— And what you didn’t say, — Mary Margaret said, — was that he won’t wake up, Henry will see that, and it will be a gentle way of showing him that he might be wrong about this curse of his.
Emma smiled a quick smile, bit again into her celery.
— Something like that, — she said.
And so Mary Margaret agreed. Why? There were many reasons. She liked Emma Swan; she liked the plan to help Henry; she liked the simple elegance of the solution. She liked, even, the opportunity to read to a patient — a handsome patient — in front of Dr. Whale. Yes, that part was silly, but if she was being honest, she’d have to admit that she had noticed John Doe several times, had walked past him and felt that quiet glimmer of familiarity rustle somewhere down in her mind. On her way into the hospital, book under her arm, she wondered if she liked John Doe because he was always there, always so consistent, always so reliable. No, he didn’t talk back, and no, he had no idea who she was, but he always stayed the same. He was like her. He was alone, and he was stuck here in Storybrooke.
It was incredible to her how little life seemed to change in the town. She had been here for so long, but each year, the children seemed to be the same, her mixed feelings about Storybrooke seemed to be the same, and her loneliness — some murky part of herself that simply did not believe that she was meant to be a homebody, to know nearly no one, to spend her nights alone, drinking tea — well, it never changed. Was Storybrooke stagnant or safe? It was both. Little things like this — visits to the hospital — were as much about occupying her time as they were about the work itself.
She sat herself down beside his bed, made herself comfortable, and opened the book.
She looked at the words, looked back up at John Doe.
— I know this is odd, — she said. — I’m doing this for a friend. Try to bear with me. — She glanced through the broad glass windows and saw Dr. Whale on the far side of the floor, doing his rounds, head stuck in a chart. She looked back at John Doe and raised her eyebrows. — Sorry if it gets boring.
She read. She read the story Emma had told her to read, and slowly fell into it herself. She read about Snow White on the lam, no better than a forest bandit; read about her first encounter with the Prince, and the second encounter, and the smoldering feelings between the two, who had so much more in common than they even knew. Mary Margaret hadn’t read the whole book before giving it to Henry, and at one point she paused, looked up, and said, — Maybe this isn’t completely for children? What do you think? — To her it seemed suited to both.
She saw the word again: «bandit». Someone on the run, someone who broke rules, someone who lived bravely, lived in a way that didn’t fit into societal norms. She was most definitely not a bandit, no. She was good, careful, kind, cautious, law-abiding. She didn’t make trouble. She wasn’t like Emma Swan. She wanted to be, but she didn’t knowhow.
I may not be a bandit, she thought. But I have a bandit’s heart.
She was still caught up in the emotion of the story at the very end, when her eyes moved toward the final paragraph, her curiosity piqued by the tale. Prince Charming and Snow White were coming together, even though they’d been fighting all along. She read: —… stared into each other’s eyes; they didn’t need words to express what they felt in their hearts. For it was here, in the shadow of the Troll Bridge, that their love was born. Where they knew, no matter how they were separated, they would always fin…
Mary Margaret stopped, her voice stuck in her throat.
Impossible.
But she had felt it.
Slowly, knowing what she would see, she let her eyes move from the book to her left hand, resting on its edge. Her heart, already beating fast, began to pound.
John Doe’s hand was on her hand.
Not just on her land. Squeezing it.
She stood, covered her mouth, shucked his hand from hers. After one last glance at his still-closed eyes, she went to find Dr. Whale.
Snow White took one last glance at her belongings, knowing that she’d probably forgotten something important but too harried to worry about it now. Her tree-trunk home was not far from where she’d robbed the arrogant (handsome) fool and knocked him over with a rock, and she now felt that it might be prudent to vacate the area. But there was something about that man…
She looked down at her most precious belonging: a tiny crystal vial containing a minuscule amount of very potent fairy dust. She had learned to fight with weapons over the last few months, but this was a weapon of a higher order. Magic. With this dust, she would be able to fell even the most dangerous of enemies. Her plan, of course, was to use the dust against the Evil Queen. She didn’t know how she would get the opportunity, or when it would come, but when it did, she would be ready.
She put the vial around her neck, strapped her gold to her waistband, and turned from her tree. She took one step then and saw the ground beneath her feet begin to move.
Move up, actually. A net, covered in leaves. Before she could even react, she was hanging twenty feet off the ground, bundled up, trapped.
— Ah. Hello there, — came a voice — a voice she recognized — and a grim expression came across her brow.
It was him, the arrogant man. There he was, hands on his hips, looking very proud of himself.
— I told you I would find you.
— Please, — said Snow White, reaching for her dagger. She drew it and was about to start cutting.
— Ah ah ah ah, — said the Prince, seeing this. — Quite a fall. Be careful. You’re bound to break your neck. I will lower you down very gently.
They stared at each other.
— For a price, — he added.
— And is this the only way you can catch a woman? By catching her in a net?
— It’s my preferred method of catching thieves, actually, — he said. — I have various methods for catching women.
— Well, aren’t you a real Prince Charming? — Snow White said.
He grinned at this. — I do have a real name.
— I don’t care, — she said. — You’re Charming. Cut me down, Charming.
He stopped smiling.
— I will. As soon as you return my property.
— It’s long gone.
— Then we’ll have to recover it. I imagine it hasn’t gotten too far away. That pouch contained a wedding ring very dear to me. It was given to me by my mother, in fact.
— Oh, of course, — said Snow White, rolling her eyes. — That nag in the carriage! Ha! Of course you would be marrying somebody like that. Let me guess. She’s a princess. The marriage is all very important.
— You’re incredibly rude for someone trapped in a net, — said Charming. — Are you aware of that?
— Why would I help you? — Snow While said. — Why would I possibly help you? What will you do, Charming? Torture me if I don’t?
— No, — he said, and now Snow White could hear in his voice that he’d stopped playing her game. — Someone else probably will, though.
She studied him through the holes in the net. He looked back up, unblinking.
— What do you mean?
— I mean that I know you’re Snow White, — he said, — and if you don’t lead me to those jewels, I’ll turn you over to the Queen’s men. — He pulled a wanted poster from within his vest and held it up. The likeness was uncanny. She doubted it would make much sense to protest. — It’s your choice. Help me or I turn you in. I have a feeling the Queen’s not so charming as I am.