FOR THOSE OF YOU WONDERING, I AM STILL WORKING ON ONCE UPON A TIME, IN A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY. I JUST NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM.
DON'T OWN IT.
Emma walked back into the police station, having decided to get her and Mary Margaret some hot chocolate from Granny's after their heart-to-heart. She stopped and just about dropped the mugs when she saw the cell door open. Her first thought was to call the police until she realized she was the one and only law enforcement officer in the small town. Sighing, she set the mugs down on her desk and called Mr. Gold. He was the last person she wanted to see, but he was the only one she trusted with the knowledge of Mary Margaret's disappearance. Not that she trusted him, really; he was just the lesser of two evils. On the fourth ring, he picked up.
"Hello?" came the voice that made the blonde's skin crawl.
"Mr. Gold? It's Emma."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Swan?" He asked.
"I need you to get your ass down here." She replied, not in the mood for formalities and such.
"That important, eh?" Though she couldn't see, Emma imagined him tipping his head in that cocky, self-assured way of his.
"Yes." She said impatiently.
"Alright, Miss Swan. I'll be down in just a few minutes." With that, Mr. Gold hung up. He sounded exasperated, but a tiny hint of sympathy could be heard. Emma sighed and put the phone back in its cradle. Remembering the hot chocolate, she brought one of the mugs to her lips and closed her eyes as the warm liquid slipped into her mouth. Then she paced, a million thoughts all fighting for attention. On the forethought were Mary Margaret's whereabouts. Obviously, she hadn't run away. The door was open, which meant a key had been used. Emma checked her pockets; her key was still there. The only other person who had a key to the cell was Regina.
"Of course…" Emma muttered. Just then she heard the familiar yet chilling rap of Mr. Gold's cane on the floor.
"Good evening, Miss Swan." He said, smiling an insincere smile at her. It sent involuntary shivers down her spine. "How may I be of assistance?"
"Your client is missing." Even though she and Mr. Gold were the only ones in the room, Emma still felt the need to keep her voice low. The man was silent in thought, his face giving nothing away.
"Well, that's a problem." He finally said slowly.
"Regina's the only one with another key to the cell." Emma said, a bit louder this time. Mr. Gold turned to play with the American Flag on her desk, and she craned her neck to get a better look at him. "Unless you took her."
"Why would I do that?" He turned back around, his almond eyes boring into her green ones. "That would only make Mary Margaret look more guilty."
"So it's decided that Regina did this." Emma said with more than a tinge of hatred and defiance in her voice.
"My dear Emma." Mr. Gold chuckled. She folded her arms across her chest. "The Mayor isn't quite as bad as you think."
"There's something off about her."
"One might say there's a hurtful, abrasive edge to you." At Emma's glare, he took a step closer. "It's all about perspective, you see."
"Abrasive, maybe, hurtful, no." Emma cocked her head and shot him an amused smile.
"When things you love are threatened, Miss Swan, you will stop at nothing to get vengeance." He said.
"Oh, did she tell you about her beloved apple tree?" Emma said in a mocking voice. Then it became hard. "I am not sorry for what I did."
"I know you aren't." This time, Mr. Gold let out a real laugh, remembering the time he touched her through Snow's stomach, gaining a mental image. That was the last time he had seen her until Henry brought her home. It was hard for him to imagine that tiny, unborn child one day defeating the Evil Queen, but the woman standing before him? If he was a gambling man (which he was, he always won), he'd bet on her.
"What are you laughing at!" Emma demanded, back to glaring at him.
"Nothing, Ms. Swan." Mr. Gold let an amused smile linger upon his face. "Have a good night."
"Wait! Aren't you going to do something?"
"Good night, Miss Swan." He repeated. His next stop was to negotiate with everyone's favorite mayor.
I'M NOT SURE IF I'M GOING TO CONTINUE. IF I CAN FIGURE OUT A PLOT LINE THAT REMOTELY MAKES SENSE, I MIGHT.