Chapter 20

Friday morning, Emma walked Henry to the school bus, not caring if Regina saw. Henry might see this whole curse-breaking business as some top secret operation, but Emma had no intention of pulling a cloak and dagger routine, just to spend time with her son. Besides, she had a feeling it wouldn't work anyway, so she figured she might as well save herself the aggravation of trying. Plus it gave her the added bonus of impressing her son with her 'bravery', and while that part hadn't been planned, she wasn't about to knock it.

She watched Henry get on the bus, and was about to turn back and head to Granny's for breakfast—it was one thing sleeping in Mary Margaret's loft, but Emma had no intention of eating anything in her kitchen before she'd contributed a bit of grocery shopping— when a siren startled her and a squad car turned the corner directly in front of her before it came to a stop. Graham emerged from the driver's seat. "What's with the siren?" she asked him, by way of a greeting.

"It's so hard to get your attention," the sheriff replied with a grin.

"Well," Emma said, "you've got it. Are you arresting me again?"

He wasn't. Her eyebrows shot up as he explained why he'd approached her this time. "I have a job," she told him. Really, did this town have, like zero percent unemployment, or something? She would have thought a local would be the first pick for a position like this, not the 'known felon' who was just in town for a week or so.

"As a bail bondsperson?" Graham asked. "There's not much of that going on here."

"I don't see a lot of sheriffing going on around here either," Emma snorted.

Graham's answer to that was to repeat his offer and add dental to it. He drove off after asking her to give it some more thought.

Emma shook her head in some bemusement, as she made her way over to Granny's, where breakfast awaited.

A half hour later, she was still shaking her head over the idea as she sipped her cocoa. Her… as a deputy. Her, with her juvie record, on a police force. Her, a known felon who couldn't even stay in a motel in this town... as a cop. It was ridiculous. Laughable. So why was she even still thinking about it, when—?

"How was your walk with Henry?"

Startled, Emma looked up to see Regina sliding into the seat across from her. "That's right," the mayor continued, I know everything. But relax. I don't mind."

Emma blinked. "You don't?"

"No," Regina said, still smiling. "Because you no longer worry me, Ms Swan. You see, I did a little digging into who you are. And what I found out was quite soothing. You see, it all comes down to the number seven."

"Seven?" Emma repeated blankly.

Regina nodded. "It's the number of police reports you've filed last year alone. I guess bail-bonding can be a dangerous line of work. It seems that some of the people you apprehend have associates who blame you for their… colleague's… incarceration. As I understand it, you've received death threats. Nasty telephone messages. Shoe boxes with mutilated animals. Now, Ms Swan, I think that we can agree that at a custody hearing, any judge would have to consider the effect that such… intimidation… might have on a young, impressionable child. You've had to change your locks a time or two as well…?"

Emma nodded involuntarily. It was only when she saw the self-satisfied gleam in the mayor's eyes that she realized that Regina had only been guessing at that last bit.

"So, you've had break-ins. Or attempted break-ins. You also have a job that requires irregular hours. So, it's entirely possible that Henry might be alone in your apartment should someone make another attempt."

"I wouldn't leave him alone," Emma snapped.

"Well, I'm sure that leaving him in the care of some teenager with a CPR certification or a retired schoolteacher in your building would make all the difference. You may be comfortable with a target painted on your back, but you're not painting one on my son's. And I believe any judge would agree with me."

"I don't have to stay a bail bondsperson," Emma retorted.

"Well, what else are you qualified to do that'll keep a roof over your head and cover expenses for two? You've drifted into every job you've ever held, Ms Swan. You have no idea how to steer."

"You don't know me," Emma said evenly.

"No, I think I do. All I ask is, as you continue your dangerous line of work, you spare a thought for Henry and what's best for him. Perhaps, consider a clean break. It'll be less painful for all concerned." She smiled again. "Enjoy your cocoa." She rose and left the diner without a backwards look.

Emma got up to follow, inadvertently upsetting her cup and spilling its contents all over her shirt.

Behind her, Ruby clucked sympathetically.

Emma sighed. "Do you have a laundry room I can use…?"

On Fridays, Mary Margaret had no classes to teach between 10:30 and 2. Most of the time, she stayed in school, but today, she had a couple of errands to run. She came home at a quarter past eleven to find Emma sitting at the table, an open box of Pop Tarts in front of her and two more lined up behind it. There were two torn wrappers beside the open box and Emma was ripping open a third one. "Uh, I was going to fix myself a tuna melt," the schoolteacher said. "I could make it two."

"No thanks," Emma said, taking a savage bite out of the first toaster pastry in the envelope.

Mary Margaret placed a metal object down on the table. "Here's your key," she said. "So you won't have to wake me when you get back. Everything okay?"

Emma chewed, swallowed, and set down the pastry. "Well, apart from my letting Regina get under my skin and ruining my shirt—oksy the stains came out in the wash… mostly… Anyway, do you know Ashley Boyd?"

Mary Margaret nodded. "I mean, I know who she is; I don't really know her that well." She frowned. "I don't think she was one of my students, though after a while, they all sort of start blurring together. Which isn't right, of course, but…" She stopped. "I'm sorry. What about Ashley?"

Emma sighed. "She reminds me a lot of me when I was around her age. Pregnant, scared, got a whole bunch of well-meaning people giving her well-meaning advice…"

"Well, at nineteen, with a baby on the way, she must need advice."

"Yeah," Emma nodded, "but what I called 'well-meaning'? Try 'running her down, telling her she can't handle it, and she'll only end up ruining her kid's life.' Oh, but they're only saying it for her own good, so that makes it okay," Emma added bitterly. "If I'd had one person point me to some of the resources I found out later were available, yeah, it still would've been hard. I might have still given up Henry to give him his best chance. But at least, I could have weighed out my choices and made an informed decision, instead of being… browbeaten into it."

"Emma," Mary Margaret said gently, "a-are you sure you're not seeing too much of yourself in Ashley? I mean, you might have made a wonderful mother, but Ashley's a high school dropout. She's working as a maid right now, which is hard enough when she's nine months pregnant, but once the baby's born, she won't even have that."

"I was seventeen and a high school dropout when I was pregnant with Henry," Emma pointed out. "And I didn't have a job, period. I was…" She stopped. Mary Margaret didn't have to know she'd been in juvie. "I was scared. And alone. And I could've used someone in my corner, instead of…" She shook her head. "Sorry. It's just a crappy situation." She looked up at the clock. "Anyway, I'd better get going before I hit rush hour."

"I'll miss you."

Emma smiled. "I know. But the rent's due and Neal's still in Alaska, so somebody has to pay it. Plus, if I'm going to keep spilling hot cocoa on myself, I'd better get some more clothes. This whole 'wear one outfit while I wash the other' might work for shirts and socks, but I only brought one pair of jeans."

"I understand." She frowned worriedly. "Emma, if you're too tired to drive back tonight, don't risk it. The last time you fell asleep at the wheel, you were lucky; all you hit was a sign."

"I told you," Emma said, "there was a wolf on the road."

"I know," Mary Margaret said. "But all the same, I want you to promise me you won't drive if you're sleepy."

She was beginning to see why Henry thought Mary Margaret was her mother. "Okay," she said, trying hard not to roll her eyes. "I promise."

It felt like she'd never been away when Emma stepped into her apartment again, dropping the empty cardboard boxes she'd grabbed from the garage onto the floor. For a few minutes, she was hard-put to remember that Henry knocking on her door four nights ago and everything that had happened since hadn't been a dream. Her cupcake was still on the counter where she'd blown out the star candle still mounted in its frosting. She'd never even tasted it. She took a small nibble. The cake was stale now, but the frosting was still sweet. After a moment she set it back down and pulled out the candle. Then she lifted the cupcake once more, tilted it toward her mouth, removed the frosting in three unladylike bites, and tossed the denuded cake into the garbage.

After that, she grabbed one of the boxes, double-checked that it didn't have any wet or rotting spots that might give way, and that its bottom was securely taped, and began packing. It only took about an hour. She still wasn't used to acquiring things. Furniture, sure, but not the paper weights and knickknacks that everyone else seemed to accumulate. Plus Herbie didn't have that much room. Her clothes filled three boxes and a garment bag. Books, posters, and the baby blanket that had been with her since the day she'd been found on the roadside filled a fourth. She stepped into the kitchen area and eyed the blender, toaster, and coffee maker speculatively. They'd probably fit, but… Mary Margaret had all three. And Neal might still need them when he got back. No, she wouldn't take them.

She took a moment to quickly jot down driving instructions for how to reach Storybrooke—with the signage either easy to miss or non-existent, Neal was going to need them. Then she went down to the ground floor to take care of next month's rent and grab a dolly cart for the boxes.

She checked her watch in the elevator on her way back up and nodded to herself. She'd made good time. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes to get Herbie loaded and return the dolly cart. If she left now, she imagined she'd be back in Storybrooke before ten PM. And that was allowing for time to grab a bite to eat at a rest stop and fill up with gas.

She wondered if she'd be back again before the next month's rent was due. If she was going to have to keep paying for this place without getting any new bounty hunting assignments, then maybe the position that Graham had offered her this morning was worth considering after all…

It was half-past ten when Emma got back to Storybrooke. Once again, she'd missed the sign for it on the Interstate, but she remembered that the exit had been just past the Mr. Cluck's and Exxon that were across the highway from the Dunkin' Donuts and Irving Oil. All four businesses were well-lit and impossible to miss, even at that hour.

Mary Margaret was awake and sipping a mug of hot cocoa when Emma turned the key in the lock. She smiled with obvious relief. "I thought you might be back tonight," she said. "I mean, I know you didn't have to phone me to let me know one way or the other, but I guess I just thought that once you got behind the wheel you'd probably just keep driving until you got here and…" She stopped. "I'm babbling and you must be exhausted. I can make you some cocoa. Or," she shook her head, "maybe herbal tea would be better at this hour?"

Emma shook her head. "Nah. Thanks, but I am exhausted. I'm just going to turn in. Isn't it kind of late for you, though?"

Mary Margaret laughed. "Tomorrow's not a school day. And I had papers to grade. I only just finished about half an hour ago."

"Oh." Emma frowned. "Hey, is the pawn shop usually open late?" she asked.

"Mr. Gold's shop?" Mary Margaret asked. "No… why?"

"Not open, I mean," Emma corrected. "But does… Mr. Gold usually hang around much past closing time?"

"I don't think so…" Mary Margaret said slowly. "Again… why?"

"No reason," Emma said. "Just, when I drove past ten minutes ago, he was out on the street in front, taping something over the shop's door…"

The next morning dawned bright and sunny and Emma was up and out of bed before Mary Margaret. She dressed quickly, and was about to head out to Granny's for breakfast, when she paused. The food at the diner was good, but she was getting tired of having all her meals there. Not to mention that the cost was starting to add up. And Mary Margaret really didn't seem like she'd mind if Emma helped herself to the contents of the fridge. Besides, it wasn't like Storybrooke didn't have a grocery store. She could always replenish what she took.

Her eye fell on the cardboard boxes she'd unloaded from the car last night and hadn't yet gotten around to unpacking. That was going to be her project for the day. But once she was unpacked, her part of the loft was going to feel a lot more like home. Maybe it was time to start treating it as such.

She opened one of the kitchen cabinet doors and was pleased to find a frying pan. Instead of buying breakfast today, she'd stay in and make some. And she'd make sure that there was enough for Mary Margaret, too.

"Is that French toast?" Mary Margaret beamed. As expected, she didn't sound at all put out that Emma had used the loaf of bread on the counter for it. "Hold on. I'll scramble some eggs to go with it. Protein," she added brightly.

"Sure," Emma said, her eyes flicking to the cardboard boxes she'd brought in the night before. It would be another few minutes for the eggs to be ready and Emma was looking forward to getting unpacked. Even though the cocoa stain on her shirt was barely noticeable from afar, Emma still knew it was there and it was nice to have options again. She opened one of the boxes, and smiled as she beheld her baby blanket. She'd used it to wrap up her toiletries; it wouldn't have been the first time the nozzle on her spray deodorant had broken off in transit. She hadn't packed any clothes in that box, however. Reaching for the next one, she exclaimed, "I'm so glad my stuff's here."

She looked up to see Mary Margaret coming toward her with two full plates of eggs and French toast. "Oh. Thanks."

Mary Margaret looked at the boxes. "So, that's all your stuff?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Uh… is the rest in storage?"

Emma shook her head. "No, this is all of it." Except for some of the kitchen stuff; in addition to the small appliances, she hadn't wanted to leave Neal without a few pots, pans, dishes, and cutlery. "I'm… not sentimental," she added. And she'd left too many foster homes with all her worldly goods thrust into one heavy-duty black garbage bag. The more you owned, the more you had to pack and Herbie really didn't have that much space for extra cargo.

Mary Margaret smiled and said doubtfully, "Well, it must make things easier when you have to move."

Emma nodded, her own smile freezing on her face as she wondered whether she'd only imagined a note of pity in the schoolteacher's voice.

A knock on the door startled them both. Eyebrows rising, Mary Margaret went to open it. A slight man whom Emma recognized at once stood leaning on a cane. "Ms Blanchard," a crisp voice with a Scots accent greeted her. "Is Ms Swan here?"