friend Mary Margaret had ever had. However, holding on to her optimism was so hard when she found yet another student transfer request on her desk when she came back from lunch, this time from the parents of young Kylee Martin, one of the brightest girls in Mary Margaret's class. Kylee was a joy to teach, and she would be so sad to see her go. It's not her fault. Mrs. Martin has always been very conservative, and given what my reputation has become, I suppose I can't blame her, Mary Margaret thought to herself, straightening her shoulders and tucking the request away in the appropriate folder. She'd give it to Ms. Cole after school that day, and she had no doubt that the principal would deal with the issue expeditiously.

"Ms. Blanchard, a moment?" a voice asked, and Mary Margaret's head jerked up.

Speaking of Kathryn Cole, there she was. The blonde principal was standing in the door to Mary Margaret's classroom with her hands on her hips and the angriest expression Mary Margaret had ever seen on her face. Kathryn looked absolutely livid—not that she ever looked kindly Mary Margaret's way; the two had never gotten along—and Mary Margaret hurried over. She didn't have to like her boss to respect her, and Kathryn ran Storybrooke Elementary well, if with a much harsher hand than some of the teachers liked.

"Yes?" she asked, not sure why her heart was pounding in her chest.

"We received a notice of indebtedness for you this morning," Kathryn snapped, waving a piece of paper in Mary Margaret's face. "Do you know what this is?"

"I have a fairly good idea, yes," she answered slowly, feeling her stomach fold in on itself. Why did Madam Merryweather have to send that here? Mary Margaret knew that the law permitted creditors to send notices to the debtor's place of employment, but surely Merryweather would wait for a response before doing that! Mary Margaret had only received the notice on Saturday herself, and everything was happening so fast.

"Were you going to tell me about it?" the principal demanded.

"If you'd just let me explain—"

"No. That's answer enough for me," Kathryn cut her off viciously, yanking the paper away before Mary Margaret could even verify that it said the same thing the one she'd received did. "And I've had quite enough. I could tolerate your sordid affair with David Nolan—barely—but this is going too far. Now you have failed to pay a significant debt to the most reprehensible place in the entire town, and you're suspected of murder. I won't have you around the children any longer. You're fired."

"I…what?" she gaped. "You—you can't!"

"Of course I can. You've brought discredit down upon the school and are possibly a danger to the students. You have an hour to gather your belongings before I call the Sheriff to have you removed."

Kathryn strode away, without even bothering to acknowledge the crowd of students and other teachers who had gathered around to watch the fireworks. Stunned, Mary Margaret just stared at her back, feeling hot tears starting to trickle down her face. She couldn't understand how this was happening. A few months ago, everything had started looking up. She had a roommate, a real friend for the first time in forever, and had finally started paying her debts down. Then she'd found a man who she loved, whose wife was happy to let them be together…and now she'd lost everything in the blink of an eye. How could she go from happiness to utter despair so quickly? She was too shocked to move as the bell rang and the students scurried into the classroom, followed by Mrs. Hutchinson, who was clearly there to substitute in for Mary Margaret.

Mrs. Hutchinson had been a friend until today, but she refused to look at the woman she was replacing as she walked by. None of the other teachers so much as glanced her way as they retreated into their own classrooms, either; Mary Margaret looked at several of them, but they each avoided her gaze. Heartbroken, she stood alone in the hallway, struggling to hold back tears and wondering how everything had gone so wrong. Finally, after Mrs. Hutchinson led the students out of Mary Margaret's old classroom and towards the library, she staggered into the room to gather her belongings. Standing there and crying would do her no good. She had to…well, she didn't know what she had to do, or how she was going to cope, but Mary Margaret would try to be brave.

That was all she had left.

2 Years, 10 Months Before the Curse

David landed hard, stumbling as magic deposited him at the mouth of a cave. Cold air blew out of it, much colder than the crisp fall air surrounding him and making the prince shiver. Looking around, he tried to get his bearings, but there really weren't any landmarks worth noting. The cave was up against a mountain, or maybe mountains, but he was too close to the rock face to see which, and he wasn't about to backtrack far enough to figure it out. Not with Snow inside.

"That sorcerer had better be right," he muttered to himself, shifting his grip on the sword Rumplestiltskin had given him. It was magic, the dangerous imp had said, and even the shepherd David had been raised as had heard of such swords. Rumplestiltskin had said that this one would slay any magical beasts that David came across, and if the Dark One was sending him in with a sword like this, that meant David was going to need it.

Who would have thought that I'd ever be in a situation like this? Not too many years ago, I was terrified of facing Bo Peep and her little band of mercenaries, and I didn't even know how to use a sword, he thought as he glanced around to see if there were any traps designed to keep him from entering the cave. Now I'm standing here, holding a magical sword, and going to give True Love's Kiss to the woman I love more than life itself. Back on the farm, David could never even have dreamt of being in this position, for all that he talked of wanting to fall in love rather than marry for a monetary or social advantage. He'd never once imagined that he'd find someone like Snow, that he'd love her so very much…or that he'd be willing to risk everything just to see her once more.

A nightmare curse, Rumplestiltskin had said. Dangerous and horrible, and able to make Snow lash out at David as much as at anyone else. He would have to get through whatever gauntlet Queen Cora had put in place before he could get to her, and then he'd have to find a way to kiss her. But Snow was counting on him to find her, and David was not about to let her down.

I will always find you, he vowed silently. Then he squared his shoulders, brought the sword up into a low guard, and strode into the cave.

A/N: Poor Mary Margaret! But Cora can't let her have happiness, so she's going to find other ways to make her suffer. Belle, however, might be determined to help.

Stay tuned for Chapter Thirty-Six: "A Nightmare Come to Life," in which Ms. Merryweather offers Mary Margaret a job, Cora foists another deputy on Emma, August conspires with Henry, and Belle goes to work on her husband. Back in the past, David fights his way towards Snow, encountering trolls, demons, and other dangers.

While you're waiting for the next chapter, please check out my new story, "Remember", where the second chapter is going up today. And please do let me know what you think here in FOTS!