Snow White did not hesitate to make her way to the scene, where Grumpy was still in danger, kneeling beside the body of his fallen friend. She pulled a torch from the wall as she ran, leaping over a pile of toppled barrels, and made her way behind the group of men who’d cornered her new friend. Just as she heard the captain of the guard order his men to kill Grumpy, she reached the first mounds of hay beside the stables. Eyes wide, she cried out to them and held the torch above the hay.
“LET HIM GO!” she demanded, once they’d turned to see her.
Silence.
“I SAID LET HIM GO,” she repeated. “OR I WILL BURN THIS CASTLE TO THE GROUND.”
It must have been convincing, because the captain, with the flick of a wrist, told Grumpy to leave the castle and never return. His eyes red with tears and rage, Grumpy took another look at his fallen friend, then looked up to Snow White and gave a simple, subtle nod. Thank you. He turned and ran.
“A nice gesture,” said the captain of the guard, walking toward her. “But something of an empty threat, don’t you think?” He raised an arm, and Snow White frowned, unsure of what he meant.
She understood when she heard the screech of another arrow coming down from the tower. She braced herself for death, only to feel the torch ripped from her hand. The arrow had knocked it away from her and the hay, carrying with it her leverage, and any hope she had of survival.
“I believe King George would like to have a word, dear girl,” said the captain of the guard. “Would you mind coming with me?”
• • •
“You will tell him you do not love him,” said King George, “and that you never did. Those are my terms. They are simple. Do you agree?”
Snow White stood before the man, defiance and courage draining out of her. They’d dragged her up the stairs to the king’s private chambers, where he awaited, already dressed for the wedding. He was haughty, distant. Indifferent. She hated him. She hated everything he stood for. And she could see already that he had won.
“And if I refuse?” she said.
He shrugged, pulling on a decorative gauntlet. “Then I will kill him,” he said. “It makes little difference to me.”
“Your own son?” she said, incredulous. “Just for spite? And politics?”
“He’s not my son,” said King George cryptically, not bothering to look her in the eyes. “And besides, yes. With matters of this scale, politics trump love. Every time. I’m surprised you don’t understand that, considering your pedigree.”
There was nothing Snow White could do—no trick, no special gambit. She could not give the Prince a secret code, some hidden signal, because that would simply mean he would come for her, and that would mean his death. She not only had to reject him, she had to convince him to stay away. She had to hurt him.
And she did. The king “allowed” her to sneak into Charming’s chambers, where the Prince prepared for his wedding. She went sadly. She slipped into his room without a noise and, concealed behind a curtain, watched him for a minute or two, her heart breaking into tiny shards as each second passed. He was moving slowly. He was looking out of the window, sighing, waiting. Waiting for her.
“Prince James,” she heard herself saying.
He spun, and Snow White revealed herself.
“You came!” he cried, going to her. He tried to embrace her, and she allowed it, for a moment, but stood stiffly in his arms. Eventually he stepped back and looked at her, confused. “You got my letter, then?” he said.
“I did.”
“Then you came to tell me that you love me, too,” he said. “Why else would you come? What is the matter?”
“No, James,” she said, not allowing herself to use her name for him. Even that was painful. “I came to do the opposite. I came to tell you that I don’t love you, and that I never did. You are… confused.”
It was as though she were again witnessing the arrow striking Stealthy in the chest, only this time she had been the one to shoot. He crumpled at her words. He took a step back, looked at her.
“I feel nothing for you,” she said. “Marry Abigail. Be happy with her. Forget about me. I don’t love you.” All of it in a monotone.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, finally, failing to contain the anger and pain he was obviously feeling. “You—If you believed that, you wouldn’t have come.”
“It’s true,” she said, stepping toward the door. “Believe me, it’s true. I didn’t want you to waste your life thinking otherwise.”
She turned and left the room.
She was out the door, and a safe distance away, before she burst into tears.
• • •
On her way back into the forest, Snow White traveled slowly, again caught in the same loop of vacillating about the potion. It hurt much worse now, it did. She did not think she could bear it for long, even if it was more “real” to live with the pain. Whenever she imagined that the wedding would soon happen, that it would be over, that she would never see him again—well, she cried as she walked away from the castle.
Over her own sniffling, she heard a deep voice in the trees off the path: “Hey, sister.”
Startled, distracted by her thoughts, she jumped back. She watched as a number of moving forms emerged from the cover of the forest and slowly surrounded her.
It was only after a moment of panic that she realized she recognized a face. Grumpy’s. The two hugged. She was relieved to see anyone she knew.
“And did you find him?” Grumpy asked her. “Did you set the record straight?”
“I found him,” she said, “but I didn’t say what I should have said.”
“You’ll be all right, won’t you?” he asked, smiling warmly, putting an arm around her. “It’ll be okay.” When he saw that she was about to cry again, he said, “Here, here. Meet my friends. All six of ’em. Let me introduce you and get your mind off this. If we don’t start laughing about something soon, we’re all gonna start crying.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Stealthy. I—I’m so wrapped up in my own—”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. “We’ll remember him and pay our respects. There’s a lot of time for that. Let’s say hello for now.”
She smiled at them all, and they each in turn smiled back. Then Grumpy went through the names, one by one.
• • •
He took her to the spacious hovel of the seven dwarfs—a place with friends, a place with companions. The days passed, and she tried to adjust to her new life, but each night, she would think of him, and imagine his new life. The pain got worse and worse.
And then one morning, Grumpy ran toward her room, elated with the news he had received. The wedding hadn’t happened! The Prince had left the castle, presumably in search of Snow White, and had left Abigail at the altar. George had issued a bounty on his head. The kingdom was in an uproar! Prince Charming, her true love, was at that moment searching for her!
“He left!” Grumpy cried, a smile on his face as he looked at her. She was in her bed, just waking up. He went to her bedside. “The Prince has left Abigail and searches for you! Come on! You can be together!”
Snow White frowned.
“Is it not what you wanted?” Grumpy asked, confused. But then he saw the vial on her small bedside table.
Empty.
“Who?” said Snow White. “What Prince?”
Grumpy was too late.
She had drunk the potion and erased her memory.
Grumpy smiled sadly at her. “Aw, sister,” he said. “You couldn’t hold out anymore, could you?”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. “That’s okay.”
• • •
Mary Margaret and David had managed to avoid each other. Neither went to the diner. But it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again.
And not at 7:15, but at 7:45.
7:46, to be precise.
They ran into each
other at Granny’s. Eventually, the two of them ended up standing beside each other on the sidewalk, both holding coffee, both perfectly aware of one another. Each had tried to alter the schedule for the other, and each had ended up altering it in the same way.
They walked a few paces together. David said, “I’m trying not to see you.” He shook his head. “How do we stop seeing each other?”
“Apparently, we can’t,” said Mary Margaret.
“That’s a problem.”
“You’re right,” she said. “It is.”
They looked at each other.
“She’s not pregnant,” David said.
Mary Margaret absorbed this information, then seemed ready to speak. But she didn’t. Instead, she dropped her coffee. Neither looked down.
David dropped his coffee then, too, and they leaned toward one another.
The kiss, after they’d both waited so long, was like nothing either had ever felt before.
CHAPTER 9
SKIN DEEP
Winter had descended on the town with a vengeance, bringing with it all manner of accidents and emergencies. Emma rarely saw Mary Margaret and only sometimes managed to get around Regina’s increasing efforts to keep her away from Henry. An hour here or there, but never enough. She missed the kid, but nothing was simple in this town. Not with Regina around.
She was working all the time, though, and was part of a community now. Which was different. She was glad for it, truly, but things had changed since those first fall days, when the only reason she was in Storybrooke was to keep Henry safe. What was happening now? She was sinking into something, something both comfortable and complacent. Was this what roots felt like? Was there a difference between rooted life and imprisonment? Winter had made her sleepy with security. Time passing had made this place feel normal.
Heading toward the station after telling Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Ashley that she wouldn’t be joining their Valentine’s Day girls’ night, she got a call from dispatch.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Someone, it seemed, had just been seen breaking into Mr. Gold’s house.
“I’m on it,” she said, and snapped shut her phone. She dumped her coffee and jogged east on foot. It took her all of five minutes to get to Gold’s home, a tall and slender mansion on the town’s east side, where the wealthiest citizens lived. A neighbor had called in because the front door was wide open, and when Emma arrived, she saw that it was still true.
She drew her sidearm on her way in.
Gold’s house was full of antiques and antique furniture: armoires, writing desks, fainting couches, and velvet pillows made the place feel more like a Parisian coffee parlor than a twenty-first-century home. Emma made a sweep of the house, going room to room with her weapon drawn, announcing herself before each turn.
When she came back down the stairs, she heard footsteps and felt her heart begin to pound. Someone had come in the front door and was now moving into the front parlor. Quietly, Emma crossed the kitchen, steadied herself, and turned into the room, gun out and at the ready.
“Freeze!” she heard herself saying sternly, even before she’d planted her front foot.
The figure in front of her turned and swung a weapon toward her; Emma squeezed the trigger, feeling it press back against the back of her finger. She kept herself from going all the way.
“Ms. Swan,” the intruder said.
It was Mr. Gold.
Emma lowered her gun and exhaled. Gold lowered his gun as well.
“I can’t imagine you’re the one breaking into my house,” he said.
“You got a permit for that?” Emma asked, looking at his weapon.
“Of course,” he said. “Do you have one for yours?”
“Cute,” she said, holstering her gun.
She pointed at a broken glass case in the corner of the room. “Looks like whoever it was was after something specific,” she said. “I just got the call and came over. House is clear.”
Gold, quiet for once, stood looking at the glass case.
“I see,” he said finally. He swallowed once. “That will be all.”
“Will it, now?” Emma said. “I’m so sorry to bother you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gold said. “I apologize. It’s a shock to the system when one’s home is invaded.” He took a breath, gave her a smile. “Although I do think I can give you a strong lead, considering what was taken. I believe the man you should speak to is named Moe. Moe French.”
“Okay,” Emma said. “I’ll check him out.” She eyed Gold suspiciously. “Any reason you’re worried about him in particular?”
“I imagine there will be some paperwork,” he said. “Would you like tea?”
• • •
Mary Margaret was excited about the idea of going out with the girls, even though it was, of course, a replacement for what she really wanted to do—spend a normal Valentine’s Day on a date with the man she loved. But that wasn’t possible.
On the sidewalk, though, David jogged to catch up to her. “I need to talk to you,” he called.
A nervous cloud overtook her face when she realized he aimed to talk to her out in the open. Since the kiss, they’d tried hard to be more discreet. She had no interest in being known as a home wrecker. She couldn’t believe he was being so brazen.
“I don’t think we should—”
“I don’t want you to do this girls’ night thing,” he said. “I just don’t. That’s all.”
It made her furious. “Do you really think you have any right to tell me what I should do?” she said. “Considering?”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I still don’t want you to go. Considering.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t have anything to do on Valentine’s. I have no one to take me out. So I’m going to do something fun.” She shook her head. “I’m tired, David,” she said. “I’m so tired of secrecy. I don’t want to keep doing this.”
“I don’t want this to be the situation,” he said. “I feel like you’re punishing me.”
“Funny,” she said. “That’s how I feel every day. About you.”
“Where is this coming from?” he said. “Just the other day we were—”
“I don’t know, David,” she said. “Maybe I woke up to something. Or maybe I remembered something. About respecting myself. I just can’t help feeling like you’d go on like this forever if I gave you the chance.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
David looked deflated by this comment, but she didn’t feel bad for him. She felt bad for herself. She walked away.
• • •
Emma called Gold when she got back to the station, and soon he was there, an eager look in his eyes. She showed him to her desk and to the items she’d discovered at Moe French’s home.
Sloppy work, really. Hilariously, or perhaps just idiotically, Moe French had even used a pillowcase to steal Gold’s antiques. She’d acquired a warrant and searched his home. Standard stuff. The pillowcase, still full, was sitting on his kitchen table. No sign of French.
“It’s not here,” Gold said, after a moment of scanning the desk.
There were lamps and candelabras, nice pieces of china, cigarette cases, pieces of jewelry.
“These aren’t your things?” Emma asked, surprised.
“They are,” Gold said, irritated. “But not everything. He took something very specific. And very valuable to me.” He brushed past her, heading toward the door. “I wish you knew how to do your job.”
What’s stuck in his craw? Emma wondered.
“It might help if you told me what it was you were looking for, Gold,” Emma said, watching him storm away. Even for him, this was prickly. “I’m running in the dark here. How about a hint?”
“No matter,” he said, over his shoulder. “Please find Mr. French. He’ll lead you to the rest.”
“Who is he to you?”
“A client.??
?
“An enemy?”
“A client.”
He stopped and turned just enough to look at her sidelong.
“If you can’t find him, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Gold,” she said.
“Thank you for the warning,” he said. “I never do.”
• • •
Daytime bled into the night, and darkness overtook Storybrooke. Emma, despite her best efforts, could not locate Moe French, and as she drove up and down the streets of the town, she wished that Graham were here with her to help. He’d always had a knack for finding people, hadn’t he? Nothing had been quite the same without him.
Their kiss, that last kiss, still lingered.
Mary Margaret met Ruby and Ashley at the Rabbit Hole. She smiled along with the other two as Ashley told some funny stories about what a handful the baby was some days. She listened diligently as Ruby described her problems dating and complained about how difficult it was to find a good guy in Storybrooke. She wanted to tell them more about David, and to describe how frustrating it had been to be with someone in secret, but it wasn’t time, and she couldn’t do that to him. She loved Ruby, but she was afraid that the story would be all around town by tomorrow morning if Mary Margaret admitted to the affair.
“What about you, Mary Margaret?” Ashley said, after Ruby seemed finished with her outburst.
“What about me?”
“Your love life,” Ashley said. “Anything new with Dr. Whale?”
“God no,” Mary Margaret said, frowning and taking another sip of her drink. “That was a huge mistake.”
“I think it’s kinda fun that you guys hooked up,” said Ruby. “He might be bad news, but he’s hot bad news.”
“I just—” Mary Margaret didn’t finish the sentence, though. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Across the room, at the bar, David was sitting down next to Archie. The two of them were chatting, but he cast a furtive glance in her direction.
“What?” Ashley said, looking where she was looking. “OMG,” she said when she saw David. “What a weird match.”
“I don’t think they’re dating,” Ruby said, and the two of them laughed. “Wouldn’t that be funny, though?”