[ Jefferson had done his own brand of investigating after his arrival, but just about everything he'd found out was either irrelevant to what he was looking for or made him question both the people he'd met and his grip on his own sanity.
Being trapped in Storybrooke had been a nightmare. Of course it had. But this place? This place was like hell. Grace was painfully out of his reach yet again, and the fact that he didn't even know who to properly blame left him feeling more angry and bitter than he did on most days. At least he'd been able to see her before. Seeing her with them every day was its own kind of hell, but it had been better than Wonderland. It had been better than the utter hopelessness he felt now. Without much thinking, he'd found himself heading toward the dormitories. He needed time and quiet to process what all had happened and if he could do anything to make going back to Storybrooke even work. How could he even do that without the Savior? She had been the only shot he'd had in nearly thirty years.
Jefferson was so caught up drowning in his own thoughts and fears that he almost went without noticing the small frame curled up sleeping, but a certain pattern caught the corner of his eye and it made him stop dead in his tracks. He continued to look forward, knowing his mind was likely playing tricks on him. For a flicker in time he thought about going on his way, but making himself do that was impossible. He tried not to have any expectations when he turned his head, but all it took was a single glimpse of that familiar red cloak for him to know.
It was Grace. His Grace. His eyes shot to her face and what he saw there only confirmed what he already knew, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in sheer shock. She was right there. Right there. But would she even know him? He knew she didn't dress like that in Storybrooke, knew she didn't have her memories, and yet there she was looking so similar to the day he had foolishly left her.
He began to let her name slip, but that was when the panic set in. He had no right to speak to her. She had to hate him. She had to. Why wouldn't she? He'd made a promise and then he'd broken it in the worst possible way. He wanted to move, to hide, but he remained completely still. He couldn't think clearly enough to make his body do anything. The way his emotions banged against his skull made the situation worse and he could feel the threat of tears at the corners of his eyes. She had been found but he was still lost. ]
DORMITORIES
Being trapped in Storybrooke had been a nightmare. Of course it had. But this place? This place was like hell. Grace was painfully out of his reach yet again, and the fact that he didn't even know who to properly blame left him feeling more angry and bitter than he did on most days. At least he'd been able to see her before. Seeing her with them every day was its own kind of hell, but it had been better than Wonderland. It had been better than the utter hopelessness he felt now. Without much thinking, he'd found himself heading toward the dormitories. He needed time and quiet to process what all had happened and if he could do anything to make going back to Storybrooke even work. How could he even do that without the Savior? She had been the only shot he'd had in nearly thirty years.
Jefferson was so caught up drowning in his own thoughts and fears that he almost went without noticing the small frame curled up sleeping, but a certain pattern caught the corner of his eye and it made him stop dead in his tracks. He continued to look forward, knowing his mind was likely playing tricks on him. For a flicker in time he thought about going on his way, but making himself do that was impossible. He tried not to have any expectations when he turned his head, but all it took was a single glimpse of that familiar red cloak for him to know.
It was Grace. His Grace. His eyes shot to her face and what he saw there only confirmed what he already knew, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in sheer shock. She was right there. Right there. But would she even know him? He knew she didn't dress like that in Storybrooke, knew she didn't have her memories, and yet there she was looking so similar to the day he had foolishly left her.
He began to let her name slip, but that was when the panic set in. He had no right to speak to her. She had to hate him. She had to. Why wouldn't she? He'd made a promise and then he'd broken it in the worst possible way. He wanted to move, to hide, but he remained completely still. He couldn't think clearly enough to make his body do anything. The way his emotions banged against his skull made the situation worse and he could feel the threat of tears at the corners of his eyes. She had been found but he was still lost. ]