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maidenjediA Dazzling Place I Never Knew
Author:maidenjedi
Artist(s):casper_san
Link to art: http://ghostgraphics.livejournal.com/21574.html#cutid1
Word Count: 4868
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was a whole new world, but then again, it wasn't. Storybrooke, in the beginning.
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm not making any money.
Notes: I should have signed up for something bigger, as I had no idea this could take me in so many directions. Many thanks to L. for beta! Title from Disney's "A Whole New World" in Aladdin.
She woke with a start, sweat-soaked and shaking. Her eyes felt raw and tears still pooled and spilled down her cheeks. Breathing heavily, she rubbed her hands together, then reached beneath the sheet to feel her thighs. There should be blood, she thought, mine and his, and there was none. The room was bright, jarring, because moments ago there had been a cloud, and she was holding him in her arms and then she wasn't, they were pulled apart and she was screaming his name....
It was a dream. A nightmare. Something.
She shook her head, rubbed her eyes. It had felt so real. But the room really was bright, and the sun was streaming through her window. The threadbare sheets covering her were real, and she pinched her arms - she was real. She reached for her hair - it had been long, in her face, and now it was short. It had always been short, she preferred it that way. This was real.
She looked over at her clock and was startled again - 8:15! She was late; she was very, very late. School started at 8:30 and she would have to skip washing her face if she was going to make it on time.
It was the first day, and she would be late.
She rushed through her apartment, a carefully clean but shabby sort of place, grabbing her clothes and brushing her teeth. Something was nagging at her and she went back twice to make sure her door was locked, and that just made her have to speed on her way to the school.
And of course, the sheriff stopped her and wrote her a ticket ("this is the third time, Miss Blanchard, I can't let you off again") and she didn't sob, she didn't.
It did seem, though, that every morning was like this. Every day had been like this for so long, she couldn't recall a good morning. She had to rush, she was forgetful and sloppy and....
It was Saturday.
The streets in her small hometown were never as empty as on a weekend morning. And the hardware shop was closed, the butcher's, the baker's, and that candle maker’s shop on the corner across from the school.
The school, with an empty parking lot and no bus pulled up out front. The school was closed and she was late for nothing, and it wasn't the first day - that would be next week.
Worst of all, when she walked dejected into Granny's a few minutes later to order a coffee, she realized it was only 7:30.
-
Across town, in a grand house built for a queen - or a mayor - the one person who had every reason to be happy woke up from pleasant dreams, quite unlike those of Mary Margaret Blanchard. There was joy, there was satisfaction. There was revenge, sated at last.
She knew she had been successful. At last, she had won. She was eager to explore and witness all the ways her enemies - all of them - were suffering.
Starting with Snow.
Regina stretched and yawned, the white down quilt crinkling pleasantly with her movement. The sun was shining and the room was bright, warm. She had built the details into her spell, and was pleased that the mirrors in the room sat just perfect, reflecting the luxury and helping to amplify it.
She put her feet on the floor just as the telephone rang. It was such a foreign sound that she actually jumped, and laughed at herself. There were things even she would have to adjust to, she realized, as different as this world was from hers. And yet, she thought, the joy of it was that this was her world, every minute detail, she had simply brought it to exist in another realm. If the phone was ringing (and she was thrilled that the spell had given her this language and these meanings without effort), it was because she had willed it so. She had made it happen.
She picked up the phone. "Yes, this is Regina."
"Madame Mayor? May I get a quote from you about your recent reelection?"
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, now I am the fairest of them all.
"Of course, Sidney! It was humbling to accept another term as mayor, and to do so without a challenge tells me that the people of Storybrooke have been satisfied with the path our town is on. I will work hard to live up to their expectations and continue to lead Storybrooke to greater prosperity."
"That's wonderful, Madame Mayor, thank you. And on a personal note, may I say how glad I was to vote for you, and how happy I am you are serving our fair town?"
Regina almost laughed. He remembered, did he? "Well, I'm happy to do so, Sidney. Thank you for your vote. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I have that report you asked for, Madame Mayor."
Ah, yes.
"Miss Blanchard received a ticket for speeding this morning."
Perfect. "Was there alcohol involved?"
"No, Madame Mayor."
"Thank you, Sidney. I think we can leave it out of the paper for now. But keep an eye out, the public does deserve to know what Storybrooke's teachers are up to in their free time."
"Yes, of course."
"I will speak with you later."
"Have a good day, Madame Mayor."
"Oh, I plan to."
-
There was no magic here. He could tell - there was no glow, no sparkle, hardly any sheen. The trees did not whisper, the birds shared no secrets. A dull world, really, though this was the sort of world Baelfire was now resident of.
It was possible this was the right world. It should be, if the fairy hadn't cheated him, hadn't fooled him. There was no real way to know, not yet. No
doubt the fairy hadn't retained her memories of their world, since fairies never thought of themselves, never considered the power they could wield. They were powerful in their way, but weak of character.
Unlike Regina, who he had to admit, had used this spell in a creative, cruel way.
He'd gotten everything he'd bargained for. He was clearly powerful in their small town. He had built parts of it himself, things Regina would never have considered - he was the purveyor of a pawn shop, a handy place to store all his treasures, and he lived in a home that looked more modest without than it
was within. She had given him the name Gold, which was not exactly creative or particularly witty under the circumstances, but she had her jokes, and he
didn't grudge her that.
Twenty-eight years would be a long time, especially with the tedious scenarios laid before them, but only Regina and Gold would suffer that. All magic came with a price, and this was just a small part of the price for such a wicked, wide-reaching scheme.
He dressed carefully, pleased with the quality of his clothes if not the cut or style. Regina had gotten the detail down, given everything the flavor of
the world they were to inhabit with just enough personality to match the recipient. He wore black and a deep royal purple, and carried a silver-tipped cane. And then he looked in the mirror.
At first he recoiled, thinking irrationally that she could see him, but of course here the mirrors would be just mirrors, plain glass reflecting the world, not providing a window. Then he noticed his skin, his hair, his nails and teeth. He was clean and he was normal - no monster stared back at him.
He'd known this would happen, on some level, but hadn't thought to expect it. His hair was a salted brown, his eyes their original color. His skin was not mottled at all, and his teeth were straight and white - frankly, better on both counts than even before he had turned. He turned and watched his reflection, and he tried smiling, something less cruel, less calculated.
He heard a laugh, a girl's laugh, and it was playful, trusting, and light. And a boy's voice, fainter, even more joyful.
Once, he might have broken the mirror at that. But he knew it was in his head, a memory, nothing more. Belle was long gone, and she was why - part of
why - he'd done any of this. Bae was the other reason, and more important, Bae was what he'd come here to seek. He draped a blanket over the mirror and headed for the door, ready to inventory his shop and take stock in town. No doubt there would be some painful scenes, but he had enemies, too, and he would enjoy what Regina had wrought at his prompting. He was particularly looking forward to seeing how he might twist the knife on her, too.
Regina had to die for what she'd done to him. But not before she suffered.
As he had, as he always had.
-
Mary Margaret parked her car and laid her forehead against the steering wheel. The morning had been brutal and the day was getting worse, it seemed. Her car was making odd noises, and she decided to drop it off at the shop. Michael was there, looking rather dazed himself; Mary Margaret asked if he was alright and he had simply sighed and said he thought they might have a storm later. He was glad for her business, though, she could tell. His tools looked a bit unused and dusty, and she knew she wouldn't balk at the bill even if he did overcharge for labor.
While Michael worked on her car ("jalopy," he'd called it, though he'd made a face like the word was foreign to him - maybe he didn't see that many cars in such bad condition), Mary Margaret opted to go for a walk. She needed the fresh air, to clear her head a little.
She looked up to check the time on the clock tower. 8:15.
Confused, she looked at her watch. It too read 8:15.
She was still walking, squinting as she turned the dial on her watch to set it correctly. Of course, that meant she bumped right into Archie Hopper, who was walking with his head ducked down and frowning at his feet.
"Archie!"
"Oh, excuse me, Mary Margaret! I didn't see you." He smiled crookedly, and Mary Margaret knew then she wasn't the only one having such a day.
"I didn't see *you*! I was so fixated on my watch - I think it's broken or something - and I just didn't watch where I was going, I am so sorry!"
"Really, Mary Margaret, it's fine, I was preoccupied myself," he said, sounding as though he still was. "Where are you headed?"
"Nowhere in particular," she said, sighing. "My car's at Tillman's and I thought I'd burn some energy." Not that she had any, really. She felt tired and sad, and the sunshine had done nothing to penetrate that.
"Ah. Well, I was about to go to the animal shelter. Would you like to walk with me?"
She smiled, a little, at the offer. "Thank you, Dr. Hopper, I'd like that." She took his arm and they walked the next two blocks to the shelter.
"Are you just looking or are you thinking about getting a cat?"
"Oh, gosh, no," he shuddered. "Never been a fan of cats, really, always feel like they're going to pounce on me. I was thinking about getting a dog."
He frowned then, thinking. Mary Margaret couldn't help wondering what had come over everyone - an image of Granny and Ruby shouting at one another came to mind - and Archie, who had always been the one with a story to change any mood, seemed particularly down.
"Archie? You okay?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I've just been sort of lonely lately, it seems. I thought a dog might be the solution."
She nodded. "I know what you mean. But I think my landlord disapproves of pets." She said it almost like a question. She was totally unsure about that. Did he disapprove? She suddenly couldn't remember.
They walked into the shelter and were greeted by a short, jovial man. He radiated happiness, unlike his visitors.
"How can I help you folks today?"
Archie explained that he was looking for a dog, and the beaming veterinarian led them back to the kennel and told them to take their time. "You're in luck - someone has dropped off two adorable Dalmatians, and they are in need of homes. We have a gorgeous cocker spaniel, too, and this, uh, mutt here has been in need of a home for awhile." There were about twenty-five or so dogs all told, and when Archie picked out the male Dalmatian, the vet said there were even more where he came from.
"Two gentlemen dropped them off recently," he said, filling out the paperwork. "This one, Pongo, and the female, Perdita. The gentlemen said there were more Dalmatians to be had, but they didn't say how many. I don't suppose you know who might take Perdita, now, would you?"
There was a hopeful look aimed at Mary Margaret, who blushed and stammered a little, and Archie told the vet that he might know someone who could take the other Dalmatian. The vet looked a little sad all of sudden, still staring at Mary Margaret, and he sighed and shook his head. He told Archie to send his friend over soon. All of that being settled, Archie purchased a leash and some doggie biscuits ("homemade!" said the vet) and he and Mary Margaret took their leave.
Pongo led them, clearly happy to be out of his cage. Mary Margaret looked at her watch, sighed when she realized it had stopped working again, and told Archie she thought she should check on her car.
"Alright then. Thank you for coming with me," he said. "Mary Margaret, you know, you can talk to me. About whatever it is that is bothering you." He seemed hesitant about the offer.
"As a friend?"
"Well, yes, but...you know, if you made an appointment, everything would be confidential. I am licensed, you know."
"Oh." That kind of talk. "Well, it might be helpful. I have been having these dreams..."
"You can come by my office any time." He reached down to pet Pongo.
"Maybe I will. Who knows, maybe I'll feel better before then, once my routine starts up again and all." She didn't sound convinced, even to herself, but she smiled.
Archie smiled back, though confusion seemed to wash across his face as he looked down, and walked away.
-
Mother Superior rang the bell calling the sisters to prayer. It was a heavy day, despite the sunshine; she felt oppressed, as if the weather were about to change and winter come crashing around them. Perhaps she had woken on the wrong side of the bed. She'd been all thumbs as she went about her morning chores, had been off-key in worship, had tripped twice going up the stairs. She hated days like today, and felt that there were far too many of them in Storybrooke, Maine.
The sisters filed in, all with looks of worry and care that hadn't disappeared in the hours since breakfast. Mother Superior sighed inwardly
and lifted her hands to call their attention. She began the prayer and let the others' voices take over, and bowed her head to try and forget all the worries.
There had been a note for her at breakfast, a professional-looking letter signed by the landlord. It was hard knowing they could not own their property and be free of harassment and frustration. What good works could they possibly do if always struggling to make rent and keep a roof over their heads?
She prayed louder, hoping to drown out her thoughts.
They never took a meal at noon on Saturdays, as it was a scheduled time of fasting for the order. The sisters spent the afternoon in their own ways, preferably quietly and in reflection, and they stayed on the grounds. So it was that Mother Superior was on the porch of their home when Mr. Gold himself arrived.
She could not explain her reaction to him. He looked her in the eyes, and she felt cold, desolate. He was just a man, albeit a greedy and cruel one, and there was no reason to feel like this whenever he was around. Yet there it was.
She felt that he was lost, but was not looking for a way back.
"Mother Superior. I trust you received my note this morning."
She shook herself, the reverie gone. His voice was smooth and quiet, but very capable of menace, or so she imagined. "Yes, Mr. Gold. We will have our rent paid, but I am afraid it may be late, and I wondered...."
"You wondered if you could have an extension. Mother Superior, do you think that I became successful in my life by letting every self-proclaimed do-gooder go a few days late in paying the rent?" He said this softly, and played with the handle on his cane.
"Of course not, Mr. Gold, and I promise this won't become a habit. It's just that we...."
"Mother Superior, I am not indifferent to your plight. I am willing to make a bargain."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"There is a plot of land in the woods I would like to have in my possession. I don't suppose the order would be willing to let it go. I could consider it payment - to cover this month's rent, you understand."
"Are you speaking of the well? That well has been in the order since...." And she couldn't remember just how long.
He smiled. "The very one. Do we have a deal?"
Later, during evening prayer, Mother Superior would think on that afternoon's exchange with a shudder. She had made a bargain - but what kind of creature had she dealt with?
-
Sheriff Graham walked to his patrol car, exhausted from the day's work. A child had claimed a blind woman had struck him with her cane, and the woman claimed the child had tried to bite her, and Graham had been called to mediate and arrest someone, anyone. There had been a domestic violence call at a home on Franklin Street, an indolent-looking woman claiming her husband had dropped his frying pan on her foot on purpose. Another call from the drugstore about adolescent shop-lifters. The list went on and on. He was glad the sun was setting and his day could end.
Almost.
Regina Mills leaned against the hood of Graham's car, a tight black dress signaling exactly why she was standing there at this late hour. She smiled when he approached, and offered him the other half of an apple she'd bitten into.
"Want a bite?"
He sighed. "Not really. I need a drink, after today."
She pouted. "Was it so bad?"
"Regina-"
"Let's go to my place. Lots to celebrate, you know."
"Celebrate?"
"Yes! Did you forget, I've just been re-elected."
He had forgotten, truly, with all that had happened throughout the day. But Regina didn't like when he forgot things that were important to her, so he nodded. "Well, yes, there is that. Were you referring to more than that?"
She shrugged playfully, and tossed the apple aside. "Not particularly. I'm just in a rather good mood. Take me home, Sheriff; let's see if the key works for those cuffs of yours."
They got into the car, and drove toward Regina's house. Graham only had a small, dingy apartment above one of the shops, and he was rarely there between his official duties and his...unofficial ones.
"Why not take a different route tonight? Let's go out to the toll bridge and watch the sun set."
He didn't think they'd see much through the trees, but if Regina's hand on his thigh meant anything, she wasn't really interested in the sunset.
And if she kept that up, he thought, neither would he.
They drove for another mile and left Storybrooke proper behind them. It was just as they were coming upon the clearing nearest the bridge that he saw the body on the side of the road.
"What is that?" Regina said, a note of hostility mixed with curiosity stark in her voice.
"More like who," said Graham. "That's a body. We have to stop."
He pulled over and turned on the lights so they could see as twilight set in. The body didn't move, and there was blood.
"Oh my," Regina breathed in, hand covering her mouth. "Do you recognize him?"
"Maybe, I don't know," he said, as he reached down and placed a hand lightly on the man's chest, which jerked up and down ever so slightly. "We need to get him to the hospital, immediately."
They worked together to get the man in the car. Regina's face was mostly hidden in the increasing darkness, but Graham would have sworn, she looked angry. Confused, too.
An hour later, Graham was copying down details for his own file while Dr. Whale recited what he believed had happened. The man had clearly been in an accident of some kind, and whether left for dead or wandering alone no one could say. He was alive, and lucky to be so. "If you hadn't found him when you did, it's difficult to say whether anyone would have seen him in time."
"Yes," said Regina, in a low voice. "Will he recover?"
Dr. Whale shook his head. "Very hard to say about a coma patient."
There had been no i.d. on the body, and no one could think who he was, though Dr. Whale and Graham both thought he was familiar. Regina didn't say any more, and Graham drove her back to her house. She was quiet on the way, and didn't flirt or try to play with him. He followed her in out of habit, but she was pensive. She stopped at a hallway table, and stared into the mirror above it.
Graham shuffled his feet. "I'll go. I need to enter all of this into the log."
Regina shook her head. "I don't understand it."
"It is strange, this is such a small town, you'd think we'd all know him...."
"No, I mean....never mind. Never mind. Come to bed, Graham, you can worry about the paperwork tomorrow." She turned and held out her hand, her seductress' smile back in place. Graham was even more worn out than he had been at the start of the evening, but he obeyed. He followed her up the stairs, took off his clothes, performed for her. So well, she asked for seconds.
-
At the hospital that night, a nurse named Ursula was doing her rounds.
First she gave a sleeping pill to a young woman who kept clapping and giggling, singing to herself about stardust and happiness.
Then, Ursula checked an older man's blood pressure; he had wandered in earlier wearing no clothing and freezing despite the sunshine. He'd told the nurse who treated him for hypothermia that he'd been sure he put on a coat and trousers, and insisted she get them cleaned for him.
Another patient called out for her. This was a rather pretty young woman who had come in that afternoon because of fainting spells, and she was staying overnight for observation. "Nurse! Nurse? This mattress is so lumpy - is there a free bed anywhere, could I switch?"
It was shaping up to be a rather busy night. Ursula sighed; it was all well and fine for the younger nurses, but Ursula was feeling every bit of her age, and her ankles were swollen to boot. Of course, if she could just stick to her diet, she might shed a few pounds and get the weight off her legs, she scolded herself.
As she made the last stops on her first round of the evening, she stopped to look in on the coma patient who'd come in just as she was getting there. A fair-haired, handsome young man. And he looked so familiar, he really did, and his name was on the tip of her tongue. She almost had it.
She straightened his sheets and checked his I.V. There was little they could do for him except dress his wounds and keep him comfortable.
"James."
Ursula frowned. The patient in the doorway was not supposed to be up and about or upstairs at all.
"His name is James. I know him."
"Young lady, you are supposed to be in bed."
"But I know him!" she insisted, and she pulled away from Ursula. She ran to the bedside. "Wake up, James! Wake up! It's alright, wake up, there is no magic here!"
Ursula called for help and two orderlies came in, big burly twins who restrained the patient without any effort despite her wriggling and screeching.
Ursula walked behind them as they took the patient back downstairs, to the basement and the ward for the most difficult mental patients. "I think you'll need help sleeping," she said, taking a syringe from her pocket and sticking it in the patient's backside. The girl went limp, her brown hair hanging in her face, and Ursula let the orderlies lay her down on her bed.
"Why?" whispered the girl. Ursula almost felt bad for her.
"You're sick, dearie, very sick. This will help you sleep."
Ursula and the twin orderlies walked out of the room, and Ursula locked it. The room, the whole ward, resembled something closer to a prison than a hospital. But it was best, wasn't it, to keep these poor people safe from themselves, as well as protect others?
She reported the incident to Dr. Whale, who was leaving for the night.
He sighed. "Keep all the patients away from John Doe. Mayor Mills wants him undisturbed," he said. Then he added, in a firmer tone, "He's very sick, and I want him watched carefully. Let's do our best to help those most in need, Nurse."
She nodded, and Dr. Whale patted her shoulder. "I know this can be a trying job, Ursula."
"Oh no, Dr. Whale. Helping these poor unfortunate souls is what I like to think I excel at."
-
Far away from Storybrooke, a little boy was holding a baby girl and trying to wave at passing vehicles. It was hard, because the baby kept crying and the boy wasn't used to holding a baby, even a quiet one.
Fortunately, they were noticed in fairly short order. It would be difficult to miss a boy holding a baby on the roadside at any time of day or night.
The police station where they were taken was bright and shocking to the boy. The baby was too small to know any better, and was doing better for being held by a grown-up who knew what she was doing. Everyone looked at the children with a mix of shock, pity, and desperate sadness.
"Where are your parents?" asked a man in a dark blue uniform. A silver plate on his chest read "Dunbar, H."
"I don't know," said the boy. It was true - he had no idea where Geppetto had gone, or what had happened to Emma's parents.
"How did you get on that road?"
"We...we were left there."
"By whom?"
The boy shrugged. Again, this was true - he didn't know what forces had been at work or who was behind it.
The officer sighed, clearly frustrated. "What's your name?"
Pinocchio didn't want to tell them his real name, because he had to protect Emma, and the Queen might find them. He was thinking hard, trying to think of something no one would recognize. He looked up at the wall, and saw the word "August" on a fold-down drawing. He knew that word. That could be his name.
"August. Uh, August Booth."
"Ayuh," said the officer, writing that down. "And your sister is Emma?"
Pinocchio felt panicked. The officer gestured to the blanket Emma was still wrapped in. There was no pretending, that had to be her name, even here.
He nodded.
Pinocchio answered more questions as best he could, though the officer seemed a little frustrated with him. "You'll go down to Boston in the morning. We'll take you to the child protective services office there and put out information to search for your parents. For tonight, well, you'll stay at the safe house. Officer Prewitt will take you. They'll have food and a change of clothes for you."
"Please, sir, my sister....we won't be separated, will we?"
“They try to keep families together when possible. Don't worry, son."
He thought that would be impossible. He was far from home, in a land he didn't know, with a baby he had to protect. But he was just a boy, and a small one at that.
But them, he reconsidered. He was a boy. A real boy. His father had trusted him to do this. He could keep her safe.
And they would defeat the queen one day, together.
-
Author:
maidenjediArtist(s):
casper_sanLink to art: http://ghostgraphics.livejournal.com/21574.html#cutid1
Word Count: 4868
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was a whole new world, but then again, it wasn't. Storybrooke, in the beginning.
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm not making any money.
Notes: I should have signed up for something bigger, as I had no idea this could take me in so many directions. Many thanks to L. for beta! Title from Disney's "A Whole New World" in Aladdin.
She woke with a start, sweat-soaked and shaking. Her eyes felt raw and tears still pooled and spilled down her cheeks. Breathing heavily, she rubbed her hands together, then reached beneath the sheet to feel her thighs. There should be blood, she thought, mine and his, and there was none. The room was bright, jarring, because moments ago there had been a cloud, and she was holding him in her arms and then she wasn't, they were pulled apart and she was screaming his name....
It was a dream. A nightmare. Something.
She shook her head, rubbed her eyes. It had felt so real. But the room really was bright, and the sun was streaming through her window. The threadbare sheets covering her were real, and she pinched her arms - she was real. She reached for her hair - it had been long, in her face, and now it was short. It had always been short, she preferred it that way. This was real.
She looked over at her clock and was startled again - 8:15! She was late; she was very, very late. School started at 8:30 and she would have to skip washing her face if she was going to make it on time.
It was the first day, and she would be late.
She rushed through her apartment, a carefully clean but shabby sort of place, grabbing her clothes and brushing her teeth. Something was nagging at her and she went back twice to make sure her door was locked, and that just made her have to speed on her way to the school.
And of course, the sheriff stopped her and wrote her a ticket ("this is the third time, Miss Blanchard, I can't let you off again") and she didn't sob, she didn't.
It did seem, though, that every morning was like this. Every day had been like this for so long, she couldn't recall a good morning. She had to rush, she was forgetful and sloppy and....
It was Saturday.
The streets in her small hometown were never as empty as on a weekend morning. And the hardware shop was closed, the butcher's, the baker's, and that candle maker’s shop on the corner across from the school.
The school, with an empty parking lot and no bus pulled up out front. The school was closed and she was late for nothing, and it wasn't the first day - that would be next week.
Worst of all, when she walked dejected into Granny's a few minutes later to order a coffee, she realized it was only 7:30.
-
Across town, in a grand house built for a queen - or a mayor - the one person who had every reason to be happy woke up from pleasant dreams, quite unlike those of Mary Margaret Blanchard. There was joy, there was satisfaction. There was revenge, sated at last.
She knew she had been successful. At last, she had won. She was eager to explore and witness all the ways her enemies - all of them - were suffering.
Starting with Snow.
Regina stretched and yawned, the white down quilt crinkling pleasantly with her movement. The sun was shining and the room was bright, warm. She had built the details into her spell, and was pleased that the mirrors in the room sat just perfect, reflecting the luxury and helping to amplify it.
She put her feet on the floor just as the telephone rang. It was such a foreign sound that she actually jumped, and laughed at herself. There were things even she would have to adjust to, she realized, as different as this world was from hers. And yet, she thought, the joy of it was that this was her world, every minute detail, she had simply brought it to exist in another realm. If the phone was ringing (and she was thrilled that the spell had given her this language and these meanings without effort), it was because she had willed it so. She had made it happen.
She picked up the phone. "Yes, this is Regina."
"Madame Mayor? May I get a quote from you about your recent reelection?"
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, now I am the fairest of them all.
"Of course, Sidney! It was humbling to accept another term as mayor, and to do so without a challenge tells me that the people of Storybrooke have been satisfied with the path our town is on. I will work hard to live up to their expectations and continue to lead Storybrooke to greater prosperity."
"That's wonderful, Madame Mayor, thank you. And on a personal note, may I say how glad I was to vote for you, and how happy I am you are serving our fair town?"
Regina almost laughed. He remembered, did he? "Well, I'm happy to do so, Sidney. Thank you for your vote. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I have that report you asked for, Madame Mayor."
Ah, yes.
"Miss Blanchard received a ticket for speeding this morning."
Perfect. "Was there alcohol involved?"
"No, Madame Mayor."
"Thank you, Sidney. I think we can leave it out of the paper for now. But keep an eye out, the public does deserve to know what Storybrooke's teachers are up to in their free time."
"Yes, of course."
"I will speak with you later."
"Have a good day, Madame Mayor."
"Oh, I plan to."
-
There was no magic here. He could tell - there was no glow, no sparkle, hardly any sheen. The trees did not whisper, the birds shared no secrets. A dull world, really, though this was the sort of world Baelfire was now resident of.
It was possible this was the right world. It should be, if the fairy hadn't cheated him, hadn't fooled him. There was no real way to know, not yet. No
doubt the fairy hadn't retained her memories of their world, since fairies never thought of themselves, never considered the power they could wield. They were powerful in their way, but weak of character.
Unlike Regina, who he had to admit, had used this spell in a creative, cruel way.
He'd gotten everything he'd bargained for. He was clearly powerful in their small town. He had built parts of it himself, things Regina would never have considered - he was the purveyor of a pawn shop, a handy place to store all his treasures, and he lived in a home that looked more modest without than it
was within. She had given him the name Gold, which was not exactly creative or particularly witty under the circumstances, but she had her jokes, and he
didn't grudge her that.
Twenty-eight years would be a long time, especially with the tedious scenarios laid before them, but only Regina and Gold would suffer that. All magic came with a price, and this was just a small part of the price for such a wicked, wide-reaching scheme.
He dressed carefully, pleased with the quality of his clothes if not the cut or style. Regina had gotten the detail down, given everything the flavor of
the world they were to inhabit with just enough personality to match the recipient. He wore black and a deep royal purple, and carried a silver-tipped cane. And then he looked in the mirror.
At first he recoiled, thinking irrationally that she could see him, but of course here the mirrors would be just mirrors, plain glass reflecting the world, not providing a window. Then he noticed his skin, his hair, his nails and teeth. He was clean and he was normal - no monster stared back at him.
He'd known this would happen, on some level, but hadn't thought to expect it. His hair was a salted brown, his eyes their original color. His skin was not mottled at all, and his teeth were straight and white - frankly, better on both counts than even before he had turned. He turned and watched his reflection, and he tried smiling, something less cruel, less calculated.
He heard a laugh, a girl's laugh, and it was playful, trusting, and light. And a boy's voice, fainter, even more joyful.
Once, he might have broken the mirror at that. But he knew it was in his head, a memory, nothing more. Belle was long gone, and she was why - part of
why - he'd done any of this. Bae was the other reason, and more important, Bae was what he'd come here to seek. He draped a blanket over the mirror and headed for the door, ready to inventory his shop and take stock in town. No doubt there would be some painful scenes, but he had enemies, too, and he would enjoy what Regina had wrought at his prompting. He was particularly looking forward to seeing how he might twist the knife on her, too.
Regina had to die for what she'd done to him. But not before she suffered.
As he had, as he always had.
-
Mary Margaret parked her car and laid her forehead against the steering wheel. The morning had been brutal and the day was getting worse, it seemed. Her car was making odd noises, and she decided to drop it off at the shop. Michael was there, looking rather dazed himself; Mary Margaret asked if he was alright and he had simply sighed and said he thought they might have a storm later. He was glad for her business, though, she could tell. His tools looked a bit unused and dusty, and she knew she wouldn't balk at the bill even if he did overcharge for labor.
While Michael worked on her car ("jalopy," he'd called it, though he'd made a face like the word was foreign to him - maybe he didn't see that many cars in such bad condition), Mary Margaret opted to go for a walk. She needed the fresh air, to clear her head a little.
She looked up to check the time on the clock tower. 8:15.
Confused, she looked at her watch. It too read 8:15.
She was still walking, squinting as she turned the dial on her watch to set it correctly. Of course, that meant she bumped right into Archie Hopper, who was walking with his head ducked down and frowning at his feet.
"Archie!"
"Oh, excuse me, Mary Margaret! I didn't see you." He smiled crookedly, and Mary Margaret knew then she wasn't the only one having such a day.
"I didn't see *you*! I was so fixated on my watch - I think it's broken or something - and I just didn't watch where I was going, I am so sorry!"
"Really, Mary Margaret, it's fine, I was preoccupied myself," he said, sounding as though he still was. "Where are you headed?"
"Nowhere in particular," she said, sighing. "My car's at Tillman's and I thought I'd burn some energy." Not that she had any, really. She felt tired and sad, and the sunshine had done nothing to penetrate that.
"Ah. Well, I was about to go to the animal shelter. Would you like to walk with me?"
She smiled, a little, at the offer. "Thank you, Dr. Hopper, I'd like that." She took his arm and they walked the next two blocks to the shelter.
"Are you just looking or are you thinking about getting a cat?"
"Oh, gosh, no," he shuddered. "Never been a fan of cats, really, always feel like they're going to pounce on me. I was thinking about getting a dog."
He frowned then, thinking. Mary Margaret couldn't help wondering what had come over everyone - an image of Granny and Ruby shouting at one another came to mind - and Archie, who had always been the one with a story to change any mood, seemed particularly down.
"Archie? You okay?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I've just been sort of lonely lately, it seems. I thought a dog might be the solution."
She nodded. "I know what you mean. But I think my landlord disapproves of pets." She said it almost like a question. She was totally unsure about that. Did he disapprove? She suddenly couldn't remember.
They walked into the shelter and were greeted by a short, jovial man. He radiated happiness, unlike his visitors.
"How can I help you folks today?"
Archie explained that he was looking for a dog, and the beaming veterinarian led them back to the kennel and told them to take their time. "You're in luck - someone has dropped off two adorable Dalmatians, and they are in need of homes. We have a gorgeous cocker spaniel, too, and this, uh, mutt here has been in need of a home for awhile." There were about twenty-five or so dogs all told, and when Archie picked out the male Dalmatian, the vet said there were even more where he came from.
"Two gentlemen dropped them off recently," he said, filling out the paperwork. "This one, Pongo, and the female, Perdita. The gentlemen said there were more Dalmatians to be had, but they didn't say how many. I don't suppose you know who might take Perdita, now, would you?"
There was a hopeful look aimed at Mary Margaret, who blushed and stammered a little, and Archie told the vet that he might know someone who could take the other Dalmatian. The vet looked a little sad all of sudden, still staring at Mary Margaret, and he sighed and shook his head. He told Archie to send his friend over soon. All of that being settled, Archie purchased a leash and some doggie biscuits ("homemade!" said the vet) and he and Mary Margaret took their leave.
Pongo led them, clearly happy to be out of his cage. Mary Margaret looked at her watch, sighed when she realized it had stopped working again, and told Archie she thought she should check on her car.
"Alright then. Thank you for coming with me," he said. "Mary Margaret, you know, you can talk to me. About whatever it is that is bothering you." He seemed hesitant about the offer.
"As a friend?"
"Well, yes, but...you know, if you made an appointment, everything would be confidential. I am licensed, you know."
"Oh." That kind of talk. "Well, it might be helpful. I have been having these dreams..."
"You can come by my office any time." He reached down to pet Pongo.
"Maybe I will. Who knows, maybe I'll feel better before then, once my routine starts up again and all." She didn't sound convinced, even to herself, but she smiled.
Archie smiled back, though confusion seemed to wash across his face as he looked down, and walked away.
-
Mother Superior rang the bell calling the sisters to prayer. It was a heavy day, despite the sunshine; she felt oppressed, as if the weather were about to change and winter come crashing around them. Perhaps she had woken on the wrong side of the bed. She'd been all thumbs as she went about her morning chores, had been off-key in worship, had tripped twice going up the stairs. She hated days like today, and felt that there were far too many of them in Storybrooke, Maine.
The sisters filed in, all with looks of worry and care that hadn't disappeared in the hours since breakfast. Mother Superior sighed inwardly
and lifted her hands to call their attention. She began the prayer and let the others' voices take over, and bowed her head to try and forget all the worries.
There had been a note for her at breakfast, a professional-looking letter signed by the landlord. It was hard knowing they could not own their property and be free of harassment and frustration. What good works could they possibly do if always struggling to make rent and keep a roof over their heads?
She prayed louder, hoping to drown out her thoughts.
They never took a meal at noon on Saturdays, as it was a scheduled time of fasting for the order. The sisters spent the afternoon in their own ways, preferably quietly and in reflection, and they stayed on the grounds. So it was that Mother Superior was on the porch of their home when Mr. Gold himself arrived.
She could not explain her reaction to him. He looked her in the eyes, and she felt cold, desolate. He was just a man, albeit a greedy and cruel one, and there was no reason to feel like this whenever he was around. Yet there it was.
She felt that he was lost, but was not looking for a way back.
"Mother Superior. I trust you received my note this morning."
She shook herself, the reverie gone. His voice was smooth and quiet, but very capable of menace, or so she imagined. "Yes, Mr. Gold. We will have our rent paid, but I am afraid it may be late, and I wondered...."
"You wondered if you could have an extension. Mother Superior, do you think that I became successful in my life by letting every self-proclaimed do-gooder go a few days late in paying the rent?" He said this softly, and played with the handle on his cane.
"Of course not, Mr. Gold, and I promise this won't become a habit. It's just that we...."
"Mother Superior, I am not indifferent to your plight. I am willing to make a bargain."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"There is a plot of land in the woods I would like to have in my possession. I don't suppose the order would be willing to let it go. I could consider it payment - to cover this month's rent, you understand."
"Are you speaking of the well? That well has been in the order since...." And she couldn't remember just how long.
He smiled. "The very one. Do we have a deal?"
Later, during evening prayer, Mother Superior would think on that afternoon's exchange with a shudder. She had made a bargain - but what kind of creature had she dealt with?
-
Sheriff Graham walked to his patrol car, exhausted from the day's work. A child had claimed a blind woman had struck him with her cane, and the woman claimed the child had tried to bite her, and Graham had been called to mediate and arrest someone, anyone. There had been a domestic violence call at a home on Franklin Street, an indolent-looking woman claiming her husband had dropped his frying pan on her foot on purpose. Another call from the drugstore about adolescent shop-lifters. The list went on and on. He was glad the sun was setting and his day could end.
Almost.
Regina Mills leaned against the hood of Graham's car, a tight black dress signaling exactly why she was standing there at this late hour. She smiled when he approached, and offered him the other half of an apple she'd bitten into.
"Want a bite?"
He sighed. "Not really. I need a drink, after today."
She pouted. "Was it so bad?"
"Regina-"
"Let's go to my place. Lots to celebrate, you know."
"Celebrate?"
"Yes! Did you forget, I've just been re-elected."
He had forgotten, truly, with all that had happened throughout the day. But Regina didn't like when he forgot things that were important to her, so he nodded. "Well, yes, there is that. Were you referring to more than that?"
She shrugged playfully, and tossed the apple aside. "Not particularly. I'm just in a rather good mood. Take me home, Sheriff; let's see if the key works for those cuffs of yours."
They got into the car, and drove toward Regina's house. Graham only had a small, dingy apartment above one of the shops, and he was rarely there between his official duties and his...unofficial ones.
"Why not take a different route tonight? Let's go out to the toll bridge and watch the sun set."
He didn't think they'd see much through the trees, but if Regina's hand on his thigh meant anything, she wasn't really interested in the sunset.
And if she kept that up, he thought, neither would he.
They drove for another mile and left Storybrooke proper behind them. It was just as they were coming upon the clearing nearest the bridge that he saw the body on the side of the road.
"What is that?" Regina said, a note of hostility mixed with curiosity stark in her voice.
"More like who," said Graham. "That's a body. We have to stop."
He pulled over and turned on the lights so they could see as twilight set in. The body didn't move, and there was blood.
"Oh my," Regina breathed in, hand covering her mouth. "Do you recognize him?"
"Maybe, I don't know," he said, as he reached down and placed a hand lightly on the man's chest, which jerked up and down ever so slightly. "We need to get him to the hospital, immediately."
They worked together to get the man in the car. Regina's face was mostly hidden in the increasing darkness, but Graham would have sworn, she looked angry. Confused, too.
An hour later, Graham was copying down details for his own file while Dr. Whale recited what he believed had happened. The man had clearly been in an accident of some kind, and whether left for dead or wandering alone no one could say. He was alive, and lucky to be so. "If you hadn't found him when you did, it's difficult to say whether anyone would have seen him in time."
"Yes," said Regina, in a low voice. "Will he recover?"
Dr. Whale shook his head. "Very hard to say about a coma patient."
There had been no i.d. on the body, and no one could think who he was, though Dr. Whale and Graham both thought he was familiar. Regina didn't say any more, and Graham drove her back to her house. She was quiet on the way, and didn't flirt or try to play with him. He followed her in out of habit, but she was pensive. She stopped at a hallway table, and stared into the mirror above it.
Graham shuffled his feet. "I'll go. I need to enter all of this into the log."
Regina shook her head. "I don't understand it."
"It is strange, this is such a small town, you'd think we'd all know him...."
"No, I mean....never mind. Never mind. Come to bed, Graham, you can worry about the paperwork tomorrow." She turned and held out her hand, her seductress' smile back in place. Graham was even more worn out than he had been at the start of the evening, but he obeyed. He followed her up the stairs, took off his clothes, performed for her. So well, she asked for seconds.
-
At the hospital that night, a nurse named Ursula was doing her rounds.
First she gave a sleeping pill to a young woman who kept clapping and giggling, singing to herself about stardust and happiness.
Then, Ursula checked an older man's blood pressure; he had wandered in earlier wearing no clothing and freezing despite the sunshine. He'd told the nurse who treated him for hypothermia that he'd been sure he put on a coat and trousers, and insisted she get them cleaned for him.
Another patient called out for her. This was a rather pretty young woman who had come in that afternoon because of fainting spells, and she was staying overnight for observation. "Nurse! Nurse? This mattress is so lumpy - is there a free bed anywhere, could I switch?"
It was shaping up to be a rather busy night. Ursula sighed; it was all well and fine for the younger nurses, but Ursula was feeling every bit of her age, and her ankles were swollen to boot. Of course, if she could just stick to her diet, she might shed a few pounds and get the weight off her legs, she scolded herself.
As she made the last stops on her first round of the evening, she stopped to look in on the coma patient who'd come in just as she was getting there. A fair-haired, handsome young man. And he looked so familiar, he really did, and his name was on the tip of her tongue. She almost had it.
She straightened his sheets and checked his I.V. There was little they could do for him except dress his wounds and keep him comfortable.
"James."
Ursula frowned. The patient in the doorway was not supposed to be up and about or upstairs at all.
"His name is James. I know him."
"Young lady, you are supposed to be in bed."
"But I know him!" she insisted, and she pulled away from Ursula. She ran to the bedside. "Wake up, James! Wake up! It's alright, wake up, there is no magic here!"
Ursula called for help and two orderlies came in, big burly twins who restrained the patient without any effort despite her wriggling and screeching.
Ursula walked behind them as they took the patient back downstairs, to the basement and the ward for the most difficult mental patients. "I think you'll need help sleeping," she said, taking a syringe from her pocket and sticking it in the patient's backside. The girl went limp, her brown hair hanging in her face, and Ursula let the orderlies lay her down on her bed.
"Why?" whispered the girl. Ursula almost felt bad for her.
"You're sick, dearie, very sick. This will help you sleep."
Ursula and the twin orderlies walked out of the room, and Ursula locked it. The room, the whole ward, resembled something closer to a prison than a hospital. But it was best, wasn't it, to keep these poor people safe from themselves, as well as protect others?
She reported the incident to Dr. Whale, who was leaving for the night.
He sighed. "Keep all the patients away from John Doe. Mayor Mills wants him undisturbed," he said. Then he added, in a firmer tone, "He's very sick, and I want him watched carefully. Let's do our best to help those most in need, Nurse."
She nodded, and Dr. Whale patted her shoulder. "I know this can be a trying job, Ursula."
"Oh no, Dr. Whale. Helping these poor unfortunate souls is what I like to think I excel at."
-
Far away from Storybrooke, a little boy was holding a baby girl and trying to wave at passing vehicles. It was hard, because the baby kept crying and the boy wasn't used to holding a baby, even a quiet one.
Fortunately, they were noticed in fairly short order. It would be difficult to miss a boy holding a baby on the roadside at any time of day or night.
The police station where they were taken was bright and shocking to the boy. The baby was too small to know any better, and was doing better for being held by a grown-up who knew what she was doing. Everyone looked at the children with a mix of shock, pity, and desperate sadness.
"Where are your parents?" asked a man in a dark blue uniform. A silver plate on his chest read "Dunbar, H."
"I don't know," said the boy. It was true - he had no idea where Geppetto had gone, or what had happened to Emma's parents.
"How did you get on that road?"
"We...we were left there."
"By whom?"
The boy shrugged. Again, this was true - he didn't know what forces had been at work or who was behind it.
The officer sighed, clearly frustrated. "What's your name?"
Pinocchio didn't want to tell them his real name, because he had to protect Emma, and the Queen might find them. He was thinking hard, trying to think of something no one would recognize. He looked up at the wall, and saw the word "August" on a fold-down drawing. He knew that word. That could be his name.
"August. Uh, August Booth."
"Ayuh," said the officer, writing that down. "And your sister is Emma?"
Pinocchio felt panicked. The officer gestured to the blanket Emma was still wrapped in. There was no pretending, that had to be her name, even here.
He nodded.
Pinocchio answered more questions as best he could, though the officer seemed a little frustrated with him. "You'll go down to Boston in the morning. We'll take you to the child protective services office there and put out information to search for your parents. For tonight, well, you'll stay at the safe house. Officer Prewitt will take you. They'll have food and a change of clothes for you."
"Please, sir, my sister....we won't be separated, will we?"
“They try to keep families together when possible. Don't worry, son."
He thought that would be impossible. He was far from home, in a land he didn't know, with a baby he had to protect. But he was just a boy, and a small one at that.
But them, he reconsidered. He was a boy. A real boy. His father had trusted him to do this. He could keep her safe.
And they would defeat the queen one day, together.
-
