Beane Odette - Reawakened - A Once Upon A Time Tale

Regina sighed, nodded her consent. The two left the room together. Henry was already out in the parking lot when Regina stopped walking and the two women turned to face each other.

— Isn’t love sweet? — Regina asked. — I’m so happy that such a tragic story had a happy ending. That never happens.

— None of this particular story makes any sense, — Emma said flatly. — Let’s not play games.

— What is it that you think, then? — Regina asked, eyes alight, looking amused. — I’m using evil magic on that woman? Forcing her to lie?

— No, but I think you’re manufacturing something. I don’t know why. But it stinks, whatever it is.

— You do know, Ms. Swan, — Regina said, strolling back in her direction, — that bad things happen. Even in small towns like Storybrooke.

— Storybrooke’s just like everywhere else, — Emma said. — Full of good people, with a few rotten ones thrown into the mix.

— I’m surprised you’re not happier to see two people reunited, — said Regina. — There is no curse in the world worse than being alone. Am I right? — Regina smiled and looked over her shoulder toward the parking lot. — I’m lucky to have Henry, — she said. — It would be terrible to have no one at all.

Mary Margaret sat alone at her own kitchen table, one hand half-clasping a glass of water, the other resting in her lap. As her macaroni and cheese sat cooling in front of her, she thought through all that had happened since John Doe (his name is David, she reminded herself) had reached out to touch her hand.

She sipped her water, sighed, ran her fingers through her hair.

She swirled a few pieces of macaroni in the orange sauce, set the fork back down, twirled the ring on her middle finger.

When the knock on the door came, she knew that it couldn’t be him, that right now, he was home with his wife, relearning his own history. She had seen their embrace. And besides, why would she be hoping a stranger was at her door? No one wanted that.

She was convincing herself that she wasn’t hoping it would be him when she opened the door and saw Emma looking back.

The two women looked at each other. Mary Margaret found herself smiling then, just a bit.

— Hello, Emma, — she said.

— Hey.

— What can I–Is everything all right?

— Everything’s fine, — Emma said. — The mystery man is awake and the Evil Queen is asleep in her tower. We’re good.

Mary Margaret laughed a little and opened the door a bit more.

— Do you want to come in? — she said. — I have some dinner I could share.

— I was actually wondering if that offer still stood, — Emma said. — About the room.

— Oh, — Mary Margaret said, legitimately surprised. She’d managed to forget all about it in the excitement of the day, but she was glad Emma had not. — Absolutely. Come in.

Emma nodded and walked into the room. She took a look around, obviously pleased. Mary Margaret felt better. She didn’t want to think much about why.

— Nice place you got here, — Emma said. She rested her hand on the counter. — Much nicer than the back seat of a car.

— That is true, — Mary Margaret said, and the two women laughed. — But I’m glad that you’re here, — she said. — Really, Emma. Welcome.

The next morning, Emma walked with Henry from his house to the bus stop, unconcerned whether Regina would see.

He was happy to see her, abuzz about John Doe and Operation Cobra, and Emma listened to his patter happily. Regina was not going to push her around. Not anymore.

After Henry waved good-bye and the bus pulled away, Emma had to stop short when the town’s sole police cruiser pulled into a driveway and blocked her way on the sidewalk.

Graham popped out and nodded good morning.

— You almost ran me over, — said Emma. — Hi.

— Had to get your attention, — he said.

— Are you going to arrest me again? — Emma said. — Lemme guess. Trumped up jaywalking charges.

He smiled and hung his head, which Emma took to be his way of acknowledging how unfair she’d been treated here so tar. She knew Graham was sympathetic to her, even though he and Regina seemed to have a complicated relationship. There was something between the sheriff and the mayor, maybe something romantic. She couldn’t tell, but she felt it. And it made sense. Late hours, working together, neither of them attached… She didn’t yet know how it fit into the equation of Storybrooke, but it certainly mattered.

— I want to offer you a job, actually, — Graham said. — I need a deputy. I know that you’re good. I think we’d work well together.

— Something tells me your boss wouldn’t like that, — Emma said. She was surprised by the offer. Flattered as well. She wouldn’t mind working a few late hours with Graham, either, now that she thought about it.

She said no. He asked her to think about it. She said she would, and he drove off, apparently pleased that he’d gotten that out of her.

The next surprise came at the diner twenty minutes later, when Regina slipped into her booth, smiled her devious smile, and said, — Good morning, Ms. Swan. Have a nice walk with my son?

— Of course you already know about that.

— It’s really not what I’m here to talk about I don’t mind. I understand the urge; he’s a lovely child.

— What is it, — said Emma flatly, — that you’d like to discuss?

— Roots, Ms. Swan. The problem of roots.

— Roots?

— That’s right — Regina said. — You don’t have any. You drift, you don’t stay in the same place for long. Phoenix, Nashville, Tallahassee, Boston… and here you are now. With no lease, staying with Miss Blanchard. How long will it be before you leave again? Do you see what I mean? I’m happy that Henry is happy, but I’m making this appeal to you. If you’re being honest, don’t you think this will all eventually hurt Henry more than help him?

Emma stared, feeling the cold recognition of a fear she’d had herself.

Regina saw it and drove in the knife: — You will leave eventually. People don’t change. Why not spare your son’s feelings and rip the Band-Aid off clean?

The mayor stood and walked away. Emma was so flustered by the comment that she stood as well, trying to think of something to say in response. But no words came. All she managed to do was knock over her hot cocoa and spill it all over her sweater.

Ruby saw this happen, took pity, and sent her back to the diner’s laundry room to clean up.

— My friend’s back there, — she said, passing by with an order. — She’s nice. Talk to her, will you? She’s going through something. — Ruby zipped away.

Sure thing, Emma thought. Happy to help. She shrugged and headed to the back room.

Ruby’s friend was indeed back there, trying (and failing) to wash a set of white sheets, crying as she did it. Emma gave her some advice based on her very limited knowledge of laundry: Try some bleach, lady. But at the hint of a connection, the girl — Ashley was her name — glommed on to her like a lost puppy dog and soon was telling Emma her whole sad story. Ruby had sure been right: She was going through something. Nineteen years old, very pregnant, all alone in the world, no plan, no way to make money. Where have I heard this story before? Emma thought, listening to the young woman’s worries.

— I don’t know, I don’t know, — Ashley said. — I just — I just feel like giving up sometimes.

— You’re nineteen now, — Emma said. — I was eighteen.

Ashley looked up, realizing what Emma was saying.

— It gets easier, — Emma lied. — But listen. This is the important thing. You are the one who decides. You get to choose. And if you choose that you can do it, you’re gonna make it.