Beane Odette - Reawakened - A Once Upon A Time Tale

— 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 hint, 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.

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 after something specific, — she said. — I just got the call and came over. House is clear.