Reawakened: A Once Upon a Time Tale (21 page)

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.

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?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s not spending Valentine’s with Kathryn, though?” said Ashley. “What’s he doing here?”

Mary Margaret ordered another drink. She knew, of course. He was here to check up on her.

She ignored him for the duration.

When it was time to go, Mary Margaret gathered up her things, said good-bye to the girls—who protested, but she was exhausted—and left the Rabbit Hole. David followed, just as she had guessed he would, and when the two were a few blocks away, he called out to her, and she turned.

When he caught up, Mary Margaret said, “I saw you in there. It was creepy.”

“What do you mean, creepy?” he asked.

“I don’t need you stalking me,” she said. “It’s bad enough as it is. What will people think?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “A part of me doesn’t care.”

“Well I do,” she said, arms crossed. “It’s a small town. And what we’re doing isn’t right.”

David absorbed this, nodded, and reached into his jacket. He pulled out the card and handed it to her.

“I got you a Valentine’s card,” he said. “Here.”

Mary Margaret accepted the card, against her better judgment, and opened it.

She read it, frowned, and looked at David, holding it up: “Kathryn, I woof you?”

David looked surprised. “It’s the wrong one, I’m so sorry,”
he said, plucking it out of her hand. He reached into his jacket and produced the other card. “Here, here. This is the right one.”

She took the second card, but did not open it.

Instead, she looked sadly at David.

“This isn’t working,” she said. “We both know it.”

“We can make it work,” he said. “Just give me time. Please, Mary Margaret.”

She sighed. “You should go home to Kathryn,” she said.

“I’m going to,” he said. “But I thought it was important to wish you happy Valentine’s Day. I did.”

“Well, thanks,” she said stiffly. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.”

• • •

Emma had had a strange day. After a few hours hunting down Gold’s missing property, she’d become very suspicious of his intentions. Something told her that Gold was up to something, and that Moe French was more than just a “client.”

After her strange exchange with Gold in her office, she went to the diner with a stack of papers—information about Mr. Gold’s many properties in and around Storybrooke—and started digging through his holdings in search of connections to French. She was deep into an incredibly boring spreadsheet about his tax records when she looked up and saw Henry smiling at her.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Work,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Why aren’t you at home?”

“My mom’s busy again,” he said, sliding in across from her. “And we never get to see one another anymore.”