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
The thing about threes
The shop was as dark as ever, even in the middle of the afternoon, but today's visit was colored with even more trepidation for the queen. Their struggle for power and dominance over all the realms was no secret, but what most perhaps did not know (or rather wouldn't dare to admit to her out loud) was just how outmatched she really was. Try as she might, The Dark One always managed to be one step ahead of her, a fact, she realized in hindsight, she should have remembered when he'd traded the dark curse to her in the first place. Her lust for vengeance, however, and her quest to ruin the happiness of Snow White and her beloved Prince Charming had blinded her. And in the wake of so many…unsettling occurrences now about town, Regina was fairly certain that her visit would come as no surprise to Mr. Gold.
She wasn't inside the shop for more than two seconds before the man himself peaked out from behind the curtain that led to his storeroom. "Madame Mayor," came that deep, slithering voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Let's actually skip those pleasantries, Mr. Gold," she came to a halt just beyond his front counter, rested her weight over one hip and crossed her arms. "We need to talk."
As Regina had expected, Gold seemed not a bit surprised. In fact, she noted as he leaned against his cane, slowly trudging out from behind his counter, he was smiling. "Indeed?" he said congenially. "And how may I help you?"
"Emma Swan," spoke the queen, cutting right to the chase. "Everyone's new favorite…hero," she sneered.
Gold regarded the mayor as one regards a sale before finally making a purchase. He was not at all put off by her terse nature. Dealing with the spoiled, vengeful queen had thus far been so much more…entertaining than any of his other conquests. Perhaps it was why he continued to humor her. "Yes?" he probed.
"What do you know about her?"
Gold reached out and plucked a porcelain tulip from a curious object d'art he'd recently acquired: a waist-high sculpture of a flower pot with dozens of ceramic stems; at the top of each sat a porcelain flower that could double as a teacup. Daintily, he held the tulip up against the sunlight to inspect the cup and then set it back on its stem. "The same as you, I suspect," he offered casually. "Bit of a loner, moved around from town to town, ended up in Storybrooke after your son tracked her down in Boston—"
"That's not what I mean and you know it," Regina scowled.
Gold tilted his head to the side with one eyebrow raised. "Do I?"
She edged forward, keeping her hawk-like glare trained on the old cripple. "I asked you about her when she first arrived. And you told me that she—" she drew a sharp breath, steeling herself against the echoes of her dream this morning and the fears that refused to stay buried, "that I know exactly who she is."
"I remember," Gold replied with a sage nod.
She stopped mere inches away from his ancient face. "What did you mean by that?"
"That she's the birth mum of your child of course," he replied, unfazed by her attempts at intimidation. "That she's come to take your boy away, as all adoptive mothers fear at one point or another I suspect."
The queen maintained such an icy stare, one might have expected the whole shop to freeze over. "Really," she drawled.
Gold merely shrugged, turning back to the counter with a convivial grin. He had a natural talent for equivocation of course, but he had to be especially careful with the queen and her sudden interest in Emma Swan. Regina wasn't the only one who'd struck a deal concerning that pivotal princess. He had James's amnesty and immunity on the table after all.
"I think you're lying," she pursued him further, joining him back at the counter. "In fact, I think you've been lying about a lot of things lately, Gold."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I—"
"You know, when two people both want something, Miss Mills, a deal can always be struck."
Regina took a step back. "What?"
"A deal, Madame Mayor," he said, his black eyes twinkling. "It's information you seek, yes? And as you know, information is my most…precious commodity."
She pressed her lips together, having foolishly hoped it might not come to this. "And what is it that you want, Mr. Gold?"
"Ah what I want is never as terrible as so many people imagine, now is it dear?"
"That's all in a point of view, I think," she sniped.
Gold tsked and shook his head. "Well, if you're not interested—"
"Wait," she thrust her hand out, stopping him from retreating to his back room. "What are your terms?"
His thin lips curled into a cruel smile as he laid his cane against the wall and carefully laced his fingers together atop the glass counter. "It's quite simple, my dear. I give you the information you need…and you leave me alone."
Regina drew back. "What?"
"I have a few…projects in motion, Miss Mills, as you will one day see for yourself. I would prefer that you leave me to my own devices," he glanced up at her, his face suddenly menacing, "and mind your own business."
The queen's pulse was racing. Surely leaving Rumpelstiltskin to his "own devices" was just about the most ludicrous decision she could possibly make at this point in time. Even if he didn't remember who he was, Mr. Gold had quite the history of sly and conniving behavior in Storybrooke alone. Still, she knew nothing in Gold's shop was free…not even conversation. And if she was right about Emma and James and Snow and – well, everything – free reign for Rumpelstiltskin (every bit the enemy of Snow and James that she was) would be the least of her problems. "On one condition," she said.
"And what's that?"
Regina leaned all the way over the counter, her gaze just as dark and sinister. "You tell me your name."
The remark did not seem to alarm the pawn broker, but Regina was pleased that he at least flinched. "It's Mr. Gold," he replied.
"Your real name," she said, her voice low.
Gold crossed his arms over the counter and leaned forward; she pulled back only a fraction of an inch. "Every moment I've spent on this earth, that's been my name."
But Regina would not back down. She was determined to gain at least some ground in this deal. If she walked out of here with anything, she would walk out having confirmed that they both knew who the other was. "But what about moments spent…elsewhere?" Gold's lips pursed together as he regarded her thoughtfully, patiently: a calmness with which she wasn't altogether comfortable. Before he could think on it too much longer, she straightened up and extended her hand. "If you want me to leave you to your…own devices, tell me. your. name."
Gold's hand shot out and clasped hers so tightly she almost winced at the pain. "Rumpelstiltskin," he snickered as he gave her hand a hearty shake. "You have a deal…Your Majesty."
Regina pried her hand free of his grasp and massaged her wrist, glaring at him through equally beady eyes. "Well," she huffed. She started to pace down the counter, glancing without really looking at his collection of trinkets. "Now that that's finally settled, tell me about Emma Swan. Is she—"
"As long as we're being honest with each other," Gold waved his hand as if she hadn't spoken, "let's remember how things used to be, shall we?"
She whirled on him. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh I believe you know."
"That's not an answer to—"
"Do you enjoy math, Regina?"
Again, the queen started, "What?"
"Math you know, like your boy does in school. The study of numbers? Addition, subtraction, multi—"
"What the hell has that got to do with—"
"I've been quite fascinated by numbers lately," he rambled on, gazing at the ceiling like he was contemplating the stars in the heavens. "Particularly the number…three." He looked down again, amused by her gaping stare. "Have you ever noticed, your Majesty, how many things in our world happen in threes?"
Glaring at Gold as if he were some broken automaton whose programming had just shorted out, Regina folded her arms over her chest and sighed impatiently. "No, I don't suppose that I have."
Gold plucked the gold-plaited seashell hanging from its chain on the wall's display pegs. "Oh yes," he swung the pendant before her, "three sunsets, three wishes, three fairies." He paused and set the necklace down with a light chink on the glass. "Three things you don't understand."
The queen slammed her hands down on the counter across from him. "The deal was I leave you alone and you tell me what I want to know. Not spin mindless riddles about—"
"Wrong!" he glowered at her, his voice a few dozen decibels higher than before. "Once again, your Majesty, you fail to read the fine print. The deal was you leave me alone…and I tell you what you need to know."
"You. Miserable. Conniving little worm! You—"
"Temper temper, dear," Gold held his hand up to still her wrath, his voice once more calm. "That's a tone hardly befitting of a queen."
Regina launched herself across the counter and grabbed him by the collar. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul your ass down to the station and have D.A. Spencer dig up some dirt on you!"
As if swatting a fly from his sleeve, Gold removed Regina's hand and sneered. "Because I humbly ask…that you don't." Then he leaned forward and hissed, "Please."
The seething anger climbing up her neck threatened to burst through her carotid artery, but she managed to contain her temper enough to pull back and recompose herself. She'd already made several blunders on this disastrous visit. She could not afford to break with her original bargain. Acquiescing at last, she leaned back against one of the display cases. "So what are these three things I don't understand?"
Gold grinned like an equestrian taming a horse. "That's a good girl." Regina bit back a few choice curse words as he continued. "The first, I'm afraid, which I am sure will severely bruise your ego, is that you don't have, nor have you ever had any control over the fate of this curse."
"What does that—"
"It means, your Majesty, that your fate is sealed just as surely as Snow White's and Prince Charming's."
Regina clenched her fists so tightly, her fingernails bit into the flesh of her palms. "That's impossible!"
"You operate as if you control the spell. Dearie…you are its most valuable pawn."
"I expect that remark is designed to frighten me in some way," she growled.
"Don't be stupid, Regina. You were already frightened when you walked in my door."
Regina felt her grip on reality slowly unraveling. This was not at all how today was supposed to go. "What's the second thing I don't understand?"
"That true love is the most powerful magic of all."
"Oh for the love of—enough with that mantra already!" she nearly screamed.
"As you wish," he held up his hands, moving as if he would retreat without another word.
"I already know the whole true love is powerful crap!"
"Knowing is not understanding, my queen," bellowed the imp. "You have always underestimated that with which you seek to fill the hole left by Daniel's death."
The red rage in her skull flashed white hot, "Don't you dare speak his name—"
"Why my sources tell me that three happy endings may be restored by this very night," he replied with a grin. "Heh…imagine that. Another 'three'."
Synapses firing spastically now in her brain, Regina practically threw herself backward down the aisle. "What? Three happy endings may—how do you know that? What sources—"
"And you've got less than," he paused and removed a silver pocket watch, patiently discerning the time, "look at that: less than three hours."
Regina bolted for the door, clumsily knocking the ceramic flowerpot to the ground along with an ugly umbrella stand shaped like a rooster near the entrance. She was about to wrench open the door in a panic when she stopped herself, inhaled sharply through her nose and turned. Hell, if it was going to rain, it might as well pour. "Stiltskin," she called to him, for he had been heading to his office.
"Yes, your Majesty?" he gave her another sly smile.
"What's the third thing I don't understand?"
"Ah," Gold let out a mirthless chuckle, closing his hand around the silver tip of his cane. "That one is fairly simple," he replied. But he didn't continue. He wanted to savor this. He wanted to watch her squirm. Evil perhaps, but after all, he was the Dark One.
"Well?" she tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms."
"Well," he mocked, "you have always supposed me to be a somewhat unwanted, but necessary ally," he explained as he limped over to her, inching his way down his aisle of treasures, enjoying every creak he made with his shoe as he drew closer to her. "You have assumed, no doubt, since you arranged this—" he gestured around the shop with his cane— "wonderful life I'm leading here, that I care whether or not the curse continues." Finally, he reached her, his nose merely inches away as he whispered, "I don't."
…
Emma skirted through the station doors and was expecting to head straight into Graham's office, so she was surprised to find her boss sitting on top of her desk facing a young dark-skinned male sitting in her chair. She slowed her pace and approached them, instantly sensing from Graham's expression that something was off. "What's up?" she asked, her hands on her hips.
Graham looked over and sighed. "Deputy Swan?" he turned toward the man, "Meet Shane Pilfer."
Emma's jaw fell to her collarbone as Shane gave her a mechanical nod, "Ma'am."
"How did you—" she spluttered at Graham, then turned to Shane. "Have you come to—"
"Shane just turned himself in," Graham added gravely, "for the assault on Sean Herman."
"What?" cried Emma, gaping between the two men neither of whom could meet her eye. After an awkward beat, she stepped closer to Shane and glanced down at the ludicrous skull and cross bones stitched across his wool cap. Honestly could this kid be trying for a more obvious cliché? "Why?" she demanded.
Shane shrugged, staring at his thumbs. "Got drunk. Got stupid. Didn't know what I—"
"No, why are you lying?" Emma cut him off, crossing her arms and glaring disapprovingly.
"What?" Shane snapped his head up.
"Emma—"
"Why would you confess to something we both know you didn't do?"
"Excuse me?"
"Emma I really think—"
"Graham, you said so yourself," she whirled on him, "Shane isn't capable—"
"Hey, what's your deal, lady?" Shane sprang up from his chair. "Don't act like you know me. You don't know anything about me."
"Oh I know a hell of lot more than you think I do," she said, getting her first real glimpse of the kid. Despite every effort Shane clearly made to look like a punk, he was really a very handsome young man. Mediterranean complexion, sharp nose, angular jaw and a clear street-made physique. He certainly looked as if he were capable of beating the crap out of Jack Hunter.
"Oh yeah? What do you think you know Deputy?" he challenged her.
"I know you're the guy who probably saved Sean's life, aren't you?" she spat back, poking him on the sternum with a pronounced thrust of her forefinger. Her words had the desired effect for this time it was Shane who gasped.
Graham placed a hand on Shane's shoulder and eased him back into Emma's chair. "Shane," he said quietly. "We're trying to help you here."
Emma glanced over, wondering now if Graham too had been trying to coax the real story out of him. There was such sadness in his eyes, the same sorrowful expression he'd had yesterday when Jack Hunter first named Shane. She offered the sheriff a small smile before crouching down in front of their fraudulent suspect. "Shane," she said, her voice slightly softened. "How did she get to you?"
"Emma—" Graham jumped.
"She?" Shane reeled back in the chair.
"Please, just tell me what she's got on you. Whatever it is—"
"Emma stop—"
"How do you-" he started, but then caught himself. "Who the hell are you talking about?"
She opened her mouth, about to say the queen. "The mayor," she said instead.
"The mayor?" Shane spluttered and to her surprise, he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Graham took the opportunity to seize Emma's upper arm and drag her away from the desk. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Getting the truth!" she hissed.
"By blaming the mayor…again?"
"Oh wake up Graham," she shrugged out of his grasp. "You said so yourself that Shane couldn't have done this. And he's been living off the grid for how long?" she gestured back to him, still eerily chuckling. "You spent all of yesterday trying to track him down and now he just happens to walk in here on his own and gives us a full confession?"
"I know all that, but you can't just go around accusing Regina of every bloody thing that goes wrong around here! You—"
"The hell I can't!" Emma shouted. And the quarrel might have continued had Shane's laughter not abruptly subsided. He was glaring at them now, and Emma started at his piercing gaze. He knows something, she thought suddenly. Maybe not everything but…something. "You keep burying your head in the sand, Graham," she muttered. "Let me know how that works out for you." She pulled away from him, rolled a stray chair over from an empty desk and plopped down. "Shane," she started quietly, choosing to act as though the disturbing, almost maniacal laughter hadn't happened. "I know it probably seems like you don't have a choice here, but we both know what really went down in that parking lot.
Shane slowly folded his arms and leaned forward. "Oh we do, do we?"
"Yes and we all know who really beat up Sean," she clenched her fists. "So tell me, what's she got on you? Is it your ex-wife?"
"Leave her out of this."
"Your father-in-law?"
"I'm warning you—"
Just tell me," she begged him. "What's Regina—"
"Christ, you really don't get it, do you Deputy?" Shane sprang up again, swiping his palm over his stocking cap and sliding it off, revealing a sleak yet unruly crop of black hair. "You think the mayor is gonna concern herself with the likes of me? Hell this isn't even something she'd sick on her cane-waving errand boy!"
Emma blinked. Cane-waving errand boy? That's new. Instinctively, she looked at Graham (hating that he was still her first assumption) but Graham didn't have a cane. She'd never seen anyone around here with a cane except…Oh God— "Who, Mr. Gold? Are you talking about Gold?"
But this just earned her another pitiful laugh.
"Gold? God, you know nothing," Shane shook his head and actually looked a little angry. "You know, for a split second there I thought maybe you had a clue."
"Hey," barked Graham, "you know technically I should've just put you in cuffs man and locked you up—"
"Good!" he replied, thrusting his wrists out in front of him. "Please do! And get the little princess out of my face here—"
Emma clenched her teeth together, knowing full well the 'princess' remark wasn't at all meant to be ironic. "Hey I'm just trying to help—"
"Yeah well, your kind of help just gets people hurt!"
Emma felt as if someone had body-checked her into a concrete wall. "What?"
"Now wait a minute, Shane," Graham implored him, suddenly very concerned about his old friend's embittered disposition. Shane always had a bit of a temper and a snarky attitude…but this?
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Shane pointed an accusing finger at the deputy. "She knows," he said to Graham though his gaze remained fixed on Emma. "You know all the weird shit started happening around here when she came to town."
"All right, enough of this," pleaded Graham.
But Emma shook her head, silencing him. "No," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. "He's right." She swallowed hard and stared into Shane's steel gaze, his eyes so young and yet aged and soured by this damned curse. Graham had already told her the gist of the kid's story. He was really only a few years older than Sean, happily married and settled, only to be pulled apart by illness, crime, temptation – she wondered who this Shane really was, who he was from her parents' world, and for the second time today she wished her father were here. Just how cruel was this curse? To have kept her parents apart with James' coma and Snow's ignorance was one thing, but to have given this man the memories of having destroyed his own marriage? She suddenly didn't know which was worse. "You're right," she said again, barely above a whisper. Shane narrowed his glare. "All this…stuff started happening when I got here." She took a few cautious steps forward, holding his gaze. "Stuff you seem to know…an awful lot about, Shane." He looked away, hands shoved tightly into his pants pockets. For a while, no one said anything, and Emma took his silence as a good sign. "Please," she said. "Help me fix it. Tell me who got to you."
But Shane rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Pfft, you just. don't. get it," he huffed. "It's not about who got to me. It's about puttin' your ears and nose to the ground and listening. It's about knowing how deep her pockets are and how many people she's got in 'em. It's about a network of hard asses so thick you don't know who you can—" And as quickly as he'd allowed the words to pour out, he stopped them up again. He backed away, startled by how far forward he'd advanced on the deputy and even more unnerved by how much he'd let slip. "Look," he said, his tone markedly different. "Look just...forget about it. I came to confess and I've done that. So just…" he mumbled, once again offering his wrists to the sheriff and staring blankly at his hands, "just lock me up and…and be done with it."
Emma was practically shaking, her mouth shaped in a slackened 'O' as the three of them stared in silence. "Shane," she tried at last.
But he turned almost violently away from her. "Sheriff?" he called impatiently, giving his outstretched arms a shake. "I ain't saying anything more. I beat up that kid and that's the end of it."
Graham turned to Emma, staring helplessly. Emma shook her head, a silent plea, but there was nothing he could do. And more to the point, there was nothing she could do. He rubbed the back of his neck and gestured toward the cell. "Yeah Shane…I'm afraid it is."
…
"This the last of it?" asked James, tossing over to Leroy what he hoped was the last box of cloth bows and giant vinyl ornaments from Marco's annual stash. The lights were strung, the wiring complete, and the giant star on top was already in place. He and Leroy were actually feeling pretty confident with their work until Bethany, the old office biddy from Snow's school (who also happened to head the decorating committee), had accosted them, insisting that the tree needed more trimmings. After much grumbling, Marco remembered some boxes he'd stored from previous years and sent Leroy and James back to the shop.
"It better be," growled Leroy as he slammed the tailgate of his truck into place. "I seen just about enough Christmas cheer for one day."
James chuckled. "I hate to tell ya this, but this is only the tree lighting. Christmas itself isn't for a few more weeks—"
"Yeah yeah," he hawked a wad of spit at the concrete. "Let's just get movin' huh?"
"Excuse me, David?" came a voice behind them. Leroy peered past his coworker and shifted uncomfortably at the sight of the young blonde. He hadn't admitted it to anybody of course, but Leroy was deeply troubled by the news her husband's attack. After all, the grumpy mechanic didn't have a whole lot of friends.
James turned around. "Ashley!" he said, moving towards her. "Haven't seen you since—" he paused, recalling that awful phone call from the hospital, "—since that night. How are you?"
Ella's eyes twinkled brightly, but she managed to suppress her grin long enough to tilt her gaze past James's shoulder and call to Grumpy. "Leroy, you mind giving us a few minutes?"
Leroy shrugged and heaved himself into his truck with a non-committal hurrumph and a slammed door. Ella was about to continue when both of them jumped at the engine revving and watched as the truck suddenly sped away. Ella blankly stared after it, but James just laughed.
"I'm sorry," Ella chuckled, turning back to him. "I didn't mean he had to…you know…actually leave."
James shook his head and waved her off. "It's ok. I've still got mine," he gestured over to the SUV parked on the curb. Ella nodded with a slight shiver, tightening her collar around her neck. James led her back inside the garage. "Here come on out of the cold," he offered. "What can I do for you?"
Ella slipped inside the door, thankful for the warmth. "Actually, she took a deep breath as James moved to the wall here his keys were hung. "I'm looking for your wife."
James's brow creased. He wasn't aware of any contact Ella had ever had with Abigail. "Kathryn? She's working at the bank until 5."
But the girl just grinned, pulling her parka's hood off her head and letting her blonde curls tumble softly to her shoulders. "Not Kathryn, James," she said softly. "Your real wife."
James's keys fell to the floor with a resounding clatter as her meaning fully resonated. "Ella?" he rasped, grasping the counter behind him for support. Ella just smiled and nodded for the look of utter relief on his face rendered her too emotional for words. "Oh Ella!" he cried, crossing the garage in a few quick strides and gathering her in his arms. She laughed and cried with James as she'd laughed and cried with Snow, overwhelmed by how genuinely good it was to see him. "How?" he whispered as he kissed the top of her head and then drew back from her. "When?"
"Last night," she smiled, wiping a tear from her cheek. "It was Christopher."
James's eyes widened as he gave her arms another squeeze. "Christopher!" he gasped. "You mean he's –is he also—"
"Awake, yes. He's with Thomas now," she explained. "We're both…playing our parts for the queen."
James recalled Emma's news in a different light: He's got a restraining order against Ella. She's not allowed within 100 feet of him and they've been instructed to call security if she shows up. So it was all an act, thank the gods, though he couldn't help noting a hint of sadness in Ella's voice. "That must be so hard on you," he said.
Her eyes flashed with the tiniest bit of hurt and anger. "It's taking every bit of self control I've got not to go to him," she confessed. Then she inhaled sharply through her nose and smiled. "But apparently Snow has a plan that's going to change that. So—"
"I certainly do," came Snow's reply, and the two turned as she stepped in through the garage door, grinning from ear to ear.
"Snow!" Ella exclaimed as James moved immediately to help her finagle the crutches over the threshold. Snow kissed her husband warmly before they were joined by their friend.
"I thought I'd find you in here," Snow beamed, refusing to conceal one bit of her glee at having the younger princess fully restored to them.
"I know," Ella beamed back. "I couldn't resist telling him. No sense in both of our husbands being in the dark," she gave James a friendly nudge.
"Exactly," Snow agreed, smiling between the two, "which is why I told you to meet me here and not at the Emporium. But that's where we have to go now; Belle will be waiting by the tree and," she turned to James, "we also have to get Grumpy on board. Is that him I saw pulling away?"
Ella and James exchanged a knowing laugh. "Yeah," James shook his head. "That was him. And I already did a little scouting for you. Turns out 'Leroy' hates Christmas," he said with mock indignation, "and he's not busy tonight. You should have no problem getting him to join you."
"Good," Snow nodded, tugging her scarf more securely around her neck.
Ella, feeling a bit out of the loop now, looked sternly over at Snow. "So exactly what kind of trouble are you getting me into this time?"
"The only kind worth getting into," she winked at her friend and then turned back to her husband. "The kind that leads to true love."
A flutter of excitement swelled in Ella's chest at the thought of seeing Thomas tonight. Though she fully recollected their time together as 'Sean' and 'Ashley', she also felt as if she hadn't seen her beloved prince in decades. "Well, I certainly hope so," she said, though more to herself than to Snow. She glanced at the pair of them and watched as the dynamic between James and his wife subtly changed. Outwardly there was still the same ease and friendliness, but Ella could tell James was scared for her, for them. "Listen," she cleared her throat. "I'm gonna duck into Tony's Deli real quick before we head to the Emporium."
James's head snapped up. "We have some food in the fridge here," he offered.
But Ella shook her head. "No, it's not that. Tony was one of Christopher's head chefs," she explained.
Snow's mouth fell open. "Is that who he is? I wondered why his food was so familiar but he wasn't," she said. "I'm afraid I didn't get to know your staff very well."
Ella smiled. "It's ok. I only just remembered now," she gestured toward the window, "thinking of all the shops on the square." And with a slight wave, she left the two of them alone in the garage.
Snow chuckled as she turned back to James. "Isn't it wonderful to have her back? Honestly I couldn't even believe—"
But Snow didn't have a chance to finish. As soon as the door closed behind Ella, James caught Snow around the waist and pulled her into a kiss, pressing her to him by the small of her back. He ran his mouth over hers, tilting her head to the side and back as he kissed her again and again. Snow's body responded in kind, and she arched into him, curling her fingers through his hair, though she could sense through his touch that this embrace was not motivated by passion. No, she realized as his other hand sifted through her hair and came to rest lightly on her shoulder, trembling. He was trembling. "Darling," she whispered against his lips as she pulled a mere fraction of an inch away from him. "What is it? What's wrong?"
An eerie hush fell over her husband, and she felt him sigh against her cheek before resting his chin on her head and squeezing her close. "I'm…just, nervous for you," he said at last, "that's all."
Snow slipped her arms underneath his and smoothed her palms up his back. "Don't be," she whispered, peering up at him. "Really, it's gonna be fine."
But James was unconvinced. He'd been nervous about this plan since Snow first disclosed it. So much of its success relied on mere theories and happenstance. "You can't be sure of that."
"We can't be sure of anything," she countered. And she knew that he knew she was right. After all, this was hardly the first time Snow White and Prince Charming had had to rely on faith alone to pull through.
He looked down at her, losing himself in the intensity of her gaze before he tilted her chin up and brushed his lips gently across hers. "I know," he said at last.
"And besides," she pulled back with a bright smile. "It's not like we're about to storm the castle and retake the kingdom, Charming. It's just a doctor's appointment."
"With a doctor whose identity we're still not sure of," he said, cocking an eyebrow.
Snow let her hands fall to his arms with a reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be fine," she said again. "Which reminds me, did you bring it?"
James took a deep breath. "Abigail's got it. She's gonna bring it to the tree right after she gets off work."
"Good."
"Snow—"
"I know, I know," she cut in, stepping back from him. "You can't promise it'll work."
"No it's not that," he said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and leaning back against the counter. "Just, make sure you're not…you know, you're not too obvious about it."
Snow's hands came to her hips as her lips curled into a sly grin. "Are you suggesting, Prince Charming, that I need lessons in subtly?"
Her coyness finally earned her a smile as he held his hands up and shrugged. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."
"Because you know," she sauntered back to him, curled her index finger into the lapel of his flannel and pulled him close, "I'm a fast learner."
James inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the fiery spark in her eyes and what it did to him. "I just want you to be careful," he rasped, slipping his hands down around her waist again.
The playful mischief slid away from her gaze as she grew serious once more. "I know," she whispered. "We will be." She cupped the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss, this one so reassuring the tension finally eased from his arms. Gradually, she felt his whole body relax and she sighed as he dropped his head to her shoulder. "I love you," she said, glancing up at the ceiling tiles of the garage, wishing she was gazing instead at the fine frescos that once adorned the walls and domes of their summer palace.
James pulled back, cupped her cheek in his palm and was about to reply, when the rear door of the garage unlatched behind them and squeaked open. "Oh!" they heard as they both turned. "Umm…s-sorry," said their daughter whose face flushed beat red with embarrassment. Emma was about to head right back out the door but James called out to her.
"No it's ok," he chuckled. "Come on in. We were just—" he glanced at his wife and then back at his daughter— "going over the plan."
"Uh huh," said Emma, still standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Yeah, no. I uh, I was just looking to um, ask you something," she cleared her throat, feeling stupid. This felt so strange. On the one hand, she felt like she was walking in on two friends; the urge to tease and say cliché things like: Plan huh? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays? was hard to ignore. On the other hand, she was acutely aware that these were her parents she'd just walked in on. Kissing. So despite her age, she also felt like a 14-year-old girl who should be saying things like…eww.
"What's up?" James asked, stepping away from Snow and again gesturing for Emma to come in.
Emma reached in her coat pocket and pulled out a few polaroids. "We found Shane Pilfer," she sighed.
"You did?" James rushed over.
"Who's Shane Pilfer?" Snow asked.
"Someone we think helped Sean that night," Emma explained and then turned to James, "although that's gonna be even harder to prove now than we thought."
"Why?"
"He confessed. Turned himself in."
"What?" James gaped as Emma handed him the picture.
"It's true. Confessed to the whole beating."
Snow shook her head, trying to keep up. "Why would he do that if you say he actually helped Sean?"
Emma's hands came to her hips. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. Someone obviously got to him. But he won't say who." She turned to her father who was studying the mug shot carefully. "Do you recognize him?"
He frowned, running his finger along the stiff edge of the photo. "No," he shook his head finally and then handed it to his wife. "You?"
Snow peered over her husband's shoulder. The young man looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. "No, I'm sorry. Maybe someone from the village?" she glanced up at James, but he just frowned.
"When you say 'someone' got to him," asked James, "do you mean the queen?"
Emma huffed. "That's what I thought at first, but when I put it to him? When I asked if the mayor had put him up to this, he…" she trailed off, staring past them as if replaying the eerie scene in her head.
"He what?" Snow asked.
Emma sighed. "He laughed at me."
"Laughed?" James said.
"Yeah, it was so weird," she shook her head, taking the photo back from her father. "He was almost…cocky. Like he knows more than we do. And then he started talking about a network."
"A network?" James hugged his middle, folding his arms together. He didn't like the sound of that one bit. "What kind of network?"
Emma bit her lip. "I don't know. He was pretty tight lipped after that. But I have a feeling he was talking about people working for the queen. Said something about how deep her pockets are and how many people she's got in 'em."
James's gaze darted at once to Snow and Emma did not miss the warning look on his face. As if reading his mind, Emma stepped over to her mother. "Snow, I don't know if tonight is such a good idea."
The princess sighed, rubbing her temples between her thumb and forefinger. "We've been over this—"
"We don't know how many sets of eyes she's got at the hospital. You and Belle—"
"And Ella now," Snow countered. "Ella will be there too. As well as Grumpy."
Emma started, glancing between Snow and her father. "E-ella? You mean Ashley? She's awake?"
"Yes," Snow nodded confidently. "Awake and ready. Honestly, there are enough jitters between you two to start an earthquake."
"We're just worried for you, Snow," James offered. "What Shane said confirms what we've feared all along. The queen isn't acting alone and she's probably got even more people than we—"
"James? Emma?" she said sternly, "Enough." There was no mistaking her tone nor the meaning in her grasp as she took her daughter's hand in one of her own and her husband's in the other. "We are not going to restore our people to their rightful lives if we don't take some risks."
"But—" Emma started, but Snow shot her a look that silenced her.
"Risks, Emma. Like you took in coming here with Henry." She turned back to James. "Like you took in bringing her to save me from Jefferson. And besides, you know as well as I do that it's just as dangerous to leave Adam in their care as it is to try and get him out."
James sighed. "I know."
Snow's gaze drifted between the two and in spite of their legitimate anxieties, she found herself smiling. They were so alike. "Look," she gave their hands a squeeze. "I know you would both rather fall on your own swords than let someone else have a go. But you're going to have to get past that, ok? You have a ceremony to attend," she reminded her husband, then she turned to her daughter, "And you have an investigation to finish."
…
Henry sat impatiently kicking his legs back and forth as they hung off the edge of a rather stiff and uncomfortable hospital chair. The queen had picked him up right after school and taken him straight to Storybrooke General, so he hadn't any opportunity to see his real mother, nor did he have the chance to tell Grandma about science class. Towards the end of the school day, Mr. Howenstein had taken them to the greenhouse for a lesson on photosynthesis. During the lecture, a plump green caterpillar had crawled up to his hand, tickled the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and then looked up at him. Can you help? he heard the bug's voice in his head. Henry stared down and nodded, allowing it to crawl up into his hand. My friend is stuck! Surreptitiously, Henry allowed the caterpillar to direct him toward a collection of unused pots in the corner where they found a ladybug stuck in a tangle of spider webs. Within seconds, the bug was freed. The caterpillar hopped off Henry's thumb onto a daisy with a high-pitched thank you, and the ladybug, who to Henry's surprise spoke to him with a deep, tough-guy accent, mumbled yeah thanks kid and fluttered away.
He couldn't wait to tell Snow about it, but science was the last period of the day and Regina had whisked him away from school immediately after the bell rang. This incident was nerve-wracking enough for the poor boy, for the last time she'd done that had been the evening of the Pops-almost-got-poisoned-by-pie debacle. But then they'd headed straight to the hospital, and as far as Henry was concerned, nothing good ever happened here. Not since Snow woke up James and he escaped the queen's coma. Henry half expected the mayor to head straight for Sean Herman's room – for what purpose, he couldn't guess, but he was sure she was up to no good. Strangely enough though, the name Sean hadn't even come up. Dragging him clumsily by the arm, Regina had ushered him into a service elevator, rode it to the third floor, and instructed Henry to wait in a chair right outside the office of someone named Dr. Damian Fisk. He sat for what seemed like an hour, listening to the muffled bickering of his adoptive mother's shrill voice and this Fisk guy's gravelly one. He was about to press his ear to the door to see if he could get some more intel but then the elevator dinged, and a tall, dark-haired woman stepped out into the vestibule and glided down the short corridor to the office, sweeping right past Henry to knock on the door. A voice inside said, "One moment!" and the dark-haired woman took that moment to pass an appraising gaze over Henry that made him feel creepy and shivery all over. Her eyes were cold, calculating, but somehow her smile was warm and inviting. Henry suddenly felt like a puppy in a pet shop, being inspected by a cruel owner looking to buy.
The door cracked open and the woman slipped inside. It sealed shut once more and again, Henry strained his ear toward it. But he couldn't hear a thing. He briefly considered leaving, but then thought the better of it. If he left, Regina might think he did hear something and then wonder why he ran. No, he thought. He had to play this cool. Sitting back in the chair, he withdrew one of his old Captain America comics from his backpack and began flipping through the familiar pages. After a few more minutes, the office door opened again, and Regina, the dark woman, and Dr. Fisk stepped out toward the bank of elevators. Fisk glared down at Henry so harshly, he almost ducked his head behind his comic, but he resisted. Who knows, he might have to describe this guy to Pops or his mom someday. So he glared back, and got a good look at his wiry face and severe eyes, his jet black hair and sideburns outlining his head like some sort of weird helmet. The doctor almost looked ready to snap at him, but then the elevator dinged a second time and out walked a lean, sly-looking man swinging a cane, approaching the group with a crooked grin. "Well well well, what have we here?" he said in a sing-songy voice that reminded Henry of an old black and white detective flick. "I didn't realize you'd convened the entire Council, your Maj—"
"John!" Regina nearly shouted, clamping her hands down on Henry and dragging him up off his chair to stand in front of her. "I don't believe you've ever met my son," she said in a voice so grating, Henry could actually hear her teeth grinding together.
John, noticing the boy for the first time, looked genuinely surprised to see him, but was caught off guard for only a moment. "No ma'am. I don't believe I have. Not formally anyway," he said with a jovial grin, hunching down to Henry's level and sticking out his hand. "It's Henry isn't it? John W. Foulfellow here," he said with a wink.
Henry stifled a laugh. He could tell instantly there was something very sinister about this man, but also seemed strangely likable. "Nice to meet you," he muttered, reluctantly shaking the villain's hand.
"Well," John slapped his knee and rose once more to this feet, tapping the tip of his cane on the cold tile with a decided plunk. "Bringing your kid to staff meetings now, Madame Mayor?" he asked.
Regina slid Henry to the side and advanced on the sinewy fellow. "Henry and I are headed to the tree lighting from here," she explained, though her voice was low and menacing. "And he's going to wait here," Regina spun to face him, "while we go check on our…problem. Right Henry?"
Henry gulped, glancing up at the figures who all of the sudden seemed to tower over him: the mayor, the doctor, the woman and the man with the cane. "Y-yes ma'am," he replied hastily, and headed straight back to his chair, tucking his legs one underneath the other and spreading his comic book back over his lap.
"Good," she said and then added, "I won't be a minute dear." She attempted this last bit in as sweet a voice as she could muster, but Henry wasn't fooled. The queen was…well…pissed. And Henry intended to find out why.
…
The four rogues stalked down the third floor corridor to the high-level security gates that locked up the psychiatric wing. Pausing to check back on Henry, who was still safely seated by the elevator, Regina sighed and stepped through the gate after Jafar, followed by Circe and Honest John.
"I can't believe you didn't leave the kid at home," snarled Jafar under his breath as he swiped his security card through the second lock and led his party into the psych ward.
"I need to keep him close now," Regina spat back. "Would you rather I have him 'prancing about town telling people who they are' as you so aptly put it the other night?"
"That was Ursula, your Majesty," he snarled. "But she does have a point about him. I hear he's been cavorting with our new deputy a little too often for my tastes."
"I'm not interested in your tastes, Jafar. Just open the damn door."
Jafar sighed, glancing at Circe, glaring at John, and then looking back to the queen. "As I've been assuring you all afternoon," he said as he swiped his key card one more time and the room clicked open, "he is in fact, completely incapacitated." The door swung open and all four villains took turns peering inside at the heavily sedated man strapped tightly to the cot. "Plus, Belle has not been back since that night. I hear she even came to visit with Sean the other day and never once ventured up here."
"She visited Sean?" Regina whirled on him.
"They were coworkers, your Majesty," John reminded her.
Regina sighed, looking back at Adam who, thankfully, did seem completely knocked out. Rumpelstiltskin's warning was gnawing at her though, eating at her from the inside out and despite all appearances, she simply wasn't convinced. "I thought you claimed the drugs would stop working. That once he saw her, they would cease being effective."
Circe opened her mouth to reply, but Jafar responded first. "Yes, well despite Circe's over-inflated ego, I believe we dodged a bullet here. Clearly we just needed to up the dosage. And let's face it, a crazy man safely secured in the psych ward is not nearly as messy a situation as a sloppy murder would have been. Plus Prince Thomas may very well be paralyzed because of what the brute did to him, so—"
"Listen you sniveling weasel," Regina latched on to Jafar's lab coat. "I have it on very good authority that three separate happy endings will be restored by tonight. For all we know, at least one of those has already happened. Now," she turned toward the infamous enchantress, "as I understand it, you have managed to convince Shane Pilfer to take the fall for Sean's attack which will delay his and Jasmine's happy ending indefinitely. But unfortunately," she scowled at the woman, "with Shane on the books for Sean's attack, we can't any longer count on the bartender finishing the job he started. If Adam is indeed contained here, then we have to assume the threat is with Sean."
"I'd heard through the grapevine that the good king took out a restraining order against Cinderella, your Worshipfulness," teased John. "Doesn't sound very 'happy' to me."
Regina threw her errand boy a shrewd look and cleared her throat. "Yes, Rodmilla's been stalling Mitchell for weeks, but it's only a matter of time before his guilt and empathy overpower his rage." She turned back to Jafar. "Gold says this will happen tonight. Do you understand? We must not let it."
"And just what do you want me to do?" asked the doctor, clutching the door handle to Adam's room and preparing to pull it shut.
"If I may," came Circe voice, ever soothing, ever incongruous given the quarrel at hand. "Adam," she gestured inside the room, "is impervious to directaction by the Council. Thomas…is not."
The group fell silent, each contemplating the implications of this particular fact. "Are you suggesting we simply…kill Ella's prince?" Jafar hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Why not?" Circe asked coolly. As long as that prince wasn't Adam, she couldn't care less.
"Might I remind you kind folks that the king is at this very minute keeping a close vigil with his son?" said John, his demeanor quite changed from that of the flamboyant lout that came off the elevator.
"Such obstacles didn't prevent you from killing dear Mr. Tillman, John," said Circe. "Don't tell me you've gone soft."
"Not at all," John dismissed her faux concern with ease, "I simply abhor making a mess of things." He turned back to Regina. "Concealing the murder of a known loving husband and son is not as easy as that of a poor trucker who's just discovered he's a single dad."
"Well then perhaps your services are not required in this case, John," countered Circe. "After all, we have a doctor right here. And this is a hospital. Sometimes mistakes just…happen."
A tiny, frightened gasp followed by the squeaking of sneakers sounded behind them, and they all whirled around to peer down the corridor. There was nothing there, but they refused to take chances. Adam's room wasn't far from the main vestibule and Jafar, with his long lanky stride, reached the end of the hallway first. He rounded the corner, spotted the threat immediately and then glowered back at Regina as she approached. Regina joined Jafar at the cross aisle and her heart sank, for sitting cross-legged on the floor, his comic book flung hastily open across his lap, was her son.
"Henry?" she scolded, though her voice was shaking with worry. She could handle these small breaches in security when they were alone, but with Jafar and Circe looking on…they would demand action. "I thought I told you to stay out there," she pointed past the beefed up security. "How did you even get inside the gate?"
Henry looked up from his comic, his lip trembling, mentally kicking himself as he stared up at four stern faces belonging to now confirmed villains. Villains…he might never be able to warn his family about. "It…it wasn't locked, Mom," he said, trying to sound casual. "I…I was gettin' worried we'd miss the tree lighting so I just…I just—"
"What did you hear, you little—" growled the doctor.
"You know," interrupted the cane-twirler with an exaggerated flourish. "It's not polite to eavesdrop, little man," he crouched down and tousled his hair.
"I—I wasn't," he said, looking back up at the queen. "Honest, I saw you arguing so I just waited here and r-read my comic."
He could tell no one believed him. The doctor's arms were crossed coldly across his chest and the dark-haired woman's beady eyes were glaring him down through two incredibly narrow slits. Only the man with the cane seemed unconcerned, though still sinister. Ironically enough, Henry's best hope out of this mess now was the queen. "Get up," she ordered him. "We're leaving." And as Regina grabbed him by the back collar of his shirt and guided him back through security as echoes of that horrifying conversation rang between his ears: Such obstacles didn't prevent you from killing dear Mr. Tillman… Gold says this will happen tonight. We must not let it…This is a hospital. Sometimes mistakes just happen… Henry couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot worse…for everyone.
…
"Are you suggesting we simply…kill Ella's prince?" hissed the voice he knew far too well. The voice whose orders had kept him trapped for years.
"Why not?" replied the devil herself – Circe, the enchantress from hell.
"Might I remind you kind folks that the king is at this very minute keeping a close vigil with his son?" said the voice he did not recognize. He sounded more pleasant than the rest, at least, though no kinder than his cohorts.
"Such obstacles didn't prevent you from killing dear Mr. Tillman, John," said Circe. "Don't tell me you've gone soft."
These names meant nothing to him, but the portent of violence on the horizon made escape all the more necessary. He must struggle free. He must not let these heinous crimes take place.
"Not at all," said the new voice with a carelessness he found distasteful. "I simply abhor making a mess of things. Concealing the murder of a known loving husband and son is not as easy as that of a poor trucker who's just discovered he's a single dad."
"Well then perhaps your services are not required in this case, John," countered the vixen bitch. "After all, we have a doctor right here. And this is a hospital. Sometimes mistakes just…happen."
Something claimed their attention down the hall, and the man reopened his deep blue eyes, listening as the footsteps of villains retreated from his doorway. Sometimes mistakes just…happen. He didn't have to know what the hell was going on in this world to know that someone he cared about was most likely in danger. Certain the rogues would not return, Adam clenched his fists and began to pull at his restraints.
…
At about 6:15pm, the very unlikely crew of three princesses and a dwarf arrived at the hospital. Ella drove, Leroy grudgingly sat in the back with Rose, and Snow maneuvered herself into the front passenger side with her crutches. After parking, the three women paused right at the curb before the entrance awning. Leroy, of course, plowed on ahead without realizing that Rose French had completely frozen.
Snow glanced between her sister princesses, eyeing Belle with concern. "What's wrong?"
Rose was staring up at the top floor of the hospital. "Nothing," she said briskly.
Unconvinced, Snow used her crutches to spin herself around and face her friend. "Relax," she said as the winter wind whipped their scarves into the air. "You're gonna do fine."
"Me?" Rose let out a nervous laugh. "What about you?" she glanced down at Snow and Ashley – er- Ella. "My part is easy compared to—" she gestured down at Snow's bag in which, she knew, lay the most unlikely weapon.
"That's why my part comes first," Snow winked, giving the bag a confident pat. 'that way if it doesn't work, you and Ella just leave and we try something else later."
Rose looked from Snow to Ella who smiled supportively as well. "She's right," added Ella, "and it's going to work." She too then glanced up at the building and sighed.
"Sometime today ladies!" bellowed Leroy who was clucking impatiently below the awning, tapping his foot up and down on the icy pavement.
Snow chortled, rolled her eyes and clasped Belle's hand as the three of them headed inside.
…
***So I know it's been FOREVER since I updated, and I had promised you an update sooner than this. I also know many out there are now frustrated cuz we still have no Belle/Adam reunion. The silver lining in all of this is that this update took so long because I started writing these next few chapters backwards. So the Adam/Belle prison break out scene is already written! I just have to fill in a few more blanks and scenes that get us from here to there. So it shouldn't be too much longer before I have the epic conclusion of Snow's hospital escape plan :) Hope that mollifies a bit of the impatience out there. Believe me, I'm just as anxious for those kids to see each other again as you are!
Many thanks as usual to all my regular readers and those recent subscribers. It's always wonderful to see/hear/know how much the work is appreciated. Plenty more in store for our unlikely team of heroes and villains. Stay tuned for a bit of drama with Henry too…though I think in the end you're gonna like how it turns out! As they say in Italy…Ciao!***
PS – Anyone seen Newsies on Broadway yet? Holy smokes. If you want to blame anything for the delay, blame Newsies cuz…yowzers…best damn thing I've ever seen on a Broadway stage!