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
Knocked for six
The afternoon passed in silence, almost in a haze as Emma and the men set to the grim task of burying the town sheriff. As the sharp edge of her spade crunched through the cold, dampened earth, she couldn't honestly remember where she'd gotten the shovel, nor could she remember having trekked from the library to the forest or having helped lift Graham's body from the bed of Clancy's truck to the makeshift grave they'd spent an hour digging. In truth, it was Matt who, spurred on by Emma's catatonic trance following the sheriff's death, had seized control of the situation, driven by instinct and some innate knowledge that this was not a death that could be reported or recorded through normal channels. He had seen enough with his disbelieving eyes to know that no doctor at Storybrooke General could possibly submit "heart crushed to dust by mayor" as a legitimate cause of death. And having just found Michael Tillman of all people locked away in an abandoned basement, the fireman wasn't entirely sure that anyone could be trusted anymore. Anyone…save for Emma. For some reason, he felt moved to help her, to protect her from, at the moment, herself.
"I…" she said softly as they heaved the last bit of dirt over her friend's body, "I never thought to ask…if he had any family."
Michael and Matt stared at each other, slightly startled for they were the first words she'd uttered since he'd expired. "I…don't…think so," Matt said warily, looking over to the town tow-truck guy.
"No," Tillman shook his head in agreement. "No family. Not that I've ever seen or heard of."
Emma continued to stare at the ground. "Never thought to ask," she whispered again.
"Emma," Matt said uncertainly. "This-this," he stepped over to her, gesturing down at the grave, "wasn't your fault."
"The hell it wasn't," came her terse reply, again taking Matt by surprise. "Everything is my fault." Tillman came around the gravesite and joined them, still playing catch up, though his time in the library had clearly made it easy for him to believe the improbable. "Graham's death, Henry's disappearance…" finally she lifted her gaze from the earth to Michael, "your kids. All because of me."
Letting instinct guide him, Clancy placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "How can you say that when we all saw what happened?" he glanced at Tillman who nodded in agreement. "Emma, Regina was clutching his-his…" he paused and gulped, "his heart! Now I don't have a clue how the hell that's possible, but it definitely wasn't you in that mirror."
"And it was John who came into my home and drugged me," Tillman supplied, he too guided by the same inexplicable drive to ensure that this young woman stay on the right path. "Seconds before you were coming back…with my children."
Emma finally seemed to process their voices and looked between them, amazed. Sheer logic should have sent them both either sprinting from her, spreading panic and confusion to the public and screaming bloody murder, or at least on the path of pure denial. But they'd reacted to the sight of Regina standing beside her bureau of hearts with remarkable clarity. Maybe Gold was right. The more happy endings they restored in the town, the easier it must be to suspend disbelief, the easier it must be to battle doubt. For them to have even stuck around, let alone helped her bury Graham, had to be due at least in some part to magic.
The three of them were silent, each reflecting similarly on the situation before them before the deputy finally spoke again. "There's some shelter not far from here," she said with an odd tone of resolve, brushing the dirt from her hands as she dropped her shovel to the ground. "Some kind of…cottage," she gestured beyond them toward a particular spot, dense with evergreens, "hidden underground. You should both make your way there." She gave them a sort of final nod, turned and headed back toward the town.
Tillman and Clancy glared at each other and then started after her. "And what are you gonna do?" asked Matt.
"Whadya think?" she replied, not stopping.
"Emma, you can't just…go after her!" he yelled, stepping quickly over the fallen branches and protruding stumps along the path to catch up to her, Michael following closely behind.
"Why not?"
"Because she'll – she'll kill you!"
"Not if I kill her first—" she reached down to her holster and grabbed the same gun he'd caught her with early that morning.
"Emma wait," he reached her and grabbed her arm, turning her around. "Look," he said with a light pant, "I still don't know what exactly happened back there with the sheriff, but it's pretty clear that Mayor Mills is one seriously dangerous—"
"Bitch," she finished for him, shrugging out of his grasp. "Who needs to die before she has a chance to kill anyone else," she spat, then glanced up at him with a start, seeming to remember something. "Why do you think I went there this morning?" She waved the gun in front of her as if to remind him of the same.
Matt staggered back as if she'd kicked him. "Whoa, this is my fault now?" he almost bellowed.
"Wh-what happened this morning?" asked Michael, having finally joined them. They were now only a few hundred feet from the nearest road that lead back into Storybrooke.
Emma looked down, pinched the ridge of her nose and sighed. Get a grip, Emma! she told herself. "No," she spoke softly to Matt. "No of course not."
"What happened this morning?" Michael asked again but he was interrupted by a pack of voices that seemed especially out of place right now given the way the snowstorm had kept everyone indoors all day. But dusk was descending on Storybrooke and the snow was letting up. Approaching them from the very edge of town were a small throng of alcohol-emboldened townspeople, all with varying degrees of the "Storybrooke haze" across their faces, yelling, pointing and rushing right for her. "There she is!" she heard someone distinctly from the within the horde.
"What the hell—"
"Do they mean you?"
"Whado they think they're doing—"
"You heard the mayor!" another voice screamed and only then did Emma notice the crazed expressions coupled with every kind of makeshift weapon imaginable – from shovels and pitchforks to chains and rope. You heard the mayor…they'd said. So this was it. They were after her. Regina was after her. The town had arrived to give their crazy mayor…exactly what she wanted.
"Emma, we gotta run," said Matt, tugging on her jacket sleeve.
"Hand her over, Clancy!" spat a man with a scruffy orange beard and a woolen cap dipped over one eye.
"Emma, let's go!" cried Michael, having completely given up making sense of anything at this point and was responding only to the threat of more obstacles standing between him and his children.
"Emma!" they both cried again, but Emma remained still.
Let 'em take me, she thought, staring down the mob with icy resolve. If Regina wanted her, she could have her. They could lead her right to the queen's blood-stained doorstep and when she was finished beating the mayor to within an inch of her life, forcing her to give up the location of Henry and the other children, she could put a bullet through her head—
"EMMA!" cried Matt, and in desperation, lunged for her hand and clasped it tight. Her gloves were off and his hands were bare, and as soon as they touched, the world flashed white and Emma felt herself flung away from the present. Dammit! she cried out in her head, still never quite prepared for what, by now, had happened several times, consistently upon direct contact. Not now! But as she felt her soul hurled toward her destination, she realized something was different. She felt almost as if she were being pulled in another direction, quite unlike her previous visits. When she finally "landed" it seemed like she was right back where she started, staring up into Matt Clancy's eyes.
"Why do you keep saying that?" he demanded of her and she felt his hands close tightly around her forearms.
"Because it's true," she found herself replying, though in her mind she hadn't a clue what they were arguing about. It was a vision unlike any other she'd had. First of all, she'd always been a sort of ghost-like observer, watching in the background of various scenes, unnoticed by the people whose memories played out before her. But here, she was actually living it – an active participant, it seemed – thrust back into her own body as a character in her vision rather than its sole audience. But even that wasn't the strangest part. This was not a memory. And she knew it with absolute certainty. For the first time, her vision had taken her to some place in the future. "Too much depends on restoring your happy ending," she said, feeling as if she were remembering the lyrics to a song she knew ages ago.
"Ugh!" Matt threw his head back, "There you go again with the happy ending thing. Look, even if I believed all that stuff back there," he pointed vaguely behind them but just like her previous vision of Matt, the background was dark and shaded from view. "And I'm not saying that I don't. But I promise you, if I really am th-this prince, king, Philip-person, there's still no way that Dawn is my wife!" he spluttered, and from the frazzled look on his face, she could tell it had been a challenge for him to even get out the words. So sometime in the near future – she guessed, glancing down, seeing they were wearing the same clothes – we tell Clancy that he's Philip. That clearly went over well.
"You just don't remember," she said as if compelled to, breaking free from his hold. "I'm telling you, once we find her—"
"And I'm telling you," he grabbed her again and spun her around, "curse or no curse, Dawn Charles is Davis's girl, not mine. I think I would know if I'd ever had feelings for Dawn."
"That's the point!" she tried to shrug out of his hold again, but he was holding her too tight. And too close…way too close. "You wouldn't know. The curse gave you a new identity. New memories. New—" she tried to explain, and as the vision went on, the line between her future self and her real self continued to blur. It was as if she could anticipate the responses. She knew what she was supposed to say. What she would say eventually. In fact, there was some part of her, she supposed, that thought this was cool…or would have had he not been holding her so very…very close.
"Yeah yeah, some sort of twisted mind-wipe. I get it. I saw the mayor crush a man's heart to ash yesterday. I can buy just about anything. But I'm telling you," he steadied her, towering over her, and Emma only just realized how tall he really was. "I'm sure of it. I've never been in love…not yet." As he said it, his voice softened to a low, throaty rumble and his gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. Holy shit! she thought as panic sunk in, and she couldn't tell if it was herself or future-Emma thinking it. He's…he's gonna…is he going to— but her brain froze up leaving only her heart in place as Clancy's head darted down. His hands moved from her arms to cup her face and he tilted her head back. "Believe me," he said softly, barely above a whisper, "if I have a happy ending…" but he didn't finish. He didn't need to. And Emma didn't pull back as he drew her into an electrifying kiss.
The world flashed white again as his arms fully enveloped her and she was wrenched away from the blissful embrace with the taste of him still on her lips. Slammed back into the present, the vision evaporating, Tillman was back and an angry mob was still headed her way. "Emma come on!" cried Clancy who still had hold of her hand and obviously hadn't noticed she'd been anywhere. This fact, however, no longer surprised her. To anyone else, her visions lasted mere seconds, regardless of how long she spent in the past…or, now, the future. She yanked her hand from his as if it were laced with poison, having no desire to go back to…whatever the hell that was. Unsure whether her heart was racing because of the vision itself or the kiss, either way her wrath had dulled enough for her to be sensible and finally, she turned to run. The mob picked up speed, seeing that she no longer stood there ready and willing to be captured. Emma, Matt and Michael ducked back into the woods, Emma overtaking the men quickly and leading them toward the toll bridge as her mother had instructed. She supposed it wasn't the brightest idea in the world, bringing a riled up mob to their only place of refuge right now, but she didn't see any other option. Glancing behind her as she ran, she noticed a few of the bulkier, beer-bellied folks tiring almost instantly and unable to keep up, but a handful of them, seeming both angry and terrified, were still out for blood. Why in the world were they – Fuck, she thought, remembering the image of the queen appearing in the mirror of Clancy's truck. Regina must have plastered her face on every mirror in town. What exactly did she say to them?
She couldn't very well stop and ask, of course, though the size of the mob was gradually diminishing. And the guys were keeping pace pretty well, even with Michael's injury, so if they just kept running—
A fallen branch protruding from nowhere clipped her ankle and sent her crashing to the cold forest floor. Michael and Matt overshot her before they could stop, and the group was suddenly upon her, each clambering to be the first to lay claim to their prey. Emma grunted as Matt called out to her, rushing to help her up, but it was no use. She turned to the mob, getting a good look for the first time at who was after her. There were five remaining of the group, and as they drew closer, she wasn't the least bit surprised to find that Dr. Whale was the leader of the pack. Emma reached behind her, grabbing for her gun only to find it gone from her holster. Shit!
"Whadya want Whale?" she spat angrily as she felt Matt's grip lock under her arms and hoist her up.
Whale and the rest slowed to a halt, stopping a few feet before them in a standoff, knowing they couldn't very well just grab her with Clancy and Tillman on either flank. "I think you know," Whale said, "or you wouldn't be running." He was holding some sort of iron rod, hardly a sophisticated weapon for a doctor but it would do the job if he got close enough.
"Well generally when people scream get her and start tearing after you with blunt objects, you don't really need a reason to run," she replied. Matt actually snickered.
"Don't play dumb, Deputy," shouted the man with the scruffy, orange beard, standing behind the doctor. "You heard her. You must've seen it. Everyone in town saw it."
"Saw what?" she spluttered, looking back at Whale and only then did she notice an expression in his face besides that of a hunter. It was fear…terror.
"24 hours, Miss Swan. That's what she said."
"That's right," cried a dark-haired man to his left. "24 hours b'fore she kills someone else!"
Emma gasped, clasping her hand against her chest as she felt her heart drop. "Th-that's what she said?"
"Don't listen to 'em, Emma," said Matt, equally freaked by what the men had just claimed, but hardly willing to take their word as proof.
"You keep outta this, Clancy," spat Whale, pointing an accusing finger up at him. "'Fact, I'm surprised to see you here. Aren't you in the business of saving people's lives?"
"At the expense of others, Whale? No. Not how it works and you know it," Emma heard him say behind her then caught her breath as she felt him slip something cold into her palm. Her gun! Somehow he'd ended up with her gun!
Dr. Whale, meanwhile, was in no mood for a Hippocratic lesson from the playboy medic. Regina wanted Emma. What she did with Emma was not his concern. All he knew (though he wasn't sure how he knew) was that Regina would be crushing one of those hearts for every day they failed to deliver Emma. And somehow, Whale had a feeling that was bad news for him.
"At the expense of others," spat the red-bearded man then nodded toward Emma. "If she had any dignity at all, she'd turn herself in. But I ain't gonna waste time waitin' for you to develop a conscience, Deputy so—" he lunged for her, winding back with what looked to be a wrench in his hand. The advance spurred the entire group into momentary chaos as both sides started forward, Emma raising her arm to take aim. But almost as soon as it began, something whooshed right past Emma's ear and sank into the flesh of the bearded man's hand. He cried out in agony, dropping the wrench before it could make contact. He clutched his left hand to his shaking wrist and stared in disbelief at a small arrow protruding through his palm.
Whale gaped at the archaic weapon while his buddy continued screaming. "What the f—"
"Language good Doctor!" bellowed a husky, female voice behind them, and all turned in shock as a stout, stocky old woman emerged from a cluster of dogwoods beyond the glade – an expertly handled crossbow in her arms, trained on Dr. Whale.
"Granny!?" Emma gasped as Michael and Matt gaped behind her.
"Stay outta this, Marie!" shouted Whale as he shoved the bleeding, whimpering man behind him and stepped toward the old diner owner.
"The name's Lynette, Whale. And while I don't have a clue who you might be, I have reason to believe this young lady is the daughter of a dear friend of mine," she glanced at Emma, a warm twinkle in her eye that inexplicably put Emma completely at ease, so much so that she holstered her own weapon. "A friend who's more like family ta me. And I'll not have you harmin' my kinfolk." The woman's grip was locked and steady, seemingly unaffected by the cold or the fact that one of Whale's companions was pounding the head of a rubber mallet threateningly against his palm, inching toward her. Minutely, she adjusted her aim a few degrees toward the mallet man and he stopped. "Try it son. It's been a long time since I got to use one of these and my trigger finger is mighty itchy."
Emma actually snorted through her nose as she watched the scene unfold and for the first time in hours, she smiled.
"You really think you can take all of us by yourself, lady?"
Granny just grinned. "Who said I'm by myself?"
On cue, another arrow sailed through the air, embedding itself in the thigh of the dark-haired man's leg. Instantly he dropped the rope he'd been holding. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" screamed the man, clutching his white palms to his leg. The rest of the group whirled around to see Ruby, or – as Emma now knew – Red Riding Hood emerging from the opposite end of the glade.
"Oops," said the raven-haired beauty, a crossbow of her own trained on her recent target and a sassy smile on her face. "Sorry about that, Gran," she winked. "I was aiming for the rope." Red was dressed very differently than Emma had ever seen her. Instead of the short, skimpy, far-too-little-for-this-kind-of-weather ensemble of red silk and leather, she was in jeans and work boots with a grey flannel shirt gathered in a modest tie at her waist…and a beautiful red cloak draped about her shoulders.
Not bothering to stick around to see how many other crazy women with crossbows would be appearing from the darkening forest, Whale and his pals at last relented, scampering back toward town.
Satisfied that the mob had dispersed, Granny and Red both lowered their weapons and converged on the spot where Emma, Matt and Michael were all standing, slightly dumbfounded. There was a warm, matronly look in Granny's eye, a look Emma frankly had seen in her often, and as she approached, Emma had a feeling that Granny Lynette was probably not much different from Granny "Marie."
"Mr. Clancy," Granny nodded at the fireman whom she knew only from Storybrooke. She turned to Michael. "Hello, Kurtis."
Tillman started, his mouth still hanging open from all he'd just witnessed. "I'm uh…I'm—"
"'Michael Tillman', of course of course," she waved him off without an explanation and turned to face the beautiful woman before her who so clearly had her mother's eyes and father's spirit. "And you…must be Emma," she said softly, with a warm hitch in her throat.
Emma nodded as Red joined them. And then both stood before her, beaming, and Emma felt suddenly like an estranged niece at a family reunion, fawned over by relatives who all apparently knew her as a baby. Just before the silence grew awkward, Granny handed Red her weapon and then pulled Emma in for a big hug, squeezing her tightly around the shoulders and praising the gods for the safe return of her friends' child. "I'm so very pleased to know you, Emma," said the woman, drawing back, so overcome with emotion that her voice sounded hoarse. She gestured beside her, taking her weapon back. "This, of course, is Red."
The girl smirked, placing a comforting hand on her grandmother's shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "We do know each other already, Gran."
"And I'm Lynette Lucas," she said, ignoring the girl. After all, it wasn't every day a woman woke up and realized she'd once rented a room to the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Such a distinguished guest deserved a proper greeting, no matter how belated.
Granny clasped Emma's hand and Emma held her breath, waiting for her superpower to whisk her away to someplace else and rob her of this special moment. But nothing happened. It was a solid, simple handshake.
"But please," said Lynette after a time, "call me Granny."
…
The shop was dark and looked empty, but that wasn't about to stop Snow from kicking down the door, marching inside and demanding the little imp tell her where Emma was before she shot his miserable, shriveled up face of his full of arrows. No doubt spurred on by that shot of adrenaline one always hears of when talk turns to that of mothers protecting their young (miraculously lifting small cars off fallen children and whatnot), Snow White had spent very little time 'quaking in her boots' following Regina's threatening edict in the mirror. In fact, Prince Adam himself quite nearly felt intimidated by the swift action taken by the princess as she'd started rummaging through the old cottage, instructing her seven brethren to finish uncovering the relatively small stock pile of weaponry she knew Grumpy and James had stored here when they'd boarded it up and moved to the palace. Something, the whispers of fate no doubt, had told her they may be back here someday and had suggested it to James the morning after their final siege to retake the kingdom.
Grumpy and his brothers were able to dig up five of their seven pick axes, three swords – two of which were handed immediately to Adam and Frederick – two grappling hooks, a couple hundred feet of rope…and Snow's bow. Well, one of many anyway. She was low on arrows of course, only a few dozen. But if she could get close enough to the queen, one would be enough.
"You know, this world has far deadlier weapons," Frederick had said rather impatiently as he used some of the rope to rig up a shoddy looking sheath on his modern belt.
"Weapons you know how to use better than that?" she'd pointed down at its blade with one of the arrows she was busy bundling together in a makeshift quiver.
"I'm pretty sure I could figure out how to shoot a gun," he'd snapped back, then dropped his gaze, struggling between the persona of former knight and more recent gym teacher. In truth, he was glad that Snow's plan was one of immediate action, but that did nothing to quell the fear nor the anger boiling under his skin at the memory of seeing Regina crushing that heart – the heart that, for all he knew, belonged to his Abigail.
Snow had thought briefly of being rational – pointing out the many little tidbits of information 'Mary Margaret' happened to know about gun laws and safety, not to mention the difficulty of finding a shop in Storybrooke that would be able to sell him one that day – then she thought the better of it. If the man's wife wasn't already dead, she very well could be in less than 24 hours. "Well, if you run across Graham and he's got a spare, by all means shoot to kill," Snow had told him as she'd shouldered her quiver and led the group back out of the caverns.
On the surface, they'd dispersed in teams. Adam had insisted on taking Doc to 'Rose's' house. He was almost certain by this point that something had happened to Belle, but he was also aware that whatever it was may very well have occurred before she'd reached her father. Snow told Grumpy to join them, an order with which the dwarf of course disagreed – Grumpy always did have the softest spot for Snow and argued that James would have wanted him with her – he obviously lost the quarrel and the three of them headed out. Frederick meanwhile led Happy and Sneezy first to the bank where 'Kathryn' worked and then to the Nolan household. Dopey and Sleepy stayed behind to guard the cottage and hopefully greet new arrivals. That left Snow and Archie, and since the old cricket always did have a way of making her see reason, she hoped he might have the same effect on Emma. Emma, whose cell phone must by now be lost or dead as she had yet to respond to any of Snow's messages. Emma, who was far too much like her father to do anything other than surrender herself to Regina if she too had heard the ultimatum. No, thought Snow as she trudged through the Snow from Archie's beat up jalopy to Mr. Gold's front door. She must find Emma first.
"Gold!" she shouted, banging on the door after finding it locked. Archie came around the corner from having tried the back but shook his head. She looked back at the door and nodded. "All right then, plan B." She slid her bow from her shoulder, grabbed it at the bottom and thrust its pointy edge down at the glass pane. Predictably, it shattered, allowing Snow to reach inside and unbolt the doorknob. She was halfway inside before a bewildered Archie even made his way back to the door.
"Gold!" she shouted again, gripping the handle of her bow tightly and wincing with every step of her booted foot. A fractured ankle wouldn't stop her though, and everyone back at the cottage knew well enough not to even bring it up as she'd secured the straps of her Cam Walker extra tight and walked up the cavern stairwell without help. Now, as she tried awkwardly to tip toe along the narrow aisles of the darkened store, Archie at her heels, the pain was catching up with her. She was about to lean over and catch her breath, but a soft thud from the back room bolted her upright; she yanked an arrow from her quiver, aimed for the curtained area and bellowed, "Rumplestiltskin!"
What she heard was not at all what she expected.
"Don't shoot!" came a youthful male voice, and a distinctly Arabian man appeared from behind the curtain, arms up in the air. He looked wryly at the bow in Snow's tight grip. "If you're here to kill Rumpelstiltskin, we're probably on the same side."
Snow didn't lower her weapon. She hadn't been to Agrabah in years but she knew all about the band of thieves and gypsies that plagued the outskirts of Rushdi's kingdom. For all she knew, this man was one of 'Stiltskin's many peons, awake and back to work after the continued weakening of the curse. "Who are you?" she demanded. But before he had a chance to answer, another emerged from behind him.
"Snow!" cried the young woman in relief as she placed her hands on her husband's arms and lowered them to his sides before stepping out from behind him.
Snow at last lowered her bow and, for perhaps the first time in hours, broke into a wide grin. "Jasmine."
…
One night, not too long ago but before Emma arrived in Storybrooke, 'Leroy' had offered a ride home to Jack Hunter's knockout bartender, Rose. It was, at the time, one of the town drunk's desperate attempts to 'get with' a pretty lady – an attempt that of course failed. But that instance coupled with a dwarf's natural sense of direction led them to Belle and Maurice's house with relative ease. And as they turned down Diamond Lane, the one with Sneezy's closed drugstore on the corner, Grumpy couldn't help but marvel at how much had happened since he and Sleepy had worked their way through the town just this morning, collecting each of their brothers and bringing them down to the cottage. How surreal it was to know that a few hours ago they were playing organ music and taking turns do-si-do'ing with Snow beneath the surface of this hellish little town.
"Which one is it?" Doc asked Grumpy as they passed the first few houses on the block.
Before Grumpy could answer, Adam sucked in a breath and shot his gaze toward the small house just beyond the stop sign. "There," he said without hesitation and started toward the French residence.
Doc glanced at Grumpy who only shrugged and followed suit. Neither were about to question Prince Adam's instincts. When they reached the front stoop, Adam rapped on the door three times, waited all of ten seconds and then jammed his shoulder inward, popping the door open into the small, sunless living room. The dwarfs stepped in behind him, shaking the snow from their shoulders and sleeves as the prince marched through the kitchen and down the hall. "Belle?" he shouted, straining his head around every corner until at last he arrived at Maurice's room. The old man was half sitting up, half lying in the bed, wide-eyed and bewildered at the strange man who had just forced his way into their home. Instinctively, he pulled the sheet up to his chin, shrinking his head back against his pillow, though when he spoke, he did so forcefully enough.
"Who are you?" he said. "What are you doing in my house?"
Adam, who had considered it far more likely to find the house deserted than not, actually jumped at the sight of him, then instantly softened. "Maurice," he said, adjusting his tone and starting toward him. But Doc had quickly sidled into the room behind him and held him back.
"He doesn't know you, remember?" he hissed as he circled in front of the towering beast and settled into the chair beside his former patient. "How are you feeling Mo?" asked Doc.
"Doctor Stone?" said Mo, his eyes now darting back and forth between the strange man and SG's chief surgeon. "I-I wasn't aware doctors s-still made house calls."
The longer he talked, the more he betrayed his fatigue and Doc grew quickly concerned. This man had had no medication for at least 12 hours, and had been bedridden for just as long. Something definitely had happened to Belle. She would not have neglected his prescribed therapy and treatment this long. "Just checking up on a friend, Mo. Is Be—er um, Rose here?" he asked pointedly, half for Adam's sake, reminding him of Belle's Storybrooke alias.
Mo shook his head. "No," he said quietly, licking his chapped lips and attempting to sit up as the doctor continued his examination. At that moment, a third man appeared in the doorway, one with a black, scruffy beard and large nose who looked vaguely familiar. Mo was certain he'd seen him about town.
"Do you know where she is?" asked Grumpy, his tone betraying his limited patience.
"I um," Mo looked down, shaking his head and furrowing his brow. His face was screwed up in tight contemplation as if he were trying to recall a memory from decades past. "I assume she went…with her boss."
It was Grumpy who bolted forward. "Her boss?!" he seethed. Adam stepped forward too, though he was more reacting to the spike in the dwarf's anxiety than anything Maurice had said.
"Y-yes," said Mo, brow still creased. "H-he stopped by a while ago t-to…pick her up. He said they'd arranged to drive to the docks together. To receive some kind of shipment."
"Shipment?" asked Adam. Grumpy waved him off.
Mo looked around, as if at last realizing Rose was indeed not there. "I-I must have dozed off before she came back. I-I'm sure she'll be back soon."
Adam had had enough and grabbed Grumpy by the collar, yanking him back toward the doorway. "What?!" he snapped.
Grumpy bit his lip, looking between him and Doc. "Bel—uh!…Rose used to work at the local bar, Garcon's," he muttered in a low voice as Doc returned to his checkup.
"Yes, she said as much, go on," ordered the prince, arms folded tightly across his chest.
"Well…" Grumpy glanced around, suddenly wishing James were here. Snow's husband had a much gentler way of breaking bad news, and Grumpy had no knack for diplomacy. "The owner's a…well pardon for sayin' so, Highness, but he was a rat bastard. Name's Jack Hunter. Treated all his employees like shit and Be-uh errrrrrrRose was no exception."
"Ease back there, Mo," Doc was saying, keeping one ear on the conversation.
"And?" Adam asked, knowing just from the heightened agitation that Grumpy was leaving something out.
Grumpy cleared his throat. "Well, I can't be sure, having never seen him myself of course but—"
"What?"
"From everything James told me back then, and everything Snow's been tellin' me now, I think Jack Hunter is actually…that same guy who…went after Belle b'fore your wedding."
Adam's nostrils flared and Grumpy could see his biceps flex even through the thin layer of scrubs Adam was still wearing. "Gaston?" he seethed, though his low growl was an almost imperceptible whisper.
"If he was here," Grumpy went on, a little louder now, "you can bet he was up to no good."
The prince was about to dash out of the room when Mo, becoming a bit more alert thanks to Doc, thrust his hand forward and shook his finger. "No no, he was quite civil to me. I'm sure she's fine. In fact, if I'm not mistaken the two of them were seeing each other."
If Mo sensed the immediate chill in the room, he didn't let on, but it certainly didn't escape the notice of Doc or Grumpy as they watched Adam's face drain of color and then fill with white hot rage. "What?"
"I don't think she wanted me to know but," Mo obliviously continued to Doc whom he wrongly supposed, given Doc's age, probably knew a thing or two about parenthood. "Fathers, you know. We have a sense."
Briefly – almost pathetically – Grumpy thought that perhaps Adam might not understand the phrase seeing each other, but it was obvious that Adam had gleaned more than enough from context. Without a word, the war hero spun on his heel and strode down the hallway.
"Adam!" Grumpy called after him, "Your Highness!" he hissed, catching up at the door. "The old man's sick, practically senile. He doesn't know what he's—"
"No," Adam shook his head, about to throw open the door. Then he stopped, noting the front closet and wrenched it open instead, rummaging around until he found a long black coat that had clearly belonged to 'Mo' at a younger age. Adam shrugged it on, and Grumpy noted that the sleeves didn't quite reach low enough. But even over his blue scrubs, the long, flowing look added to the already menacing pierce of his gaze. "No, it's perfectly clear," he said steadily, and the quiet calm in his voice startled Grumpy even more so than he imagined a bellowing rage would. "This…this is what she feared of telling me."
"Prince Adam," Grumpy tried again. "W-we were cursed. Surely you understand she wouldn't have known—"
"I would appreciate your refraining from comment on what is clearly a private matter, dwarf," Adam said curtly. And before Grumpy could get in another word, the beast was gone.
…
Frederick knew something was wrong the instant they pulled up to the Nolans' house and found the garage door hanging open. James's car was still parked in the driveway and a quick glance inside the tinted windows revealed all the supplies Snow said he'd gone back to gather in addition to retrieving Abigail. Sneezy ducked under the door and checked the garage just to be safe while Frederick and Happy inspected the driveway, finding a disturbing splattering of blood on the concrete outside the door. Clearly James had been abducted, which was bad news of course because that probably meant others who were due down in the cottage and hadn't yet arrived had been abducted too: namely Belle, Thomas, Ella, Marco and Christopher. Sneezy suggested to Frederick that this probably included Abigail, but the knight had a terrible feeling that told him otherwise.
"We need to check the house," he told them without waiting for a reply, and he raced up the front porch. It was to be a day of breaking down doors, for Frederick didn't wait much longer after the unanswered knock than Adam had at the French household before he shoved inside. "Abby?" he called, and a sickening dread pervaded him as soon as he stepped into the seemingly normal home. "Abby? James?"
The house was dark, curtains drawn, their footsteps thunking loudly on the hard wood floors. Frederick checked the kitchen, the den and dining room while Sneezy jogged down the basement steps. Happy moved to the back sitting room where a large bay window overlooked the small backyard. It was a cozy enough looking home, though he knew better than to ponder whether 'David and Kathryn Nolan' had shared any semblance of a happy life here. Regina had concocted a brilliant illusion – a waste of time really, Happy thought with an unavoidable smirk. For no bond was stronger than that of Prince James and Snow's.
He was about to turn out of the room to check elsewhere when something outside caught his eye: a rustling beyond the tree line that edged the yard. He'd noticed on the way over here that the Nolan's street ran along the north edge of town, but hadn't realized until now that their very yard butted up along the edge of the backwoods that eventually led deeper into the forest. And watching the movement through the trees, though at first he was uncertain with the snow pelting down hard, Happy eventually made out the very distinct impression of a man running through the wood. "Hey!" he called out toward the window, which of course went unheard. "James!" he shouted. "Your Highness!" his happy voice rang through the house drawing the others into the room.
"What is it?"
Happy pointed to the man excitedly. "Don't you see him?"
Sneezy followed his gaze and indeed saw someone running. "I don't think that's the prince."
"Only one way to find out," Happy jumped up and flew for the front door. He was positive it was James and the dwarf's unwavering optimism couldn't convince him otherwise. Happy he never doubted for a moment that Snow's charming prince would avoid the queen's grasp. Absolutely nothing would keep him away from their Snow. Oh how happy she would be when they brought him back and—
Happy got as far as the tree line and stopped, noting for the first time how very different this man's gait was. In fact, everything was different – his build, his size, his hair color, and the leather coat he'd obviously shrugged into haphazardly. No, Happy's shoulders slumped, dejected. It wasn't James after all. But the dwarf didn't remain sad for long; it was still the first sign of life they'd seen since setting out from the cottage. And this young man looked like he could use some help. "Hey!" Happy waved and shouted. The man seemed to stumble out of his clunky trudge through the forest and whipped around. He was young, handsome, with dark crew-cut hair, and looked to be wearing some sort of name badge peeking out underneath his lined jacket. "Where you headed friend?"
He glanced around him, squinting through the forest which, by now, he felt he'd been travelling in circles. Was the funny little man with the short, amber beard a figment of his exhaustion-induced imagination? The same imagination that may have concocted these strange images in his brain of people being flung across the admin area? Or Dawn being kidnapped? Or Maeve telling him to listen to a bunch of birds for directions? But the longer he stared, the clearer it was that the little man was real, and as it was the first real sign of life since leaving the hospital, Trent Davis started toward the yard.
"What're you doing?" hissed Sneezy as he caught up to his overly jovial brother – boy Happy had truly reverted to form. "How do we – " he paused and sneezed – "know that's someone we should trust?"
Happy was still waving as he answered aside, "I've got a feeling ok? He looks like he's lost."
He sneezed again. "Yeah and if he's one of the queen's newly awakened allies then—"
"Hey friend, where ya running to?" Happy cut off his brother as Trent squeezed between two particularly prickly branches and spilled out into the yard.
"I'm uh…not really sure," panted Trent. Maeve had told him to find the toll bridge, but in truth, though he'd lived in Storybrooke for – well, for as long as he could remember – he'd never once ventured beyond the main road separating the forest from the town. He didn't know where the toll bridge was and, as for Maeve's other bizarre command, had no idea how to talk to birds. As a result, Trent had been circling the forest aimlessly for what seemed like hours. "I'm uh, supposed to be looking for…for—" he paused and stepped back. "Who are you guys?"
Happy seemed about to answer (Sneezy ready to clock him on the head for revealing too much), when the entire group was stunned cold by a blood-curdling scream. All three whipped around and looked up at the Nolan's upstairs window. In a flash, they dashed inside and tore up the steps to the second-floor hallway.
"Nooo, Abby…Gods no," Frederick was weeping and all three men gasped as they beheld the frail, limp body of Princess Abigail half pulled into Frederick's lap, collapsed in the open doorway of the bathroom at the end of the hall. "Abby!" he cried, holding her against his chest. "My love, Abby," he muttered, his face wet with streaming tears.
The funny little men were too stunned to move, but Trent leapt into action. In an instant, he sped down the hall, shrugged out of his jacket and fell to his knees beside her. "What happened, sir?" he asked, forcefully removing the woman from the man's arms and laying her down on the cool tile.
"I f-found her in here, just…just laying here…s-she did it. She actually killed her. She's killed her!—"
"Hey," Trent grabbed his arm, a tight grip that demanded focus. "Hey! What's your name?"
"Frederick."
"Frederick. And this is Abby?"
Frederick nodded.
"All right, Frederick," he said in a calm, reassuring voice, the source of which he couldn't honestly explain if he tried except for the fact that here was a patient in trouble, and Trent knew he could help. "I need your help right now, ok? Abby is still breathing, but it's faint and she's very limp."
Frederick jerked his head down. "S-she is? She's breathing? I didn't—" his voice trembled. When he'd spotted her laying like that, he'd been so convinced it had been her heart in the mirror after all.
"Yes, but as I said it's faint. Now, do you know her sir? Are you related?"
"S-she's my wife."
"Has she been taking anything recently? Anti-depressants? Pain killers?"
Frederick's eyes shot up again. "What?! No why?"
By this time the other two men had recovered from their shock and were standing by, watching and feeling helpless. Trent continued. "Abby's exhibiting signs of overdose, Frederick. I need to know what she's taking." Come on, man, he thought, rolling his eyes, why are these enablers always so reluctant to spit it out, even when their partners are at death's door?
Frederick, however, had gone numb and couldn't seem to form words. Nothing made sense. Abby seemingly dead on the floor, but breathing? So it hadn't been her heart in Regina's hand, but she was still unconscious with no sign of injury…and now some guy was asking him about pain killers—
"Wait, what's that?" cried Happy as he pointed to a tiny orange canister tucked away behind the toilet, looking as if it had fallen or been tossed there. Trent leaned past Frederick and grabbed it. Sure enough, it was a small – empty – prescription bottle.
"David Nolan – Oxycodone HCL – 30 milligrams – take as directed by Dr. Joseph Whale," he muttered to himself, reading the label aloud and trying hard to avoid any note of reprimand in his voice. No pain pills huh? "Who's David Nolan?" Trent asked, though the name sounded familiar.
"Her husband," Frederick responded blankly.
The other two men sucked in a breath as Trent double-taked and glared at him. "I thought you were her husband!"
Frederick started, seeming to at last realize his blunder, but how was he ever going to explain the ridiculous nature of the Kathryn-David-Abigail-Frederick tangle of identities—
"Frederick," Abigail muttered suddenly, her voice a breathless whisper as if speaking in a deep sleep.
"Abby!" Frederick cried leaning down toward his wife before Trent thrust his arm out.
"Stay back, sir. This is good but I need you to stay back. Abby? Abby, my name's Trent. Can you hear me?"
"F-Frederick she…she made me do it—"
"Abby I'm right here—"
"Ma'am I need to know how much of this you took. How much was left in the bottle—"
"S-she was c-controlling me again…James…I think I – James…I'm so sorry Snow…she made me…"
"Abby!" Frederick cried, squeezing her hand. So the queen had used his wife; she had manipulated her heart – to betray them, just as she'd been fearing.
"She's delirious," said Trent who didn't for a second try to comprehend what the woman was muttering. "You," he pointed at Happy while he yanked his phone from his jacket pocket and tossed it up. "Call 9-1-1. And you—"
"Need an emetic?" Sneezy asked, his drugstore owner alter-ego kicking in as he at last put together both sides of what was happening here: Abigail had been used by the queen, used to abduct James no doubt since she was deliriously apologizing to Snow. When the witch was finished, princess Abigail had been left alone with her guilt – left alone to face the one thing of which the poor girl was most afraid – the queen's ability to make her turn on her friends. Terrified she'd hurt someone else, she seemed to have downed all of David Nolan's pain pills from when he'd been in therapy for his shoulder, something druggist 'Tom Clark' knew all too well could be fatal if they couldn't get it out of her system fast. What a disaster!
Trent was surprised by the man's impressive assessment, then finally recalled the face and realized it was the town pharmacist he was talking to. He nodded. "Yeah. Check the kitchen; see what you can dig up. Either a salt or mustard solution at least if you don't find anything else," he said, then turned back to Abigail. "Abby, I'm gonna help you up to your knees here and then I need you to focus, all right? You've been poisoned," he called to her as if she were 15 feet away while he and Frederick hoisted her up. "And you need to throw it up. All right? Abby? Do you understand me?"
For the next twenty minutes, the strange band of souls – one soul still cursed, others free – managed to treat Abigail with a creative home remedy emetic and unwavering vigilance. By the time the ambulance pulled in and Mark Ross hopped out of his rig, they'd already cleared her stomach and were in the process of rehydrating her.
"Glad you were here, Davis," said Ross with a sardonic grin on his face as Abby was soon loaded into the rig with Frederick behind her. "Looks like you showed up for work after all."
Trent blinked, not understanding. Then it dawned on him. "Oh!" he slapped himself on the forehead. "Jeez, Rossy, I'm sorry. I got completely sidetracked at – "
"We know, Rookie," said Doug Greene – Rossy's partner – as he came around the other side of the van and swung the doors shut. "We're just messing with you. We know you were there when that shit went down at the hospital. Ten different staffers confirmed you'd been knocked out in the chaos. Old Maeve said you went home with a nasty bump on the head."
"Yeah," chuckled Rossy, "at least you have an excuse. Clancy called me in to sub, but Chief is still madder than a blind man at a strip club. Third call-off in two weeks."
"Clancy," Trent muttered himself as bits of pieces of the day came back together and Matt's voice echoed in his head…I already got Rossy to cover my shift, but Chief is convinced I'm just fighting another hangover, so he's probably gonna ask you today when you get in.
"He uh," Trent gulped, "he said was…sick."
Greene just rolled his eyes. "Uh huh, yeah. Must be real nauseating spending the entire evening with Donna Andersen."
Trent shrugged. He'd known Clancy's lame excuse wouldn't fly with the guys, let alone Chief.
"Gotta say, kid, you've missed one hell of a shift," added Doug as he walked the two of them around to the front of the van. "You catch that smoke and mirrors show the mayor somehow pulled off? Hell, we haven't had so many calls in—" a hazy look crossed his face before he continued – "well, ever I think. Panic attacks, heart attacks, small riots. It's a mess out there."
"Smoke and mirrors show?"
"Yeah," Rossy hopped in the driver's seat and thumped his fist against the door, staring down at Trent. "Real Hollywood eff-ex stuff if you ask me. Anyway, be glad you ain't at 'the house' right now, Rookie. Take care o' that bump on the head. 'S gonna be a long week." Rossy slammed the rig into drive and was about to speed off, but at that moment, the small man with the enduring grin appeared from behind Trent and launched forward, laying his hand on the edge of Rossy's window. "So…you saw the…the mirror thing with the mayor?"
The medic glanced down at Happy's hand, perturbed, but nodded. "Yeah. What a crock right? A little late for Halloween if y'ask me." And with that, they drove off.
Trent didn't know how long he stood, watching the ambulance recede into the distance, but he was acutely aware that the short man was still standing next to him, waiting it seemed until the right moment to speak up again.
"What?" Trent asked, more sharply than he had intended.
"You did well back there young man. What's your name?"
"Davis. Trent Davis."
"Trent Davis?" he stuck out his hand. "I'm Hap—" but at that moment Sneezy came up behind him and smacked his shoulder. "Hap-py to meet you, Trent," the dwarf recovered, throwing Sneezy a sly grin. "I'm Joel. And this is Tom Clark from—"
"From Diamond Lane Drugs, I know," Trent nodded to both of them. "Thanks for your help."
"Did you uh—" Sneezy sneezed, then glanced warily at Happy. "Did you see the mayor's message?"
Trent shook his head, still sorting through the last several hours. In truth, he couldn't make heads or tails of what was real and what wasn't. He did in fact have that nasty bruise on the head, the one that Maeve had helped patch up and the gauze was still there to prove it. Was her hurried explanation of the psycho woman in the hospital and Dawn's abduction just the onset of a concussion playing hallucinogenic tricks on his brain? Perhaps, except, now a whole new set of people were talking about some strange light show of the mayor in a mirror! What the hell was going on?
"You seemed—" sneeze "—a little lost back there," Sneezy continued. "Said you were supposed to be looking for something?"
Trent hugged his arms and huffed. Just why exactly did it seem he was being interrogated all of a sudden? Hadn't he just saved that woman's life? He glanced between the two men, Tom looking just as incredulous as he sounded and Joel looking – well – in far too good a mood. In the end, he supposed these two had more answers than he did. And…Follow the path out toward the toll bridge…Maeve had said…You'll run into some friends along the way… Were these the 'friends' he was supposed to run into? "I was s'posed to be," he started slowly, "looking for the…toll bridge."
Trent couldn't immediately tell if the effect was a good one, for both men bristled. "The toll bridge huh?" asked Joel, elbowing Tom in the ribcage in a manner so devoid of subtly, it prompted Tom to roll his eyes, grab Joel by the sleeve and drag him away, urging Trent to stay put.
"What exactly does that tell us?" Sneezy hissed when they were out of earshot.
"Someone told him to find us!" cried Happy excitedly. "The toll bridge is the spot where the animals start leading—"
"I know that, Happy, but what if that someone who sent him to find us is the same someone trying to kill us?"
Happy gave his brother a long, wry glare. "Who are you now, Grumpy? Did you see how he saved Abigail just now? This man is not a villain. He's an ally. Probably someone Snow even knows. I say we take him back to the rendezvous and—"
"Excuse me?" said Trent, stepping forward. "Look, you two obviously have something to work out here, and I was actually in the middle of helping someone else, so if you don't mind just pointing me in the direction of—"
"Someone else?" Happy turned back, curious as ever. "Someone else in trouble?"
Trent thought for a moment, glanced again between the two of them, and sighed. What the hell? These two made about as much sense as Maeve. "A nurse named Dawn Charles. She was…taken from the hospital today."
"Taken?" said Sneezy, nudging Happy aside as he too now was wide-eyed with anticipation.
"Yeah, by some crazy doped up woman who came tearing through the ER today, and honestly I—" he paused and ran his hands nervously through his short hair, brushing the snow from his head – "I just don't know what to believe anymore."
"Whadyou mean?" asked both dwarfs together.
Again, he hesitated, but there was something very trusting, at least in Joel's eyes, that to Trent felt oddly comforting. "You two are talkin' about something with the mayor in a mirror today?" They nodded. "Well, I saw a woman fling an armed guard across the admin desk this morning…without even touching him."
Happy and Sneezy gave each other a fierce nod which Trent didn't seem to notice.
"Then she took my friend. Now tell me how that's possible."
This time it was Sneezy who replied. "Why don't you stick with us, Trent," he clapped the man on the shoulder. "We're headed for the toll bridge too."
…
"So you're telling me that one of Regina's and 'Stiltskin's most vicious pawns is tied up in your gym right now and you…left him there?" Snow gaped, unable to keep the hint of criticism from her voice.
But Jasmine and Aladdin just smiled at each other and nodded. "Oh believe me, Snow. He's not going anywhere."
Snow and Archie glanced at each other, both sharing unspoken doubts that the infamous Honest John was indeed secure. However: "Well, I'm not about to argue with the Sultana of Agrabah," she gave her friend an exaggerated head bow and Jasmine chuckled.
"Sultana-elect," she quipped. "The curse was enacted only days before my coronation."
Snow nodded then added in a softer, more sincere tone, "I'm so glad for you both. That you're awake. And safe and—"
"Thanks to your daughter, your Highness," Aladdin offered, his own head bowed in a genuine show of respect.
Snow gasped, clasping tightly to Archie's wrist. "You've seen Emma? She was with you?"
Aladdin shook his head. "Not at the gym, but late this morning. She and Graham were with me when I…first jogged my memory. Here in fact," he gestured around the small back stock room area, "where I spotted a pair of—" he glanced down at Jasmine who gazed at him thoughtfully – "well, something special to both of us."
Snow limped along the square table, meeting the couple on the other side. "So she did come here. Did she see Rumpelstiltskin? She was looking for her son, Henry. Did he tell her where he is?"
Aladdin sighed and looked down at the map of realms that still lay in the center of the room. Of course, it lacked the luster and mystical glow of 'Stiltskin's touch, but it was enough to recall the imp's elaborate and complex explanation of the curse, its properties, their world and their realms. "Your Highness—"
"Snow," she insisted with a soft nod.
"Snow," Aladdin nodded, "You know as well as I do that no one ever gets what they really want with Rumpelstiltskin. But no one leaves empty handed either."
She sighed, rubbing her temples between her thumb and forefinger as Archie gave her other arm a gingerly pat.
"What did he tell her?" asked the town shrink.
Aladdin took a deep breath, casting a worried glance at his wife, for he hadn't even gone through it all with her yet. "He…told Emma what needed to be done to break the curse."
Snow's head whipped up. "Break the curse?" she exclaimed. "But – aren't we already doing that?"
Aladdin gave a sympathetic smile. "Emma said the same thing, but no. Apparently not."
The street rat proceeded, as best he could remember, to sum up the gist of 'Stiltskin's lengthy exposition about realms and guardians. When he was finished, Snow looked so overwhelmed that Archie felt compelled to move behind her in case she fainted. "So," she started slowly, thickly, as if the pressures of discovering her responsibilities with regard to the very fate of magic were physically weighing her down, "you and I," she looked up at Jasmine whose expression registered equal shock, "are two of these – these guardians of magic." Aladdin answered for his wife with a nod, but Snow was shaking her head. "That's…that's not possible." She looked up at Archie. "My father would have told me something like that. He was adamant about telling me everything I needed to know when I became queen."
Aladdin looked down, not wanting to give offense to a deceased royal, but it couldn't be helped. "Everything but this. 'Stiltskin said the secret was only ever revealed on the eve of one's coronation. It wasn't even shared between father and son – or, daughter," he said with a sigh then turned to his wife. "You were still a few days yet from yours. In fact, the only one of you who would even be aware of it would be King Philip," he turned back to Snow and Archie with a snort, "and trust me, that guy's nowhere close to his happy ending."
Snow was silent for a long while, pressing her palms together tightly. A few times she looked as if she would speak, but then closed her mouth again. There were simply too many questions. Finally, Archie asked for her. "How did Emma react?" he said softly, placing a hand on Snow's shoulder.
"Bout the same," Aladdin gestured to Snow. "A cross between shock and – er, uh – nausea."
Snow sighed and sunk her head into her hands. "So…" she took a deep breath. "Do you know where Emma and Graham went?"
At this Aladdin looked down a bit sheepishly. "No I uh," he glanced back at his wife, "I bolted for the gym the second I woke up."
Snow started. "Woke up?" she shook her head. "You mean you didn't – weren't you two – you didn't wake up together?"
"No. It happened here. Right outside. After I'd found the," he stopped himself again, "when I found the…this item that—"
"Oh stop being so cryptic. What is it you found?" Jasmine nudged him on the arm, though appreciative that her husband obviously wanted to keep something private.
Aladdin looked down at her warmly. "I found our flutes."
Jasmine gasped, her eyes watering instantly. "You found our flutes?" she swooned, brushing her hand up his arm and squeezing tightly.
Snow shot them a look. "Focus please?"
Jasmine started. "Sorry."
"Anyway," he chuckled, "when I opened the case, I…I – it didn't do anything at first." Aladdin looked back at Snow. "Not until Emma touched me."
Snow reeled back. "What? Emma woke you? But—"
"I'm not sure why, but when she touched my shoulder, something went through me. And all of a sudden, it was like someone had lifted this – this blindfold from my eyes. She's powerful, your daughter. More than you know. Way more than she knows."
"But how could her touch affect you?" asked Archie, who himself had seen and heard enough of how and why people 'woke up'. He had studied it, in fact, since it was now his most eager desire to remember his own past. Snow too couldn't fathom the connection since every other awakening had been prompted by a reunion or reconciliation of some sort. The only exception, of course, had been her own husband, but James's amnesia accounted for his own recovery.
Aladdin cleared his throat, "I do have a theory about that, but we've gotta find her first. It's…" he glanced down again at his wife. "It's one of the reasons we came back here – to find out where she went. Unfortunately 'Mr. Gold's'not here," he grumbled, holding the pocket of his coat tightly to his side. Snow noted it, but had far too many other things to worry about. "And if Emma saw what we saw—"
"You saw Regina? In the mirror?" Snow cut in.
There was a slight roll of the eye as he nodded. "Oh yeah. Jasmine's gym is wall-to-wall mirrors. We saw her in wide screen."
The four of them stood a moment, each sensing the collective uncertainty of what to do next. Finally, it was Archie who spoke. "We should head back to the toll bridge, Snow. Re-group. See what the others have found."
Snow glanced around at the trinkets adorning the shelves. The prudent thing to do, as James would suggest, would first be to raid Gold's shop and take back those items that belonged with them or might prove to be useful in some way. But she hadn't the energy to spare. Her daughter was out there somewhere. No doubt on a mission to get herself killed. The only consolation she had right now was that Graham was with her. Perhaps he could at least delay her decision to become a martyr to protect the town. In the meantime, Archie was right. They had all agreed to meet back at the bridge within the hour if they'd found anything. And she was pretty sure this new and disturbing revelation about the fates of all their kingdoms qualified.
"You're right," she nodded to Archie who helped her maneuver her clunky boot back out of the narrow path between the table and wall shelving. She glanced back at Aladdin and Jasmine who were remaining still. "Are you coming?"
They glanced nervously at each other. "We…" Jasmine started slowly. "We came to see 'Stiltskin for… something else too. We need to find him."
"Not to make a deal—" Snow exclaimed, alarmed.
"No no, never."
"Then you should come with us," she went on. "You know you won't find 'Stiltskin if 'Stiltskin doesn't want to be found."
"But—"
"Aladdin," Jasmine placed a firm hand on his forearm and shook her head. "She's right. We're not gonna find him here, and if we really do have all this power to protect," she glanced back at a grateful Snow, "then we need to stick together." Then quietly, she added, "You can't even be sure you're right about…the lamp. It can wait."
Reluctantly, Aladdin nodded, and the entire party left immediately for the bridge.
…
"I don't get it," said Emma as she walked beside Granny, pulling her collar up tightly around her neck as the snow and wind whipped through the trees. "You two weren't even speaking to each other. You weren't anywhere near your happy ending."
Granny smiled as she glanced over at Red on Emma's left. "Well, your mother dropped by the diner before she headed down to meet you," she replied. "Said a whole lot about curses and fairy tales and forgotten memories that of course made no sense to a sour old biddy like me, but when my entire diner erupted in terror at the sight of their mayor promising vengeance on innocent souls, and a group of them got all fired up and set out to huntin' ya—"
"It didn't take Granny and me long to see a bigger picture, Emma," smiled Red. "Once we realized you'd be hunted down—"
"Like a wolf," Granny emphasized, clutching her old cross bow across her chest like a trophy. "We woke up, and immediately headed for the forest to help."
Red let out a little chuckle as she too pulled tightly at her scarlet cloak, throwing the hood over her head to counter the snowfall. "Staring down angry mobs is a specialty of Gran's," she said, then added as she glanced proudly at her grandmother, "Rescuing innocents from themselves. That's what makes Granny happy." Granny stared straight ahead, a militant glean in her eye as she stayed the course, determined not to choke up at Red's high praise. Emma looked nervously between the two and Red wriggled up her nose with a smirk. "Refusing to accept compliments," she said wryly, "also makes Granny happy."
"All right, quiet you," Granny snapped, though there was a healthy rosiness to her cheeks as they trudged further on toward the toll bridge.
Michael and Matt were trailing behind on account of the sprint through the forest having worsened Michael's bad leg. They were keeping a pretty close pace though and every so often, Emma glanced back and caught Clancy's eye. His return look was always the same – a little confusion, and a lot of kindness. He had instinctively glommed on to at least a fraction of understanding that there were strange forces at work here, forces that would only be explained if he stuck with this strange group of misfits and saw it through. Again, Emma peaked behind her and he shot her a half grin as he helped Michael over a downed tree. She started and whipped her head back around.
Red didn't miss a beat. "See somethin' you like, Emma?" she teased, nudging her in the ribs.
But Emma wasn't about to let this already mind-boggling day descend into insipid 'girl talk.' "Just wondering about our friends back there." She turned to Granny, "You said his name was Kurtis?"
"Mmm," Granny nodded. "Kurtis Van Houten. He and his kids used to come by every fall and tend to our hedges. Good family. We were devastated when we'd heard what happened." She too glanced back at 'Michael Tillman' and sighed. "Sure hope there's a chance a findin' his little ones."
"There is," Emma said quietly, feeling somewhat renewed by the strength in numbers, though not at all confident about…well, anything. "At least I think so. Yesterday, Graham said—" Emma stopped dead in her tracks as they cleared a particularly dense section of forest and came upon the toll bridge. Standing in its shadow were a half dozen people in various stages and degrees of bewilderment and/or conversation. There was Leroy, Archie, and Dr. Stone from Storybrooke General, along with a man she didn't recognize, Trent Davis, and what looked to be the owner of the drugstore where she first met the Zimmers. But Emma hardly took notice of them. In fact, she barely registered Shane—or Aladdin standing with his arm slung around a woman she assumed was Jade. Her eyes locked instead with Snow's, eyes that immediately welled up with tears upon seeing her mother. The young deputy, of course, had little frame of reference for that inexplicable feeling of simply needing to see one's mom. She'd relied on herself for so long, she hardly recognized the sensation for what it was. But conscious of it or not, Emma sprinted across the hundred or so foot gap between them and flung her arms around her mother's neck.
Snow staggered back as Emma embraced her, but she recovered quickly and clasped her close. "Oh sweet girl," she whispered, unable to help herself though she suspected this time Emma wouldn't mind the endearment or the show of affection. In fact, she sensed everyone around her graciously allowing them this brief reunion, recognizing that while it had been barely a day since they'd split up at the apartment, her daughter seemed to have endured a lifetime of pain. "I'm so glad you're safe," she said and squeezed tight.
"You too…Mom," she said and Snow heard the tiniest sniffle. Emma buried her head in her mother's shoulder, her soul flooding with relief. "You too."
…
***Okay…well. I suppose it goes without saying that this one took ummm…a while. But I can't entirely blame the two musicals, final exams, grading and graduation stuff that monopolized all of April and half of May. I also came down with the WORST case of writer's block I've had since starting this story, so I apologize for the delay and thank EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU for waiting so patiently. Thank you for all the recent follows and reviews and for sticking with poor Emma through her growing pains here at "Toll Bridge!"
Now that summer's here and I'm back on track, I should be able to do a better job with the updates. Plenty more in store as we lead into the final battle. We've got some happy endings to mend and some hearts to save…and some rambunctious little kids just itching to 'get outta Dodge.' Hope you are still enjoying and hope your summers are all off to a fabulous start.
-Nikstlitslepmur***
PS – There have been many readers who have either reviewed or messaged me about whether or not I'll be bringing in Neil, and I'm sure those same people are even more curious now as to what Emma's future vision means. I'm afraid I can't answer outright as it would ruin the fun, but I can only reiterate that I pledged to continue the story that I originally laid out in my head regardless of where the canon of the show went, and that I would fit canon in where it worked and ignore what didn't. That being said, you should know that a particular bit of canon concerning Henry and Emma and Rumpelstiltskin is actually quite close to what I had planned anyway and if you were paying close attention to Emma's vision when she touched 'Stiltskin a few chapters back, you have probably already guessed it. So though I make no promises, I have not forgotten about your questions and they will be answered. Hopefully, you will enjoy the ride!
Happy Summer!