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
Laying Groundwork
"And once I figured out I was the only one actually growing up, I knew that other things had to be wrong too," Henry explained proudly as he followed Emma around the station like a shadow, chattering away about the curse, his own awareness of it, details from stories they'd already connected with in the town. "And then there were all those stupid dinners." He tugged a little roughly on the straps of his backpack (still slung over his back of course as he didn't plan on staying very long). There was still about a half hour before school started and he was determined to make it there with plenty of time to spare.
Emma filed the paperwork she'd just completed on 'Mary Margaret Blanchard's' kidnapping and shot him a look. "Dinners?"
Henry sighed, hopping up on the desktop and swinging his legs back and forth. "Yeah. The queen would invite these random people over for dinner. People like Graham and Granny. I think Geppetto came once. Even Snow one time!" he added, suddenly remembering back a few years now.
Emma joined him at the desk and leaned the backs of her heals against its edge. "So what happened?"
He bit his lip. "Remember when you first got here and she gave you that basket of apples?"
"Yeah," she said with a light chuckle. "You ripped one out of my hand and tossed it in a gutter."
One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. "I did do that didn't I?" he remembered proudly. "Well, truth is I was just being careful. They probably wouldn't have had any effect on you. Cuz they don't on me. But on everyone else?"
"Whadyou mean?"
Again he sighed. "They're dangerous, Emma. There's something…in the apples. She bakes 'em into pies for dessert. Makes everyone forget things they remember. She had Pops and Kathryn over a few nights ago and I thought he'd forget everything!"
Emma shifted so that her arms were folded atop the desk now and she was staring up at him. Pops she thought affectionately. He would give James a nickname. "But he didn't?"
Henry's face broke into one of his ridiculous grins. "Nope. Snow and I got a message to him about the pie. So he came prepared with a fake." He finished with a decided nod as if to say 'Mission Accomplished.'
Emma reached out and ruffled her son's hair. She'd been doing that a lot this morning. For some reason she just couldn't seem to stop. Seeing him arrive at Jefferson's mansion – on her father's horse – had forced everything he'd ever told her into an entirely new light. Information, intel – whatever he wanted to call it – had been staring her right in the face through the eyes of this tenacious little boy. Stories she'd merely humored for the sake of their relationship were now essential pieces of the puzzle. And she couldn't help but be amazed, and a little bit in awe, of how much Henry had figured out all on his own; how much faith he'd had; his steadfast devotion to her, the town. Despite the overwhelming doubts he'd faced at nearly every turn…despite her doubts, he never gave up. The thought made Emma cringe and she tilted her head to the side, regarding him thoughtfully as he continued speed-talking about the past few days.
"I mean I can't believe how many people we have on Operation Cobra now!" he was saying. "Not only Snow and Pops but Geppetto and Jiminy and-and—"
"Henry, I'm sorry," she cut in quietly.
He drew back, eyebrows darting down. "For what?"
"For…not believing you."
A bit stunned, he let his mouth hang open. As it would most boys his age, the apology struck Henry as completely unnecessary. She believed him now. That was certainly good enough for him. But he also understood on some level that his mom wasn't ready to forgive herself as easily as he had. "It's ok, Emma," he assured her.
She shook her head. "No, it's not. I—"
"Mom," he insisted, leaning forward to touch her hand. "It's really ok."
Tears pooled in Emma's eyes as her remarkable son once more rendered her speechless. It was the first time he'd ever called her that. And she was shocked by how much she loved the sound of it. "Ok Kid," she smiled, her voice breaking. Slightly embarrassed, she brushed the tears straight off her temples before they had a chance to fall. "I think you'd better get to school. Don't wanna be late."
"Yeah," he hopped off the desk, slipping his backpack off his shoulders. "I got lucky yesterday. No one ever figured out I left the building."
Emma straightened up and crossed her arms. "Yeah, how did you get away with that by the way?"
He shrugged, bending down and unzipping his pack. "Oh you know, the nurse thought I was with the counselor. Counselor thought I was with the nurse." He retrieved the intended object and re-zipped his pack while Emma just smiled and shook her head.
The kid had certainly inherited much from James and Snow, she'd realized in the past several hours. But his penchant for truancy? Definitely his mother's son.
"Here," he said, presenting her with a very familiar book, though Emma stared as if it were the first time she was truly seeing it. "I think you're ready for this now."
She ran her fingers over the gold embossed lettering, "Once Upon a Time" then closed her hands around the edges and took it from him. "I dunno Henry," she said, "I think it's done us plenty of good in your hands."
But Henry shook his head, re-shouldering his pack and zipping up his coat. "I've read 'em all," he winked. "And you have some studying to do." He smiled and started to leave, almost out the door before he stopped and turned. "Besides," he called back. Emma looked up. "I think things'll get a lot easier for all of you if you just read the stupid book!" Again he grinned, unable to resist flashing the wiseacre smirk of a ten-year-old know-it-all. Emma merely nodded, for there was nothing to argue.
There were many calls to return, many messages that were missed with both the sheriff and deputy having been gone the entire day. But Emma could focus on none of it. As soon as Henry left for school, Emma poured herself a cup of coffee (for this would require something a bit stronger than cocoa), settled down at her desk, and began to read…
… "Don't tell me you're becoming sheep," spat the queen, tossing the letter into the fire and cursing the very hands that wrote it. She would hear no more words of forgiveness. She would endure no longer the pure as snow goodness of her wretched stepdaughter who had cost her so much heartbreak. The last will and testament the huntsman had brought back from his hunt was not welcome.
"She put others before herself and yet you hate her," the huntsman argued, desperate for some understanding of these humans and their strange ways. Having been raised by wolves, he had learned to paint his impressions of mankind with the same brush strokes, each one just as unworthy as the next of his compassion. And yet his experiences with the princess in the woods – her unparalleled kindness and forgiveness in the face of such vengeful hatred – had for the first time in his life, caused him to question his own myopic view of man. "What did she do to you?" he asked, quite unaware of the risk he was taking in doing so.
"I shared a secret with her," the queen seethed as the firelight danced in her eyes. "And she couldn't keep it. And that betrayal…cost me dearly." Her grip on the mantle's edge was so tight, the huntsman thought the mortar might crumble apart in her hands. But she turned abruptly and stalked toward him. "Now, show me her heart!" she demanded.
The huntsman removed the organ stored in his satchel and handed it over without hesitation. Had the queen been paying attention, she might have noticed the very deep breath the huntsman drew as she brushed past him and moved through the heavy iron doors of her secret chambers. But she had eyes for nothing but her newest trophy and, without even a hint of disgust, palmed the heart irreverently in her hands and held it before a stunning stack of gold compartments, each one bearing the dark crest that marked each door of her fortress. She held it before one of the small hatches, closed her eyes and waited. But nothing happened.
"It should open," he heard her hiss and before she even turned around, he knew it was over. "This isn't her heart!" she whirled on him, marching across the black marble floor of the chamber. "This isn't a human heart! What did you do?"
The huntsman did not reply, merely glared at her, determined to hold his ground. He didn't pretend to understand the twisted, sordid history shared between the queen and her stepdaughter, but he did understand compassion. Compassion and love offered by the fair Snow White to a creature so vile and selfish, the huntsman barely recognized the two as beings of the same species. He had known his choice would cost him, but in this moment, staring into the cold black eyes of the queen, he knew he had made the right one.
"Did you think you can fool me with the heart of a stag?" Regina cried, casting the heart aside.
The huntsman cringed as it fell to the floor with an unceremonious splat. Even the poor beast from whose chest he'd torn the heart deserved more honor than this crazed woman. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and headed for the doors. But they slammed closed before he reached them.
"You're not going anywhere," the queen growled.
"She doesn't deserve to die," he said, facing her once more.
"That's not up to you." A chilling grin curled into her red lips as she stared down at his armor. "I wanted a heart, and a heart I shall have." And without warning, she plunged her hand through his breast plate and squeezed every last bit of air from his lungs. He gaped at her in horror, unable to move, unable to scream out the agony he suffered as he felt her cold fingers clamping around his heart. The perverted sounds of her fingers squishing around in his chest cavity, pawing at his flesh, were nauseating, and he nearly vomited all over the floor as she yanked her hand from his chest and held before him…his red, glowing heart.
"What…what are you gonna do to me?" he gagged, collapsing against the doorframe and unable to tear his eyes away from his heart beating thunderously in her hand.
Then, as if to prove it was possible to repulse him further still, the queen took hold of his chin between her thumb and forefinger, dipped her head down and kissed him. Hard. She held him there, taking what he did not offer while still holding his beating heart in her other hand. When she tore her mouth away, her eyes were black as death and her blood-red lips curled into an evil smile. "You're mine," she sneered, "My pet." She whirled on him, the ends of her cloak billowing up in his face as she returned to the stack of compartments. Sensing the captive human heart, one of the gold boxes latched open immediately. She held his heart over the open container and turned. "And this is your cage. From this moment forward, you will do everything that I say. And if you ever disobey me, if you ever try to run away, all I have to do…is squeeze." And she did. A soft squeeze at that, but enough to plunge him even further into agony, crumpling to the floor with a painful thud as she screamed for the guards and the doors behind him swung open. "Your life is now in my hands," she cackled, "Forever! Take him to my bed chamber"…
Emma swallowed hard, about to turn the page when a newspaper suddenly landed atop the script in front of her. Startled by the abrupt interruption to the huntsman's gripping tale, she glanced at the somewhat familiar headline and picture bearing her name and face and then glanced up.
"I leave for two days and you end up with the biggest case this town's ever seen?" smirked the handsome Irishman.
Emma practically leapt from her chair. "Graham!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck without thinking, hugging him tightly as if to ward off the queen's evil grasp on his soul. Having been so thoroughly immersed in his story, her mind had trouble disconnecting the fate of the huntsman with that of the sheriff. It felt almost as if she had just witnessed the whole thing in person, had watched with her own two eyes as Regina ripped Graham's heart from his chest.
Too stunned by the embrace to move, Graham merely allowed his deputy to recover on her own and regarded her thoughtfully as she pulled away with a sheepish look on her face. "Sorry," she muttered, "it's just…it's good to see you."
Graham chuckled lightly. "Likewise."
Emma staggered back to her chair and spread the paper out over top of the storybook. "Yeah um, lots been happening around here. You've missed a hell of a weekend."
"I'll say," said Graham as he sat on the edge of her desk after she reclaimed her seat. "So tell me," he said tapping his finger against the article. "What's the real story?"
Emma blinked. "What?"
"Come on, Emma. I know you're new to this side of the law, but I know you had to have kept at least something out of the press."
She gulped. If he only knew. She brushed the back of her hand against the picture. "It's all right there."
He stared down, incredulous.
"Honest, it was an open and shut case."
"Emma—"
"There wasn't anything left to solve, Graham. We found and saved her, so there was nothing we needed to leave out of the press."
He looked sharply at the article, his eyebrows lowering even further down his brow. "But…what about Teague? You didn't apprehend him so—"
"Wounded," Emma explained quickly. "And completely vanished. Believe me, we're keeping our eyes open, but I don't think he's coming back any time soon." Graham looked ready to object again so Emma quickly turned the tables on him. "Now are you gonna explain where you've been this entire time?"
He pulled back. "What do you mean?"
"Graham," she huffed, "Two whole days to drop two kids off in Boston?"
"I sent you texts."
Right, Henry's voice cut into her head, cuz that can't be faked. She snorted at the memory and Graham rose from the desktop.
"What?" he asked, spreading his arms apart in confusion.
"Nothing, it's just," she hesitated, kicking herself for not having better prepared for this conversation. Jesus, was this how James and Snow had felt this whole time? All this knowledge at their fingertips and yet unable to speak a word for fear of discovery? The horrific tale she'd just read about Graham suggested not only that Regina held unspeakable power over him in the old world, but might still reign over him in Storybrooke as well. Hadn't Snow cautioned her about that very thing?...
"What difference would it make even if I do have feelings for Graham? He's obviously quite happy with his…slutty…skanky…politician!"
"Trust me, he's not."
"What?"
"He's not…happy."
"How would you know?"
"Because I know him, Emma, I've known him for years."
"Yeah? He been at this for years?"
"You said it yourself. The mayor has her hands in…everything. She manipulates Graham just as she manipulates everyone else. He's…he's lost Emma…just like you"…
She sighed thinking back to that night at Mary Margaret's – er, Snow's. God, had that been only a week ago? Even then, it seemed, her mother had been looking out for her, hinting at truths hidden right before her eyes if she'd only open them to see. In a rage of jealousy, she'd flatly refused to consider any other explanations for Graham's midnight trysts at the mayor's. Even as Snow had assured her there was more to it than that, she'd been unwilling to look beyond what her own experiences had taught her to see. Now, thinking back, it seemed more apparent than ever – Graham had been Regina's pet in the old world, and he remained so in this one.
"It's just what?" Graham was asking, now thoroughly nonplussed by his partner's behavior. She'd actually hugged him upon his return despite the fact that she resented his bringing the Zimmers to Boston in the first place, and now she was staring past him with an odd, glazed-over look on her face. He supposed the kidnapping case had probably distracted her sufficiently from being terribly angry about the kids now in foster care, but he hadn't expected for her to be so…changed. Something was different. Something – something he couldn't quite name.
Emma snapped to it and leveled her gaze. "Graham, about when did you arrive at the girls' home?" she asked sharply, deciding to adjust her approach.
He blinked a few times, thinking back. "Sunday afternoon, 'bout 2:30."
"And you checked in Ava no problem?"
He shook his head, "No I told you. There was a – didn't you get my texts? There was a snag with the paperwork that needed sorting, and her room wasn't ready so—"
"And didn't you think that was odd?" Emma persisted, rising once more from her chair. She did eventually get all of Graham's texts once they'd escaped the mansion. But by then she hadn't really bothered replying since she was fairly certain the entire story was a lie.
"Think what was odd?"
"That there was a problem with the paperwork? Regina pushed everything through so efficiently, everything wrapped up in a neat little bow ready to drive those kids out of town almost as soon as they were discovered, and yet you get there and there's 'trouble' with the paperwork?"
Graham sighed and pinched the ridge of his nose. "Emma, we've been through this. I don't like what happened any more than you do but—"
"So after you finally checked them both in, you texted it was too late to come home?"
"What is this?" Graham gaped at her. "An interrogation?"
Emma snapped her mouth shut. God, this was hard! How could she possibly share the same confidence with Graham that she had when he left? How, when she knew so much now and he so little? No one leaves Storybrooke, came Henry's voice like a song stuck in her head. And no one did. If they did, bad things happened…and Graham was back and good as new. So he couldn't have left. Couldn't have reached Boston. But if he couldn't…where did he go?
She studied his eyes carefully and sighed. Her 'superpower' hadn't failed her yet. Even when she knew 'David Nolan' was hiding something, her instincts about him were right. And they weren't failing her now. Graham believed he'd been to Boston. He wasn't lying. Not purposefully anyway. She sighed and plopped her forehead into her palm. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to…to find…"
"To find a happier ending?" Graham's Irish brogue was deep and soothing as he brushed the back of his hand down her arm. She started at his words, for he had no idea how accurate they really were. Emma nodded, not trusting herself to say anything more. (She'd have to speak to James soon. She had no idea how to be all crafty and cryptic yet). "Look," Graham said, sitting once more on the desktop. "Mary Margaret told me what happened when you went back to Tillman's."
Emma sucked in a breath, wincing at the sting of that particular memory and the horrible fight that followed.
"I know how that must've tore you up," Graham continued. "So I want you to know, I'm not closing this case." She blinked and stared up at him. "Until we know for sure where Michael Tillman is, we'll follow every lead…together. I promise."
Emma smiled. Apparently, whatever evil Regina had done couldn't rob Graham of his goodness. He was every bit the kind soul she originally took him for. "Thanks," she muttered. Graham gave her a wink and then turned toward his office while Emma stood there biting her lip. Wherever the Ava and Nicolas really were, it was probably a safe bet they were still somewhere in Storybrooke. Otherwise, Graham wouldn't have come back. At least, that's what she told herself to assume for the moment. In reality she knew she could make no such assumptions. No theory was too crazy to consider in a world that now included giant portals opening up in shoddily-made hats and animals that seemed to understand perfect English. The wealth of possibilities of what Regina might have done to them, with them…it was staggering, and Emma grew queasy just thinking about it.
She peered over her shoulder as Graham unlocked his office door and switched on the light. Dammit, she thought, pounding her fist lightly on her desk. She knew it couldn't possibly be as easy as Graham coming back and saying Hey Emma, Regina kidnapped me and the kids and are holding them prisoner in a cabin somewhere. But she'd hoped there might be at least some kind of clue. Some part of his story that didn't add up. So far, everything was at least plausible, except—
"Graham," she said suddenly as he stopped halfway inside the door.
"Hmm?"
"You texted that your car broke down just outside of Boston yesterday, and that's why you stayed another night?"
He gave her a wary look. "Yeah?"
"So, did you…" she hesitated, grasping for something…anything. As casually as she could (though she felt ridiculous) she shoved her hands in her back pockets and asked, "did you call Triple A or something? I mean, whoever you got was probably no Marco right?"
And as lame as she thought she sounded, Graham chuckled. "No, he was definitely no Marco. Mike's Auto Service in Sommerville," he said casually and continued inside.
She thought a moment more. "A-and where'd you stay?"
He leaned back out of the doorway, the wary look returning again. "Holiday Inn, just off 93."
Emma nodded with a gulp. Two questions both with solid answers. No hesitation. Not even pausing to think.
"Is that all, Deputy?" Graham added with a sardonic grin, though still looking a bit suspicious.
She gave him an awkward chuckle and slumped back in her chair. Graham was telling the truth – at least he thought he was. And he had answers for everything, like he was pre-programmed. She probably didn't even have to look online to see if there was a Mike's Auto Service in Sommerville or a Holiday Inn off of 93 (though she fully intended to check). And she was betting that any investigation into those businesses for a paper trail would only turn up a stack of nice, crisp, freshly filed receipts. To sustain the curse for this long, over this many people, in this world, Regina would not only have to harness a shit load of a magic, but know the ins and outs of business practices in America. If she followed these leads to Boston, she would find everything but the kids.
Talking with Graham would get her nowhere. At least she'd figured out that much. And as nice as it felt to have him back (too nice in fact, if she was being truly honest with herself), she knew that prodding him for more information would only lead to more suspicion on his part and might even get back to the queen. No. She needed someone who knew about the curse. Someone she could trust now with any secret. She needed (she realized almost giddily as she pulled out her phone) her parents.
…
"But all I'm looking to do is help out a little," Rose protested, growing more and more irritated by the thin, grouchy woman at the front desk. "Isn't the hospital always looking for volunteers?"
"Volunteers, yes," the woman replied (who in truth wasn't all that grouchy; Rose was just frustrated). "But you said you're looking to join the housekeeping staff here. That's a paid position, Miss French. And we're simply not hiring at the moment."
Rose threw her head back and sighed, tapping her fingers against the countertop. Kicking Jack out of her house and her life had been more empowering than could ever remember feeling. She'd driven straight to the hospital with a sense of purpose, a clear head and – for the first time in days – a settled stomach. Even the fact that she was now fated to be a single mother, knowing she would raise her child alone, hadn't fazed her. But now, other consequences of her decision that morning were coming to light. She couldn't keep Jack out of her life if she kept working at Garcon's. And she knew she needed some way of getting back up to that 3rd floor psych wing. Applying to Storybrooke General had seemed like the perfect plan. She had never seriously considered the possibility that they might not be hiring.
"There's really nothing? Not even part time?"
The receptionist regarded her sadly, cocking her head to the side as she removed her glasses and let them hang from a light silver chain around her neck. "As I said," she reached over and slid a pink application form across the counter, "we're always looking for volunteers."
Rose glanced down at the application and sighed. 'Volunteer' wouldn't do. Volunteers weren't paid, and she needed to at least remain rational enough to make sure she could still earn a living; after all, her father's medications weren't exactly free. And volunteers probably weren't allowed on the third floor either. Still, it wasn't the receptionist's fault; she clearly wasn't in a position to direct her otherwise. "Thanks," Rose mumbled, taking the form and folding it sloppily into her pocket. She turned to leave and when she did so, that awful feeling returned to her belly. It was that same pull she'd felt the last time she'd been here. That ache in her stomach which screamed for her to stay…to find him. But it was no use. She would have to think of something else.
Slightly dejected, she walked the long corridor back to the lobby area of the hospital and nearly walked by the small jumble of people fussing around a woman being helped into a wheelchair. "This really is ridiculous, Dr. Whale. I'm fine," the woman said, and her voice gave Rose pause.
She halted at the front door and spun around to find Dr. Whale and Ruby Moon from Granny's struggling to get Mary Margaret Blanchard into the chair. "Mary Margaret!" she cried, the image of the morning paper flashing in her head.
Snow looked up, straining her neck around Whale's forearm. "Rose!" she called back, smiling. Unfortunately, the lapse in concentration had allowed Ruby a leg up so to speak and the waitress successfully flattened her down into the chair.
"I just read about you this morning," Rose exclaimed, scanning the scene. The reports appeared to be true. Mary Margaret's ankle and a good part of her calf were in a cast and she had some slight bruising around her neck. Dr. Whale and Ruby stood on either side of the chair, Whale fussing with last minute vision checks and Ruby adjusting the strap on her fur purse. At last she reached them and clasped Mary's hand. "I'm so glad you're ok."
"Thanks," Snow smiled up at her, equally glad to see her old friend with some color back in her cheeks. Something was definitely…different. But she couldn't tell just what (and it was impossible to focus with Whale shining a flashlight in her eye!). "Dr. Whale, please," she insisted, pushing his wrist away from her face. "I told you, I feel fine. And I can manage very well with the crutches."
"It's hospital policy to be wheeled out, Miss Blanchard. And I'd still feel better if you stayed another night," Whale rose from her side and ran his gaze up and down her form. He'd feel a lot better if she stayed another night. The raven-haired Mary Margaret had bewitched him so intensely, he'd found it difficult to focus on much of anything else last night. Three times, he visited her room, always under the pretense of running tests, checking levels, scans, ensuring there was no additional bruising or concussion. But he'd exhausted all excuses by now and could only lamely suggest that it was just "a good idea" if they could observe her a bit longer.
"Absolutely not," Snow demanded, ignoring his wolfish gaze. The man had moved way beyond just 'a little creepy.' She'd felt downright stalked in this place. If she had to guess, she'd say that Storybrooke's resident Emergency doctor had developed a rather unhealthy crush…which didn't seem likely given their one disastrous date when she was still just 'Mary Margaret.' Those memories all blurred together now, but she did recall that he wasn't the slightest bit interested in her then. "I want to go home, Dr. Whale."
"Joseph," he insisted. "Or…Joe."
Rose looked curiously between the two as Ruby rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and blew a bubble through her gum.
"Joe," Snow conceded grudgingly, but shook her head again. "Thank you for your concern, but it's not necessary."
Whale sighed and retrieved a business card from his lab coat pocket. "Well," he cleared his throat, "if you need anything, don't hesitate to call ok? Any time."
At that, Ruby let out a rather obvious huff, blowing her hair off her face. "Well thanks Doc, we'll be seeing you," she said impatiently and started to push Mary Margaret toward the door.
Rose couldn't help but laugh at the absurd little scene: Whale's advances rejected, Mary Margaret trying to remain patient thought clearly annoyed, and Ruby the archetypal younger sister, clearly wishing she were anywhere else. She turned to leave with them, her business at the hospital also concluded…for the moment. Mary Margaret smiled at her as she joined the little entourage and the three ladies stepped out into the cold circular drive of the hospital.
"Don't even think about getting up until I pull the car around, M," said Ruby, fumbling in the pockets of her tight parka for her keys. She glanced up sharply at Rose and removed the crutches laying in Mary Margaret's lap.
"Hey!" Snow said, and then quickly gave up, slumping down in the chair and resting her chin on her palm.
"Here," Ruby thrust the crutches into Rose's arms. "Keep an eye on her," she ordered and then headed to the parking lot.
"Ugh," Snow whined. "She's almost as bad as Whale."
Rose chuckled. "They just want you to be extra careful," she said, propping the crutches up against the back of the chair as the two watched Ruby receded further into the dense parking lot.
"Jeez, where did she park?" Snow cried as her friend got smaller in the distance. She had thought briefly of calling James and asking him to drive her home this morning, but quickly thought the better of it. They'd definitely had a close call with all the business at Jefferson's mansion – and she wasn't entirely sure the cover story was going to fly with everyone. It was best to be as Storybrooke-normal as possible, and though Ruby wasn't nearly as close a friend to 'Mary Margaret' as Red had been to Snow, she knew she could trust the old girl to give her a ride.
"I'm really glad you're ok," Rose said quietly.
Snow glanced up from her chair at the woman who was staring ominously into space. She seemed genuinely happy to see her, but also very far away. "Thank you," she said tentatively, then reached across her chair and touched Belle's hand. "Are you ok?"
Rose started and looked down, immediately flashing her a nervous smile. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."
Snow nodded back at the hospital doors. "Is it…your father?"
Rose looked back too, then remembered and rolled her eyes. She really needed to do a better job of updating her friends (of course, until this week, she hadn't really had friends to update in the first place). "No no, Dad's home."
Snow reeled back. "He's home? That's wonderful!"
She smiled again. "Yeah, he's doing great."
They were silent for a few moments, watching as a very tiny Ruby-shaped dot finally found her beat up Ford. "Rose?" Snow tried again, Belle's anguish so palpable, it was chilling the already cold December air.
Rose looked down and sighed. "It's just…nothing."
"Tell me," Snow persisted, squeezing her wrist.
Rose sighed. "I—" she waved her hand dismissively at the sliding doors behind her – "I tried to get a job on their housekeeping staff here but…they're not hiring."
Snow blinked. "The housekeeping staff?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Why? I thought you hated hospitals."
Again, Rose sighed. "I know but…" she trailed off, fumbling for something feasible. "This place has…done so much for my dad I just…wanted to, you know…give back."
Snow nodded, though not at all convinced. "Would Jack let you have the time off?" she asked cautiously.
Rose's jaw tightened immediately. "I…don't think I'll be working for Jack anymore," she said firmly, though shuddering as she drifted back to that morning in the living room.
Snow leaned back in her chair, suppressing a relieved grin. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Good for you."
Rose looked down. "You think?" she asked, her expression suddenly pained.
"Rose, he wasn't the guy for you…trust me."
"I know, but he's…" and again she stopped short of spilling everything. She'd already done that once with Sean. She didn't want to monopolize another friend's time with her pitiful problems. "Nevermind."
Snow was about to reply when Red pulled up and honked the horn, startling them both. The saucy waitress put the car in park and started back toward the walkway as Snow tugged lightly on brunette's sleeve and urged her forward. "You know…whatever it is you're not telling me…I promise I'd believe you," she whispered with a smile, leaving a bewildered Belle on the walk as Red joined them.
"All right, crazy lady," said Ruby, offering her arm and taking the crutches from behind the chair. "Easy does it."
Snow laughed. "Thanks Ruby."
The two hobbled her down the small slope, and Ruby opened the car door as Rose helped Snow inside. Then she secured the crutches against the floor, letting them lie upwards between the passenger and driver seats. Ruby took the chair and wheeled it back to the lobby.
With Red once more out of earshot, Snow looked back to Belle. "I mean it, you know," she added, and again Belle looked shocked.
"I know you do," she said, almost laughing. "And I don't know why. Why do people keep saying things like that to me?"
Snow leaned forward. "Because we care about you, Belle," she said…and then gasped.
"What?" Rose cried, pulling back.
"We…care about you," she gulped, knowing it was fruitless to try and cover up the blunder. She must have been knocked around more than she thought in Jefferson's back seat. She hadn't ever slipped up like this. Not even with Ella! "I…uh…I don't—"
"You called me Belle," Rose hissed.
"I'm sorry, I don't—"
"You called me Belle."
"Rose listen—"
"Have you been talking to Sean?"
"Sean? No I—"
"Oooook," came Ruby's voice as she marched around to the driver's side, seemingly oblivious to the intensity between the other two. "Let's get out of this joint, I'm hungry."
Snow looked from Red back to Belle, panicked. "Rose, I—"
"Me too, Ruby," Rose said abruptly. She braced her hand on the car door and stared down at Mary Margaret. "Who wants lunch?"
…
Once she thoroughly explained her plan to the queen, it was not difficult for Circe to obtain the skeleton key that opened up the back service entrance of Garcon's. It was nearly 1pm by the time she returned to the back dirt lot where Jafar sat waiting impatiently. Once Jack had wasted considerable gas mileage driving around town fuming, he'd ended up at his bar, presumably to take his mind off of his unfortunate setback that morning with Rose. Circe had ordered Jafar to stay put, to ensure that the brute did not leave the tavern while she went to speak with Regina. Some might consider the key an unnecessary detail; a woman of her power could simply…knock. But in her experience, any decent seduction began with a solid entrance.
"It's about time," Jafar seethed, uncrossing his arms as he pushed himself off the driver's side door of his Oldsmobile. "Remind me again why I allowed you to have a hand in this?"
Circe removed her black scarf and red coat, tossing them casually into the car after extracting the key from her coat pocket. "Because I understand the beast better than you, my friend," she purred, sidling up next to him.
Jafar gulped, momentarily paralyzed by her form. Having shed her bulky fur, gone was any remaining mystery of what lay beneath those folds. Her hair she swept back into a tight clip, baring her silky smooth neck that stood out against the slim, black suit jacket fitted tightly to her voluptuous curves. The jacket dipped down and buttoned at her navel, with only a silky red shell beneath, barely stretched over the swell of her breasts. She wore a charcoal grey pencil skirt which, despite its conservative taste, still managed to accentuate her hips and waist in all the right places, and her long, slender legs seemed to go on forever as Jafar ran his hungry gaze all the way down to her black heels.
Circe expertly placed her index finger beneath his chin and curled it into his goatee, forcing his gaze up. The transformation was astonishing to the old vizier, but she slipped in and out of the role of temptress as easily as one donned a pair of gloves. "Stay here, darling," she whispered, unable to resist a penetrating kiss that she knew would keep him rooted to the spot. Her charms in this world, of course, were far less effective than they had been in the old realm…but she was still woman…and Jafar was still a slimy old man. Without any further explanation, Circe sauntered over to the door, inserted the key, and stepped inside.
Garcons' back room was just as musty and odorous as the front, but Circe did not allow it to throw off her game. As slippery and slick as an eel, she crept down the dark hallway toward the only light – Jack's back office. As she peered around the corner, her lips curled into a pitying smile as she observed him from behind, holding his head in his palm as he skimmed over piles of receipts and purchase orders. She ran an appraising gaze over his broad shoulders and back, smiled as he scratched his fingers through his jet black hair – he was an exquisite specimen. The finest male physique she had lain eyes on in years. She could have fun with this one, she thought. But shook her head. She had seen enough of his black heart to know him to be unworthy of her gifts, her rewards. And this was not surprising. No man on Earth had ever proven himself worthy. No man…save for one.
"Hard at work, I see," she cooed from the doorway.
Jack sprang up from his work table and whirled around, crying out as he reached around instinctively for some blunt object he could forge into a weapon. "Who – what the hell – how did you get in here?" he cried, but already her charms were working. His eyes swept over her sensual form, taking in and memorizing every curve.
"The door was open, Sweet," said Circe casually as she stepped into the room. "Buy me a drink?"
…
"He's been in my head ever since," Rose said with a pained sigh. "In my dreams, every time I close my eyes…everywhere."
Snow was fiercely attentive, hanging on every word of Belle's remarkable story. It was a good thing Red had opted to just "borrow" a bite from Granny before her diner shift instead of joining them at Tony's. Otherwise, there wouldn't be much either of them could share (Red had always been very open minded, but her Storybrooke counterpart was as cynical as they come).
Tony's Deli was also a bit less crowded than Granny's and the booths were tall and private. As soon as they sat down, Rose immediately began pouring out details of the past few days, unabashed and uncensored. She no longer cared why confiding in Mary Margaret, or Sean for that matter, felt so right. She no longer questioned why it wasn't strange that they didn't think she was crazy. With every word, every breath, she felt she was inching closer to the truth, and strangely, she knew that once she finally got there, she would need some allies. "That's why I was trying to get on staff at the hospital. So I could get in to see him again," she glanced up from the teeth of the fork she'd been intensely focused on as she'd relayed the bizarre details of that night and those that followed. "I-I wasn't gonna say anything back there but…but when you called me Belle—"
"I didn't mean to startle you like that," Snow said immediately, covering her hand. "Believe me, I know how…jarring something like that can be." And she did. Only moments before James had kissed her, restoring her memories, she'd been petrified. She loved this man but didn't know him. And yet he was staring at her as if he'd known her for years.
"It's ok," Rose shook her head, taking a gulp of ice water. "Just...tell me."
Snow bit her lip. Was this really the right way? Sure, Geppetto and Jiminy understood the truth without being woken but they were surrounded by mounds of evidence, a magic horse, Henry's book and an overwhelming majority of believers. Snow alone couldn't possibly restore Belle's happy ending without Adam here, and the last person to whom she'd tried to gently reveal the truth about the curse without him being awake was Graham – who'd summarily flipped out and bolted from her classroom, running a fever of what had to be at least 103.
"Mary," Rose said quietly. "Please. Tell me. Why did you call me Belle? Why do I feel this way? What…what am I missing?"
Snow took a deep breath. "I think the only person who can really answer that…is him," she sighed, not trusting herself to go further.
But Rose shook her head. "No. No, I know you know more than that. You have to tell me—"
"If I do, it might make things worse—"
"How can things get worse?" she cried, tunneling her fingers through knotted locks of brown hair. "I'm pregnant with one man's baby while having fantasies of another–in another world not my own. A world where he also…calls me Belle." She leaned forward, clasping both of Mary's hands in her own. "You have to tell me."
Snow studied her very carefully. She was certainly in a much better frame of mind than Graham had been. And if Adam was somehow reaching out to her – and if this really was all connected to her baby – then maybe…just maybe…
"Ok," she nodded at last, straightening up in the booth and ignoring the pain shooting up her leg as she whacked her cast against the stone table leg. "Ok, I'll tell you what I can, but you've gotta promise me that no matter what I say, you won't go flying out that door."
Rose didn't hesitate for a second. "Deal," she said, leaning in, feeling very much all of a sudden like Jane Marple in an Agatha Christie book.
Snow took another deep breath. "For starters, I called you Belle because your name isn't Rose…and mine's not Mary Margaret."
…
"And that was it. After everything I gave up for her. Everything I sacrificed, she threw me out of her house!" Jack spat as he stared into the seemingly bottomless tumbler of booze he'd been downing since 1:30 that afternoon. He still wasn't sure how this vixen had gotten into his bar, but three drinks later, he didn't really give a shit. There was still plenty of time before he opened, she was sexy as hell, and she didn't seem to mind (unlike the rest of the female population) that he was wallowing in self-pity and drowning in sorrows brought on by another woman.
"How unbelievably selfish of her," Circe soothed, leaning in closely and drawing the tips of two fingers over his rough, bronze forearm. He shivered at her touch, but gulped down another swig of beer rather than respond. "You know," she continued, undeterred. "If I had taken a man like you to my bed…there's not a chance in hell that I would keep it a secret." Jack looked up at her, his vision blurry and mind growing cloudier by the minute. Circe dipped her hand beneath the bar rail and stroked her palm along his outer thigh as she purred into his ear. "I'd shout it from the rooftops," she whispered…and he went rigid down below.
"Damn right," he muttered, swinging his legs around on the stool so that he faced her. He grabbed her hand from his thigh, clasped her other one too and pulled her up, spreading his legs so that she stood between them. "And what else would you do?" he growled.
Circe flashed a devilishly wicked smile, eased her wrists from his grasp almost without effort and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "Well," she licked her lips playfully. "I would be sure to take advantage of every…inch…of this," she moaned and dragged her hands all the way down his chest, his abdomen, his hips…
Jack stopped her just short of his crotch and gripped her arms, crushing her to him with such penetrating violence he felt he might explode. He sealed his mouth over hers, wrenching her lips apart with his tongue, licking and devouring every inch of her face with blind fury until he almost couldn't draw breath. He was lost in her scent, her taste, forgetting where he was, feeling strangely hazy and…familiar…
"Baby," she whispered against his throat as she rained kisses down his neck and along his chin. He pulled back, plunging his fingers into her hair – which he'd sworn was jet black – but now looked rather chocolaty. Her voice was different too – softer, sweeter. Closing his fingers around fistfuls of hair, he yanked her head back and stared at her, shook his head, and then studied her some more. Wow, he thought with his last shred of lucidity that night, I must be really drunk. "Don't fight it," she continued to croon as she cupped his face in her hand. He continued to gape as the woman he beheld was not the strange black-haired minx who broke into his bar. It was Rose.
"That's right, Baby. Take me back," she pleaded continuing to shower him with kisses and sweet ramblings, praising his masculinity, begging him to forgive her. Jack immersed himself fully in the illusion, surrendering himself to sensations so real, he could no longer see any remnants of the temptress's form. In his duped, drunken state, all he saw was Rose.
Circe of course, knew precisely how the brute would take to the delusion. The bulk of her magic was tied up in the curse like the rest of them, but she still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She couldn't actually transform of course, like she used to, but the power of her suggestions (and a little inebriation) could turn any man into her pawn…almost any man. "I don't know what I was thinking," she said sweetly, as she felt his tongue run down the length of her neck and suckle at her collarbone. "How could I have let you go like that?"
"You tell me, Baby," he mumbled against her skin, consuming her like an addictive drug.
"I think," she rasped, gasping at his ministrations, playing him like a song. "I think it all started when you hired Sean."
Jack froze and then reeled back, gripping her wrists so tightly that if she'd really been Rose, she would have winced in pain. "Sean?" he snarled. "What about Sean?"
Circe again seemed to expend no effort to extract herself from his grip and stroked her fingers through his black sweaty hair just above his ear. "Oh you know," she coaxed, still imitating Belle's voice. "Think about it. Everything was fine until Sean got here."
Jack shook his head, scowling. "You tellin' me you've been screwin' around with Sean?" he bellowed.
Circe nodded. "You couldn't see it? He's just been so…nice to me, you know? When we were having problems? He…" she paused and leaned forward again, whispering, "…he comforted me, Baby."
"Oh he did, did he?" Jack bolted up from his stool and stumbled in a sort of strange zig zag pattern on the carpet. "Well…we'll see about that!" he tripped up the small step to behind the bar and retrieved a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. In a flash that would have startled anyone else (but once again didn't seem to faze Circe) he smashed it against the railing, glass shattering everywhere. "You keep away from him, bitch! You hear me?" he cried, waving the jagged edged bottle in her face.
"I will Baby! I will," Circe exclaimed, putting the finishing touches on her performance as she folded her arms atop the bar. "But don't take it out on me."
…
Within minutes, Circe left Gaston and settled back into Jafar's passenger seat while her puppet stumbled about inside, crashing into walls in his drunken rage like a broken pinball machine. Her charms on Jafar, however, hadlong since worn off, and he glowered down at her, jamming the keys into the ignition while he positively fumed. "Would you care to tell me, dear sorceress, why after all that, you sent him after the wrong prince?"
"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, the mirage of temptress gone, her quiet serenity once more restored.
Jafar threw his hands up in the air. "You sent him after Thomas," he said in manner that demanded explanation.
"My dear Jafar, you weren't eavesdropping were you?" she smiled ironically. "Don't you trust me?"
Jafar ignored the question. To even acknowledge it would sport with his intelligence. "We're supposed to be getting him to kill the beast!
"Of course we are," replied Circe, draping her scarf around her neck and pulling on her gloves. "And if we get him to take care of Rodmilla's little pest in the process?" she glanced at him sideways, "is that a problem?"
Jafar grumbled as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back into town. It was true, he had no love for Cinderella or her prince either…but she wasn't the one who had come dangerously close to freeing his most dangerous patient. Plus…Jafar didn't trust Circe. Not one bit. "I'm beginning to wonder about your commitment to the Council, Circe," he sneered. "Why is it that one of the realm's most powerful enchantresses never could figure a way around Adam's immunity?"
Circe didn't reply.
"Is it because, perhaps, you have conflicting loyalties, my dear?"
Circe didn't reply.
"A little…soft spot for the one who…got away?" he goaded her.
Soft spot? she smirked to herself. What a poor choice of words. Soft? No indeed. Not soft at all.
"Come on, witch," Jafar glared at her as he turned onto Main Street, knowing he was getting warm. "What haven't you told us about the night Adam transformed?"
Circe…didn't reply.
…
The sounds of Marco's torch in the next room were music to James's ears as he and Thomas sorted through strands of Christmas lights in the garage. He remembered long ago, many nights he would return to the palace after an arduous day of interrogation in the mines. He would spend hours upon hours drilling Rumpelstiltskin for information and learning more about magic than he ever cared to know from Grumpy. The only thing that sustained him was coming home to Snow, but not before stopping by to see Geppetto – torch lit and whistling away as he worked on the unicorn mobile. It was a joy to be working in tandem with the old craftsman and his trusted cricket again; the fact that neither remembered anything of their true identities was of little consequence. They were Geppetto and Jiminy through and through – themselves in every way that mattered. In fact, the thought occurred to James, it might be even more significant that they believed despite still being cursed. It gave James hope that he, Snow…and now Emma (he smiled, remembering her earlier texts) could reclaim their kingdom by simply inspiring enough people to believe rather than having to wake every single soul.
"And he just…disappeared?" Thomas asked as he shook out a rather frustrating knot of bulbs.
James nodded. "Sucked back into Wonderland, we're assuming."
Thomas shook his head and blew out a sigh. "Too bad," he mused more to himself than to James. "Sounds like we shared some common enemies."
James glared up from beneath his brow. "He was a lunatic," he said, remembering the horrific sight of the hatter pulling his daughter down toward the abyss.
Thomas held his hands up, supplicating. "I know, I'm not debating that. It's just," he sighed and paused for a moment. "He was at least someone else who's awake. Someone…not in the psych ward of Storybrooke General." James shrugged, conceding the point, but not for a second regretting his actions regarding Jefferson.
It had been a rather enlightening morning, though he did have to endure a bit of abuse from Thomas at first. "Where the HELL have you been?" wasn't the kindest greeting he'd ever received in his life (though he'd had worse). But James more than made up for his long absence with information. After Marco, thankfully, sent 'Leroy' off on a few errands, James had been able to tell Thomas the entire story, starting with his and Snow's discovery of the caverns and ending with Abigail's awakening in Archie's office. Thomas was thrilled to know of so many who were now in-the-know and was especially happy to hear that James had revealed the truth to his daughter – that she had accepted him as her father and that their family was once again whole.
Thomas, in turn, had filled James in on everything he'd learned from Belle (well…almost everything). He'd kept the pregnancy to himself. Knowing that Adam was alive, awake and being held captive was quite enough for his friend to handle without the added worry that came with the possibility of Belle carrying Gaston's child. Besides, Thomas was still hoping in vain that by some miracle the baby actually was Adam's. It was possible wasn't it? After all, his Ella had spent the past 28 years pregnant. Couldn't the same be true of 'Rose'? But the only person who would know for sure was Belle herself and without her memories restored, wishful thinking helped no one.
"Did she give you any idea of what she was planning to do about that?" James asked, giving up on one strand entirely and moving on to another. (This project was getting more and more frustrating by the minute. What he wouldn't give for some pixie dust right about now. Who the hell could sort out all these little bulbs for a 20 foot Christmas tree?)
"Who?" Thomas asked.
"Belle."
"Oh," he sighed. "No. I tried to hint her in the right direction but…I don't know she's just…dealing with a lot."
"Well, when you think about what Circe put them through—"
"Splendid to see you looking well, my dear," came Geppetto's voice barreling through the doorway. "They're right through here."
Startled, both princes looked up, breaking into identical grins as Snow White hobbled her way into the garage.
"Thank you Marco," she smiled gratefully, honoring his request to go by his Storybrooke name until he remembered something of his other life.
"You're quite welcome," he replied with a grin, glancing back through the doorway at something else.
Thomas meanwhile had been unable to contain his excitement and, before James even moved, actually raced to the door to pull his old friend into a tight hug. "Snow," he whispered, holding her tight, ignoring the clatter of one of her crutches slipping to the floor. In the back of his mind, he knew he should have probably allowed the woman's husband the first greeting, but he was too elated to yield to etiquette. For days he'd known that Snow was awake from the curse, that she'd visited his house and helped Ella gain back a little of herself, that she and James were working together to free their people and unite their family in the process. But he hadn't actually seen her since before he'd broken free of 'Sean.' "I'm so glad you're ok."
Snow was beyond moved by the young prince's embrace; for her too it had been too long. In fact, the last time she had truly seen Thomas was the night Rumpelstiltskin's capture had gone so terribly wrong and they'd feared Ella's husband lost forever. She peaked over Thomas's shoulder at James, who stood patiently by the work bench, smiling at them both. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she finally pulled back. "It's good to see you Thomas," she whispered.
"Here, lemme help you," Thomas bent down, retrieving the fallen crutch and handing it back to her.
"That's all right," she waved him off immediately. "I've got it."
"You sure? You—"
"Thomas," she flashed him a warning grin. "I've got it."
James chuckled and shook his head, staying right where he was, for he knew better than to offer his tenacious wife any assistance. He did feel a touch of regret as he glanced down at the bulging cast (she wouldn't be riding Cain any time soon…or Blossom if they found her). But it wasn't Snow's first battle wound, and he knew she wore it proudly…for it was a small price to pay for saving her daughter.
"We were just talking about Belle," Thomas was saying as Snow backed them both into the room.
"Really?" Snow replied with a sly grin. She reached James and gave him a teasing kiss as he slung his arm around her shoulder and breathed in her cinnamon scent. "That's funny. I was just talking to Belle." She glanced back at the door.
James and Thomas both turned round again and bolted upright when they saw the woman standing over the threshold with Marco close at hand. "Rose? Er, uh—" Thomas looked back at Snow— "Belle?"
Both Snow and Rose nodded, though the latter felt dazed and overwhelmed. She glanced over at Sean – Thomas. A young man she'd known only a few short weeks, and yet hadn't he just yesterday seemed almost like a brother? And his friend David – James…she'd felt something there too a few days ago at Garcon's. Something familiar in the kind man's face. Mary Margaret's – or rather Snow's – lengthy explanation of the curse, the queen, the town…it was literally out of this world. She wasn't exactly sure yet whether or not everyone here, herself included, should be headed to the 3rd floor of Storybrooke General. Still…she had no wish to argue. It was the only explanation that could account for the feelings and memories she'd been having of this…Adam…this Prince Adam.
"Hi," she said hoarsely, for it was all she could manage at the moment. But it was enough.
"Belle," James said, crossing over to her. "Do you…remember us?"
Rose gulped and Snow thankfully answered for her. "No, but she knows James. Like Marco and Archie." The princess smiled warmly at the craftsman now joining them in the garage.
"I know how you feel, my friend," the old man said, coming up behind Rose and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It is…much to take in, yes?"
Rose stared at him, surprised by the instant relief she felt upon knowing there was someone else like her – someone else who knew but didn't remember. "Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "It's…a lot."
"But it won't be long now before she does remember," said Snow with just a dash of pride. She clapped her crutches together and leaned them against the work bench. "Gentlemen?" she braced her palms behind her on the edge of the wooden counter. "We have a plan."
…
***For those of you who are students of Greek and Roman literature, yes – Circe is more an amalgam of Circe and Calypso from Homer's "Odyssey" in this story. But if the show can play around with the details of long-established legends of the fairy tale world, I say the Greeks are fair game too!
Sorry this one took so long. As I warned you in my previous chapter, my student teacher LEFT me! So I actually have to teach now, haha. Summer vacation just around the corner though. Plus I'm kind of already motoring through on the next few chapters, so hopefully it won't be as long next time!
Big shout out to Fruitality! Thanks for all the kind words! You don't do signed reviews so I can't ever reply, but I really appreciate yours and everyone else's reviews. Big shout out to Rebecca too who keeps me real.
Working up to one very fateful Christmas Tree Lighting. So stay tuned***