Emma sprints until she can go no further. Jones catches her down the shore, huddling with her knees tucked into her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs in a wooden castle. He approaches cautiously, hand slowly reaching out as he did in the lake house. Frightened eyes blowing wide, Emma scrambles backward, desperately trying her damnedest to get away from him. He's gonna kill me! Instantly, he plants his feet in the gritty sand. "Swan, I don't know what you overheard," he starts gently.
"I heard her offer you everything you want, in exchange for my heart." Her voice is hoarse with tears and shakes with her fear. Emma growls in frustration at the fact and angrily swipes at her face, clearing–or more accurately, smearing–the evidence of her distress. "She said she'd bring back Gold's memories if you ripped my heart out and killed me." He sighs wearily. This is it.
"Then you know I didn't accept," he points out, voice gentle. Her guts, swirling as they are with instinctive fear, don't clench in that tell-tale way. Jones is telling the truth. It isn't very comforting, though.
"You also didn't refuse." Uncontrollable tears sting her eyes as they brim over.
"Emma, I did. I should have done so faster, I'll admit. But I'm a man of my word and I agreed to your terms, basic human decency for the duration. Ripping your heart out hardly constitutes as such." She can tell from his tone he's trying to calm her down. Her green eyes dart between his blue ones, desperately seeking the truth. There's no twisting in her gut. There's no apparent hesitation in his voice or on his face. He's telling the truth. "Emma, please listen to me, lass." He sits next to her on the wooden castle, deliberately setting his hand down splayed on the weather-beaten wood where she can see it. Emma still scoots backward, keeping wary eyes darting nervously between his hand, his hook and his face. "The last time I worked with her, she inevitably betrayed me. I've no intention of working with her again. No matter what pretty promises she makes, because she has no intention of delivering on them."
He sighs and turns to face her head-on. Gently, he pushes down her legs, eliminating the flimsy barrier she's tried to erect between them. "Emma, there is one reason I am here."
"To kill the Dark One." She cuts in, quickly gathering her legs up and scooting away. Emma tells herself she doesn't notice or care about the way Jones' face falls. She roughly swipes her face with her sleeve and tries composing herself again. "You were pretty outspoken about it. And I'm not even upset about that or anything. You were honest about it. I'm not gonna get in your way, but I don't wanna die for your quest for vengeance." Her words tumble out, growing faster, as her frantic voice rises in her increased panic. More tears burn her eyes and raw emotion lodges in her throat. "I'm thirteen! I don't wanna die!"
"No, Emma. You." Jones cuts across her panic, instantly halting her in her tracks. Her brow furrows and she cocks her head. Her gut is clenching in the particular way that has her anticipating a lie. Green eyes squinting, she searches his face as he continues regardless of her scrutiny and skepticism. "You, and the possibility of breaking the curse. You are the reason I'm here. I could have passively waited out the curse in the Enchanted Forest, but I heard about a Savior and came to find you." His sea-blue eyes are earnest as they implore her. "Regina can't, and more importantly wouldn't, do as she falsely promised. You, however, there's not a doubt in my mind you'll break this curse."
No one's ever had that kind of faith in her. He's so certain she'll be able to do it. She wants to succeed, just for that. Just to keep someone who believes in her. To prove him right and to not disappoint the only one who has ever believed in her like that. "Swan, I'm not working with the Evil Queen. I erroneously threw in my lot with her once and it nearly got me killed. If not for my sparkling wit, dashing good looks and roguish charm, it bloody well would have." He winks at her as Emma gives a nervous, wet chuckle. "I may be an impulsive bastard, but I do learn from my mistakes and am not inclined to repeat them. Three hundred years will grant you that kind of wisdom. I'm not working with the Evil Queen again. I've thrown in my lot with the Savior, and thus far, you're doing a hell of a job."
He sighs wearily. "I'm a pirate, love. I know which way the wind blows. And right now, the mighty winds of fortune are gusting in your direction." Emma chooses not to point out the fact that winds change all the time, are infamous for it, in fact. And that means he'll change as well. Of course he will. You know he will. "I know that, and the queen knows that. The clock tower moving and people acting out of turn, the way it infuriates her," Jones lists off. "That's all irrefutable proof, Savior."
"Not a Savior," Emma mutters, roughly swiping at her eyes and nose.
"Actually, Swan, that's exactly what you are." Jones corrects her with a kind smile.
His reassurances and some food from Granny's, the diner in town, go a long way to calming Emma back down. Walking through town, Emma explains what she observed of the layout the day before. She mentions the book from the library, the one Sheriff Humbert actually allowed her to leave the station with following her second arrest. When they return to the ship, he flicks through the pages and affirms it's an accurate account, to the best of his knowledge. Jones qualifies his statement by admitting that he's far from an expert and didn't personally witness most of it. Rumplestiltskin's cameos unsurprisingly tend to piss him off, though.
That night, she begins thinking of a plan. If the curse took away everyone's happy endings, the logical place to commence breaking the curse is to return them. Right? That's logical, Emma thinks. The clock tower sort of started on its own, no Savior input required, but the curse is still intact. Right, because simply coming to town and sticking it to the Evil Queen would be too easy. Make the curse die a death by a thousand cuts, if I need to.
The next morning, Emma hums while doing her chores on the Jolly. Then, by mutual agreement after almost burning down the ship, she and Jones head into town for breakfast. Emma's there for the food, Jones is there for the recon. It's apparently a central gathering place in town, where everyone, including the reclusive Mr. Gold, goes at some point during their day. They sit at a table by the window. Ruby struts over in her insanely high heels with a perky grin.
"What can I get you two?" She bites on the end of her pen while grinning at Jones.
He shoots her a rakish grin Emma's never seen, surveying the woman up and down in the white blouse tied above her belly button and short red uniform skirt. "A coffee and whatever you'd recommend for me, love." His voice is deep and his blue eyes are hooded as he answers. He winks, and Ruby giggles.
"No preference?"
"I'm confident whatever you decide will be lovely, darling." His mouth turns up in a lazy smirk under the stubble. That Irish brogue actually drips off his words. Ruby winks back with a grin, jotting something down on her notepad. Emma shrugs off the whole exchange as Ruby turns to her.
"Just a hot cocoa with cinnamon, please? And pancakes?"
"Mmhmm, coming right up," she answers with a perky grin. "Hot cocoa and cinnamon, kind of a unique combo. Mary Margaret," she jerks her thumb at the woman sitting at the counter, "she really likes that too." Ruby turns and struts away, swinging her hips in her short red skirt. How the hell does she walk in those? How can I learn to walk in shoes like those? Jones' eyes narrow for a moment at the woman Ruby singled out at the counter, then widen as some realization hits him.
"What?" Emma asks impatiently.
"Anything about that woman look familiar to you, Swan?" She glances over her shoulder.
Emma shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. She was one of the people in the crowd at the clock tower the other day. Looks like she's a teacher." A realization hits her. "Oh God, you're not gonna make me go to school, are you?" He chuckles at her tone of dread.
"No, I'm not. Appears it'd be a waste of your valuable time, Savior."
"Seriously, will you please stop calling me that?" He grins smugly. "So, what about her?"
"Look closer." Emma glances between Mary Margaret at the counter and Jones sitting across the table. One has her back to the entire exchange, the other is watching her expectantly, waiting for some realization to dawn. He sighs. "I suppose there's time for that later." He steps away to use the facilities as Ruby returns with his coffee and her hot cocoa. Emma bounces her leg as she sips.
The teacher seems to feel eyes on her, and she turns with a welcoming smile. She waves across the diner. Emma freezes at getting caught staring, then feebly waves back, still thinking through whatever it was Jones had to mean. Should she look familiar? Emma turns back to the table, thinking. Something about her seemed familiar at the clock tower the other day. But given the fact that the woman was a complete stranger, Emma chose to place it out of her mind.
A face Emma really has no desire to see slips into Jones' spot in his absence. The mayor. "Miss Swan, a word?" Emma huffs impatiently and shrugs. You're gonna say your piece anyway, regardless. So might as well. "I just wanted to let you know, Miss Swan, I'm no longer worried."
"You're no longer concerned about the terrible threat a thirteen-year-old poses to your town?" Emma deadpans. The corner of her mouth turns up in a slight smirk as the mayor huffs a breath, brown eyes ominously flashing a warning. "Or you're no longer offering Jones everything he wants to rip out my heart?" Regina's eyes widen minutely, her nostrils flare.
She continues as if Emma never mentioned the discussion on the Jolly. "You see, I did a little digging into who you are." Did you get Gold to help you? "What I found out was quite soothing. It all comes down to the number seven."
"Seven?" Emma repeats without emotion.
"That's the number of addresses you've had in the last twelve months. You're longest anywhere, over your entire life, was two and a half years." Yeah, I remember. The Smiths had a kid of their own when I was three, no need to remind me, lady. Emma carefully keeps her face impassive as she stares down the mayor.
"Yeah, moving at the whims of the child welfare system's a bitch. What's your point?"
"In order for something to grow, Miss Swan, it needs roots. And you don't have any. People don't change, they only fool themselves into believing they can."
"You don't know me."
"I think I do. The juvenile delinquent. You're a nasty little troublemaker who stirs up problems everywhere you go. The unwanted orphan girl. Your own parents didn't even want you, did they?" Emma tilts her head slightly at the cruel words. They cut deep, because it's only the millionth time the specific cut's been made. But it seems distinctly off-putting to Emma that a grown woman, who isn't her foster parent, is making these comments. Hell, if Emma wants to follow the logical path of the curse to that locked box in her mind, then Regina is the reason she doesn't have her parents. "The few decent places you've landed, you've run. You're a runner, aren't you, Miss Swan? Consider a clean break with the community as you carry on with your transient life. It's going to happen anyway."
"Real protective of this community, aren't you?" Emma arches her brows in challenge.
"We're a tight-knit group." Her voice is hard as she answers what should be a light, friendly statement. I'm sure you are. "And you don't belong here." There it is! Regina glances down dismissively. "Enjoy your cocoa." With that, she stands and exits the diner, letting the bell chime quietly.
Hands flat on the table, feeling the need to move, Emma pushes up only to spill her cocoa down her shirt. "Oh, dammit," she mutters impatiently. Ruby skips over with a washcloth and a sympathetic grimace. "Do you have a laundry room I can use?"
"Mmhmm!" she cheerfully answers with the same perky red smile. Ruby directs her to the back, past the bathrooms, near the hall that leads to the bed-and-breakfast. With a huff, Emma stomps in that direction. Heedless of the conspicuous marks and ragged scars, she strips down to her bra and roughly tosses the shirt and flannel into a load. She shakes in some detergent powder and angrily slams the lid for good measure. She borrows a blue button-up from a convenient shelf labeled 'Lost and Found' with a shrug.
A defeated sigh breaks through her frustrated concentration. A young woman with blond hair escaping her ponytail and hanging across her face stands by the dryer, pulling sheets out with a cringe. The woman spreads the sheets out, looking down.
"You okay?" Emma asks. Her voice comes out a bit harder than intended, still prickly.
"The sheets, they're uh, they're pink." The woman states the obvious. Simple mistakes with easy fixes like that, in some of the group homes or foster homes she'd been in, were typically met with severe punishments.
"You try bleach?" Emma suggests, buttoning her borrowed shirt. The woman lowers the sheets to show a round, very pregnant belly under her apron. Her name tag reads Ashley. She sets the sheets down with a defeated sigh. "Oh."
Rubbing her belly, Ashley explains, "Last night, I uh, I felt contractions. And the doctor said that the baby could come any day now." Her shaky voice sounds like she's on the verge of tears.
"So, that's great," Emma responds, for lack of anything else to say.
"It's just that, um," Ashley whispers, "when the, when the baby comes, it's…" She shakes her head, cutting herself off. Her hands keep moving across her rounded belly and at her sides. "No one thinks that I can do this. No one thinks I can do anything." Well, if that's not a familiar feeling. "Maybe they're right."
Emma turns away from the washer with a steely glare. "Screw 'em."
"What?"
"Screw them. I know what that's like. Everyone loves to tell you what you can and can't do. Probably especially with a kid. But ultimately, whatever you're considering doing or giving up, the choice is yours." She grits out what she's desperately needed to hear her whole life. Ashley's round, blue eyes look uncertainly into Emma's.
"It's not exactly what you might think," she sniffles.
"It never is. People are gonna tell you who you are your whole life. You just gotta punch back and say 'no, this is who I am.' You want people to look at you differently? Make them. If you wanna change things, you're gonna have to go out there and change them yourself because there are no fairy godmothers in this world."
"You have?" Ashley asks uncertainly. There's a faint glimmer of hope starting in her eyes, though.
"A kid? No. But I have been stuck with other people making my decisions for me, taking choices that definitely, rightfully, should have been mine out of my hands. So, I punched back." She shrugs. "Literally, in some cases." Ashley lets out a small, watery giggle. The corner of Emma's mouth turns up slightly. "Look, Ashley, you're clearly working your ass off. You're old enough to make the decision yourself. To hell with anyone who tells you otherwise. I'm not saying it's not going to be hard, because it will. But the choice is rightfully yours to make." The wheels are turning behind Ashley's eyes.
"Thanks. Hey, what's your name?"
"Emma." They shake hands with soft smiles. Ashley goes off to work with a more confident set to her shoulders. Emma returns to the table for some pancakes. Jones quirks a brow at the shirt, or at her expression.
"Got a good feeling. About the you-know-what," she informs him. He smiles.
"You can refer to the curse by name, you know." Emma shrugs. "Savior," he tacks on, smirking at her scowl. As they finish their meal, Emma collects her shirt from the laundry as Jones pays with cash from Nelson's wallet. They both head back down to the docks, as Jones mentions something about supplies for the Jolly.
Jones scowls at the meager offerings of the marine supply shop. "Not a proper sail in sight," he mutters under his breath. "No pitch. Not even proper rope." He stalks back and forth, glaring at the display like it personally offended him. Emma taps her foot, staring around, bored out of her mind but definitely not about to say anything to attract attention on the chance his ire gets directed at her. She wants to help with the Jolly. She just doesn't want to get in Jones' warpath.
"Something I can help you with?" A man in a sales apron asks as he approaches.
"Ah, no, thank you. Everything's fine," Jones offers another insincere smile.
The man quirks an eyebrow. "You've got that gorgeous brig at the end, right?" Jones nods. The man sighs, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "Well, I'm sorry to say it, but you're in sort of a niche market. I, uh, I really don't know what to tell you." He shrugs and turns, and Emma realizes where she recognizes him from. Short dark brown curls hidden under a red baseball cap, twinkling brown eyes, and a tattoo sleeve lining his left arm. She recognizes him from the day before. "Well hey, Sunshine. How'd the chainsaw work out?" His wide smile reveals his pearly white teeth, dimples, and deep laugh lines. She grins.
"Chainsaw?" Jones asks.
"Hey, Fitz. It, uh, worked out pretty well."
"I never did ask what you used it for." He crosses his arms across his chest.
Emma faces him head-on. "The mayor's apple tree." Both men chuckle quietly.
"If I'd've known that…" Fitz shakes his head. "You ever need to go after the mayor again, I'll happily lend you the flamethrower." He winks. Emma's eyes sparkle and her grin grows. Fitz glances in Jones' direction and hedges, "With permission, of course."
"Probably best to err on the side of caution with the mayor, for the time being, lass."
Fitz nods. "He's right, Sunshine." She shrugs.
"You were a lot more fun when you weren't asking questions." He laughs merrily, then has to return to the register. Jones has an odd smile as they return to the ship. "You know him? From before?" she asks quietly.
"Aye, Fitzsimmons. Everyone called him Fitz. He's a good man. Bit of a jack-of-all-trades, knew a decent bit of everything." He sighs wearily with a shrug, some feeling Emma can't name behind his eyes, then smirks in Emma's direction. "He made an even worse cook than you," Jones teases with a wink.
"Well, unless he actually set fire to the Jolly Roger, I doubt that's true."
"Not the Jolly, but two other ships, he did. Another time, the entire crew vomited their guts up for hours after trying his pig roast."
"Gross," Emma whispers with an excited smile.
They both work on the Jolly, properly fixing some parts of the rigging that apparently got knocked loose in transit through the portal. The task lasts them both the rest of the day. Emma's mind wanders back to the girl she met that morning, Ashley.
At daybreak the next morning, she's singing Metallica while doing her chores as Jones conducts his daily checks below deck when she feels the buzz change. Warning bells pulse through the livewire of the Jolly's enchantment. Louder and stronger than they had been with Regina. Emma's not sure if the enchantment makes the Jolly Roger sentient, but if it does, then she hates whoever is approaching. Emma turns to the sound of a cane tapping the pavement and identifies Mr. Gold approaching in a suit and tie.
The look of distaste on his face is far too intense for the seemingly mild-mannered man to realize he has an audience. The man glares at the ship like she's taken everything from him, and approaches the gangplank with stiff, angry strides. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Gold calls out with an audible sneer. Jones stiffens, a pitiless glare coming over his face as he rises through the hatch.
"What the bloody hell does he want?" Jones demands. Emma shrugs.
"I'd appreciate a word, Miss Swan." Emma stiffens at the mention of her name. Her eyes are wide as they meet Jones'. Uncertainly, gripping the mop like it's a weapon, she turns to Gold as he stands just at the end of the gangplank. What the hell? I don't want to be mixed up in their blood feud!
"Hi, my name's Mr. Gold." He politely offers a hand to shake. Emma stands stiffly, not returning the gesture. "We met briefly on your arrival."
"I remember." It was like three days ago. Maybe four.
"Good. I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan." Addressing her, he's soft-spoken and courteous. There isn't the harsh edge of anger and hatred glaringly evident with Jones. Jones' hand tightly grips her shoulder. As her eyes flick to him, she sees the muscle in his cheek pop he's clenching his jaw so hard. "I, uh, I need your help. I'm looking for someone." Gold's head turns pointedly between her and Jones a few times before he gives up whatever he's trying to accomplish with the glances.
"Really? Um…" Emma raises her eyebrows expectantly at Gold in prompting.
"I have a photo," Gold offers as he reaches inside his suit jacket. Emma accepts it, seeing a slightly blurry picture of Ashley behind a stained glass lamp. "Her name is Ashley Boyd. And she's taken something quite valuable of mine."
"So why don't you just go to the police?" Emma suggests with dread sinking in her gut.
"Because, uh, she's a confused young woman." He gestures at the photograph in Emma's hand. "She's pregnant. Alone. Scared. I don't want to ruin this young girl's life." Jones scoffs behind her. "But I just want my property returned." Emma looks up and encounters his eyes warily.
"And what is it?" she asks quietly.
"Well, one of the advantages of you not being the police is discretion. Let's just say it's a precious object and leave it at that." Yeah, that's not suspicious or anything. Especially since his eyes dart away to the boathouse as he says it. Jones' hold on her shoulder tightens as if signaling her.
Emma taps the photo in her hand, considering. "When'd you see her last?"
"Last night." He turns and ducks his head slightly, pulling back his hair to reveal a small cut on his temple. "It's how I got this."
"Good for her," Jones interjects with a scoff. Gold glares at him. Emma stiffens. I don't want to be in the middle of this! "Whatever it is you claim she stole is likely, rightfully hers anyways. A woman willing to fight for what she wants," he starts. Jones' tone suggests he left the phrase incomplete. Gold's glare goes ice-cold with the words. Emma carefully tucks the information away to question later.
"Miss Swan," Gold returns his focus to her. "It was so unlike her. She was quite wound up, rambling on and on about changing her life?" Gold frowns at the ground as he repeats the familiar words. Emma draws in a steadying breath and nods slightly, knowing exactly where Ashley got the idea. "I have no idea what got into her." The quiet sympathy in Gold's voice is beginning to grate on Emma's nerves, or maybe it's Jones' hand clenching her shoulder. Maybe it's the Jolly's enchantment screaming warning bells. Whatever the case, she desperately wants this uncomfortable conversation over with and feels a deep-seated need to help Ashley. She glances back at the photo. "Miss Swan, please help me find her. Or my only other choice is the police." You really sound like you don't want to get them involved, Emma thinks sarcastically. "And I don't think anyone wants to see that baby born in jail, now do they?"
"No, of course not," Emma crosses her arms across her chest.
"So you'll help me then?"
"I will help her," Emma clarifies, squaring her shoulders.
"Grand," Gold answers, like it hardly makes a difference and leaves down the gangplank. "Good luck, Miss Swan." It takes Jones exactly two seconds to turn furiously to her. Still maintaining a death grip on her shoulder, there's a fire burning in his blue eyes.
"What the bloody hell are you thinking?" he hisses.
"I'm thinking I'm going to help her." Emma answers.
"By helping the bloody Crocodile," he spits contemptuously through his gritted teeth, evident disgust in his eyes.
Emma wrenches her shoulder away. "No, I mean by helping her. Do you know what it's like to be a girl on the run in this world? Or what it's like living on the streets?" He nods soberly, eyes closed. "So do I." She answers, far quieter. "Having a baby is only going to make it harder for her. And looking over her shoulder for Gold the entire time, I don't even want to think. So, I am helping her."
There's fear in his eyes as he continues desperately. "Do you have any idea what happens to people who make deals with him? Do you have even the slightest inkling of what he does to them?" Emma swallows nervously.
"I'm guessing nothing good, in your experience, sir."
"You've bloody got that right."
"Meaning I'm not about to abandon Ashley to deal with him alone. Gold's a prick. But he wasn't exactly wrong when he said she's pregnant, alone, and scared." Emma sighs. "Sir, I met her yesterday. She's not that much older than I am. She's dealing with a lot. I'm not gonna leave her to deal with him," she jerks her finger in Gold's direction, "on top of that." Emma sighs. "Sir, if I'm gonna help her, I gotta find her first. I'm gonna start with her work, see if they've seen her." Jones sighs and nods.
"I'll keep an eye on the Crocodile. You focus on helping her." She nods and dashes to return the mop she forgot on deck to its place. She then sprints down the gangplank, hair flying behind her as she runs to Granny's. The townsfolk going about their days turn with questioning frowns, confused at the deviation from schedule. Emma doesn't care. Some feeling in her gut is telling her to help Ashley Boyd. Empathy, understanding that worthless, helpless feeling in the laundry room sparked it. The fear from Jones only strengthened it. Emma has a burning desire to see this girl succeed. Sprinting to Granny's, she stops halfway down the block and walks the rest of the way, regaining her breath. On the patio, she spots Ruby clearing tables in her altered uniform and heels.
"Hey, Ruby, can I ask you about someone? Ashley Boyd?" Ruby stiffens a bit and Emma curses internally. Real tactful. "I was wondering where I could find her. You wouldn't happen to know anything, would you? Maybe about her family?" Half of Ruby's focus is on her car being jostled on a tow cable, so she answers.
"Um, she's got a stepmom and two stepsisters that she doesn't talk to." Emma nods, considering. Ruby seems to register what she actually said, so she turns back with her arms crossed. "Look, I don't know what you've heard, but it's wrong. Everyone thinks she's not ready to have this kid. But she's trying. Taking night classes, trying to better herself. Trying to get her life together." Emma's small smile is sympathetic and she nods along. "Can you understand that?"
"I think so."
"Then maybe you should just stay out of it. She's been through enough already." Ruby's suggestion doesn't sound like everyone else who's ever said to stay out of it. She's sympathetic with the suggestion.
"I can help her."
Ruby sighs. "Then try her ex."
"Where can I find him?"
"He lives with his dad."
The Herman house is huge. A young man with sandy blond hair answers the door. Emma tries explaining the situation, how Ashley's been trying to keep the baby. Sean's surprise at that catches at something in Emma. She doesn't have time to name it though, as Sean completely shuts down when an older man comes to the door. His disdain for the mother of his grandchild rankles at Emma, but it's the realization that sends her reeling back to Granny's.
She sold the baby. This guy negotiated out a contract with Mr. Gold, compelling her to sell the baby! Gold's merchandise is a freaking baby! The walk back to the diner is made in a daze. Emma thinks back to the binder. If that is what Gold let happen to me, God only knows what's going to happen to this baby if he gets his hands on him or her. I'm not allowing that to happen to Ashley's baby. She doesn't even bother asking Ruby why she never mentioned that little tidbit, already knowing the answer. Obviously, the words 'she sold the baby' seem judgemental enough. Ruby, defensive of her friend, definitely wouldn't want some stranger criticizing her. And Emma can respect that. But her blood runs cold at the sight of the little red glass wolf sitting on the counter, the one that had been hanging from her rearview mirror. The rearview mirror of the red convertible no longer parked out front. Emma puts two and two together to get 'head start' quickly enough.
"Ruby," Emma asks in a low voice, "where's Ashley going?" Ruby crosses her arms and purses her lips. "If Ashley runs, then she will spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for Gold." Her eyes go wide for a moment.
"Boston." Jesus. There's no way I can catch her on time by foot. The fear that was in Jones' eyes compels Emma to quick action. She doesn't want to find out what happens to people who make deals with Gold. She certainly doesn't want to find out what happens when they break those deals. Emma isn't about to let Ashley deal with Gold alone.
Glancing through the crowded diner, she spots a familiar face. "Fitz!"
"Sunshine, what's up?"
"Can I borrow your truck? Please?" Maybe it's the desperation in her voice and face, but he nods without further question, handing over his keys. "I promise, I'll get it back to you, not a scratch." She dashes out the door to a pickup truck she's seen around the docks and starts it up, driving for the town line in a frantic dash.
Can people even escape this town? Jones said they were cursed, and the atmosphere of the town itself isn't that bad, but everything was frozen. There doesn't seem to be much from the outside world. Everyone was stunned at the arrival of newcomers. So if no one comes in, can anyone leave? And if they do try to leave, what happens to them? Jones didn't mention anything about that, but maybe he didn't know?
There's a splash of vivid red in a ditch on the side of the road, maybe thirty feet from the Welcome to Storybrooke sign. Smoke curls in the air from under the hood. Emma pulls over and runs out of the truck to hear a woman's pained cries. Heart pounding in her chest, Emma scrambles to find Ashley lying in a ditch. "The baby! She's coming!"
Panic momentarily overrides her. Oh God, oh fuck, what do I do? Wait, baby, hospital. Yeah, I can drive. Come on, Swan. If you both panic, the baby's gonna be born in a ditch on the side of the road. "Okay, come on, we gotta go."
Frantically, Ashley shakes her head, desperate tears streaming down her face. "No! No no no! No hospital! Take me to Boston, I can't go back there! I can't go back there, please," she cries hysterically. "Mr. Gold will find me if I go to the hospital! He's gonna take my baby! I want my baby!"
"Ashley, listen to me. I'm not gonna let him take your baby. I will help you, whatever you need. But I don't know how to help you deliver a baby, so we gotta get you to the hospital. And you don't have four hours to drive to Boston. That baby's coming and you're not making it to Massachusetts like this. Hell, I doubt you could make it to Bangor like this." Gently, Emma grips Ashley's arm, helping support her into the front seat of Fitz's truck. Sprinting around to the other side, she twists the keys in the ignition and drives as fast as she safely can to Storybrooke General. Ashley's entire body goes tense as she screams a few times. Sweat and tears are pouring down her face.
"Breathe, okay? It's all gonna be okay." Emma tries to reassure her. She's offering reassurances and promises she has no business making, but will deliver on. If it kills me. Ashley nods.
"I'm gonna be her best chance. I've grown up, I'm not leaving, baby. I'm not. I'm gonna be your mommy, baby." She rubs her belly, promising the baby. Ashley's conviction is written across her face, screams in her voice and shines in her hands protectively cradling her baby. "I'm gonna give my baby her best chance. Everything I never had." Tears fall into her smile. "I want my baby."
"And I promise you, I'm not gonna let Gold take her from you." Emma sighs in relief as the hospital comes into view. Her thundering heart slows down a touch as a kind-looking nurse wheels Ashley away and she settles for anxiously pacing and fidgeting uneasily in the waiting room to hear the news. It's maybe two hours later the nurse returns.
"Baby is a healthy, six-pound girl. And the mother is doing fine." Relief washes over her. Ashley and the baby are okay. They're gonna be okay. Everything is going to be fine. Those thoughts and that elusive little bastard called hope may represent unfamiliar territory, but they feel damn good. Emma smiles.
It slides off her face in an instant, at the sound of a quiet Scottish accent. "What lovely news." Emma turns, barely containing her disgust, to see Mr. Gold entering the room. "Excellent work, Miss Swan." He approaches with a bland smile that freezes the blood in her veins. "Thank you for bringing me my merchandise."
Breathing deeply in and out, Emma holds back the overwhelming impulse to attack him. She finally understands the death grip Jones usually has on her shoulder seems to serve another purpose of anchoring himself back. But she doesn't want to cause a public scene that would only serve to embarrass Ashley, so she warily approaches the pawnbroker at a coffee machine. He's hitting and banging the machine around as it sputters out sludgy coffee.
"Well, well, this must be my lucky day. Care for a cup, Miss Swan?"
"A baby? Really? That's your merchandise? Why didn't you tell me?"
He doesn't lose the smug smile. "Well, because at the time, you didn't need to know."
"Really? Or because you thought I wouldn't take the job?" She pauses thoughtfully and frowns a moment. "Come to think of it, why the hell did you ask me to find her?"
"I thought it would be more effective if you found out yourself. After seeing Ashley's hard life, I thought it would make sense." He shrugs. "As for why I asked you, I understand you've shown a penchant for finding people in your past." Yeah, you would know. She crosses her arms across her chest and glares.
"You're not getting that kid."
"Actually," his narrowed eyes dart back and forth, "we have an agreement. My agreements are always honored. If not, I'm gonna have to involve the police. And that baby is gonna end up in the system." The apparent relish he injects into those words boils her blood. "And that would be a pity." False sympathy from Gold makes the feeling worse. "You didn't enjoy your time in the system, did you, Emma?" Her fists clench, shaking around her arms. Yeah, you would fucking know, wouldn't you? She wants to punch him out. Don't mention the binder, some instinct advises her, in a voice that sounds a lot like Jones.
"It's not gonna happen."
Gold turns back on that insincere smile. "I like your confidence. Charming, but all I have to do is press charges. She did, after all, break into my shop."
"Let me guess, to steal a contract," Emma deadpans.
Gold feigns innocence and shrugs. "Who knows what she was after?"
"You know no jury in the world will put a woman in jail whose only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child." Gold takes a sip of his crappy coffee, brown eyes telling her he doesn't have a care in the world, so Emma continues confidently. "I'm willing to roll the dice that contract doesn't stand up." Finally, he looks concerned. "Are you? Not to mention what might come out about you in the process. Somehow, I suspect there is more to you than a simple pawnbroker." Suspect, know for a fact, no difference really. "You really wanna start that fight?"
His mouth curls into a crooked smile that unsettles her even more. "I like you, Miss Swan. You're not afraid of me. That's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way, I'd rather have you on my side." Those last three words force her back to her thoughts that morning. She has absolutely no desire to be in the middle of the blood feud between him and Jones.
"So she can keep the baby?" Emma asks.
"Not just yet." He begins pacing. The small bit of hope Emma feels begins to sink. "There's still the matter of my agreement with Miss Boyd."
"Tear it up," Emma challenges simply.
He spreads his arms, coffee in one hand, cane in the other. "That's not what I do. You see contracts, deals, well they're the very foundation of all civilized existence. So I put it to you now." He points in the direction of the maternity ward with his challenge. "If you want Ashley to have that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?"
"What do you want?" she asks, despite the warning bells and blaring sirens in her head.
"Oh, I don't know just yet. You'll owe me a favor." His smug tone says he already knows he has her right where he wants her. He's merely waiting for her to recognize it herself.
All the unknown risks, all the ominous warnings, those pale to what she promised Ashley. If it kills me, she swore to herself, and she's not backing down now. "Deal." Gold leaves without another word. Simply a nod.
A leaden weight of terrible dread forcibly settles in her gut. What the hell am I going to owe him? What is he gonna demand I do? Fear follows. How the hell am I going to explain that to Jones? Is he gonna consider this me aligning myself with the Dark One? And what the hell happens to people who make deals with him? Pacing back and forth from the waiting room to the end of the maternity ward, Emma shakes off the feeling. She knows that as worried as she is for what the future might possess, Ashley has to be worse. And Ashley doesn't have to be worse. For all that Emma has weight on her shoulders, she can relieve the worst of Ashley's burden.
With that thought, knowing she has good news to deliver, Emma squares her shoulders and strides down the maternity ward. She opens the glass door quietly and walks over to one of the beds. Ashley's dressed in a hospital gown, cradling a little bundle swaddled in pink, backlit by a window. Unconditional maternal love shines fiercely in her eyes as she gazes wonderingly down at her newborn daughter. Glowing, Emma thinks, so this is why people say new mothers glow.
"Hey," she says, and Ashley looks up without losing her smile. "What's her name?"
"Alexandra," she answers as she smooths her fingers over the baby's soft, fuzzy head.
"It's pretty."
Ashley sighs. Some of that glow begins to fade. "Thank you for getting me here."
"Mr. Gold was outside." Ashley considers her with cautious eyes. Her arms grip Alexandra tighter. That gentle smile is gone. The motherly love in Ashley's eyes has gone from warm and comforting to fierce and protective. Ashley's look alone tells Emma she made the right decision, come what may. "I took care of it. She's yours."
"She is?" Ashley whispers back in surprise. She blinks in shock. "What did you do?"
Emma shrugs it off and answers nonchalantly. "Made a deal with him."
"Thank you," she whispers, nodding appreciatively with joyful tears shining in her eyes. That smile returning is a comfort to Emma. As Ashley's arms curl protectively around little Alexandra, Emma wonders briefly if her own mother and father ever did that. She stomps down the thought as soon as it emerges. A gentle knock sounds on the glass behind her. Sean is standing uncertainly at the door, a small gift bag in hand and a nervous look on his face. Looks like he had a change of heart about letting Daddy run his life.
Emma puts a hand on Ashley's shoulder and gives a light squeeze in farewell. She smiles and turns to leave, giving them their privacy. Neither really notice, as they only have eyes for each other and their newborn daughter.
Passing through the hospital, she spots Mary Margaret exiting a private room with glass walls. Inside, on a bed lays a man in a coma. He's about Mary Margaret's age, with a blond buzz cut and an athletic build. She overhears someone mention the word coma, which makes sense as he's lying unconscious and isolated. Wouldn't the coma take away some of the muscle mass? Emma shrugs. Not paying attention, though, she stumbles into the teacher.
"Oh, I'm so sorry about that!" She immediately says, trying to right the old, wilted flowers that spilled from Mary Margaret's hands. "I'm such a klutz, I swear." They both get the flowers, both stems and petals cleaned.
"It's alright, sweetie. I should have been paying better attention." Mary Margaret's green eyes pore over Emma. "Wait, I'm so sorry. I feel as if I know you. I know I've seen you around. You're new in town, right?" she asks.
"Yep, I'm Emma. Emma Swan." She offers a hand to shake. Static electricity shoots when their hands touch. They both jump back with wide, green eyes and quiet laughs.
"Mary Margaret Blanchard." She smiles. "Um, can I ask, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? Are you okay?" Emma blinks, confused for a moment, then the woman's meaning dawns on her. In her green eyes is a compassionate, almost concerned look.
"Oh yeah, totally! I'm okay. Actually better than okay. I was just bringing a friend. She just gave birth. She's okay. Baby's okay, too." Mary Margaret's eyes widen for a moment with Emma's rambling answer, then she nods in understanding.
"Ashley Boyd?" Emma nods. "It's a small town. Everybody knows everybody." Mary Margaret explains with a casual shrug. Her explanation of 'small town, tight-knit community' doesn't grate the way the mayor's did. It sounds as sincere and friendly as the words should. Emma frowns a bit, glancing around, then flicking her eyes back to the oddly familiar stranger. "Oh! Right! I volunteer here. That's why, the flowers," she holds up the mangled bundle in demonstration. "I like bringing them to John Doe."
"John Doe?" Emma asks. Mary Margaret points to the coma patient.
"He's been in a coma as long as anyone can remember. He didn't have any ID when he was found. No one's claimed him. But I like to think he gets some comfort out of the visits." She shrugs. "Maybe I'm the only one who gets any good out of it." Emma shrugs this time, unsure. Some part of her genuinely wants to reassure this total stranger that the coma patient must benefit from her warming presence. And the desire to reassure her, get emotional with a complete stranger, has her defenses firing up from stand-by.
Mary Margaret looks as if she's going to continue. Being a teacher, the question about seeing her in school will likely come up. She doubts Jones will agree to cover her on a lie about homeschooling. Keys press into Emma's palm, not cutting but definitely unpleasant. The prompting reminder allows her a socially acceptable escape from the conversation.
"I'm really sorry, but I gotta go. I gotta return the truck I borrowed to get here." She holds up the keys. "But it's nice meeting you, Miss Blanchard. Take care." Heading out to the parking lot, she disgustedly shakes her head at her atrocious parking job. Emma circles the truck in a cursory inspection to make sure she kept her promise to Fitz, then climbs in and drives much more carefully to Granny's.
Parking on the side of the street, she's happy to find him leaning against the counter and flirting with Ruby, charming her with tales of the sea. They both look over as the bell chimes. Ruby looks apprehensive, Fitz looks expectant. She hands off his keys. "Thanks. As promised, not a scratch."
"Are you even old enough to drive, Sunshine?"
"I know how," Emma answers quickly then turns to Ruby. "Ashley and the baby are fine. Six-pound girl, named Alexandra. The baby's hers." Ruby's smile stays on her mind as everything finally processes.
The walk back to the docks, seeing the sun falling low in the sky, gives Emma time to process her swirling thoughts. A stepmom, stepsisters, and she works as a maid? The fairy tale thing had completely slipped her mind. Restoring happy endings and breaking the curse took a back seat to help a very human girl in front of her. That would be Cinderella's happy ending, right? Her family staying together? Her prince returns and she keeps her daughter, that's a happy ending if ever I heard one.
Maybe the curse can be weakened like this. Jones said she's here to break the curse and restore the happy endings. Savior runs through her head. Her heart hammers out a rhythm. Sa-vior, Sa-vior, it thumps away. The title she's been avoiding. Somewhere in her thoughts of the last few minutes, she accepted it, though. Emma accepted her role in the curse is to break it. She sighs, already picturing the smug, annoying smile on Jones' face.
Which will be worlds better than his reaction when he hears how today went. How she secured Ashley's happy ending by making a deal with the Dark One. A deal with an open-ended favor. God, he could demand anything! Gold could demand she do anything!
Emma's so engulfed in her thoughts, she doesn't hear the gravel crunch against the blacktop behind her. A broad arm catches across her throat and hauls her down a darkened alley. A meaty hand clamps over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air before she can think to scream. She throws her bony elbow back repeatedly until she connects with a wet crunch and a muffled curse. The attacker hurls her to the ground, slamming her against a brick wall. Winded from connecting, she can't curl up in time to prevent the boot from connecting with her stomach. All the air knocked from her lungs, she curls together in a ball. The boot lands again and again. Her side hurts like hell, shooting and stabbing pain.
Glaring and in pain, she moves to grab the boot on the next return. It changes course and stomps down on her arm. Tears burn through her eyes in the stabbing pain and she quickly pulls her arm back in, curled around her. What the hell is going on? Her frantic eyes flick to the attacker. Looks like a man, round around the middle, dressed in all black and hiding his face. From the grunting breaths, though, she's sure he's a man.
Before he can step back, Emma draws her knees to her chest, turning flat on her back, and kicks upward as hard as she can. Her heels connect with the man's chest. The shock from the impact travels down her legs. The man staggers back to the opposite wall and she takes the moment to scramble to her feet. He quickly recovers, seizing her around the waist. Pain lances through her side. Nausea churns her stomach. Every breath hurts. He launches her against the brick wall again. Her head connects with a snap that stuns her for a moment.
She hears the quiet flick of a switchblade like a deafening snap in the quiet, sees dim light glint off the metal. The threat sends ice-cold fear stuttering through her. Fear drives her to act on instinct, simply throwing herself forward off the wall, straight into her attacker. The knife cuts into her belly as the man throws her back against the wall. The pain of the cut is numbed for only a moment. As she begins to feel it burning, she looks for another way to escape.
Emma's eyes dart around the alley, landing on a piece of twisted, rusted rebar. Her hand shoots out and grabs hold of it quickly. She swings hard, connecting solidly with the man's head. He drops like a stone and Emma scrambles out of the alley, not sticking around for him to recover.
She runs away as fast as she can, her panting breaths hurting her side all the more. Blood flows down her belly. Dizzy, starting to feel overheated, she stumbles over the gangplank. By some miracle, she doesn't fall in the water. Something in the buzz of the Jolly Roger fortifies her enough to reach the surgery, quickly cleaning and bandaging the bleeding wound.
Shirtless in her cabin, she stares in the small mirror. Her ribs are bruised, but when she pokes and prods them, nothing shifts. Nothing solid feels out of place. She pokes at the blooming black and blue bruise on her arm to identical results with a silent sigh of relief.
Pulling her shirt back on, she grabs a bucket and some water to quickly clean up the blood that likely left a trail across the deck. The silence of the ship communicates to her what she hadn't considered coming aboard. Jones isn't here. He said he was keeping an eye on Gold. Jones might already know about your deal with Gold, she thinks with no small amount of dread as she scrubs the small flecks of red. Some old instinct has her feeling the need to hide all evidence of what happened. What if Jones does know, and that was him in the alley?
Don't be ridiculous. Whoever that was in the alley had two hands.
Her mind is buzzing with far too much information. The Jolly seems to be taking Emma's agitation and mirroring it back to her in a constant feedback loop that has her on edge. Emma paces, running through her brief list of chores, mopping the deck, cleaning the banisters, keeping her cabin tidied. But nothing settles the panic brewing inside of her.
Sighing, she gingerly climbs to the crow's nest, taking in the view. Huge full moon, seemingly so close, glowing silver and sparkling on the surface of the waves as they gently roll to shore where they break. A million stars shine like diamonds. She chuckles at the fact that the sole comparison her mind can make is to a children's song, then regrets the laugh because it hurts like hell.
"I think I did good today," Emma starts quietly. Regardless of whether the Jolly's sentient or not, Emma needs someone to talk to. She needs to organize her thoughts. "Though your captain's gonna be pissed. I made a deal with the Dark One," she admits in a whisper. The enchantment jolts in response, letting Emma know she's listening and making Emma feel less crazy for talking to a ship. "It was the only way for Ashley to keep her baby, and seeing her and her family, I don't regret what I did. Even knowing who he is, I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant a family stayed together." The buzzing calms to a soothing hum. Basking in the comfort, Emma leans back and sighs. "You get it? You're not angry with me?" You're seeking reassurance from a ship, Emma. You've freaking cracked at some point. Maybe it's the stress of whatever the hell happened in the alley, but you've gone off the fucking deep end. The hum continues. "You think he's gonna be angry with me?" The hum continues. Her feeling of reassurance coming from the Jolly's hums is greater than the sneering voice of doubt in her head, so she talks on. Maybe the Jolly will understand.
"I just feel like I betrayed him. Or like I'm taking sides between him and Gold, getting involved like that. And I wasn't. I didn't want to." The Jolly begins reflecting Emma's agitation back at her, so she slows down. "I just wanted to help Ashley." She sighs again, turning away from the sea and towards the town, lit up like a postcard. "I wanna help these people get back their happy endings. Jones seems so certain I'm this Savior. It actually sort of makes me wanna be one." There's something encouraging that Emma might actually label pride in the hum.
"Bet you miss having an actual crew. Y'know, one that actually knows how to take care of you? One you can go out and sail with, stretch your legs a little?" She reflects back on Fitz's comment about the gorgeous sailing brig. She thinks about some of the workers at the cannery, the slightly wistful looks in their eyes towards the Jolly Roger. She thinks of the look Jones gets in his eyes sometimes. "I think they miss you too, even if they don't remember it. And I think he might miss them more than he lets on." The Jolly hums in agreement.
"Swan!" She hears Jones bellow from the gangplank. Not mad, just loud, Emma.
"Yes sir?" Carefully, she climbs back down the ropes and meets him on deck. He cocks his head slightly, eyes flicking between her face and the helm. Emma fidgets a bit under the scrutiny, bracing herself.
"You were talking to her?" His question expresses no emotion.
"A little," she answers defensively.
"How'd it go?" For a moment, she wants to pretend he's referring to her talk with the Jolly. Not that it's something she wants to discuss with him, but she'd definitely prefer that to what she's about to explain. Suddenly terrified, the fear from the street in Minnesota shooting through her again, she faces the deck with her arms wrapped around herself. Emma draws in a deep bracing breath, meets his eyes, and reports everything that happened with Ashley. Ripping off a band-aid, she gets it all out quickly in a stream of consciousness. His face is a mask as he listens, not breaking into emotion even as she tells him about the deal. Jones turns away, pacing the deck and facing the harbor. She watches his tense shoulders rise and fall, black against the dark ocean. His knuckles stand out white against the rings and the railing. "What you did was incredibly dangerous." Even his normally expressive voice is monotone. Somehow, that scares her more, waiting for the volatile temper to explode.
She offers no explanation, so he turns to face her again. So many emotions are written in his eyes that she can't put a name to any of them. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. "Swan, gods above only know what he'll demand of you. Just go get some rest. It's been a long day." Jones' voice sounds like he's forcing himself to remain calm. She nods, moving quickly below deck and curling up in her cabin. His footsteps pace the deck and she hears his voice muttering, but she can't make out the words and presumably doesn't want to.
"He thinks I betrayed him, doesn't he? He hates me, doesn't he?" she whispers. She can't be sure, but the answering hum feels like a no. Whatever it really means, she draws enough comfort from it and her baby blanket as she tosses and turns, trying to fall asleep.