DISCLAIMER: I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.
This is a what-if story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…
In the shadow of the toll bridge
Rendezvous
Emma foraged and ravaged her way through the woods, cursing the sheer volume of trees left and right that seemed to be mocking her quest as she sank further and further into the thicket. She'd been here before of course – once back when they'd first found David and once earlier today. But she was more determined than ever now. Now, after having been to Collodi's. Now, after hearing Kathryn's miserable admission. David and Mary had much to answer for and though she knew she should let the matter drop – people's affairs were their business after all – Emma couldn't help herself. With so much strange shit going on, she vowed to get to the bottom of at least one of them!
"Is it really that bad?" she heard in the distance. Instantly, she slowed, tip toeing the rest of the way.
"Worse," came the reply. "She's completely cut herself off again. Yesterday I had her reading the book with Henry. Actually considering the possibility of a connection."
"And today she's—"
"Gone…In every way possible. She's just…lost." Emma drew a sharp breath as the voices materialized into soft figures beyond the trees. There they were – David and Mary Margaret…and they were talking about her! Knowing how acute David's senses were, she was as quiet as a mouse, scaling the small hill over which the two figures were standing right beneath the toll bridge. She could make them out clearly now and her heart was pounding out of her chest as David answered.
"Then we don't coax Emma back," he said. Emma swallowed hard hearing her name; there now – it was confirmed.
"We don't?" asked Mary Margaret. It sounded like she was sniffling.
"No," David replied and she watched him tuck a tendril of ebony hair back beneath Mary's hat. "We just tell her."
She could stand it no longer. Wrenching herself out of her stealthy crouch, Emma practically leapt from the trees into view of the startled couple and demanded, "Tell me what?"
…
-SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER-
Emma wasn't entirely sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to arrive back at the house and find Mary Margaret not there. The more she thought on her behavior, the more guilty she felt having lashed out, but she didn't know if she was quite ready to own up to it yet. So when she and Henry arrived at the house to search for "clues" about Michael Tillman's whereabouts, it was with a degree of anxiety that she set about giving the place a once-over. She was, after all, living here out of the kindness of the young teacher's heart. Was it even right for her to search the place now like a cop, after having acted so horribly?
Henry was determined though, and there was no arguing with him. The instant Emma opened the door, he'd rushed inside, intent on finding the note Michael left behind. During the drive over, he'd postulated any number of fanciful ideas, among them the notion that Michael had been somehow kidnapped by one of the "queen's" guards and taken somewhere so that it would look like he'd abandoned his children right in their moment of need. Listening to her son spinning tales, she had to admit it sure sounded like a fantastic adventure. If only it were true.
"Anything?" Henry asked, running in on Emma just as she finished checking under the couch.
"Nope," she said, her voice strained as she slid out from underneath it and came to settle on her knees. "Like I said, I tossed it aside. Guess I threw it away."
Henry's mouth curled into a half frown as he crossed his arms and shook his head. "It happened this morning," he said, exasperated. "Even if you had thrown it away it'd still be here somewhere. And I've checked all the garbage cans."
"Ew, Henry—" Emma glanced up at him pulling a sour face, but Henry wasn't paying attention.
"Let's check Miss Blanchard's alcove," he said, already heading over to Mary Margaret's bed.
"Now why would it be over there?" Emma braced her hand against the armrest of the couch and hoisted herself up, dragging her feet over to her roommate's living space. "Henry, we weren't anywhere near there when we talked. Why would Mary Margaret—"
"Maybe she kept it!" Henry's muffled voice came from under the bed for he'd already dived down to look. "Probably knew you'd come back and need to talk more and—"
"Henry," Emma whined, leaning up against the archway that led into the alcove. She looked down and couldn't help snickering at the sight of her son's legs and tennis shoes sticking out from under the bed, kicking back and forth like he was learning to swim. "Come on out of there. We've got no right to—"
"Ah HA!" came the boy's triumphant voice and Emma heard the crumpling of paper as he slid out from under the bed. "Got it!" he said, emerging from beneath the frame with the note in hand.
Emma stared for a minute, blinking back to the moment she'd first found it at Michael's house. Her stomach churned as the faces of the Zimmer children flashed in her mind, but she shook her head, determined not to let her anger towards the man affect her so cruelly again. "Great," she said, crossing one ankle over the other. "Now what?"
Henry took the note and started unfolding it, smoothing out the wrinkles in each crease. He worked methodically, as if handling evidence, and Emma was so amused by her son's "Cobra-ness" that it took her a few moments to realize – she'd never folded up that note. "Now," Henry was saying, "we go back to Mr. Tillman's and find some of his handwriting and—" he froze, staring at the paper now unfolded before him…and Emma actually heard him gulp.
"What?" Emma straightened up. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Henry said sharply, yanking his hands down at his sides (though not dumb enough, he thought, to try to hide it behind his back). "It's just uh…it's not…this isn't the note."
He started to move past her, aiming for the kitchen but his mom's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Hold it right there kid," she said in the best 'Cops and Robbers' voice she could manage, trying to coax out of him what he'd really just seen. Henry turned around slowly, looking a little green. "What isit?" she asked.
"It's uh…" Henry bit his lip. This was not good. Definitely not good. Why hadn't he checked it first before announcing that he'd found it! Stupid rookie mistake…one that Pops wouldn't have made…Pops…boy, he was gonna be so mad…
"Henry!" Emma repeated and held out her palm.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, Henry saw that he had no choice. For he knew that the panic in his face upon reading what he'd actually found was far too obvious to be missed by Emma's superpower. Reluctantly, he handed it over and took a deep breath as Emma started to read:
Dearest Snow…
Emma's throat went dry…
I'm afraid I must make this short as it is already 2 in the morning and I've only just arrived at David's home. I must also confess I am growing more and more wary of the queen's eyes and ears about town. I believe I may have been reckless tonight in staying so long at the establishment I mentioned I would visit after Regina's dinner. But I suspect you will hardly blame me when you learn what I know. It's Thomas, Snow. He's awake!...
She swallowed hard, her face flushed as she continued on…
… if you are able, meet me Sunday night at our spot. I will wait for you regardless but do not send a reply…
Sunday night? As in today? She skimmed down the page:
Yours forever,
James…
Her brain felt like a balloon someone was pumping full of water, stretching the bounds and limits of information she could process at one time well beyond capacity. Dearest Snow? David's home? Regina's dinner? And who the hell was Thomas? Of course, rationally, Emma knew exactly what this note implied about David and Mary Margaret. She ran her eyes up and down the page, trying to find any hint of sarcasm, teasing or pretense. But there was none.
"Emma?" Henry said tentatively, unsure of what to do since his mom seemed to be totally in shock. "Emma?" he tried again, tugging on her jacket.
Emma jerked back, crushing the note a bit as she clenched it in her fists. "Henry," she said, still staring at the cursive script in her hands. "I think you better go home …there's something I gotta do."
…
Snow didn't know where or how long she had been wandering, but she suspected she was now somewhere close to the farthest reaches of West End. After spending the morning meandering the aisles and shelves of Storybrooke's public library (a place she was rather discouraged to find empty save for the little old librarian she did not recognize), Snow had taken a late lunch at Tony's Deli. The gentleman behind the counter was also not familiar to her, nor was she at all interested in discerning who he might have been. For unlike the previous day's excursion, she had no lofty aspirations to find more of her subjects, discover old friends or sort out how and when they might put more cracks in the curse. Following Emma's vehement exit that morning, Snow just…wantedto get out of the house.
Your long lost daughter, Mary Margaret. That's who he thinks I am!
Snow had imagined time and again how she and James might eventually broach the subject with their daughter…
And of course we know who he thinks Prince Charming is!
It was never going to be easy but…
I mean, come on, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?
In the past few days, she'd had great hope that Emma might truly be opening up. That her daughter may eventually get to the point where she not only could believe…but actually wanted to…
I had a little faith before…faith in something completely absurd – and Ava and Nicolas paid the price.
This morning had cast an ominous shadow over all her hopes – so much progress, so much potential…gone in an instant, and the worst part was…she really couldn't blame Emma at all.
We have to believe she'll come back for us…we have to give her her best chance…
Rationally, Snow knew that had they not sent their daughter through, it would have been worse for them all – including Emma. She would have remained a baby for 28 years, perhaps in some orphanage, or raised by another set of parents…or worse: killed during the queen's siege. But awareness of these alternatives didn't lessen the pain, guilt or heartache Snow felt as she walked the streets of Storybrooke.
Goodbye Emma…A single tear trickled down her cheek as she thought again of the last moment she saw her sweet baby girl before her happy ending was ripped away and her whole world came tumbling down around her. In a way, she was glad James had been unconscious at the time, saved from having to witness the annihilation of their summer palace – their only true home.
Shivering in the cold December air, Snow tightened the collar of her heavy white coat around her neck and pushed against the wind, heading past the very edge of the town. Following the discouraging events of the past few days, there was little else to look forward to save for her evening rendezvous with James. And even that impending visit was now tainted by all that she knew she would have to reveal: their daughter's damaged heart, her regression (not to mention what she'd also learned about Belle, Gaston, Maurice, Happy)… all bad news. How exactly had things gotten to this point, she wondered. How when just three days ago, standing beneath the toll bridge with her beloved in her arms, the world held such promise?
Approaching the toll bridge now, she knew she would be a little early, but she didn't mind. She liked the cold (and the coats of this world were decidedly more insulated than the cloaks of days past). Slowly, she walked the familiar paths of the forest, foraging through thick brushes and pines that assailed her nostrils with the sweet scents of winter. Drawing further and further away from the town, she felt her spirits lighten a bit and allowed her mind to drift back to some of her more pleasant excursions in these woods: the afternoon she'd met Ella by the wishing well, the day she'd told James she was pregnant with Emma, finding her prince again despite all the toils and troubles they'd had to face…but nostalgia soon surrendered to regret and even the fresh and crisp wintery air that foretold of the first snow upon them wasn't enough to keep out the darker memories. For these were also the same paths she'd walked as a fugitive, the roads she'd traversed when evading…or hunting her stepmother. And then of course, there was that horrible day she left her father's palace, escorted by the huntsman whose mission it was to cut out her heart and feed it to the queen. She shuddered, remembering the moments she and Graham shared before that terrifying chase – that glorious spring day which seemed to mock them both – the trek neither of them wanted to take and only the huntsman's generous compassion prevented from ending tragically. "Graham" she whispered aloud, wondering what had become of her friend to whom she owed so much. Where was he now? Had he somehow escaped Storybrooke and actually succeeded in driving the children to Boston? She doubted it, but perhaps it was more important to Regina to have the children gone than maintain them as prisoners—
The tiniest of squeaks startled her from her reflections and she glanced down at a smooth, flat sandstone surrounded by a tiny pond. She recognized this spot. It was the glade where the huntsman found her as she composed her dying wishes for the queen. Twittering on the stone now…was her tiny blue friend.
"Lucy!" Snow exclaimed, crouching down and extending her gloved index finger as a perch. "It's freezing out here, what are you doing?"
The bird flapped its wings furiously as it ignored Snow's finger and hopped onto a dry reed hanging out over the pond's edge. Snow watched as its tiny claws closed around the reed and it continued the chirp incessantly at its mistress.
"What, this?" she asked, taking the reed in her hands, which was so dried out and brittle, it snapped right off. "Why do you think—"
But as Lucy jerked her tiny head around, seeing the reed now firmly grasped in Snow's hands, it chirped excitedly and whistled right up to her shoulder. Snow drew back as it perched near her neck and she strained to see the little puff of cerulean feathers. "It's dead, little one. Dried up and cracked. How am I—"
Again, Lucy objected incessantly and hopped up and down on her coat until Snow finally huffed in frustration. "All right all right, fine!" she said. She held the reed to her lips, as her little friend instructed, and blew hard on one end, producing a soft, barely perceptible whistle from its uniquely placed holes. At once, Lucy relaxed, her chirping ceased, and the two waited, eerily silent amidst the soft blows of the wind.
With a frown, Snow turned to her feathered friend. "See?" she said, "Nothing." But right then, their attention turned to a rustling of bushes about 10 feet beyond the glade. It originated from a less travelled path, far less travelled than those she'd walked recently. An elaborate canopy of trees blanketed the path to where it seemed all sunlight had disappeared, but as the sun was setting anyway (and Snow was hardly unused to traversing the woods at night), this did not alarm her. With one more glance at Lucy (who was looking rather annoyingly smug now), Snow walked toward the path and over to the rustling bushes, out of which jumped a tiny, gray rabbit. Snow started, afraid of stepping on the poor thing's cotton tail because it had landed right at her muddied boots. "I'm so sorry, little one," she cooed. The rabbit twitched its whiskers back and forth, studying her intently. It noticed Lucy perched on her shoulder and nodded in approval. Then without warning, it thumped its feet against the dirt road, spun on its heels and scampered down the path, racing away from a stunned Snow White before she took off after it, submitting to this strange quest which Lucy so clearly wanted her to complete. She huffed and panted, trying to keep the bundle of gray fur in sight as the moved deeper and deeper into the woods, shrouded by pines and oaks. Soon the ground became soggy and her boots sank into the mud, slowing her progress. She grew nervous, thinking she would lose sight of the rabbit when suddenly, it scampered up onto a fallen trunk and stopped.
Snow staggered forward, finally reaching the log as the animal gave her a questioning glare. It wiggled its whiskers again and tilted its head to one side, eyeing her incredulously. Snow cocked an eyebrow as she finally reached the tree, brought her hand to her hip and glared back. "Well I can only go so fast, friend. No need to get cocky."
The rabbit thumped its feet up and down again, shook his tail and hopped about 8 feet beyond the trunk. "Hey!" Snow cried, for it would take time to scale the fallen tree. But the rabbit zoomed out of view and out of sight before she'd even braced one foot atop the bark. Annoyed, she glared down at Lucy who still perched patiently on her shoulder. "Well what was the point of that?" she cried, and no sooner had she said it, than they heard another rustling of branches from where the rabbit had disappeared. Snow held her breath and placed her hands on the trunk, the dampness of the bark seeping into her gloves as she waited. In moments, a sturdy figure pranced out of the brush and Snow gasped as a beautiful stag stepped toward her. His brown eyes were bright and wide and staring at her with thoughtful wonderment as he cantered toward her, his antlers stretched proudly above his head in perfect symmetry. With reverence, he bowed his head toward Snow, the reach of his antlers extending over the fallen trunk. Snow gaped at the gesture, for deer were among the noblest, most regal creatures – and a stag's antlers, his pride and joy. To offer them to her now in this manner was indeed an honor, and one that Snow did not squander as she gratefully grasped the strong, firm horns and pulled against them to help hoist her over the trunk. Once clear of the blockage, the stag pulled back from her, gave her a silent nod, and continued down the path, beckoning her to follow.
Snow stayed close to the stag, holding to his pelt for comfort as much as guidance, for as they went further into the woods, the path disappeared and all that was left beneath her was the soft crunch of dead leaves blanketing a thicket of swampy muck. The stag did not rush though, for he understood more than the rabbit the differences between their kinds. With patience and strength, he led Snow further into darkness until they arrived at a wall of red rock, stretching up a steep incline. In the middle of the wall drooped a dense curtain of vines. The stag stopped and turned to her, bowing his head once more. Snow returned the gesture with gratitude as he galloped away. This time, she did not follow, nor did she question, for the longer she was with the animals, the more she could intuit their behavior. This was as far as the stag could take her. So she waited patiently, and soon her next escort revealed himself…in the form of the Graham's wolf.
Her gaze wrenched up toward the incline as soon as she sensed him coming. He looked just as he did that night, his one eye red and glowing, the other a greyish silver, boring into her soul. He was scaling down the rock, his paws soft upon the rough edges, and Snow gasped as he took a final leap – a 10 foot drop – and landed gracefully at her feet. She gulped, for the beast was more massive than he'd appeared when Snow had spotted him behind Graham in the street. She was not afraid though, and reached out to stroke the snowy-grey fur up his back. Beneath her touch, she felt the tension ease a bit from the wolf's shoulder blades, and he whimpered in gratitude as she massaged the fur behind his ears. Had he been a cat, he would have purred, and he turned to give Snow's hand an affectionate lick before straightening up, shaking himself out and taking her through the vines.
Snow held tightly to the tufts of fur she now grasped behind his neck as the wolf led her into a deep cave, plunging them into darkness. She could hear the vague rumble of rushing water, sounding more and more like an underground waterfall as they moved onward.. The rumbling echoed against the damp cavern walls which told Snow the cave was vast and probably stretched a good quarter of a league in all directions. But with little light, save for the red glow of the wolf's eye, she dared not venture off and explore. They were turning now, and she could feel Lucy's little legs pacing happily atop her shoulder, affectionately nipping at her cheek as they descended what felt like a set of stone steps. It was a circular decline and when they came to the base, Snow felt strangely turned around, as if she were now heading back underneath the same ground she'd covered with the rabbit and the deer. The wolf pressed on and she continued to clump fists of his fur in her grasp. She was beginning to think there was no end to the darkness as she could barely see her hand in front of her face, when at last, he came to a stop and turned to her, his ruby gaze as bright as a lantern. Then, just like the stag, he bowed his head and blinked out of sight. She was left alone in darkness at what seemed to be the base of the cave. She peeled off her hat and other glove and carefully drew her hand along the damp, jagged edges of the cavern wall, feeling for some kind of opening or hatch – some indication of why the animals had brought her here. A sharp bit of stone nicked her finger and she winced, bringing it to her lips and sucking on the small cut she was sure must be bleeding. Hissing at the pain, she shook out her hand and suddenly - *thwack*; she smacked her hand against something hard and wooden. She jumped back for it sounded hollow, like a door. Immediately, she tore off her other glove, placed both palms straight out in front of her and felt its surface. It was smooth and sanded down, with decorative carvings and intricate crevices that felt…vaguely familiar. As a pianist's remembering how to play an old tune, her hands drifted down to the left – and there it was: The iron latch.
Snow's heart was pounding, steeling herself against the possibility that she might be wrong, for if she were, it would be devastating. With a sharp tug, she pulled up on the latch, listened to it click on the other side and then pushed the door open. Blue light spilled into the cavern as the door squeaked open, and – though it was still quite dim, with only the gentlest glow shining in from the windows at the far end of the room, the truth…was unmistakable.
The cottage.
The dwarfs' cottage.
Her home when she'd had none…
Her refuge…
Her sanctuary.
Within these familiar walls, she and seven unlikely friends had formed bonds closer than those bound dutifully by blood. They were her comrades, her counselors, her brothers. And being here now, seeing the place where they had so often played music and sang and danced and cooked and feasted…it filled her heart with the most unfathomable joy, the likes of which she hadn't thought possible just a few short hours ago.
Laughing, gasping, sobbing, she stumbled into the great room, jaw dropped and eyes drenched with tears. It was here. It was all still here! How was that possible when she'd seen her own palace, a structure of solid stone had crumbled down around her? How when all other evidence of their world had been ripped away save for a few lingering trinkets in Mr. Gold's pawn shop? But it couldn't be denied: the cabin looked just as it had when last she'd left it – the long table still stretched halfway out of the dining room and into the kitchen; and there were the picnic benches, which never had enough room for all of them to sit and eat together, though that never mattered. Snow, you must join us!...That's ok Doc, I'll eat when you're all through…Nonsense, we will eat and be merry together or not at all! In the far corner was a washstand. Whadya doin' Snow?...Washing your tunic Grumpy…What for? Through a wide open archway lay their beds all lined up in a row. Snow? (her old friend said with a yawn)…Yes Sleepy?...I'm glad you came back.
With the happiest of chirps, Lucy flew off Snow's shoulder and zoomed around the room, quite pleased with herself and her fellow animals. Graciously, she allowed her little friend a few victory laps around the place before she whistled her back. She held out her index finger which, this time, Lucy accepted as a perch. She regretted having to turn around and ask another favor after showing her so much already, but it couldn't be helped. "Go to the toll bridge," she whispered. "Please?" Lucy chirped in assent and fluttered away, seeming not at all put off by the request (for which Snow was infinitely thankful).
She resumed her walk of the familiar floors, reacquainting herself with the place like it was an old friend. To the right of the door, past a light white canopy was Snow's "room", and though it had hardly afforded her the same degree of comfort or privacy as her chambers in her father's palace, she had felt more at home within these old cottage walls than she ever had under the same roof as her step mother. The dwarfs had generously crafted a bed of cherry wood sized just for her, which still stood perfectly preserved as if she had just smoothed down fresh sheets this morning. Glancing up, she thought fondly of Sneezy who often braved his allergies in order to pick her fresh flowers to place on the small window sill above the headboard. Back then of course, when the sun shone through just right, the whole area lit up like a breezy summer's retreat. Now, hidden and buried beneath Storybrooke, she saw only rock and granite beyond that window, clearly an extension of this massive cavern. The dim blue lighting that illuminated the place, casting strange shadows on this once bright and colorful abode, shone through the windows now like moonlight from a cloudless sky. She could also hear the waterfall more clearly, rumbling beyond the far walls of the cottage, and briefly she wondered just how vast the cave was – how many passages, how many lost treasures they might find in its depths. But the cottage was treasure enough for now; in fact, she didn't see how she was going to tear herself away when it came time to return to 'Mary Margaret's'.
For a few minutes, she simply savored it, breathing in the air of the place as she strolled between the solid wooden pillars and open rooms like she was touring a museum. But soon, seeing everything so dark and empty grated on her and she set about brightening up the place. She rushed to the kitchen with an energy and sense of purpose she hadn't felt since she'd started those brownies last night. The cupboards were still stocked full of supplies, just as they'd left it when they came to live in the castle. In minutes, she'd pulled muslin coverings from much of the remaining furniture (save for the mirror) and had foraged through the cabinets for candles. One of the things about the cottage that she'd always loved was the magnificent candle-lit chandelier that hung over the main sitting room. A series of 3 iron rings, cascading down in concentric circles with settings for over 48 miners' candles hung from the ceiling. In minutes, she'd scraped together a small fire over the old hearth and went about lighting the candles, each one adding not only light but the sense of warmth and coziness the place deserved. She had just finished lighting the final wick, stepping down off the table top and blowing out her taper when she heard sounds of chirping echoing from the cavern entrance…followed by footsteps.
Lucy zoomed inside looking quite triumphant, circled one lap around the room and then flew out again. Snow held her breath as the twittering faded and the footsteps drew closer, and soon…he called her name.
"Snow?" she heard him holler just before he ran in the room. And there was her prince, standing in the doorway.
"James," she cried breathlessly as her husband gaped around at the unbelievable sight before him.
The cottage, he thought. The dwarfs' cottage, perfectly preserved under Storybrooke's forest. Lit aglow from what looked to be a hundred candles, it was a sharp contrast to the cold December trek he'd just taken, racing through the woods as he strove to keep up with Lucy. His journey assigned new meaning to Jiminy's adage about light at the tunnel's end. For not only was the cottage itself illuminated in spectacular firelight…but there she was – standing in the middle of it as ethereal as an angel and beaming from within. As if to hold that glow inside, protect it from the cold of their cursed world, James kicked the door shut behind him.
Her breath caught in her throat as it slammed shut, and Snow choked back tears. "Look what I found," she whispered through a tender laugh, her voice breaking.
In two giant strides, James was across the room, catching her up in his arms and lifting her so high off the ground she could almost touch the ceiling. Laughing through bleary eyes, James swung her around, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist as he let the spirit of the place envelop him in memories and familiarity. Snow was the one of course who had actually lived here, but the whole place smelled, looked and felt like her – felt like their world. And with both of them bearing such heavy burdens and disturbing news, standing here now – reunited in a place symbolic of everything they'd been working to achieve – unlocked a passion inside that could only ever be ignited by two lovers who shared the same heart and soul.
In moments, his laughter subsided as he slowed down and gazed up into her eyes. Her hands were braced on his shoulders while she stared down at him, breathless and wanting. Holding that gaze, he arched back, and she started to sink down towards him, sliding down his chest as he tightened his grip on her waist. Smiling, she snaked her hands down around his neck as he brought her closer to him. Unable to wait any longer, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulled his mouth up to hers and claimed him at last with a kiss.
James sucked in a breath and groaned, wasting no time as he cradled her to him, keeping one arm locked around her waist and bringing his other hand up to palm the back of her head. She gasped as his tongue darted into her mouth, delving hot and deep like a man starved. To claim her like this at last was a dream he'd hardly let himself indulge in. Though it had only been a few days since their Friday morning tryst at the bridge, it felt an age since he'd savored the taste of her lips. Being away from her had been torture; reunited now – pure heaven. And as Snow had already similarly lamented, he didn't know how in the world he could ever go back to 'David's' home.
Still hovering a few feet off the ground, Snow took advantage of having the upper hand and pulled back, teasing him with quick smacking kisses between labored breaths, barely allowing each to last before pulling away and grinning. With a grunt, James plopped her down on her feet and slipped his hands inside the folds of her coat, shrugging it off her shoulders. The coat pooled around her ankles as Snow reached up and divested him of his jacket. Free of the bulk between them, James pulled her back into his embrace, cupping her cheeks between his palms and resuming the kiss with slow, lazy sips.
Snow ran her hands up his chest, settling them over his heart as she allowed his ardor to drive away all remaining thoughts of the curse, her daughter's doubts, their troubled friends…Those things would come. There was much to be said…but none of it needed to be said right now. And her husband clearly agreed, for when he finally came up for air and pulled back, the heat in his gaze said more than words ever could.
James's envy of Thomas earlier that evening had all but evaporated with Snow back in his arms. With infinite tenderness, he grazed the backs of his hands all the way down her arms and laced his fingers through her own, beckoning her toward the canopied space in the corner. She nodded, following him without hesitation as he backed them both into the room where Snow had spent so many countless nights dreaming of him. Slipping behind the canopy, James felt his calves collide with the hard wood of the bed frame, his thighs bumping into the mattress behind him. His eyes still locked with hers, he sank down to the bed and pulled her to him so that she was standing between his legs.
"Snow," he rasped, tracing his hands up the thin denim leggings covering her thighs and coming to rest just underneath the hem of her sweater. She jerked at his touch, his fingers hot and ticklish upon her bare skin, and she practically had to remind herself to breathe as he leaned in and sought out the sensitive spot on her neck right below her ear. Shards of pleasure streaked through her core as he ran hot, open-mouthed kisses along her throat. Straining her head to one side, she bared her neck completely, begging for more as he lapped trails of fire along her silken skin.
Her eyes slid shut and she curled her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as he continued to nip and lick down one side of her neck, sipping tenderly at the hollow of her throat, and then trailed back up the other side. "Snow?" he murmured again, the low rumble of his voice against her throat washing over her like waves of melted butter.
"Hmm?" she moaned, as she clenched his hair tightly in her fists, holding onto him as if to prove he was real…that this was real.
He pulled back and steadied her, waiting for her to open her eyes as he brushed the pads of his thumbs across her midriff. She gasped again at his touch and her eyes flew open. "If you're gonna want to stop…" he whispered hoarsely, demanding just this last tiny bit of focus from her, "…you better tell me now."
Snow paused, staring almost in disbelief. Stop? she thought, rather amused. No word could be further from her mind, and her lips curled into a wicked smile. Without bothering to reply, she dropped her hands down along his arms and closed her fingers around his wrists beneath her sweater. James went rigid as she slowly guided his hands up her sides, grinning down at him with fire in her eyes. Any restraint he might still have had vanished as he followed her lead and peeled the sweater up over her head, then stripped off his own tee-shirt and tossed it aside. Seizing her by the arms, he yanked her up, helping her crawl over his lap to straddle him; her knees sank deep into the mattress on either side of his thighs. Tightening his grip, he crushed her to him, desperate for the feel of her skin against his, and she nearly came apart inside as he kissed and nuzzled his way down to the valley between her breasts. His hands, warm and possessive, stroked underneath her arms and to her back, smoothing up over her shoulders, the strap of her bra the only thing left between them as he caressed her back.
His fingers traced up and down her spine and found the clasp, but when he got there, he paused – quite shocked suddenly that there were no ties, strings or laces to deal with as he'd been previously used to. Just one – no, two hooks. It can't be that easy, he thought. And despite the intensity of their embrace, despite the nearly three decades of repressed passion and longing…James started to chuckle. "Umm…Snow?" he murmured against her cheek and he felt her panting ease as she pulled back, perplexed. He leaned backwards, resting the heels of his palms on the mattress behind him and looked up at her. "I'm certainly not a fan of this world," he quipped with a playful grin, running an appraising look over the lacy garment, "but I gotta say I'm loving the new corsets."
Snow stared at him dumbfounded, and for a second, she hadn't the slightest clue what he was talking about. But following his gaze, she looked down…and rolled her eyes. Corsets, she thought, shaking her head, for heaven's sake. A smile spread across her face and she too started to chuckle. Her husband's timing couldn't be more absurd and yet at the same time she seemed unable to help it as her chuckle turned into a genuine laugh…and then eventually, she utterly guffawed, throwing her head back and howling with amusement.
While he still had her caught off guard, James grinned broadly and yanked her forward, falling back into the mattress and pulling her with him; the force of her laughter sent her sprawling rather indelicately over his chest as her shoulders continued to shake. A strange thought occurred to her as she settled over him. It was obvious how much they needed each other, how long they'd desired this very moment. But what she hadn't realized until now…was just how much she'd needed to laugh.
"Yes, well," she grinned, adjusting herself so that she straddled his hips once again. She braced her hands on either side of his head, and stared down at him. "This world does have a few other advantages."
He was lying flat now, his arms crossed rather smugly behind his head as he gazed up at her. "Such as?"
"Oh, I don't know," she bent forward, planting a teasing kiss along his jaw line. "I kinda like cell phones."
James arched back, swallowing hard as she kissed a path down his neck. "And television?" he asked, trying to concentrate on the banter.
She grinned and drew back. "And the internet."
He scoffed. "I'm not completely sold on the internet."
She chuckled again, but the amusement in her voice subsided, and she sat back suddenly pensive, drawing her fingers delicately across his stomach. He caught her hand in his, beckoning her to look at him. "Of course," she said quietly, "I'd trade all of it just to be … your wife again."
"Hey," James propped himself up on his elbows, squeezing her hands tightly at his sides. "You are my wife."
She nodded, but was still frowning. "I know, I just mean…officially," she looked up and met his gaze, lacing her fingers through his. "For the world to see…without the sneaking around, and secret meetings and pretending—"
But James refused to allow her to continue, and in one fluid movement, twisted her off of him and flipped her onto her back, pressing her deep into the mattress as he sealed his mouth over hers. She clung to him, digging her fingers into his shoulders, letting him drink his fill until she couldn't draw breath. He smoothed his hand over her abdomen and up her side, coming to rest against her cheek as his fingers massaged the back of her neck. When at last he pulled away, he kept his face hovered over hers, forcing her to look at him as he kept her cheek cradled in his hand. "Does it feel like I'm pretending?" he asked gruffly.
She clasped one hand around his wrist, holding his arm over her heart, and reached up with the other, stroking a few sweaty locks of light brown hair from his forehead. "No," she said with a smile. But he did not smile back. He was adamant that she have no regrets, no doubts, and he held her gaze intensely and determined. Tunneling her hand through his hair to the back of his neck, she pulled him down and kissed him again in reassurance. "Make love to me, James," she whispered into the kiss.
At last he grinned, sliding his hand away from her cheek, drifting lower as his eyes lit up in an amorous glow. "That's the plan," he rasped. And for the next few hours, he made good on his word.
…
Henry had protested quite a bit in the car as she drove him back to the mayor's house, but Emma wouldn't hear of it. If she was going to get to the bottom of any of the weird, unexplainable shitgoing on in this messed up town, she would get to the bottom of this. But she couldn't do that with Henry around. She wouldn't confront David and Mary in front of him. Her son had once already caught her confessing to Regina what she really thought of this fairy tale theory. She wouldn't risk another heart break like that. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to find out or prove or confront them about and she needed time to sort it out.
David was writing to Mary Margaret using the names Henry had assigned them. Snow White and James. Snow White and Prince Charming. What did it mean? Were they joking? Was it some sort of code they used to conduct their affair? Was it some sort of twisted role-playing? Emma shuddered at that last thought and shook her head. Of course the one possibility she refused to consider – but was still scratching at the back door of her mind anyway – was that Henry…had been right all along.
Your parents didn't leave you on the side of a freeway. That's just where you came through!
No – as much as she'd allowed herself to grow close to Mary Margaret, as much as she still couldn't explain the draw she felt toward David, her random instinct to protect him the other day in front of Regina – she just couldn't bring herself to genuinely consider the possibility. It had been an intriguing little fantasy in the past few days. Tempting even, on occasion. But everything she was…the person she'd become…her entire identity was rooted in certain assumptions about her origin she'd had to force herself to accept from the time she was three years old: Postulations about her parents' abandonment that she'd burned into her mind as truths in order to prevent herself from become attached or disappointed ever again.
The wardrobe. When you went through the wardrobe you appeared in the street. Your parents were trying to save you from the curse.
Bullshit. Her parents, whoever they were, weren't saving her from anything. She wasn't sent through a magical wardrobe to be protected from an evil queen. My parents didn't even bother to drop me off at a hospital! I ended up in the foster system and I had a family until I was three but then they had their own kid so they sent me back! To this day, Emma didn't know why she had confided that in a boy she'd just met, save for the fact that it seemed very important at the time that this precocious little kid understand that in the real world, there are no happy endings. In the real world, actions have consequences. And for some odd reason, she now felt compelled to make sure David and Mary Margaret…understood that too.
She read the note again, after dropping Henry off, looking for clues. She started with the most obvious part: meet me Sunday night at our spot and headed straight for that old bridge where they'd found David in the first place – the bridge where Mary Margaret had told her she'd arranged to meet him Wednesday night. But there was no sign of them. So she returned to town and by the time she made it back, the sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon. She checked Granny's, the school, stopped by the house a few more times just in case and eventually ended up at Marco's, figuring there was as good a chance as any that David's new job provided a new place for them to rendezvous after hours. But the shop was also dark and Emma turned away from the shaded windows with a frustrated sigh.
"Emma?" she heard behind her as she was about to climb back into her bug. Emma turned, seeing a blonde woman walking over from her car to join her on the curb.
"Mrs. Nolan," she gaped, having completely forgotten that perhaps his own wife might have some idea, even if she wasn't conscious of it, of where her husband was.
"Please," Kathryn shook her head with a small smile. "It's Kathryn." Her arms were wrapped around her waist and she pulled her floor length sweater tighter around her as she glanced up at the storefront.
"Kathryn," Emma agreed with a nod. "How are you?"
The woman shrugged, glancing back and forth between the deputy and Collodi's. "That all depends," she said with a sad shrug. "I don't suppose you've seen my husband anywhere have you?"
Emma gulped, deciding on the spot that informing Kathryn that she too, the deputy, was also looking for David probably wouldn't help either of them right now. "No, haven't seen him" she mumbled.
Kathryn nodded. "Of course not. Why would you?" she muttered, though her tone was biting.
Emma's eyes narrowed, studying her. "I'm…sorry."
"No I'm sorry," Kathryn sighed, offering an apologetic smile. "My mother always told me – don't air your dirty laundry in public."
Emma shifted her weight awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "Yeah…well—"
"It's just that—" she squeezed her arms and huffed, "Lately it feels like…" she trailed off again, seeming very much like she'd been bursting to talk to someone though incredibly embarrassed to follow through. "Since he's been home," she finally admitted, "It feels like he's farther away from me than he was in the hospital."
Again, Emma shuffled her feet, shoving her hands in her pockets. "I'm…I'm sorry to hear that."
Kathryn sniffled back a few tears, clearly attempting to make it appear she was just cold. "I mean last night it was 'I gotta take a walk'. The night before that, he wanted to check out Garcon's for some reason." She shuddered at the name, clearly in poor judgment of the place. She glanced back up at the shop. "And tonight? It was 'I've gotta work late.'..." she hesitated, taking another sharp sniffle. "Which…clearly isn't true."
"Kathryn, I'm not sure—"
"Look," she withdrew, shrinking back to her car, "if you see him…can you just…tell him I'm looking for him?"
Emma watched with renewed anger toward David Nolan as his wife got back in her car. As she drove away, Emma turned toward the wind, gritting her teeth and murmured, "Count on it."
…
"'Something came up'? That's all he said?"
"To Marco anyway."
Snow sighed, squeezing tightly to her husband's arm as they strolled toward back toward the toll bridge. "I'm afraid the note to his children was far less…subtle."
Husband and wife had remained at the dwarfs' cottage for as long as they'd dared, mindful – despite their needs and desires – of what time and reason could allow. In the aftermath of their most heated passions, they lay together, protected in each other's embrace from the cruelties of the world as they'd shared information. James was understandably distressed to hear of what had become of Happy as well as the unfortunate relationship spawned by the curse between Belle and Gaston. Snow was simply beside herself with worry for Dopey, cringing at the thought of her poor friend braving the cold nights all alone. And even James's report of Ella's renewed strength and spunk earlier that evening couldn't fully assuage Snow's concerns that despite all her progress, her friend still slept. Still, it was wonderful to hear how and why Thomas was awake. And James just couldn't wait to find Archie tomorrow.
When at last the inevitable was upon them – the much dreaded departure from the cottage – it was difficult like they'd expected, though not as unbearable as they'd imagined. For they knew of its existence now and knew they could return. It was a safe haven of which the queen most undoubtedly knew nothing, else she would have destroyed it years ago. It might even become a solid base of operations the more they succeeded in lifting the curse and restoring those they loved to their former glories. So they left the cottage that night as one, renewed by the fire and passion between them, with only one topic left to discuss – Emma.
"Something's not right, Snow. I'm sure of it," James shook his head.
"I know."
"I mean, I only met Michael once yesterday, but he struck me as a very decent man – hard worker, responsible. And I know Emma wouldn't have left him alone to go get his children unless she was sure he'd be there when they got back."
In spite of the gravity of the situation they discussed, Snow felt herself smiling at her husband's faith in their daughter. James hadn't the advantages she did of being Emma's roommate or seeing her everyday, and yet somehow he'd still managed to form a connection – a bond that had allowed him to see and learn just how strong and good a woman their daughter had become. "I know," Snow replied. "And I tried to tell her that, but…" she trailed off, remembering the fury and hurt in Emma's eyes, "she wasn't listening by then."
James covered her hand with his own atop his arm and squeezed. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
Snow shook her head, wiping away a lone tear with her glove. "It's not your fault. And it's not Emma's. This is the world she knows James…the only world she understands…the world we…sent her to."
James looked down sharply, "Don't do that—"
"I know, I know," Snow assured him. "I'm not. I'm just saying, she's lived a lifetime of disappointment. So it's just—" she shrugged helplessly, picturing her daughter's sad face so clearly – "I just don't see how we'll ever coax her back to that place she was yesterday. When she had such faith…such hope."
James winced against the words and came to a stop as they reached the stony brook beneath their bridge. He stepped in front of her and took her hands in his. "Is it really that bad?"
Snow's head hung low. "Worse. She's completely cut herself off again. Yesterday I had her reading the book with Henry. Actually considering the possibility of a connection."
"And today she's—"
"Gone," Snow sighed. "In every way possible. She's just…lost."
James rubbed up and down her arms, trying to frighten the cold away from her skin and her heart, but the situation did seem rather grim. He too had seen the kind of growth and potential in their daughter that Snow had seen: at the castle when Emma had seen her mobile, and again at Gold's shop when every fiber in her being clearly screamed out to not let 'David' interfere with the deal…and yet…she did.
Snow was right – it had taken days getting Emma to even consider opening her mind to the truth. And only in tiny intervals. And if he and Snow were right about Michael, about the other villains monitoring Storybrooke, about the dangers they faced…they didn't have that kind of time anymore. With one last determined sigh, James looked down at his wife. "Then we don't coax Emma back." Snow looked up, questioningly as her short breaths came out in tiny puffs of cool air.
"We don't?"
"No," James tucked a tendril of ebony hair back beneath her hat. "We just tell her."
A rustling in the trees behind the two startled them apart, and Snow let out a tiny cry as they whipped their heads around and saw Emma herself emerge from the brush. "Tell me what?" said the deputy, her arms crossed. And in the immediate minutes that followed, no one said a word.
…
***Well! I wonder how they'll get out of this one! Very little room left now for pretense, wouldn't you say? Sorry to leave off on such a cliff hanger, but I've had THE reveal mapped out in my head almost from the very beginning of this project. Now that it's finally here, I've got to go back and dig it out of my brain again! Hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Major shout outs go to RMSroswell, Haley Renee, and Lo'Lan for such great feedback as well as general THANK YOU I LOVE YOU to all my regular readers out there fueling my spirits and acting as my muse.
Stay tuned for more James, Snow and Emma – we'll also be revisiting Ella/Thomas, Belle, the dwarfs, the villains and learning what really did happen to Michael in the upcoming chapters. Happy Reading/Writing/Living!***