Chapter Text
Among all her other curses, the least of them was this: Red fell in love fast.
Granny would say it was the wolf’s blood, roaring hot and reckless within her. Red’s mother (“that fool girl,” Granny recalled at suppertime, with her knitting and her crossbow both nestled in her lap) had run off with her father just two days after meeting. Granny had eloped with Red’s grandfather after one.
Sometimes Red thought of those first few hours with Peter, and wondered if she should have known then. His slow, crooked smile had turned her belly over; those blacksmith’s hands had made her heart pulse molten in her chest. When he had touched her, something wild had unfolded inside her, less like a flower than claws, ripping through her with all the roughness his hands lacked.
“I love you, Red,” he’d said earnestly, brushing the hair out of her face.
“Love you too,” she’d hissed. “Now get out of here before Granny sees you.”
It had felt like love, back then—but if it was love, it should have saved him. Maybe it had only been a warning.
***
Red did run off with someone, in the end. But instead of crooked smiles and blacksmith’s hands, she got wide eyes and soft fingertips—a princess cast out into the snow. It was just as dangerous, of course; Red still had the wolf, and sweet Snow had a bounty on her head.
Granny shook her head when Red told her, not even doing her the courtesy of looking surprised. “The wolf knows when it’s found its pack,” she said. “Though your wolf’s got some taste, girl. Or a death wish.”
It burned to think of the wolf controlling any more of her than it already did, and Red’s cheeks flushed in anger. “Snow isn’t—she’s not like me. She’s good.” It would not make up for what she had done to Peter, and she would never wash the taste of blood out of her mouth, but Red could do something good, too. She could do something right, where the wolf could only hunt, eat, and destroy.
“I’m going to protect her,” Red promised fiercely. It sounded like something else.
“Oh, Red,” Granny said, and her scarred hand lifted to touch Red’s cheek. “Calm down before you go. Don’t want to scare that girl none.”
She’s not scared of me, Red wanted to say, but as she breathed out and saw the yellow glow behind her eyelids, an abrupt shame lanced through her.
She carried that shame with her, when she left. When Snow laced her fingers through Red’s and made plans for finding firewood, when she curled up next to Snow’s warm body by the fire, when Snow found a set of deer tracks and turned to her with triumph flowering on her face. It made her hands tremble and her throat tighten, but it kept her from doing anything stupid.
But sometimes, when Snow looked at her askance, or cleaned her cuts and scratches with infinite gentleness, she forgot the shame for a moment, and her heart pulsed like magic in her chest.
“You know I love you, right, Snow?” she blurted one night, then winced. It had come out too fast to catch in her teeth.
Snow looked up from their stolen cookware and smiled. “Of course I do. I love you, too, Red.”
It felt so innocent, so true. That hunger stirred at the bottom of Red’s chest, snapping at her—no, I love you; I loved you when you were hiding in my chicken coop and when you told me you were going to take down the Queen and when you missed terribly with your arrows and when you held me in the snow and didn’t make me choose; I love you enough to run with you forever. But Snow turned back to the fire with her sweet little smile, her soft cheeks, and Red knew she was dreaming of her prince.
Red wasn’t a prince, and she wasn’t anyone’s dream. So she reined herself in. Don’t want to scare that girl none.
It felt like love, yes—but if it was love it should have looked like Charming’s, wholehearted and tender and beautiful. Maybe it hadn’t been true enough. Maybe, Red thought, she had tainted it from the beginning.
***
For as much as they called them their “cursed selves,” Ruby had escaped the curse twofold: the wolf no longer rumbled under her skin, and she never fell in love. Granny could call her whatever she wanted, but it didn’t matter; Ruby could dance without her heart roaring in her chest. She could let boys and girls buy her drinks without possessiveness searing through her blood. It was freedom.
“It was aimless,” Granny said derisively. “You were unmoored, a lost little pup. Now bring table eight their bacon, will you?”
Red sneered at her, but Granny was right (as always, sadly). No less than a week later, Belle wandered into the diner, as lost as she had been, and Red felt that awful, burning purpose clarify in her heart again. It was just as fast in Storybrooke as in Granny’s cottage, as in the frozen, hidden woods.
Belle was sweet and naive; she reminded Red of Snow White that way. But she was also quieter, thoughtful, and a little guarded. She flashed Red a smile as she tried iced tea for the first time. Her fingers wrapped carefully around the glass, as if she knew even then that she had taken hold of something wanting and vulnerable inside Red herself.
Red introduced Belle to pancakes and bacon, to scrambled eggs with syrup and ketchup on them. Belle introduced her to the classics both Red and Ruby had considered themselves too uncultured to read. Red told her about the artists Ruby had loaded onto her funny little device (“an iPod!” Red said, grinning; “Really?” Belle replied. “If it’s a pod, what sort of plant’s inside it?”)—Ke$ha and Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman—and the songs Red and Snow had learned on their journey through the Enchanted Forest. Belle told her about all the things she wanted to do without Mr. Gold.
Red’s heart folded a little, when she said that name. Belle saw and chewed the inside of her lip: “I know that everyone thinks he’s my true love, but—”
“Hey,” Red said. She laid a hand over Belle’s, ignoring the stickiness of the table and the quiet shame that rose, again, to the pit of her stomach. “I don’t think anything. We’re not in the Enchanted Forest anymore, and we get to choose our own lives.”
It only felt like half a lie, with the wolf awake in Red’s skin. Belle brightened. “You think so?”
“I know it.”
Belle smiled, but then, after a moment, her expression grew troubled. “It’s not like I hate him or anything—he seems like a nice man, but it’s just...”
“You can’t help how you feel,” Red said softly.
For once, Belle missed the wistfulness in Red’s tone. Perhaps she was already thinking about Mr. Gold, drawn toward him despite not knowing him, not really. That was how Red had felt, seeing Belle hunched over in the corner booth—but then, no one would ever claim Red as their true love.
Finally, Belle came back to herself. “You’re a really good friend, Red,” she said sincerely.
Red’s wolf-heart pulsed like a locked tome with the truth of it— say it say it say it—but this, at least, had not changed since the forest. And saying it wouldn’t change anything either. Red looked down at their hands, laid across one another in the afternoon sunlight, and let it be.
It felt like love, here—but if it was love, Red wouldn’t have needed to chain Belle up in the basement, and Belle wouldn’t have chained herself, first and always, to Mr. Gold. It had only been the desperation that had followed Red as far as the curse: to be good, to be kind, to be anyone other than herself.
***
When Red ran again, no one came with her. Granny met her at the door, fixed her with a hard stare, and tossed her the cloak and a basket. “Come back when you’ve found them,” she said, “or I’ll hunt you down myself.”
I love you, she meant, and Red’s tears stung the corners of her eyes. She threw her arms around Granny, who grumbled but didn’t take even one step back.
“I love you, too, Granny,” Red whispered into her shoulder. But among all her other curses, the worst of them was this: Red’s love was never enough.