Hook's Daughter

Break-in

Disclaimer: rights to ABC and Odette Beane.

A few days later, when I got to the sheriff's station, Emma was heading out. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Some guy drove into town, stranger on a motorcycle, and I keep getting calls saying the townspeople are nervous about him. He must look sketchy. Then Regina called this morning, said she wanted me to check it out. He apparently approached Henry outside of Regina's house and asked him a number of questions." "For once, I agree with Regina," I said, "strangers in town asking odd questions of little boys is not exactly okay." "Yeah, and no one knows his name, and as of right now, he's not staying anywhere. He just seems to keep popping up down this street or that street. And on top of all this, he has a very mysterious looking box on the back of his motorcycle, I don't like the look of him. According to reports, he's a lightly bearded man, mid-thirties, cocky, and whenever I get near to him he always seems to be going in the other direction." "Good luck, I'll hold down the fort here." "Alright thanks." "Yup." Emma put on her red leather jacket and left.

Emma got back to the station about an hour later, looking extremely disgruntled. "Whoa, what's wrong with you?" "I looked everywhere in this town! It's like he completely disappeared!" "He can't have disappeared, he'll show up, Emma. Why don't you go get lunch, ill stay here. I don't mind." "Okay, thanks Ashton."

"I found him," Emma said, returning to the office about an hour later. "Well, what's he like?" "Flirty. He asked me for a drink in return for seeing what was inside his mysterious box." "What was inside?" I asked. "A typewriter. Apparently, he's a writer and I quote "Storybrooke is inspiring to him. That's why's he's here." "Just a writer? Why is Regina kicking up a fuss about a writer?" "Well, firstly because he talked to Henry, which I found out that Henry approached him, and second, he doesn't look like the kind of guy you would immediately trust." "Fair enough."

Winter had descended on the town with a vengeance, bringing with it all manner of accidents and emergencies. Emma complained about how she rarely saw Mary Margaret anymore, and Regina had been keeping Henry on an even tighter leash, meaning neither Emma or I had seen him for more than a passing smile, or five minute talk at Granny's. Emma and I worked all the time, and we were officially part of the community now. Which was different, for both of us. I was glad for it, truly, and so was Emma. Emma told me one day that it felt like Storybrooke was becoming comfortable and complacent. Like home.

So when Emma and I were in the police car, driving back to the station after declining Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Ashley's invite to Valentine Day girl's night out, it was no surprise that we got a call from dispatch. "What's up?" I asked, "okay, we'll go now." "What's wrong?" Emma asked. "Someone has just been seen breaking into Mr. Gold's house." "Let's go then." Mr. Gold lived in a tall, slender mansion on the town's east side, where the wealthiest citizens lived. A neighbor had made the call because the front door was wide open, and when Emma and I arrived, we saw that it was true. Emma drew her sidearm on the way in; I covered her back, also drawing my pistol. 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. I made a sweep of the house, going room to room with my weapon drawn, announcing myself before each turn.

When I went back down the stairs, I heard footsteps and my heart began to pound. "Emma?" I whispered. She appeared from behind me, meaning the sound was not her. "It sounds like they came in the front door through the parlor," I whispered to Emma, "let's go." Quietly, Emma and I crossed the kitchen, steadied ourselves, and turned into the room, guns ready to shoot. "Freeze!" Emma said sternly. The figure in front of us turned and swung a weapon toward us. I squeezed the trigger, but stopped myself from pulling it completely. "Ms. Swan," the intruder said. It was Mr. Gold. Emma and I lowered our guns and breathed a sign of relief. Gold lowered his gun as well. "I can't imagine you two are the one breaking into my house," Mr. Gold said. "You got a permit for that?" I asked, looking at his gun. "Of course," he said, "do you have one for yours?" "Cute," I said, holstering my gun. Emma pointed at a broken glass case in the corner of the room. "Looks like whoever it was was after something specific," Emma said, "We just got the call and came over here. The house is clear." Gold, quiet for once, stood looking at the glass case. "I see," he said finally. He swallowed once, "That will be all." "Will it, now?" Emma said sarcastically, "I'm so sorry to bother you." "That's not what I meant," Gold said, "I apologize. It's a shock to the system when one's house is invaded." He took a breath and gave Emma a smile. "Although I do think I can give you a strong lead, considering what was taken. I believe the man you should talk to is called Moe. Moe French." "Okay," Emma said, "I'll check him out." I eyed Gold suspiciously, "Any reason you're worried about him in particular?" I asked. "I imagine there will be paperwork," Gold said, turning to Emma and ignoring me, "would you like some tea?"

Emma called Gold when we finally got back to the station. Soon, he was there, an eager look in his eyes. Emma showed Gold to her desk and to the items we had acquired at Moe French's home.

Sloppy work, really. Hilariously, or perhaps just idiotically, Moe French had even used a pillowcase to steal Gold's antiques. We had acquired a warrant and searched his home. Standard stuff. The pillowcase, still full, was sitting o his kitchen table. No sign of French. "It's not here," Gold said, after a moment of scanning the items in the pillowcase. There were lamps and candelabras, nice pieces of china, cigarette cases, pieces of jewelry. "These aren't your things?" Emma asked, surprised. "They are," Gold said, irritated, "but not everything. He took something very specific. And very valuable to me." Gold brushed past Emma, heading for the door, "I wish you knew how to do your job," he said. You're welcome, I thought. "It might help if you told us what it was you were looking for Gold," I said, watching him storm away. Even for Rumpelstiltskin, this was prickly. "We're running in the dark here, how about a hint?" I finished. "No matter," Gold said over his shoulder, "please find Mr. French. He'll lead you to the rest." "Who is he to you?" Emma asked. "A client." "An enemy?" "A client." Gold turned just long enough to look at Emma sidelong. "If you can't find him, I'll take matters into my own hands. "Don't do anything stupid, Gold," Emma said. "Thank you for the warning," he replied, "I never do."